On Parenting Faux Pas

So apparently the other day I committed a big faux pas according to my son.  We were at our local athletic club.  I entered the locker room at the same time as two young girls.   They were excitedly chattering about my son in their high pitch pre-teen voices.  “Did you see Jaxon? I almost ran into him!” one laughed.  I know most of Jaxon’s friends, but not these girls so I introduced myself and asked their names.  One of them had the same name as our dog, which I told them somewhat awkwardly, but that was not my faux pas.   The actual mistake I made was that I had this conversation while I was changing my clothing for my Body Pump class… in the locker room.  Jaxon later grimaced at me after hearing from his friends that they met me.  “Mom you took your pants off while talked to them?  What were you thinking?“  Well I guess I was thinking about getting to class on time to get a highly coveted back row spot while simultaneously being an informed parent getting to know my son’s friends. What I wasn’t thinking about is how awkward it is to be a teen girl in a locker room.  How quickly one forgets what those horrid teen years are about.  Note to self… no more locker room conversations with teenagers… at least not while changing clothes.

That is not even the only mistake I made this week either.  Apparently, I “rely on other people to help me too much”.  This nugget of wisdom came from my 19-year-old son in response to asking him to re-hang up a curtain rod in his brother’s room. I should mention that the career he is currently pursuing is in carpentry, so I did not think this was too outrageous of a task, but apparently, he did. Sigh.

In a conversation about the above-mentioned chore, both children told me that ALL their friends say that I take things “too seriously and get too stressed out” when they don’t do what they are supposed to do.  I tried to explain to them the cause and effect relationship of their not listening or cooperating to my “tweaking” but they did not buy it.  Nope.  It was all my fault.  After all, all their friends agreed.

My logical grown-up mind knows that they are seeing things from their developmental stage and that I am not doing these things intentionally to hurt or embarrass them, so why do I feel so bad about them?  These little tiny things. Minutes out of entire days.  I don’t want to be known the super-embarrassing mom or the super-rigid mom. That’s another mistake right there according to my kids. I “care too much what other people think.” Who needs a therapist when you have two teenagers ready to point out your every flaw and give advice on how to fix it?

One mom recently said to me after asking the ages of my kids that “I had a lot of parenting under my belt.” So how come I keep making mistakes? Why can’t I be better?   The dreaded Mom Guilt Monster rears its ugly little head inside my brain.  I wish I could take that stupid little thing out of my head and smash it, (ok so maybe my kids have a point about my “tweaking”) and believe me, I’ve tried to rid myself from it, but somehow it keeps coming back.  You know that line about not letting negative people rent space in your head, the Mom Guilt Monster is not easy to evict.

I wish I could end this blog post with some cheery line or advice about how I am going to tame the Mom Guilt Monster or how I am going to do better as a parent, but the truth is I don’t know, I really don’t know.  That’s just where I am at right now.  So for right now, I’m just going to do the best I can and that will have to be enough.  That is enough.  

 

Ten Days in October

 

 

I was laying on the couch in my sun room, exhausted from sleeping in a hospital chair the night before, wondering if I was ready for the days that were ahead.  I was frantically trying to plan how I was going to deal with all the logistics of my life and all the things I was responsible for.  I was waiting for the ambulance carrying my dad to arrive at my house for what would become his last days.  The night before he had begun hospice services at the hospital after the nephrologist somberly told us that they really could no longer perform dialysis on my dad as his blood pressure and condition were too unstable.   My mother’s sentiments about how I shouldn’t be doing this creating lingering and lasting doubts in my head. Was I doing the right thing bringing my dad here, to my house, to die in front of me and my children?  How would that impact them? Would I be making things worse for them?  I had talked with them and this is what they wanted too, but did they really understand at 17 and 11?

But at the same time, I wondered, wasn’t it right for my dad to spend his last days surrounded by his family and friends, in a place he loved and was loved, and most importantly of all with his beloved dog?  When I chose to move my dad in with me 2 months before this Sunday in October, he had grown so weak he could no longer care for his dog.

One thing about my dad, he loved his dogs and they loved him. They were like therapy for him, trusted companions.  He was calmed by them.  This dog, Tati, had been with him in assisted living, had refused to leave his side when he fell and couldn’t get back up outside the facility. I knew the prognosis for my dad was bleak at that time and wanted to make the most of the time he had left and allow him to be with his dog. Lots of people thought this wasn’t a great idea.  It would be too much for me they said.

But, I kept flashing towards my own inevitable death.  Wouldn’t I want to be in a place of comfort, surrounded by the people and things I loved?  Didn’t everyone deserve that? Why couldn’t I give that to my dad, even if it was hard?  I could do that, I had decided and now, I could do this.  I could let my dad be in hospice at my house, instead of the hospice facility.

The first day was a whirl of activity, first the ambulance arrived, along with the hospital bed, and other medical necessities, like the mammoth, and loud oxygen machine.    My brother also arrived from California. My dad’s response upon seeing him was that if the two of us (my brother and I) were in the same room, this must be serious and he must be dying.  I couldn’t hold back tears as I told him that yes, this was what this meant.  My dad had struggled with confusion as he got sicker and sicker and wasn’t always aware of exactly what was happening.  We set to work setting him up in the sun room so he could see all the beautiful trees surrounding the property that he loved. He said to me one day, “I belong in the woods.”  Knowing this, I knew this was the perfect place for my dad.

The hospice nurses showed up and helped us figure out how to monitor the chest tube, which was his latest accessory.  Later more family arrived and we spent the afternoon visiting and reminiscing all together. It was a jovial, but somber experience as I watched our extended family say goodbye with the realization that this was the final good bye.

 

Over the next few days we set to work on finishing a memory book that we had given my dad years before as a gift.  Jax, my youngest son, asked the questions and listened intently for the answers.  I was reminded of all of the times I spent pouring over my grandmother’s photo albums as a child and listening to her stories.  I realized, there were stories, told from my dad’s perspective that I had never heard.   When questioned about his favorite athlete, my dad replied “Fritz Ackley” to my son.  Assuming my dad was confused, I reminded him, “Fritz is your cousin, dad.”  With an annoyed glance he replied, “yeah, and he’s also my favorite professional athlete. He played professional baseball.”  Thanks to google, we were able to confirm that in fact, my dad’s cousin and favorite athlete, had actually played in the major leagues.  I hadn’t known that before.  Never heard that story or some of the other’s he told us during that time. I treasured those gifts.

When the doctor told me that my dad needed to stop dialysis, he also stated he expected given his condition it would be a matter of days before he passed away.  I think we were all a little surprised when he actually seemed to be gaining strength over the next few days.  He insisted on trying to get up and get out of bed and told anyone who would listen that he had to live long enough to see my sons grow up, while I tried not to break down knowing the harsh reality that this was not going to happen.   Slowly, I began to worry that perhaps, the doctor had been incorrect, perhaps the medication he was now on would make his blood pressure more stable, would make him able to do dialysis.  On hospice, they provide comfort care, they do not routinely check blood pressure or other vitals.  My only measure was that it seemed like he was getting better. Did I make a mistake as his power of attorney in agreeing with the doctor?  Maybe we didn’t have to go through this whole dying process yet?  Quickly, those hopes were dashed when the hospice nurses took his blood pressure and it was still dangerously low.

One morning, my dad woke up worried about the upcoming election. “When is election day?” he wanted to know.  Not for another month, I told him.  He decided he needed to vote.  My brother and I scrambled to get him registered in my township to vote absentee and brought the ballot home.  I helped him fill it out by reading him the choices as he cast his vote for the first female presidential candidate.  Down ballot, was a test of my ethics as he chose the senate candidate I was vehemently opposed to and I reluctantly filled in the circle, certain he was confused, but following his directives.

As the days went on we worked diligently to finish the memory book, with me dreading what would happen when the book was finished.  He seemed determined to finish the book, although as his condition declined he gave a standard answer of “hunting and fishing” to almost every question, even if that answer didn’t have anything to do with the question.  Friends dropped by to say their goodbyes and share memories of old times.  My sons sat with him and chatted.  We interacted all together in the sunroom sharing TV football games and puzzles.

He lacked the strength to stand or get himself out of bed during this time, so that became a two person project.  The paid caregivers relied on my brother and I for help and we alternated getting up during the night to help move him or assist the caregivers, just as he had done all those years ago with our mom when we were babies… It was a strange role reversal for me, much like the whole experience of his illness and decline had been.

All the while, we were visited by hospice staff every day, as they assessed where he was at and prepared us for what to come.  I appreciated their help and assessment and ability to get whatever we needed to help and assist my dad in being comfortable. They educated us on the stages of dying, not that anyone relishes learning those.  They prepared us for the “transition” that we would see.

And then we saw it.  After several days of increased energy and activity, and appetite my dad began to not be able to keep anything down.  Is this the change the hospice staff told us about? I worried. It was, the nurse later confirmed. Things were coming to an ending.  All my life, I hated endings.  I never wanted to lose anyone, to feel that pain or discomfort of an ending.  Those feelings were just too hard. But this was my DAD, this ending was BIG.  So was what I needed to say to him.  In a quiet moment, with just us around I sobbed as I thanked him for being the best possible dad to me and always being there for me whenever I needed.  I could barely get the words out as I wondered why there was so much emotion behind them.  I talked about the times with him that I would always remember.  He simply listened to me, taking what I said in.  He had already shared what his hopes and dreams for his children and grandchildren were as part of his memory book.

The next day, my son, who had been gone, walked into the room and my dad was sleeping, likely, in an out of consciousness.  Jaxon insisted he needed to talk to him and called his name until he opened his eyes.  “I love you grandpa!” Jaxon exclaimed.  “I love you too” my dad said and closed his eyes again.  Jaxon sat with my dad well past his bedtime that night insisting he wanted to spend more time with my dad. Besides a few groans, those words were the last words uttered by my dad.   How fitting, I thought, he adored his grandchildren and he and Jaxon were two peas in a pod.  Both smart and bullheaded at the same time, a dangerous combination of traits if I ever saw one.

The following day we kept watch as my dad’s breathing slowed and he laid unresponsive on the hospital bed in my sun room, with his dog beside him like always. We were told it was sometimes helpful to give the dying permission to “go”.  I let my dad know that I loved him and we were all going to be ok.  All the while I was stealing myself for what it would be like to witness my dad take his final breaths.  I couldn’t do it, I thought, shuddering. No way, Nope. Nope. Nope.  But I didn’t want him to die alone either.  I wanted him to be surrounded in the love of our family. And, death was part of life, right?  I had to deal with this. The night caregiver arrived.  She was brand new to us. I showed her around and told her to come and get me if there were any changes with my dad and I went to bed, exhausted.  She naively assured me everything would be fine.

At 2:30 am there was a knock on my bedroom door.  It was the wide-eyed caregiver telling me she didn’t think my dad was breathing. I immediately went to get my brother who confirmed this as I called for hospice staff.  A few minutes later we stood over his bed and I was overcome by the look of peace on my dad’s face. It was strangely comforting.  He had been sick for so long and really sick over the last few months and I hadn’t realized how much this had changed how he looked, but now, he looked peaceful. I did feel some guilt for not being there when he died, but maybe that was the way it was meant to be.  Maybe he spared me of the thing I dreaded most about the experience: the finality of it all. Instead he showed me the benefit of the experience instead: peace.

The answers to all of my questions and self-doubts throughout this death and dying process were answered that night.  Could I do it? Yes.  Would it be hard? Yes.  Was it worth it? Most definitely yes.  I wouldn’t have traded those 10 days in October and all I gained from them for anything. I hope my dad would say the same thing.

 

On What I Have Learned in 2016 (and what I’m looking forward to in 2017)

As another year comes to a close, its time to look back at 2016 and say hello to the start of 2017.  I’m not going to lie. 2016 was a rough year.  A lot of things happened in my world that changed me for always.  I was really looking forward to tomorrow and ushering out this year with the hope that 2017 would be a better year.  While scrolling through Twitter today, I came across this tweet that asked the question, “What did 2016 teach you?” and another about setting intentions for the next year. So I began to reflect.

One thing I learned in 2016 was that my  work is unbelievably stressful and this stress helps contribute  slowly destroying good health .  I’ve always known my work was stressful. I’ve been in my field for 20 years. No one who is a social worker is immune to stress or secondary trauma from the work they do.  But I thought that I had a good handle on work stress. After all, the job I’m in now is definitely less stressful that my work in the child welfare field for 16 years.  I don’t lay awake nights worrying about kids like I used to, and I practice meditation when I do start to get stressed.  But this year, I started having issues with high blood pressure when previously my blood pressure had been low.  It was not dangerous but my doctor wanted to keep an eye on it.   Interestingly, the only two times my blood pressure was low this year was when I was on leave from my job for several weeks. Nothing else was different, I just didn’t have that stress on top of everything else.   My intention for 2017 is to pay close attention to what my body is telling me and to continue to find ways to manage stress so I can be as healthy as I want to be.

Another thing I learned was raising a teenager is hard,  I kind of already knew this from the years leading up to now, but this year was a doozy.  Specifically, I had to learn that as my son’s principal put it, “you can not compete with sex, drugs and rock and roll.” Excuse me.  What the hell? I put a lot of work into this parenting thing… what do you mean I can’t compete?  Was all that work for nothing?  My oldest son has struggled for many years with his emotions and other things including school.  He is a bright kid, but one that traditional school has failed.  I come from a family where education equals success. This was ingrained into me as a child.  Never did I ever not consider getting at minimum a bachelor’s degree.   It was expected, it meant success. I’m having to acknowledge that success can be measured in many ways.  Following one’s dreams is the most important thing and probably the best measure of success, even if its not the traditional definition of it. For someone who has always strived to do things the “right way”, watching my child take a different path has been incredibly difficult for me.  A mother’s wish is to smooth the road for her child, but when her child goes off-roading in the mud and through the woods, its pretty difficult to do that. Letting go of some of the control and watching him be stuck in a rut has been very challenging.  I am still working on this and that is my intention for 2017, to let go and let my son dream his big dreams and have his big adventures even if I think (know) they are a mistake.

Yes, raising a teenager is hard, but saying goodbye is harder.  I’ve written a lot about this already. I said goodbye to my dad this year.  Through that process I had to contend with a whole slew of emotions I didn’t expect and I got to practice just being ok with them.  Its hard to sit with difficult emotions, especially in a society that wants us to be “ok” at all times.  You know the whole “life goes on” and all of that.  Earlier this year, in a course I took,  I learned about the many ways people sort of offload their pain.  I identified how I did, and challenged myself to try to change that.  I did make some inroads and dealing with my emotions around my dad’s death was ample opportunity to practice not offloading this pain onto different people and things.   I think I did a pretty good job, but my intention for 2017 is to continue to work on that.

I think that many of us felt in 2016 that the world can be depressing at times. A lot of my friends or family faced losses of relationships, loved ones or jobs this year.  We saw horrific images of children being hurt in the conflict in Syria. We lost many 80’s icons who were important in shaping the world I grew up in. Most important to me is that  we had a horrible hard fought election cycle where words like misogyny, groping, sexual assault, xenophobia, homophobia and racism were center stage.  Instead of being condemned, the candidate supporting those ideals catapulted to power through the electoral college victory.  I was stunned and disappointed.  It doesn’t matter to me that a “Republican” won.  I don’t agree with many Republicans on their policy views, and I think that’s ok. That is what America is about.  What stunned me is that the same country who has become thankfully more inclusive and tolerant of all people no matter who they love, what color they are or what religion they practice elected a president and vice president whose history of inclusiveness is abysmal. Their own party condemned their nominee’s stance on almost everything.  I think the biggest thing was that I didn’t understand.  That is my intention for 2017.  To seek to understand, to seek out people who think and believe differently than I and to begin to understand where they are coming from so that we may bridge some of those divides.

Early in 2016, I saw a internet meme that said something like “Exercise is the most underused anti-depressant, and food is the most overused one.”  Being in a place where I was experiencing a lot of anxiety and traditional meds were not helping, I thought I’d give it a try.   I committed myself to moving my body as many times a week as I could.  At first I just started walking, my go-to exercise. In a Forest Gump-esque way would just walk until I felt better each day. Not across the country or anything, but around the track for an hour or so.   I took up regular yoga class with people at work as well.  I also was challenged to participate in some group exercise classes. No lie, I really thought I might actually die during the first Body Pump class I took.  Almost one year later, I still do not have the “athletic and toned” physique of many of my class mates and I still really prefer to be in the back of the class, but I’m still going because exercise  really is good medicine. My intention for 2017 is to continue to make progress in this area and continue working  on keeping my body healthy. Bonus points will be awarded to 2017 if I get that athletic and toned body too!

I also learned that although I wish I could be perfect, I can not.  What I can do, is I can learn from my mistakes and practice self compassion. Reflecting on where my oldest son is with his life and what my role in that is, I have decided, that although I worked really hard and did the best that I could that I did make mistakes.  Mistakes I wish I could take back. I can’t do that and I have to own that, but I can choose to do things differently now with my youngest son and hope and pray that the outcome will be different. My intention for 2017 is to continue learning and growing in my parenting and relationships skills.

The biggest think 2016 taught me was once again, despite all of the challenges I faced this year; I am strong, I am worthy just as I am. I can face adversity, get knocked down and learn from the experience. Get up and try again.  I learned that even though its not comfortable to experience, that is what living is all about. I learned that critics don’t count.  A friend posted a meme about getting outside your comfort zone today.  It suggested that outside your comfort zone their might be unicorns and fun.  So my intention for 2017 is to chase the damn unicorns and fun by continuing to be outside my comfort zone.  Oh yeah and one more.  I’m going to continue to work on being a badass too, because why not?  Look out world.

Happy New Year!

 

 

On Christmas

Well, it’s official. I’ve decided to cancel Christmas next year. To be clear I’m not canceling the holiday for everyone. Celebrate all you want, but I’m so done!
When I was a little girl, we’d go skiing on Christmas vacation. I can still remember my brother flying down the ski hill yelling out “Merry Christmas.” Our stockings were hung on the door of our ski lodge bedroom. It’s why I knew there was no Santa at age 6. Saw my parents stuffing the stocking. What a buzz kill to the imagination 0f a 6 year old.
Somewhere along the way, I pushed for a “traditional” Christmas with extended family. We did that for awhile and I loved getting all dressed up in fancy clothing and putting on shows with the other kids that we had planned at Thanksgiving and performed at Christmas. We spent hours opening presents and the tree was half buried in them. One year, my brother decided we needed to go caroling. It was really, really cold that year but he was persistent. So the whole group of us went, begrudgingly. We dug out candles and poked them through Styrofoam cups, because after all we had to have lanterns. But it was so much fun, we went every year after.
The run up to Christmas was even special. My dad, brother and I recorded tapes of us singing Christmas carols while playing music on the piano and guitar. My mom took us several years in a row to a woman’s house in our town that made gingerbread houses and brought families in to decorate them. She had a massive table covered in bowls of every kind of candy you could think of to use on your house. It was heaven. Outside she had an enormous light display that was magical to look at.
Fast forward to motherhood many years later. I’ve tried to establish traditions at Christmas in my family, like hot cocoa and tree decorating. Hot cocoa and touring area home light shows while listening to Christmas music. Making cookies and fudge every year with the kids. Christmas Eve celebration with my family and Santa presents on Christmas Day.
Traditions, rituals and rites of passage have always been important to me. However, not everyone is the same– like Gary Chapman’s concept of people having different “Love Languages,” there are different kind of “celebrators” too. Turns out, my family and I need a translator not only for our different love languages, but also for our celebration styles. So unless such a translator exists, I’m skipping Christmas next year, because my efforts to put on a fun Christmas and have traditions played out year after year do not equal the appreciation of said efforts.
I’ve already told you, every.single.year. there is a fight while decorating the tree. Exactly the opposite of the perfect montages of family togetherness I’m envisioning.
Then, as the children have gotten older their fascination with holiday baking has drastically plummeted, so much less so that often if they cut out one or two cookies, it’s a success. But this year, even my Little Red Hen moral insistence that if they wanted to eat some of the cookies they had to help make them was met with resistance. Instead it was  me shoveling cut out cookies off cookie sheets for hours while the boys were holed up in one of their bedrooms “freestyling”. I didn’t have to worry too much about them eating the cookies with out helping since the dog ate all but 12 of them out of the refrigerator. She was probably trying to assist me in teaching them a lesson. Uh, yeah. I’ll go with that. She also ate a bunch of meat as well, so not sure where she was going with her lesson.
Then there was a snow storm the weekend the light tour was slated to happen, so my youngest son and I binged on Netflix instead.
Also, not to be ignored, this was the last Christmas before my oldest son turned 18 and the first Christmas with out my dad. Both of those things were weighing heavily on me along with all the other “normal” day to day stress of you know, like actually getting out of bed and going to work.
On the 23rd, I decided I needed the day off because I was completely not ready for the next day. Once again, I was stressing about how to make sure the kids had a good holiday meal and wrapping my gifts, which due to unexpected circumstances I had to purchase at the last minute. By the end of the day, I felt somewhat ready for the following day, emotionally and otherwise.
Very early the next day, things started on a downhill slide. Jaxon, impatient to open presents, informed me that he “hated my house” because he was upset about something, which was so trivial, I can’t remember it now. So that ended in a trip to his room, which I’m sure helped him love my house a whole lot more.
Next up was conflict with my oldest son about whether or but he would be finishing high school. He was solidly in the “I’m not going to do it camp,” while I was in the “Oh yes you are camp” So that was super fun.
Then Jaxon wanted to rehearse his expressions of gratitude with me so they “wouldn’t seem fake” while opening presents, particularly if he got something he didn’t like.
My family is solidly middle class. Despite my single parent status, I am extremely blessed to be financially relatively stable. But this year, finances were a little tighter at Christmas time. Each child, who both are fully old enough to understand differing economic realities was warned, in advance, that this Christmas from me they would be getting a specific formula of gifts which included something they want, something they need, something to wear and something to read. They were also told that the gifts were not going to be extravagant.
Yet, entitlement reared its ugly head while opening the gifts. Jaxon, evidently didn’t do enough rehearsing of his expressions of gratitude and was less than pleased with some of his gifts. JJ refused to even open his gifts that were in the shape of books, until I told him that they were actually books he had asked me to buy for him.
By this point, there likely was steam coming out of my ears. I was so very hurt and disappointed by their poor attitudes.
But, I had successfully managed to keep the food from being eaten by the dogs so far and none of it was burnt, so perhaps the day could be salvaged after all. The meal, was rather uneventful, other than the fact that JJ refused to join telling me, “it’s just another day mom, you don’t need me there”.
After my mom and brother left, we set out to do the light tour we hadn’t gotten around to doing yet. This year, I had decided not to go to our normal spot. That was getting boring. We needed something new. So I mapped out a new route based on suggestions in our local paper. Unbeknownst to me, this would be another “mom fail” in the eyes of my children because I had the audacity to bring them to the best house first. Yes, because with my mom superpowers I was supposed to magically know that this particular house should have been the grand finale.

Of course there was also the requisite fight about the music on the radio as well. I was going for the thematic approach and attempting to play Christmas music that was calm and soothing, you know like “Silent Night”, while my children preferred something that might marginally pass for “rap music” while they thrashed their bodies around in the car on the belt line, music blaring. They would turn it up, I would turn it down. I was solidly ok with the fact that I may have turned into the preacher from Footloose with my lack of tolerance for the music and dancing of these youth: my children. We eventually settled on some Australian group off of Sound Cloud that sounded like the Beatles. Thank God for small miracles.
We made it home after the light show debacle and I fell into bed, fuming at yet another holiday gone wrong, upset the efforts I made to carry on tradition had been in vain and angry that the kids hadn’t appreciated my efforts at making their holiday special. Truthfully, I’ve been pissed off about it for a couple of days now.  As I’ve stewed about it, I began to wonder;  did my mother feel this way?  Do I remember only the good parts of Christmas past, and not the ugly parts? Is that what my children will remember too?
Then I remembered that I don’t have to stick to tradition, there are no rules about that and even if there were, I’m a bad ass now so I can break them! I also remembered that I have control over my life and my choices but I have zero control over others. I can’t force them to love the traditions, but I can control how I spend my holiday and I certainly don’t have to spend it busting my butt to make things perfect. So next year, I’m cancelling Christmas and I’ll spend the day doing something I want, the start of something new! The possibilities are endless. Maybe I’ll invite my kids, maybe I won’t.   Hey, I’m already looking forward to next Christmas!

 

Sent from my iPhone

On Illness and Death

In September 2011, I was kind of just getting the hang of the single mom thing. My divorce was finally final.  I had switched back to my maiden name and joked I was the 2.0 version of my original self. Things were going well.  Woohoo!  Pain is behind me now I thought. Now I can enjoy my life.  Yes!

Then, I learned my dad had been admitted to the hospital. He told me he was there for heart and kidney failure and his organs were shutting down.  Fearing this could not be a good thing, panic set in.  I later learned he had a life threatening infection that kept getting worse.  How could this be?  Two days prior he said his leg was itchy and now it was a serious infection? Immediately, I freaked out.  I waited at the top of my driveway for my kids buses and shuffled them off to their dad’s so I could get to the hospital where my dad was 2 hours away.

He spent 3 confusing weeks in the hospital.  The infection, cellulitis, finally was able to be controlled after they started temporary dialysis.  His kidneys never really recovered after that.  We learned that due to his drinking and ensuing hypertension that the kidneys had already been suffering prior to this event.

One day, as I walked into the hospital, I heard two nurses talking about my dad outside his room talking about how confused he was.  I became confused.  “What are you talking about?” It turns out, he was expressing confusion about where he was and why he was there.  The day before he knew, but today he was disoriented and confused. The words Power of Attorney came up for the first time ever and somehow, it was decided that I would serve in this capacity.  The confusion seemed to wax and wane.  My dad eventually got to go home with caregivers checking on him.

Multiple doctors and specialist visits later they still didn’t have a great handle on what the memory loss was from and the kidneys never fully recovered. Preparations were made for him to start dialysis full time.  Kicking and screaming he agreed to begin dialysis close to where I lived so that I could go with him to medical appointments and help manage his care.  He had a beautiful condo on a lake, and that’s where he wanted to be. “All my life I dreamed of owning a place on a lake, and I worked so hard and now I have one” he would say.  Those words were crushing knowing that I was trying to make arrangements for him that would allow me to manage my children, my house, my career and him all at the same time. But these arrangements were taking him away, at least part time anyway from an opportunity he had worked for and dreamt about his whole life.  Crushing.

We entered a period of time where he stayed at my place during the week and then drove himself to his place during the weekend.  Whenever he got confused, he drove there too.  One day, he left my house for the hardware store and 12 hours later, after calls to neighbors and the state patrol, eventually was located at his place.    Another time he made 4 purchases at the same gas station over several hours because he couldn’t remember what he was doing. Yet another  time, he tried to guide us to his “secret breakfast location” only to realize he forgot where that was.  We could laugh off some things, and be frightened by some others.  But mostly it was just sad to see such a profound change in a formerly high functioning man.  He had been bright, funny, helpful.  A hard worker and a leader. He had been who I had gone to for so many things. He was there for me and was always willing to help.  Now the tables were turned and this was definitely a new experience. I was not prepared for this.

I began to be really afraid for his safety when he began leaving empty pans on my stove with the burners on.  His doctor felt he needed more socialization and reccomended he go to an assisted living facility.  Again, kicking and screaming, he and his dog Tati moved into a facility.

The burden of caregiving was somewhat lifted.  No longer would I have to sort meds, do laundry for, arrange transport for my dad to and from dialysis.   It was a relief in a lot of ways, but I felt guilty that I hadn’t been more able to manage him at home.   I still fielded numerous telephone calls from providers and accompanied him on doctors appointments and managed all his finances, a heavy load on top of all of my responsibilities for my “own” life.

Eventually, his car and boats and belongings were sold.  His condo on the lake was the last to go and the hardest to let go of.  It still makes me sad to think about how hard he worked for a goal he got so little time to enjoy.  But,those experiences forced me to examine my priorities and my dreams.  I wanted to travel, and I wasn’t going to wait for a someday that might not happen to do the things I wanted to do.  At least I had learned this much from these experiences.  That and a whole lot of medical and financial terms.

My dad lived in the assisted living facility for just under three years.  The winter before he left, he started routinely having to go to the hospital from uncontrolled bleeding from his fistula, the dialysis port. Seven ER ambulance trips, multiple blood spurting everywhere episodes later, he eventually had surgery on the port.  Add in hospitalizations for pneumonia and AFib episodes and I was beginning to know the staff at St. Mary’s ER too well for my liking.  My dad was starting to experience delusions too. I worried that soon things would get worse in terms of his mentation. I dreaded when he wouldn’t know who we were anymore.

Last summer, he was hospitalized for breathing issues when it was determined he had fluid compressing his lungs.  It was during this hospitalization that he was diagnosed with end stage liver failure. 6-12 months life expectancy the doctor said as I burst out crying and had to leave the room.  Part of my dad was already gone and had been for a while but this was too much to handle.  “How am I going to handle this? I can’t do this!” I thought as I sat in the tranquility garden on the hospital grounds in a rocking chair listening to a waterfall.  It was in this garden that I remembered an old radio interview  I heard where someone was recounting a story about being diagnosed with an incurable disease and remarked that their prognosis was the same as every one else’s: they were going to live until they died. The lessons I had just learned on loss and vulnerability earlier in the year were given to me at the exact right time.  How was I going to do this??I had my answer. I was going to take things one day at a time and make the most of the time I had left with my dad.

I decided, against some important people’s advice, (including my mother’s) that I would move my dad back home with me.  It would be a lot of work, but I would hire help.  Besides, I’d already moved his cherished dog with me as he could no longer care for her.  I kept thinking, if I was going to die, I’d want to spend my last days with the people and things I love around me and that was the deciding factor for me.  The sacrifice was worth it.  Besides, with the new diagnosis of liver failure, came a med adjustment and my dads mental state vastly improved.  No more delusions and his memory was much improved.  Perhaps his ailment was not a dementia  related issue after all, but rather undetected liver failure all along.

Then came the tough, tough, conversations.  I had to use all my good social work skills  to ask questions associated with the end of someone’s life. From the practical to the thought provoking, we discussed them all.  When asked what else he wanted to accomplish in his life he replied he had done everything he wanted and only wished to spend more time doing fun stuff and going fun places with his grandsons.

So, off to California we went.  The four of us, to visit my brother for several days.  I finagled an airport trip with my two kids, my dad, his wheel chair, his walker, his CPAP machine, his portable oxygen concentrator and all of our luggage, with no issues!  Talk about empowering the independent woman! Yes! I am woman, hear me roar!

The trip was everything we all hoped it would be.  It’s safe to say I think we all wanted to run away to the San Francisco Bay Area.  Actually, I still do.

Shortly after moving in and settling into a routine of caregivers being in the home my dad’s health got even worse. Palliative care enrolled and his doctors reccomended he stop dialysis, yet he stubbornly persisted. “I need to live long enough to see these boys grow up” he would say referring to my children. Knowing that he would not broke my heart. They adored him and the feeling was very mutual.

Eventually he ended up back in the hospital again and it was time to make the really tough decision along with the doctors. He would enter hospice and the dialysis would stop. He body could no longer tolerate it even though his spirit wanted to hang on. If stubbornness and determination were all it took, he’d still be hanging on.

I was devastated to put it mildly, but relieved at the same time. It’s funny how you can have contradictory feeling simultaneously.  I used to call those double dip feelings when I was working with little kids or more than one “flavor” of feelings at a time.  I’m sure I had a lot more than double dip feelings that day.

My dad returned home with hospice care.  Everyone came to say their good byes.  We worked feverishly to finish a memory book with my dad recounting his life story.  I learned stories I hadn’t heard before, including some I had to check out the veracity of.  My dad seemed motivated to finish the book, and I remember dreading the end because there was nothing left to work on or say at that point.  JJ avoided the whole situation. It was just too painful for him. Jaxon spent as much time with his grandpa as possible.

We had the chance to say our goodbyes to each other and I was able to tell him what he meant to me and he was able to talk about his hopes and dreams for his children and grandchildren.  It was really beautiful and poignant and sad and depressing all at the same time.  Lots of feeling flavors in those conversations.

I began to steel myself for his last breath as he slipped quietly into unconsciousness.  I would try to imagine what that would be like. Nope, nope couldn’t do it!  Didn’t want to do it.  Couldn’t face that moment.  I tried to prepare my kids too.  A particularly devastating moment was when Jaxon couldn’t get my dad to wake up to talk to him.  “But I want to talk to him!” He exclaimed.  By a small miracle and on account of Jaxon’s  own stubbornness and determination, my dad became alert enough to tell Jaxon he loved him.

In the end, my dad passed away in the night with only the caregiver in the room while the rest of us slept.  When she woke me to tell me, the first thing I noticed was the look of absolute peace on my dad’s  face.  After five years of struggle though illness, he finally looked peaceful.  It was such a stark contrast to how sick he had looked and how accustomed to that I had become.  Again, I was flooded with feelings.

I was once again getting practice dealing with and sitting with the pain of difficult emotions even though I didn’t ask for said practice.  Damn, these growing opportunities suck sometimes! Actually allowing yourself to feel difficult emotions is not an easy feat! But I practiced my new skills of self compassion and tolerating difficult emotions while I rode the grief tsunami.  That’s a real thing actually,  I googled it to find help when that’s the only way I could describe how I felt.  The toughest part was remembering all the times before my dad got sick and what a wonderful dad and grandpa he had been. My new skills and my support system anchored me as I worked through the sea of grief.

I’m not sure my ride on the tsunami is over yet, but life is slowly returning to “normal” whatever that means. Until the next hard lesson that is…

On Parenting Alone

Solo parenting my two boys has felt both fantastic and futile at times.  Sometimes it feels great to be the sole decision maker in the house, I mean I get to make ALL the rules and don’t have to compromise with anyone else.

But that’s just the thing, there is no one else.  I’m it and that’s exhausting.  When I don’t want to get out of bed to take them to school, I have to.  When they are sick, I’m off work because there is no one else.  No one else to take them to practice, or to work, or to spend time with friends.  No one to help with homework, (and math and I do not get along).  The list goes on and on.  I look forward to Fridays every week because I get to be “off duty” for a bit on the weekend when my ex has the kids. It’s probably why I am still sane.

Add ALL the household chores and management on top of that. Laundry, dishes, outside work, cleaning, bills and repairs.  Now in this category I’m extremely lucky to have enough money to hire out some of these jobs.  I know I am so lucky in that regard because other single parents don’t have that luxury, so I do not take that for granted. Since Jaxon has outgrown the phase of preferring to wear mismatched socks, I am in the market for a sock matcher!

Then there’s my “regular” job.  40 hours a week plus commute time sure cuts into the time I’m available to meet my kids needs. Instead I spend my days making sure other people’s needs are met.  Not that I don’t like that part of it, but sometimes, really most of the time, I feel like I’m going home to my family already used up.  By the time I get home, I have already fixed, planned, listened, arranged and managed enough for the day.  I don’t want to watch the stupid YouTube videos of a guy allegedly mailing himself to California in a box, or the guys doing tricks with the bowling balls.  I don’t want guess that Melvin Gordon has the second best record this year for his position in the NFL ( behind Ezekial Elliott- in case you were wondering).  I want to zone out, to rest. But I don’t, because if I’m not listening than who will?  These things are important to my 11 year old which makes them a priority for me.  Just what I need is to add on to my list of priorities!  I do have to say that learning about football IS higher on the priority list than matching socks.

My 17 year old tries to actively avoid talking to me or being in my general presence, so I do get a reprieve there, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing. He does suddenly figure out however how to use the little buttons on his phone to text me when he needs a ride, money or food.

Anyway, all of this responsibility can leave me feeling overwhelmed at times.  I used to pursue being the “perfect” or “best” mom.  Now I settle for aspiring to be good enough. There are simply not enough hours in the day to accomplish everything well.  So I cut corners. I use paper plates to lessen dishes. I sometimes (most of the time) let the laundry sit in baskets. I cook quick easy meals,  I let the lawn and the weeds grow too long.  I only get the mail when the mailbox starts to overflow.

What I don’t like to cut corners on is trying to give my kids a childhood full of opportunities and traditions. That’s really important to me, but again, I only have enough energy and patience for some things.  At Christmas we go on a tour of local lights, make cookies and put our own tree up and sip hot chocolate while listening to Christmas music.  Although it sounds really lovely, don’t be fooled into thinking that someone doesn’t get mad at someone else while decorating the tree every.single.year.  I’m crossing my fingers my kids remember the hot chocolate and Christmas carols and not the chaos, but who knows?

I draw the line at putting up my own Christmas lights outside though. Number one, it’s too cold for that!  Although global warming is putting the kabosh on that excuse.  My number two excuse is time.  I do not have time for that.  I don’t.

But, tomorrow on my shopping list is one of those fancy light things you get at Walgreens. I’m going to make the time and put it up. Unless of course it’s too complicated and/or takes too long.   Then I’ll probably just dissolve into a temper tantrum or tears. Why?  Because that’s what happens when you are over worked and over tired and all the other over things. Why am I putting them up?  Because the other night, I was driving with Jaxon and he was having me turn this way and that way too check out the lights on houses around town.  He was really into it!  I looked over at him and said “Oh my gosh Jaxon, can you always stay this age?”  It was just so nice to see him be so excited by the lights.   I will spare you the exact quote of his response, but basically in his unfiltered 11 year old way he let me know that he had no intention of staying this age and had in fact started entering puberty.  So that’s why I’m going to get the lights, because in the middle of that moment, I realized that pretty soon there won’t be more moments like that.  Pretty soon he won’t want me to watch the YouTube videos, and he will “forget” how to talk to me.  So then, when I come home from work all used up and exhausted already, I will be able to rest.  I will have peace and quiet.  This too shall pass.

This exhaustion from doing the hardest job on earth alone will end someday and I will transition into being alone and being able to do what I want.  So for now,  I will find the energy from somewhere, (if anyone has a lead on where, let me know) to put up the Christmas light thing. I’m  really hoping it’s only one thing, not multiple things! Because right now simply going to Walgreens to buy the dumb thing seems like an enormous task. Because,  it’s Friday and I haven’t slept more than 8 hours in the last two days.  I will find that energy and make it work the best I can, because suprising Jaxon is worth it. Because, if I don’t do it who else will?

On Dating and moving on

I had many conflicting feelings about dating after my divorce.  They ranged from no way in hell would I ever date or get married again to feeling the intense need to get married again, have another baby and have the chance at a “happy” life.

So I reluctantly entered the world of online dating.  But I convinced myself I would be wiser this time around and bolt at the first red flag, something I definitely didn’t do with my former husband when we were dating.  After all ignoring those was what got me into this mess in the first damn place.

I was also determined that I wasn’t going to endure another heartbreak because, let’s face it, those suck.

So began my dating adventures.  On my very first date, I was a complete nervous wreck.  The  arguement in my head was really loud.  “Don’t go, you are clearly going to be rejected” vs.  “it would be impolite not to show up.” So as you can see I was totally ready for this! The guy spent the entire time bitterly talking about his relationship that had failed in 1997.  This was in 2011.  So needless to say, big red flags there.

Next I tried a dating site reccomended by a cousin of mine.  When they say, plenty of fish, they mean it.  There was the tea partier who spent most of our date yelling at me about how government was a cancer on society, right after I told him I worked for the local government.  I spent the better part of that date, trying to figure out how to graciously end it.  I eventually opted for standing up, announcing I had to go feed my dogs and then running out of the restaurant.  Ok.  So not gracious, but it is what it is.

There were dates that went well, only to never hear from them again. There were people who, (shockingly I know), rejected me.  But I survived. I also met men that I was not interested in romantically and had a chance to have those difficult conversations.  Growing experiences, they are called, but it felt more like torture.   I wish  I could say each experience got easier, but the anxiety around the whole experience was overwhelming.  I mean, why did this have to be so much work?  Oh yeah, growth.

One year, right before Christmas, two newly divorced and dating friends and I were lamenting the fact that the three of us, single well educated women were having no luck with online dating. We either had interest from no one or interest from people wanting to send naked pictures of themselves?  What about our profiles screamed that we welcomed this type of attention? Weren’t there any normal well educated guys out there?  Was our education intimidating to men? We decided to conduct a “social experiment.”  We created the profile of a woman who was employed at Hooters and had “some high school” education.  The profile barely made sense because of poor grammar and misspelled words and there was no profile picture.  We were incredulous at the responses from “fish” of all types. It was hysterical and very sad all at once.  After that sad commentary on online dating, I decided to forgo the online dating world for a while.

I kept thinking of reason after reason to continue my ban on online dating.  Good excuses and bad ones.  Growing in some ways, while in others wrapping my heart in barbed wire as one friend put it.

I just knew I couldn’t survive another loss or failure. Besides, I was learning to be ok on my own and growing in my confidence and experience every day.

Last January though, I started an online course about vulnerability and shame.  Talk about growth and learning.  I had no idea how much control shame had over my life or how the absence of willing to be vulnerable was holding me back from the life I really wanted. It finally occurred to me at the age of 42 that at one point every relationship ends.  That no matter whether I like it or not, goodbyes have to be said and loss is a natural part of life. You can not abstain from vulnerability and loss. My job was not to worry about success and or failure or loss or betrayal, but to enjoy the people in my life for the time they were in my life.  Tall order for a “what if” worrier.

I also read a quote that was something along the lines of “if you want to be a badass, show your heart to everyone”

For the first time in my life, instead of being a “good girl” being a badass seemed appealing to me.  So that’s part of what I’m doing here- showing my heart to everyone.  First step in my bad girl adventure. Well, baby steps, you know!

I did re-enter the online dating world and sadly, still have had no luck finding “the one” but that’s ok, because I can still practice being vulnerable ( how exciting?!?!) and at the very least may  have some new material for my blog.

Until next time.

On Rebuilding

After the initial implosion, life was a flurry of decisions and rebuilding.   I moved out and moved on.  I wish I could say in linear fashion.  I spent the next year adjusting to the new normal of my life, and helping my kids adjust.  I took several steps forward and spent months looking inward.  I took classes, I met new people including other divorcees. Unfortunately, I also made a reconciliation attempt with my now ex.  That ended badly.  Very badly.  I’d hoped for a nice collaborative divorce and to part as friends, but it was more like scenes from the movie War of the Roses.  The ensuing divorce was costly and emotionally draining. There were no winners.  Some of my worst fears came true, but I survived.

In fact, I did more than survive, I began to thrive.  After a lifetime of struggle with anxiety and worry, I began to learn about living in the moment and taking risks.  I began to recognize the “me” I was pre- relationship and kids, and I began to like myself again.  I realized that being a mother and a wife and a professional had consumed me.  I had forgotten who I was as a person in the (futile) pursuit of perfection in those other areas.  I began to realize that the people around me weren’t in control of me and that I didn’t have to let their negative opinions of me define me. I also realized I was in control of my own happiness and that it was a choice.

I tried new things and made new friends, both amazing feats considering my raging anxiety issues.  I even made a foray into online dating… Although my co-workers had to threaten to transport me to the date, (which I insisted be called a “meeting”) push me out of the vehicle, and peel off.  That scenario turned out not to be necessary,  but I still needed a pep talk on the way to many of the first dates.  Turns out I really hate rejection, or the possibility of it at least.  More on the dates in future blogs, I’ve got some great material there to write about.

One of silver linings of the divorce that I was initially afraid of was time away from my kids.  Turns out, that’s a wonderful thing! (in small doses of course)  Who knew? I was able to cultivate friendships that I hadn’t had the time in the past to give attention to.   I met and began hanging out with other single moms who have become some of my best friends and adventures in single parenting compadres.

I also learned to enjoy time with my kids instead of just doing the heavy lifting of discipline, shuttling, bathing, dressing, etc and so on, I started to spend more time having fun.  I  decided to take my kids camping at a place I had camped as a kid.  I can not describe the empowerment I felt setting up camp and starting a fire by myself. I can also not describe the joy I felt when my sons declared they wanted to stay forever.  The only damper on the trip was when I required the help of a man to pull up one of the stakes while taking down camp. Kind of took the wind out of my “independent woman” sails. Oh, and the fighting between the kids in the car.  That was a definite buzz kill. For real.

Collectively all these experiences formed the beginning of a new life for me and my family.  It’s not over yet, but what an adventure this chapter has been so far!

On Mothering boys

When I was growing up, I couldn’t wait to be a mom.  But, I only  really wanted girls.  Girls that liked to play dress up and tea party and read and create. I was going to dress them in cute dresses and pigtails. Not exactly sure why since I’m not overly a girly girl.  They would be kind, thoughtful and obedient like me. We’d have fun watching theater together, (especially musicals), shopping for prom dresses and making their wedding plans.   It was gonna be great!

Fast forward to my first ultrasound.  It was a boy they said. I held on to glimmer of hope.  Sometimes these things are wrong, I told myself.  Due to complications I had many more ultrasounds. Each time I’d ask hopefully, “Is it still a boy?”  I think they might have thought I was a little crazy. Or a lot crazy. Who knows?

My oldest son was not breathing when he was born.  He was blue and had one eye open.  My first thought was I was going to be in the National Inquirer as I’d obviously just given birth to an alien! My second thought was about my son’s survival as he was whisked away and worked on.

After 5 days in the NICU I got to take him home.  It was then that I began to learn about being a mother to a boy.  My boy.

As he grew, I learned he did not know what sitting still meant, despite my best efforts to teach him. He was in constant motion. He’s 17 now and constantly in his room.  Now, he’s finally mastered the art of sitting still.

He kept moving so much that bedtimes were the ultimate struggle. I would be sitting in the living room nodding off, trying to wait him out. During these nights he would practice writing his Js in permanent red marker on the white walls,  steal his older sisters nail polish and “paint” things among many other misadventures.  Come to think of it, he’s been practicing sneaking around since a pretty young age.  Maybe that’s why he’s so good at it now? One particular occasion when he was about 4, I heard the horrible sound of glass breaking coming from his room.  After I ran in, I discovered that he was “just playing baseball” with a snow-globe.  Oh. Only that.  Ok? Glass was everywhere!  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t seriously consider restraining him to the bed after that.  (Don’t worry, I didn’t actually do it).

A few years later, I learned that I was pregnant again. A daughter I thought! Surely this time.  I mean-after all surely I deserved a kid with my interests and talents since my son and his older half sisters were all so much like their father. I had the most awesome name picked out.  Couldn’t wait!  It was my turn!  It was not to be…  Another boy. Oh boy!  This time, I accepted this news with less denial.  I was already mothering one boy, why not add another to the mix.

Jaxon was born under the best of circumstances.  And I had learned a thing or two about managing busy-ness from my experience with JJ.  So this would be easier, I thought. In those days, I was still under the wrong-headed notion that I could and should “control” my children.  They however were not under that same delusion.  These two boys, were not about to let anyone be the boss of them!

This came as quite a rude awakening to their rule following, never wanting to be in trouble, goodie-two-shoes mother.  They wanted to break the rules.  All of them.  It was exhausting.  It still is on some days.

At least it’s provided some entertainment for my friends.  I mean they love hearing how JJ colored on the ceiling fan, then when he realized it wouldn’t come off easily, tried to convince me the fan looked better with a “touch of green.” Or when Jaxon removed a loose tooth by shooting it out with a nerf gun.  Sure it was funny to them! They weren’t living with inmates who were running the  asylum.

One thing about me.  I like to be in control.  What was I going to do about this behavior?  I mean, they must must be taught to follow the rules! A therapist suggested I use a Jedi mind trick.  Since I’ve fallen asleep during every Star Wars movie I’ve ever attempted to watch, that suggestion was met with a blank stare.  I still don’t exactly know what that means. “Go with the flow” he said.  What?  How does one do that?

Turns out, that’s what these boys, my boys, are here to teach me about, how to not be in control. And how sometimes, that’s ok. And of course, to provide me with plenty of funny stories to share.  That is my job, as the mom of my boys, to learn as much from them, as I hope (God help us) that they will learn from me.

 

The beginning

It started almost 7 years ago on Dec 21, 2009.  Upset after taking my kids and step-daughter to see the holiday lights and have hot chocolate alone, I confronted my husband as to why he had skipped out on this family tradition.  Sitting at the computer desk he looked at me and said “I hate you and I don’t want to be around you,  I’m just trying to get through the holidays and then we will figure out what’s next.”  Two weeks later I was siting in a therapist’s office throwing up into her waste paper basket after I just said the words, “We are not separating, we are getting a divorce.” I walked out of that appointment, did what I always did and called my friends crying with the news.  I went home and crawled into bed and mourned the loss of my childhood dream,  a happy family with rich traditions and family togetherness.  I wept for the firsts I would be absent for as a “part-time” parent.  I was afraid of what was ahead.  Who would love me? Would I remarry? Would I go broke?  Where would I live? I was broken hearted for the pain I was sure my children would endure and the weight of that guilt was crushing.  I had failed them as their mother.  I had failed at giving them a happy family.  As my son Jaxon tells it, “Mom cried for three days in her room.”  I think his little 4 year old self remembers that incorrectly, but that’s neither here nor there.  Except that I’m always right… In any case, there WAS a lot of crying.

Little did I know on that painful day what a turning point it would be for me.  7 years later I often say it was the absolute best decision of my life.  My journey as a single mother has not been without its ups and downs (sometimes a lot more downs than ups) but it has caused me to grow in ways I never thought possible.

I’ve  shared parts of my journey on Facebook over the years and various people have encouraged me to start a blog or write a book (did they miss that I am a single mom with no time?!?!) documenting the funny stories that I tell.  This blog will do that but will also share the not so funny moments of this journey, hard parts and all.  It will be a drama/comedy. Depending on the day.  Who am I kidding? Depending on the moment.

Since I’m up early, have the day off from both work and parenting AND got a good nights sleep (a trifecta that is very rare) I decided to create the blog.  I’ll call it a “Black Friday Miracle” because it sure beats waiting in long shopping lines.

I hope you enjoy!