Yes, it has been months since I have written on my blog. Yes, I know I am a terrible Blogger. I used to be better, but these days I just have to wait until the inspiration to write hits me. Sorry for the delay, folks, but thanks for hanging in there with me (that is, if you are still here at all).
The WORST DAY OF MY LIFE occurred on February 1, 2017. It started off like most days. I sent my two oldest children off to school and my youngest and I headed to the podiatrist to have my foot wound declared healed. I was excited because my husband and I were going on a 7-day cruise to the Caribbean in 11 days. My parents were going to take care of our kids while we were on vacation. It would be the first time I had ever been away from my children for an extended period of time.
I was sitting there with my 5-year old, Jordan, talking about dinosaurs and other things that little boys are interested in at that age when I got the call from my father that would change the rest of my life.
My father found my mother, lying in the floor next to her bed. He called 911. She wasn't breathing. As I was talking to him on the phone, the paramedics came in and started to work on her. I told the receptionist at my doctor's office that I had a family emergency and I had to leave. As my son and I headed for the elevator, he asked me why we had to leave. I told him Grandma was sick and he needed to pray for her to get well. As I neared the exit of the hospital, I realized that I was already at the hospital they would most likely bring my Mother to. As I neared the exit doors, I called my father to ask what hospital they were taking my mother to. He simply responded, "She's gone."
That was it. That began the worst day, the worst week, the worst month, the worst year (and counting) of my life.
I fell to the floor crying out, "No! No! No! No!" My poor little boy was stunned and confused. There were several ladies of the hospital staff that came to our aid. They sat Jordan down on a bench and just started making conversation with him to keep him distracted. I think they thought at first that I had fallen and needed assistance. They quickly realized that it was emotional distress that had me lying on the floor. They called the hospital Chaplain to come to my aid. I asked for them to have the valet bring my car to the front (No, it isn't a posh hospital. They are adding on to the hospital and it is obstructing some of the parking, so they had a valet service to park cars during construction.). They said I was too emotional and it wouldn't be safe to drive at the time.
I called my husband at work and told him to come and get us. I sat in the Chaplain's office while my precious son played with the Hospital's therapy dog. I waited for my husband to arrive. I was numb. Everything seemed surreal.
My husband arrived and he drove my son home. I was able to drive my car home. Many of my family members had arrived at my house and were outside or in the garage with my Father. They were waiting on the coroner.
I knew I had to see her to make her death real. I went into the house and stood outside her bedroom door trying to build up the courage to open it. It took a couple of minutes. I opened the door and there was my Mother, on the floor next to her bed. She was laying on her side in her nightgown. She still had EKG leads on her from the paramedics. I couldn't see her face because of the way she was positioned, but that was probably for the best. I don't think I could have withstood seeing her lifeless face. Instead, I looked at her feet. I knew my Mother's feet so well. She always walked around the house without shoes. That was all I needed to see. I went outside, sat on the concrete driveway, and cried.
PCOS Awareness
Thursday, March 22, 2018
Thursday, September 21, 2017
LIFE HAPPENS
It's been a very long time since I've written on this blog. I'm sure the few followers I had have bailed on me, and that's okay. I understand. What's the point in following a blog if the blogger never posts anything? So many things have happened this year and my life has been absolutely chaotic. This will probably be a long post, so if you are still following my blog, please bear with me. I will probably continue the story in multiple posts, so please stay tuned. It'll be interesting.
I have 3 children. They are 5-, 6-, and 7-years old. I got them as Foster Children in August 2012. I adopted them in July 2014. Since they came into my home, I've been pretty busy. I didn't really have much time for myself. I really didn't have time for things like writing on my blog. I was doing well if I was able to eat a meal without being interrupted 5 times by requests from my children. My youngest child, Jordan, started Kindergarten in August. I was excited by the prospect of having some time to myself to do things I enjoy (like writing on my blog), but that hasn't really panned out like I'd hoped. As a matter of fact, I'm probably going to have to save this as a draft in about 20 minutes to take my father to physical therapy (I'll explain that in another post - stay tuned).
This year did not start in the way I had hoped. I think my troubles really began on December 23, 2016. Allow me to explain....
I have Type II Diabetes. I have a little bit of neuropathy in my feet. I tend to build up calluses on my left foot, especially. I don't worry about it much until I start feeling uncomfortable when I walk. I knew that one of the calluses on my left food would need to be handled soon, but I was so busy getting ready for Christmas that I neglected to take the time to handle the situation. That error would be to my detriment.
On the evening of December 23rd, I went to remove my socks at bedtime and I realized that my sock had a damp spot on it. I examined my foot and noticed that a blister had formed underneath a callus on my left foot, and that blister had busted open. I put a band aid on it and went to bed.
On Christmas Eve, I was getting ready to make cookies with my kids for Santa. I went to take off my sneakers and put on some house slippers. I noticed that the wound on my foot was still leaking. I couldn't tell what was happening underneath the callus, so I decided to shave it off. As I did that, I realized that the wound underneath the callus was more extensive than I thought. I decided to go to the ER and have it looked at. I know what happens to diabetics who don't take care of their feet. They end up losing toes, feet, and sometimes legs. I didn't want to risk that happening.
After going to the ER, the doctor told me to put dry gauze on it, stay off my feet (easier said than done when you have 3 young children), and follow-up with my regular doctor. A week later, the wound was healing well, except for one dime-sized spot where the callus was. So, basically I had a small open wound on the bottom of my foot. I followed up with my regular doctor and she sent me to a podiatrist at a wound care center. My podiatrist cleaned up the wound, and gave me care instructions of applying betodine solution, changing my bandage daily, not getting the wound wet, and staying off my feet as much as possible. I had to come back for weekly follow ups for the next 4-6 weeks.
My poor husband was an absolute Saint during this time. He was working, handling dinner and baths for the kids, helping with laundry, doing dishes, caring for the pets, taking out the trash, and doing anything else that needed to be handled while I sat on the sofa with my foot propped up.
My husband and I had booked a romantic vacation on a cruise to the Caribbean scheduled to depart on February 12th. We were super excited. My parents had graciously agreed to stay at our home and take care of the children and pets while we went on vacation. I was carefully following the doctor's instructions so my wound would be healed before our vacation.
I am a Christian. My husband is a Christian. We attend church every Sunday. We attend the first service, and serve in the Children's Elementary Ministry as Small Group Leaders during the second service. My parents went attended the second service every Sunday. My Mom was Baptized as a teenager, but my Dad had never committed his life to Jesus. Our church, Southeast Christian Church, has a Baptism weekend every January. At this time, they invite anyone who has been thinking about getting Baptized, but were too afraid to do it, to come to the altar to be Baptized on the spot. It's a beautiful experience. After service that day, my father came to me and said he wanted to be Baptized, but he wanted me to do it. I had been praying for this moment for about 10 years. I was so thankful he had finally made this decision.
I setup a Facebook event to invite all of our friends and family to witness my Dad's Baptism on February 4, 2017. My whole family was excited and many had confirmed they were coming to service to witness the Baptism.
And then Life Happens....
You never know when the Worst Day of Your Life is going to happen. It just happens. It's like a sledgehammer in the face, a punch in the gut, and someone stabbing you in the heart at the same time.
February 1, 2017 is the absolute WORST DAY OF MY LIFE. The worst thing that has happened to me in my 42 years of living happened on that day.
My day started off pretty average. I had a follow-up appointment with my podiatrist at the wound care center. The wound on my foot was completely healed and I was certain he was going to clear me to resume life as normal. I was sitting in the waiting room with my 5-year old waiting for them to call me back to the exam room to see the doctor. My phone rang. It was my Dad. This isn't an usual occurrence. He typically calls at least once a day.
I answer the phone and he very casually asks what I'm doing. I inform him that I'm sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's office. He says, "Never mind. You're busy. Somethings wrong with Mom, but I'll just call Wendy (my sister)." Then he hangs up. Seriously? He didn't want to inconvenience because I was at the doctor's office, but casually says something's wrong with my Mom?
Well, you can't just say, "Something's wrong with Mom." and hang up. That's totally not cool. I wait about one minute and then I call him back. I ask, "What's wrong with Mom?"
He says, "Something's seriously wrong with Mom." He still hasn't given me anything to go on here, but I'm definitely worried.
I say, "Well, what's wrong with her? Is she sick? What are her symptoms?"
His voice starts to break, and he says, "She's on the floor in the bedroom. And I don't think she's breathing!"
I yell, "Well, did you call 911?"
He replies, "Yes." At that moment I hear the EMTs come in and start asking him questions. I hang up the phone. I'm trying not to panic. I grab my son and walk to the check-in window and tell them I have to leave due to a family emergency and I will call and reschedule. My son is asking why we have to leave. I tell him Grandma is sick and we should pray for her to be okay.
I'm heading towards the exit when I realize that I'm already at the hospital she will most likely be transported to. I'm almost at the exit near the information desk. I call my Dad as I'm walking and ask him what hospital they are taking her to.
He replies, "She's gone!"
This is that moment. The moment you are never prepared for. The moment that you don't know how you will handle until it happens. The WORST DAY OF MY LIFE.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Debra
In 2001, I started a new job at a bank. I started off working as a receptionist at one of the branches. After a couple of months, they moved me to the corporate office. I soon after became the Administrative Assistant to the Corporate Secretary and an HR Associate. I really enjoyed my job, but it was difficult at times. The CEO was a tyrant and the President was just downright evil. Both of these factors made my job more difficult than it needed to be, particularly being in the HR Department. The one redeeming quality of my job was the people I worked with (aside from the jerks at the top of the food chain). I met some wonderful friends there, some of whom I still remain friendly with. I was laid-off from the bank in 2003. I was ready to go and had already been updating my resume to begin looking for a new job, so the layoff was divine intervention.
One of the people I met during my employment at the bank was a sweet, shy, lady named Debra. Initially, she was a friend of my friend, Jackie. Jackie started working at the bank about a week after I did. She was such a friendly, free-spirited person. Jackie is the type of person who has never met a stranger. She is friendly and funny. I'm initially a little shy when I first meet people, but Jackie makes it impossible not to like her. Jackie and I started going out to lunch pretty regularly. Debra's office was pretty close to Jackie's desk, so before long, Jackie swooped in and recruited this terribly shy lady, Debra, to go to lunch with us.
After my employment at the bank ended, I still continued to meet up with Debra and Jackie for an occasional lunch. Jackie moved out to the country and started a new job. We lost contact, but Debra and I remained friends.
I started working out in the same area of town again, so Debra and I would meet for lunch about once a week. We became closer and closer. It wasn't long before Debra was one of my best friends. We would go to the movies, go shopping, have lunch, and just enjoy spending time with one another.
I learned more and more about Debra and the more I learned, the more my heart ached for her. Both of Debra's parents had passed away when she was in her early twenties. She had one brother who lived all the away across the country in Washington State. She didn't really have any other close relatives that she could rely on.
Eventually, Debra revealed to me that she suffered from Bi-Polar Disorder, Depression, and Crohn's Disease. She spent quite a bit of time in and out of the hospital with issues related to her Crohn's Disease. She also spent some time in psychiatric care related to her Bi-Polar Disorder and Depression. No matter what she was going through, I tried to stick by her side.
Sometimes, Debra would make sticking by her side very difficult. If she was struggling, she would push people away. Sometimes, she would take a single comment out of context during a conversation and get angry. She wouldn't talk to me anymore. It would take me weeks of phone calls and emails to finally get her to talk about what was bothering her. Eventually, she would come back around and everything would be fine.
On one particular occasion, Debra and I were having lunch. At the time, my father was deep in the grips of depression related to his cancer treatments. He had stopped taking his anti-depressants and was really making life difficult for my family at the time. I said to Debra, "My Dad is depressed and just wants to sit around feeling sorry for himself instead of getting the help he needs." From this simple statement related to my father, she inferred that I thought all depressed people sat around and felt sorry for themselves. She got very quiet during lunch and then wouldn't talk to me for two weeks.
Debra and I started talking about church one day. She was telling me that she had started attending a Bible study group at her church. I was also doing a small group Bible study at my home with a few friends from church. We had just finished doing a really great study called "Experiencing God." I sent an email to Debra that said something like, "I know you said you were going to a Bible Study group. Your group should try the Experiencing God study. It's awesome!"
From that simple statement, she inferred that I didn't truly believe she was going to Bible study because I prefaced the statement with "I know you said..." She actually stopped talking to me for over a year based on this simple statement. I kept calling her and leaving voicemails. I sent emails. I sent cards through the mail. I did everything I could to restore her trust and regain her friendship. Sometimes it was hard. I wondered if it was worth the time and trouble. I felt that God was telling me to stick by her, no matter what. I was so heartbroken during that time that I started seeing a therapist to deal with the pain of losing her friendship.
She finally came back around and we rekindled our friendship. I loved her. She was kind and generous.
She was no only battling Crohn's Disease, but she was also battling mental illness and depression. She always wore long-sleeved shirts, no matter what the weather. I never commented on it, but I had suspicions that she was a cutter. My suspicions were confirmed one day while we were at the movies. She was looking through her purse for her wallet and her sleeve got pushed up on her arm. On her forearm, there were probably 20 fresh cuts. I quietly talked to her about it. I told her if she was ever struggling, she could always call me, no matter what. I didn't care if it was 3 am, she could call me. She told me she was going to stop doing it.
On August 30, 2012, my life changed drastically. I became a Foster Mom to 3 children, ages 8 months, 19 months, and almost 3. To say my life was chaotic from that point forward would be the understatement of the century. For the next 6 months, I was constantly sick from the cooties the kids brought home from daycare. I didn't have time for friends. I barely had time to shower, so I definitely wasn't making plans with my friends. I still spoke to Debra on the phone, but I wasn't able to spend time with her.
Debra had started pulling away from me again before I got the kids. It got even worse after I got the kids. We would have brief telephone conversations, but we weren't able to get together. Debra had lost her job and had moved out of her apartment. She was temporarily living with her cousin.
In February 2013, I got sick with pneumonia and ended up in the hospital. I spoke very briefly with Debra on the telephone while I was in the hospital. I apologized for not being able to spend time with her. I told her that when I was feeling better, I would really like to get together with her to catch up. She was distant on the phone. She told me she was about to move again, but she wasn't sure where. She told me she would call me when she got settled. This is the last conversation I ever had with her.
I continued calling her mobile phone and it always went to voicemail. I would leave her a voicemail every time. I called at least once a month, but she never returned my calls. I tried to send letters and cards, but when she moved, she didn't provide a forwarding address, so my cards and letters were returned unopened. I was heartbroken, but I had children to take care of, so I couldn't dwell on my sadness.
A few months ago, I tried calling her again, only to be dumped into voicemail again. A few weeks after that, I had a dream about Debra. In the dream, Debra came to me and said she was fine and I didn't need to worry about her anymore. She looked young, beautiful, and happy. When I woke-up, I knew in my heart that my friend had died and she was speaking to me from Heaven.
I took my phone into the bathroom (so the kids wouldn't see me cry) and searched the obituaries. It turns out that Debra had died a year ago, July. She didn't have many friends as she had pushed them all away. I had never met any of her cousins and I had only met her brother once. No one called me. I have no idea what happened to my dear friend. I don't know if she died from complications related to her Crohn's Disease. I don't know if she committed suicide. I don't know what happened to her. I didn't get to attend her funeral and I didn't get to say my goodbyes. I sobbed quietly in my bathroom for 10 minutes, then I had to be a mother again.
I do know that I loved her. She was my friend. She was a beautiful person who struggled with mental illnesses and physical illnesses. She was kind and generous. She was shy and sweet. I miss my friend. I hope that she knows how much I loved her and how much I wish I could have been there for her.
If you know someone who is struggling with mental illness, do everything you can to be there for them. Even when they push you away. You never know when it will be the last time you talk to them.
One of the people I met during my employment at the bank was a sweet, shy, lady named Debra. Initially, she was a friend of my friend, Jackie. Jackie started working at the bank about a week after I did. She was such a friendly, free-spirited person. Jackie is the type of person who has never met a stranger. She is friendly and funny. I'm initially a little shy when I first meet people, but Jackie makes it impossible not to like her. Jackie and I started going out to lunch pretty regularly. Debra's office was pretty close to Jackie's desk, so before long, Jackie swooped in and recruited this terribly shy lady, Debra, to go to lunch with us.
After my employment at the bank ended, I still continued to meet up with Debra and Jackie for an occasional lunch. Jackie moved out to the country and started a new job. We lost contact, but Debra and I remained friends.
I started working out in the same area of town again, so Debra and I would meet for lunch about once a week. We became closer and closer. It wasn't long before Debra was one of my best friends. We would go to the movies, go shopping, have lunch, and just enjoy spending time with one another.
I learned more and more about Debra and the more I learned, the more my heart ached for her. Both of Debra's parents had passed away when she was in her early twenties. She had one brother who lived all the away across the country in Washington State. She didn't really have any other close relatives that she could rely on.
Eventually, Debra revealed to me that she suffered from Bi-Polar Disorder, Depression, and Crohn's Disease. She spent quite a bit of time in and out of the hospital with issues related to her Crohn's Disease. She also spent some time in psychiatric care related to her Bi-Polar Disorder and Depression. No matter what she was going through, I tried to stick by her side.
Sometimes, Debra would make sticking by her side very difficult. If she was struggling, she would push people away. Sometimes, she would take a single comment out of context during a conversation and get angry. She wouldn't talk to me anymore. It would take me weeks of phone calls and emails to finally get her to talk about what was bothering her. Eventually, she would come back around and everything would be fine.
On one particular occasion, Debra and I were having lunch. At the time, my father was deep in the grips of depression related to his cancer treatments. He had stopped taking his anti-depressants and was really making life difficult for my family at the time. I said to Debra, "My Dad is depressed and just wants to sit around feeling sorry for himself instead of getting the help he needs." From this simple statement related to my father, she inferred that I thought all depressed people sat around and felt sorry for themselves. She got very quiet during lunch and then wouldn't talk to me for two weeks.
Debra and I started talking about church one day. She was telling me that she had started attending a Bible study group at her church. I was also doing a small group Bible study at my home with a few friends from church. We had just finished doing a really great study called "Experiencing God." I sent an email to Debra that said something like, "I know you said you were going to a Bible Study group. Your group should try the Experiencing God study. It's awesome!"
From that simple statement, she inferred that I didn't truly believe she was going to Bible study because I prefaced the statement with "I know you said..." She actually stopped talking to me for over a year based on this simple statement. I kept calling her and leaving voicemails. I sent emails. I sent cards through the mail. I did everything I could to restore her trust and regain her friendship. Sometimes it was hard. I wondered if it was worth the time and trouble. I felt that God was telling me to stick by her, no matter what. I was so heartbroken during that time that I started seeing a therapist to deal with the pain of losing her friendship.
She finally came back around and we rekindled our friendship. I loved her. She was kind and generous.
She was no only battling Crohn's Disease, but she was also battling mental illness and depression. She always wore long-sleeved shirts, no matter what the weather. I never commented on it, but I had suspicions that she was a cutter. My suspicions were confirmed one day while we were at the movies. She was looking through her purse for her wallet and her sleeve got pushed up on her arm. On her forearm, there were probably 20 fresh cuts. I quietly talked to her about it. I told her if she was ever struggling, she could always call me, no matter what. I didn't care if it was 3 am, she could call me. She told me she was going to stop doing it.
On August 30, 2012, my life changed drastically. I became a Foster Mom to 3 children, ages 8 months, 19 months, and almost 3. To say my life was chaotic from that point forward would be the understatement of the century. For the next 6 months, I was constantly sick from the cooties the kids brought home from daycare. I didn't have time for friends. I barely had time to shower, so I definitely wasn't making plans with my friends. I still spoke to Debra on the phone, but I wasn't able to spend time with her.
Debra had started pulling away from me again before I got the kids. It got even worse after I got the kids. We would have brief telephone conversations, but we weren't able to get together. Debra had lost her job and had moved out of her apartment. She was temporarily living with her cousin.
In February 2013, I got sick with pneumonia and ended up in the hospital. I spoke very briefly with Debra on the telephone while I was in the hospital. I apologized for not being able to spend time with her. I told her that when I was feeling better, I would really like to get together with her to catch up. She was distant on the phone. She told me she was about to move again, but she wasn't sure where. She told me she would call me when she got settled. This is the last conversation I ever had with her.
I continued calling her mobile phone and it always went to voicemail. I would leave her a voicemail every time. I called at least once a month, but she never returned my calls. I tried to send letters and cards, but when she moved, she didn't provide a forwarding address, so my cards and letters were returned unopened. I was heartbroken, but I had children to take care of, so I couldn't dwell on my sadness.
A few months ago, I tried calling her again, only to be dumped into voicemail again. A few weeks after that, I had a dream about Debra. In the dream, Debra came to me and said she was fine and I didn't need to worry about her anymore. She looked young, beautiful, and happy. When I woke-up, I knew in my heart that my friend had died and she was speaking to me from Heaven.
I took my phone into the bathroom (so the kids wouldn't see me cry) and searched the obituaries. It turns out that Debra had died a year ago, July. She didn't have many friends as she had pushed them all away. I had never met any of her cousins and I had only met her brother once. No one called me. I have no idea what happened to my dear friend. I don't know if she died from complications related to her Crohn's Disease. I don't know if she committed suicide. I don't know what happened to her. I didn't get to attend her funeral and I didn't get to say my goodbyes. I sobbed quietly in my bathroom for 10 minutes, then I had to be a mother again.
I do know that I loved her. She was my friend. She was a beautiful person who struggled with mental illnesses and physical illnesses. She was kind and generous. She was shy and sweet. I miss my friend. I hope that she knows how much I loved her and how much I wish I could have been there for her.
If you know someone who is struggling with mental illness, do everything you can to be there for them. Even when they push you away. You never know when it will be the last time you talk to them.
Thursday, September 17, 2015
My Best Friend
I had many friends growing up. I wasn't the most popular, but I could always find at least one or two close friends wherever I was. I lived in several states growing up. My parents had a job that travelled to another state for 6 months every year. Every January, we would pack up our clothes and head to somewhere new and exciting. In June, we would return to Kentucky, where I was born and (mostly) raised. I was a relatively shy kid, especially when I hit puberty and started gaining a substantial amount of weight. But I would always find at least one friend at my new schools. However, I only have 1 very best friend. Her name is Angie.
I remember the day I met Angie. I was in 6th grade. I was living in Kentucky at the time. It was a warm afternoon and we were outside for gym class. I had somehow talked my way out of running the track that day and I was sitting on the side of a grassy hill watching my poor, unfortunate classmates trekking around the track. There was a brown-haired girl sitting a few feet away from me on the grassy hill. I don't remember who started the conversation, but we began chatting and exchanged numbers. At the time, we didn't have any classes together. We started talking on the phone pretty regularly.
Over the summer between our 6th and 7th grade years, we became best friends. Every weekend we were at one another's houses for a sleepover. Angie was at my house so frequently growing up that my parents consider her as one of their daughters. She is not just my friend, she is family. We aggravated our parents so much because we were always on the phone together after school. They finally relented and gave us our own private phone lines. I guess they were tired of picking of the phone and hearing two 13-year old girls talking for hours on end. Oddly enough, Angie and I both hate talking on the phone now.
I continued moving to another state during my 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th grade years. While I was living out of state, I would frequently write letters to Angie and occasionally call her on the phone. I remember that during my 9th grade year, I had moved to Reno. I started calling her a little too frequently and found myself grounded after my parents received a $300 phone bill. Oops.
I remember very vividly in 1989, I was living in Wichita, Kansas. Angie and I were both watching MTV and chatting over the phone about the videos. A video came on by a relatively new group called New Kids On The Block (NKOTB). Being 14-year old girls, we were instantly hooked on this boy band. We talked about our favorite guys in the band. Her favorite was Jordan and my favorite was Joey. Over the next several years, our lives revolved around NKOTB. Our walls were covered in posters. I would make-up stories about meeting the band and dating our favorites. I've always loved reading and writing. I didn't want to write the stories down, but I wanted to tell them. So, I would call them "dreams". I would start off the story by saying, "Last night I had this dream...." I'm sure Angie probably knew that no dream is as detailed as my stories were. Sometimes the stories I would tell were based on an actual dream, but they were greatly embellished. I think she enjoyed hearing these fantasy "dreams" as much as I liked telling them. Ah, teen-aged girls. They have such imaginations.
Throughout our middle school and high school years, we went to multiple NKOTB concerts. We also met many new friends because they were also "Blockheads", as NKOTB fans are called. A couple of years ago, NKOTB started touring again. We went to see our favorite band in the summer of 2013 and again this summer. We behaved liked teenagers and screamed and danced our butts off. It was awesome!
When Angie and I started high school, we were in two different school districts, so we couldn't attend the same high school. This didn't hinder our friendship much. Although I made new friends, we still spent most weekends together. We even started including some of our new school friends in our weekend plans.
When we were about to graduate high school, we formulated a plan to go to Boston and meet NKOTB. We told our parents we wanted a trip to Boston as our graduation present. Our parents came through. We didn't meet NKOTB, but we had so much fun that week we spent in Boston as 18-year olds on our own in the big city for the first time. It was magical. We still talk about this trip and the amusing things that happened to us on our journey. These are memories we will be chatting about as old ladies in the nursing home.
We've been through a lot over the years. She was there for me when I found out my dad had cancer. She was there for me when I found out I had PCOS. I was there for her when she had some medical issues. She was there for me through my infertility struggles. We've been each other's shoulder to lean on or cry on.
When she and her husband decided to try and have a baby, she was nervous to tell me about her pregnancy because she was worried about how it would impact me. I was so excited for her that I cried. I would never be upset about someone bringing a child into a loving home. Some women who struggle with fertility become bitter and angry at everyone that is able to conceive and give birth to a child. She was even more anxious when she found out she was pregnant with her 2nd child almost 6 years ago. I had already been trying to have a child for about 9 years at that time. She shouldn't have worried. I was just as excited for her as I was the first time she got pregnant.
Every family function I have, Angie is there. When I took in 3 foster kids, she brought gently-used clothes and shoes from her daughters for my daughter. When I adopted my children, she was in the court room with us. I was at the hospital for the birth of both of her daughters. During the summertime, we load up her 2 kids, my 3 kids, and my niece and nephew, and go and do fun things. We do movies, trips to the zoo, bowling trips, and once a week we go to her house for a swimming party. While the kids play, Angie and I chat or just sit quietly and enjoy one another's company. You know you have a true friend when you can sit in silence and not feel the need to fill every second with conversation.
We try to get together at least once or twice a month and do fun things with our families. This past weekend we took our kids bowling and went and had some pizza. I love that we get to do fun things together. My kids love playing with her daughters. Angie and I also go out once a month to a Paint & Sip place to paint and drink water or soda (neither of us are drinkers). We enjoy painting, but we really enjoying having time to talk without distractions like children and husbands.
My oldest son and her oldest daughter have some disabilities that are very similar. It is so comforting to be able to call her and talk about the days I struggle with my son and know that she completely understands. She knows she can call me and tell me about her rough days with her daughter and I will understand what she is going through. She listens to me vent. To an outsider who doesn't have a child with a disability, they may not understand our frustration. She gets it.
I love Angie. I can't imagine my life without her. Her friendship has meant more to me than I could ever put into words. I know that no matter what changes may come, one thing will never change; our friendship. Some day, we will be old ladies sitting around talking about the time I was threatened by an bag lady with a plastic butter knife, or the time we met Joey from NKOTB, the time my parents kicked us out of the room because we couldn't stop giggling at a scene in the movie we were watching, the time these tourists from Singapore offered to take us out for steak and lobster in hopes of snagging a young, American wife and the funny conversations we had with them, the dreams, the cookouts, the swimming parties, the concerts, sleepovers, bunco, costume parties, births, funerals, movies, music, and the list goes on and on. There are many stories like this throughout our friendship. I'm sure at some point, we will be boring our children with our adventures.
If you have a best friend, make sure you tell them how important they are to you. Good friends are hard to find. Great friends are nearly impossible to find. Angie is a great friend. She is my best friend and I love her.
I remember the day I met Angie. I was in 6th grade. I was living in Kentucky at the time. It was a warm afternoon and we were outside for gym class. I had somehow talked my way out of running the track that day and I was sitting on the side of a grassy hill watching my poor, unfortunate classmates trekking around the track. There was a brown-haired girl sitting a few feet away from me on the grassy hill. I don't remember who started the conversation, but we began chatting and exchanged numbers. At the time, we didn't have any classes together. We started talking on the phone pretty regularly.
Over the summer between our 6th and 7th grade years, we became best friends. Every weekend we were at one another's houses for a sleepover. Angie was at my house so frequently growing up that my parents consider her as one of their daughters. She is not just my friend, she is family. We aggravated our parents so much because we were always on the phone together after school. They finally relented and gave us our own private phone lines. I guess they were tired of picking of the phone and hearing two 13-year old girls talking for hours on end. Oddly enough, Angie and I both hate talking on the phone now.
I continued moving to another state during my 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th grade years. While I was living out of state, I would frequently write letters to Angie and occasionally call her on the phone. I remember that during my 9th grade year, I had moved to Reno. I started calling her a little too frequently and found myself grounded after my parents received a $300 phone bill. Oops.
I remember very vividly in 1989, I was living in Wichita, Kansas. Angie and I were both watching MTV and chatting over the phone about the videos. A video came on by a relatively new group called New Kids On The Block (NKOTB). Being 14-year old girls, we were instantly hooked on this boy band. We talked about our favorite guys in the band. Her favorite was Jordan and my favorite was Joey. Over the next several years, our lives revolved around NKOTB. Our walls were covered in posters. I would make-up stories about meeting the band and dating our favorites. I've always loved reading and writing. I didn't want to write the stories down, but I wanted to tell them. So, I would call them "dreams". I would start off the story by saying, "Last night I had this dream...." I'm sure Angie probably knew that no dream is as detailed as my stories were. Sometimes the stories I would tell were based on an actual dream, but they were greatly embellished. I think she enjoyed hearing these fantasy "dreams" as much as I liked telling them. Ah, teen-aged girls. They have such imaginations.
Throughout our middle school and high school years, we went to multiple NKOTB concerts. We also met many new friends because they were also "Blockheads", as NKOTB fans are called. A couple of years ago, NKOTB started touring again. We went to see our favorite band in the summer of 2013 and again this summer. We behaved liked teenagers and screamed and danced our butts off. It was awesome!
When Angie and I started high school, we were in two different school districts, so we couldn't attend the same high school. This didn't hinder our friendship much. Although I made new friends, we still spent most weekends together. We even started including some of our new school friends in our weekend plans.
When we were about to graduate high school, we formulated a plan to go to Boston and meet NKOTB. We told our parents we wanted a trip to Boston as our graduation present. Our parents came through. We didn't meet NKOTB, but we had so much fun that week we spent in Boston as 18-year olds on our own in the big city for the first time. It was magical. We still talk about this trip and the amusing things that happened to us on our journey. These are memories we will be chatting about as old ladies in the nursing home.
We've been through a lot over the years. She was there for me when I found out my dad had cancer. She was there for me when I found out I had PCOS. I was there for her when she had some medical issues. She was there for me through my infertility struggles. We've been each other's shoulder to lean on or cry on.
When she and her husband decided to try and have a baby, she was nervous to tell me about her pregnancy because she was worried about how it would impact me. I was so excited for her that I cried. I would never be upset about someone bringing a child into a loving home. Some women who struggle with fertility become bitter and angry at everyone that is able to conceive and give birth to a child. She was even more anxious when she found out she was pregnant with her 2nd child almost 6 years ago. I had already been trying to have a child for about 9 years at that time. She shouldn't have worried. I was just as excited for her as I was the first time she got pregnant.
Every family function I have, Angie is there. When I took in 3 foster kids, she brought gently-used clothes and shoes from her daughters for my daughter. When I adopted my children, she was in the court room with us. I was at the hospital for the birth of both of her daughters. During the summertime, we load up her 2 kids, my 3 kids, and my niece and nephew, and go and do fun things. We do movies, trips to the zoo, bowling trips, and once a week we go to her house for a swimming party. While the kids play, Angie and I chat or just sit quietly and enjoy one another's company. You know you have a true friend when you can sit in silence and not feel the need to fill every second with conversation.
We try to get together at least once or twice a month and do fun things with our families. This past weekend we took our kids bowling and went and had some pizza. I love that we get to do fun things together. My kids love playing with her daughters. Angie and I also go out once a month to a Paint & Sip place to paint and drink water or soda (neither of us are drinkers). We enjoy painting, but we really enjoying having time to talk without distractions like children and husbands.
My oldest son and her oldest daughter have some disabilities that are very similar. It is so comforting to be able to call her and talk about the days I struggle with my son and know that she completely understands. She knows she can call me and tell me about her rough days with her daughter and I will understand what she is going through. She listens to me vent. To an outsider who doesn't have a child with a disability, they may not understand our frustration. She gets it.
I love Angie. I can't imagine my life without her. Her friendship has meant more to me than I could ever put into words. I know that no matter what changes may come, one thing will never change; our friendship. Some day, we will be old ladies sitting around talking about the time I was threatened by an bag lady with a plastic butter knife, or the time we met Joey from NKOTB, the time my parents kicked us out of the room because we couldn't stop giggling at a scene in the movie we were watching, the time these tourists from Singapore offered to take us out for steak and lobster in hopes of snagging a young, American wife and the funny conversations we had with them, the dreams, the cookouts, the swimming parties, the concerts, sleepovers, bunco, costume parties, births, funerals, movies, music, and the list goes on and on. There are many stories like this throughout our friendship. I'm sure at some point, we will be boring our children with our adventures.
If you have a best friend, make sure you tell them how important they are to you. Good friends are hard to find. Great friends are nearly impossible to find. Angie is a great friend. She is my best friend and I love her.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
September is PCOS Awareness Month
In 2001 I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). After my diagnosis, I still didn't know much about this syndrome. I had read an article in a magazine that talked about a woman who was having difficulty losing weight no matter how hard she tried. In 1998, I started working out every day, at least an hour a day, along with eating healthy, low-fat meals. We would do a workout in the morning that included 20 minutes of cardio and 40 minutes of weight training. In the afternoons, I would come home and swim laps in the pool. On the weekends, we would play racquetball (along with our morning workout). I maintained this super-physical, healthy lifestyle for about 3 years. During the first year, I lost 25 pounds. Following the same diet and exercise regiment, my husband had lost over 140 pounds. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know what it was. After reading the magazine article, I thought I finally had an answer. The girl in the article was eating healthy, working out, and not losing weight just like me. The article said she went to her OBGYN, requested a couple of blood tests, was diagnosed with PCOS, was prescribed Metformin, immediately started losing weight, and soon after she conceived a child. I had many of the same symptoms she had in the article, so I thought this must be my problem as well.
I went to my OBGYN and told her I thought I had PCOS. Her response was, "Yeah, you probably have it."
What?! Why had she not mentioned it before? Why did I have to discover this syndrome on my own? It turns out, this is pretty normal behavior for many GPs, OBGYNs, and the like. They know about the syndrome, they even think some of their patients have it, but they never mention it to them. Some doctors don't even believe it's a real issue and dismiss it completely. Many doctors are completely ignorant about PCOS. If left untreated, PCOS can lead to heart disease, diabetes, stroke, depression, fatty-liver disease and eventually non-alcohol Cirrhosis of the liver, morbid obesity (and everything that goes along with that), high triglycerides, thyroid disease, and various cancers.
I asked her to run some blood work to find out for sure if I had it. Her tests were inconclusive. She said the only way for her to know for sure was to do an ultrasound of my ovaries to look for cysts. She referred me to an endocrinologist. As it turns out, my OBGYN's ultrasound wouldn't have even been a definitive answer as to whether or not I had PCOS. Not everyone who has PCOS has cysts on their ovaries. That is just one of the symptoms of this syndrome. It is called a syndrome instead of a disease because it can present itself differently in each woman.
After taking 13 vials of blood from me, the endocrinologist determined that I not only had PCOS, but I also was pre-diabetic and had high triglycerides. He prescribed Metformin. I thought I would soon start dropping weight like crazy. The answer to my prayers!
Ummm, that didn't happen. I took my Metformin, continued working out, continued eating healthy with no results. With the addition of the Metformin, the only real change was that I had terrible stomach cramps every evening. As soon as food would enter my lower digestional tract, it would feel like I was digesting glass. These severe cramps would last 20 minutes to an hour. Then it would pass. Metformin also causes nausea. So, I was taking medicine that was supposed to help me and the only result I was seeing was being in severe pain and being nauseous. That's not my idea of the help I was looking for.
I continued taking the medications my endocrinologist prescribed, eating healthy, and working out. I wasn't seeing any results. It was maddening. I gave up for a while after my Father was diagnosed with cancer. I didn't have the energy to worry about my diet and exercise regimen. I could only worry about my Dad and whether or not he was going to survive the cancer. (I'm blessed to say he is still alive 14 years later). Through the stress of my father's illness and not being able to exercise on a regular basis, I gained 75 pounds. I was now at an all time high weight of 350 pounds!
When my Dad's health started to improve, I got back into my workout routine. I decided to try Weight Watchers. I lost 24 pounds in the first couple of months and then not one more pound for the next 6 months. It was maddening!
My doctors weren't much help. They knew less about this syndrome than I did. I started reading articles online about PCOS. I joined a PCOS support group on Facebook. Through these resources, I learned more and more about PCOS.
To learn more about PCOS, please click on the links on the right under the heading "PCOS Information and Support."
A few years ago, I learned that approximately 30% of women with PCOS are unable to lose weight even with exercise and normal caloric intake. Guess who is one of those lucky 30%? This girl!
Some women with PCOS have success with low-carb diets. I'm going to start trying that and see if it helps me. I'm down to about 300 pounds now. I lost 30 pounds in 2009 from basically only eating one meal a day. I lost an additional 20 pounds in 2013 from having pneumonia and not wanting to eat at all. Right now, I just try to eat as little as possible so I don't gain anymore weight. I think I could also benefit with some sort of gastric surgery like the gastric sleeve or the lap band, but my insurance won't cover it and I can't afford it.
I'm now 40 years old. I have Type II Diabetes, High Triglycerides, Hypothyroidism, Anxiety, Acne, Hirsuitism, Hair Loss, Headaches, Severe Mood Swings, Ovarian Pain, Skin Tags, Infertility, Hot Flashes, and I'm Morbidly Obese. Last year, I adopted 3 children as I was not able to conceive any of my own.
When I turned 40 in May, I decided I wanted to get my first tattoo. I wanted it to be something that means something to me. Here is what I decided on:
The cross represents my faith in Jesus Christ.
The Faith, Hope, Love are from one of my favorite chapters in the Bible, 1 Corinthians 13.
The 3 doves represent my 3 children.
The teal ribbon is for PCOS Awareness.
The names listed are the names of my children.
I like having the tattoo so that people can ask me what it represents. It provides me the opportunity to tell them about PCOS.
PCOS is the leading cause of infertility in women.
1 in 10 women have PCOS, most don't even know it.
I am 1 in 10.
Friday, September 4, 2015
Teenagers
These days I have a general distrust for most teenagers. I know they aren't all bad, but whenever I see a large group of teenagers together, I tend to avoid them as much as possible. So many kids these days have no sense of morality. This is the selfie generation. Everything is all about "me". What I want, where I want to go, what I want to do. They have no manners. They are spoiled and selfish. There is no sense of common courtesy. They have no idea of how they should behave in public. It's just scary to me.
A few weeks ago, I took my children to the Kentucky State Fair on a Saturday. We arrived late in the afternoon and there were lots of people, but we were still able to get the kids on the rides fairly quickly. We spent about two hours on the Midway, then we took the children to get some yummy fair food. When we started to head back to the Midway so the kids could ride some more rides, I thought for a moment my eyes were deceiving me. I looked towards the rides and all I could see was a sea of teenagers. There wasn't even an opening to get through to the kiddie rides.
I didn't want my kids to be disappointed and not get to enjoy the rides, so we slowly squeezed our way through the sea of teenagers. I repeatedly said, "Excuse me", which fell on deaf ears. We literally had to elbow our way through. My Dad is unable to walk for long distances due to nerve damage in his feet and legs. He was in a motorized chair and these rude teenagers wouldn't even make a path for him. It took him 30 minutes to get through the teenagers.
We finally arrived at the kiddie rides. My older two got on a ride while my youngest and I got an ice cream for them to share. Once my kids got off the ride, we were standing there eating our ice cream. All of a sudden, about 50 teenagers come sprinting towards us. My Mommy instincts kicked in and I took my children and put them against the rails of the fence around the ride and put my body in front of them. If I hadn't gotten them out of the way so quickly, we would have been trampled. I have no idea where these teenagers were going and what was happening. I only knew that I had to protect my children.
My husband had left a few moments before to go and get our car. It was a long walk to where we were parked and the kids were tired. As he was walking, he got slammed by the stampede. He said he stood there with his arms folded across his chest as they bounced off him.
I decided that I wouldn't risk my children's safety in this mob and we decided to leave. I spent 20 minutes elbowing my way through the mob, again repeatedly saying, "Excuse me", which again fell on deaf ears. If I were to guess, I would say there was approximately 5,000+ teenagers just standing around at the beginning of the Midway. I still don't understand why security hadn't intervened and got them moving.
I just don't trust teenagers.
You can get on YouTube and watch video after video of teenagers and their mob mentality. You can see them being bullies, fighting, looting, etc. It's just disturbing on so many levels.
Maybe I'm just getting old, but they seem to behave worse than they ever have before. I know teenagers have always been getting into mischief. That is to be expected on some level. However, teenagers these days seem to have no regard for anyone but themselves.
I pray that I am able to raise my children to be well-mannered, selfless individuals. I want them to have respect for themselves and respect for others. I want them to have empathy for others. I want them to have kind hearts. I know they will get into mischief and will make poor decisions from time to time. I just hope that I give them enough of a good foundation to learn from their mistakes. I will do everything in my power to prevent my children from becoming another generation of selfish, ill-mannered teenagers that have no respect for anyone. I'll do my best. The rest is in God's hands.
A few weeks ago, I took my children to the Kentucky State Fair on a Saturday. We arrived late in the afternoon and there were lots of people, but we were still able to get the kids on the rides fairly quickly. We spent about two hours on the Midway, then we took the children to get some yummy fair food. When we started to head back to the Midway so the kids could ride some more rides, I thought for a moment my eyes were deceiving me. I looked towards the rides and all I could see was a sea of teenagers. There wasn't even an opening to get through to the kiddie rides.
I didn't want my kids to be disappointed and not get to enjoy the rides, so we slowly squeezed our way through the sea of teenagers. I repeatedly said, "Excuse me", which fell on deaf ears. We literally had to elbow our way through. My Dad is unable to walk for long distances due to nerve damage in his feet and legs. He was in a motorized chair and these rude teenagers wouldn't even make a path for him. It took him 30 minutes to get through the teenagers.
We finally arrived at the kiddie rides. My older two got on a ride while my youngest and I got an ice cream for them to share. Once my kids got off the ride, we were standing there eating our ice cream. All of a sudden, about 50 teenagers come sprinting towards us. My Mommy instincts kicked in and I took my children and put them against the rails of the fence around the ride and put my body in front of them. If I hadn't gotten them out of the way so quickly, we would have been trampled. I have no idea where these teenagers were going and what was happening. I only knew that I had to protect my children.
My husband had left a few moments before to go and get our car. It was a long walk to where we were parked and the kids were tired. As he was walking, he got slammed by the stampede. He said he stood there with his arms folded across his chest as they bounced off him.
I decided that I wouldn't risk my children's safety in this mob and we decided to leave. I spent 20 minutes elbowing my way through the mob, again repeatedly saying, "Excuse me", which again fell on deaf ears. If I were to guess, I would say there was approximately 5,000+ teenagers just standing around at the beginning of the Midway. I still don't understand why security hadn't intervened and got them moving.
I just don't trust teenagers.
You can get on YouTube and watch video after video of teenagers and their mob mentality. You can see them being bullies, fighting, looting, etc. It's just disturbing on so many levels.
Maybe I'm just getting old, but they seem to behave worse than they ever have before. I know teenagers have always been getting into mischief. That is to be expected on some level. However, teenagers these days seem to have no regard for anyone but themselves.
I pray that I am able to raise my children to be well-mannered, selfless individuals. I want them to have respect for themselves and respect for others. I want them to have empathy for others. I want them to have kind hearts. I know they will get into mischief and will make poor decisions from time to time. I just hope that I give them enough of a good foundation to learn from their mistakes. I will do everything in my power to prevent my children from becoming another generation of selfish, ill-mannered teenagers that have no respect for anyone. I'll do my best. The rest is in God's hands.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Crazy Summers With Kids
For a long time, summertime didn't mean much to me other than it would be hotter than Hades outside. Now that I have children in school, summertime has a whole different connotation.
You may have noticed my lack of Blog posts during the summer months. That is because during the summer, not only do I have my 3 children (ages 5, 4, and 3), but I also have my niece and nephew (ages 7 and 10). During the summer break, my house is chaos. Some days we would just hang out at the house and play. Other days, we would try and get out and do fun things. We would go to the movies, go swimming at my best friend's house, go to McDonald's PlayPlace, or go bowling. Any outing with 5 children in tow is sure to bring chaos with it. So, for the last 3 months, there has been too much going on for me to even consider posting on my Blog.
Most of the time, I write when my two oldest are at school and my youngest is taking a nap. However, right now my oldest are at school, and my youngest is hanging out on the potty with my iPhone. He likes to watch animated movies while sitting on the potty. I don't mind. Anything to keep me from changing stinky pull-ups is alright with me. If he wants to spend 30 minutes on the potty trying to poop, I won't complain.
The beginning of summer break is exciting. The kids are excited to do fun things and I look forward to spending time with them. By the end of summer break, I am worn out and praying for the first day of school. There is only so much "together" time a Mom can take.
School is back in session and all is right with the world (for now). I'm sure once my youngest starts school, I'll be lonely. At that point, it will be time for me to find some sort of part-time work. I won't be able to sit at home all day with no one to look after. That's not my style. My problem will be finding a job that will allow me to be home in the mornings and afternoons to get my kids off to school and get them off the bus in the afternoons.
My oldest son, Brennan, has ADHD, Sensory Processing Disorder, Impulse Control Disorder, and Anxiety. He doesn't do well with changes and transitions. When I was working and Brennan had to go to daycare in the morning before school and in the afternoon after school, he didn't do well. He was getting in trouble both at school and at daycare on a daily basis. After evaluating our budget and determining that we can scrape by on my husband's income and our adoption subsidy, we decided the best thing for Brennan right now is me being a stay-at-home Mom. This prevents him from having too many transitions during the day. It also provides me the opportunity to spend time with my children while they are young. Brennan will be in 2nd grade when Jordan (3) starts Kindergarten, so perhaps he will be better equipped to deal with the transition from daycare to school back to daycare. Only time will tell.
I have always worked. I started working when I was 16. I was laid-off from work in 2009 for one year. The first few months were very difficult for me. However, I settled into a routine and things got better. I read a lot of books during that year off. That was the longest period of me not working.
At the beginning of 2014, I was let go from my job. I was absolutely heartbroken as I had worked there for 10 years. The workload there was lessening up and my boss had some sort of prejudice about Foster Children, so, he let me go. I honestly think his opinion of me changed once I took in Foster Children. I was still working my butt off, but his attitude towards me changed completely. From that point on, nothing I did was good enough. He began nitpicking at everything I did. I am a perfectionist and a hard worker. I did everything to the best of my ability. During the first six months I had the children, there were many days I had to be home because the kids were always getting viruses from daycare. I would often work from my home computer while dealing with vomit, diarrhea, runny noses, fevers, infections, etc. That still wasn't enough for him. In February 2013, I came down with pneumonia and had to be put in the hospital. He was blowing up my phone while I was in the emergency room. When I told him they were admitting me for a few days, he actually asked if my husband could bring my laptop to the hospital so I could work from there. There was no regard for my well-being. I was too sick to even contemplate working. It was ridiculous. After the first six months with the kids, the illnesses slowed down and I was at work every day. This still wasn't enough for him. So, when the workload changed, he let me go. I still keep in touch with some of my former co-workers (but not my former boss, he got deleted from my friends list).
So, now I am a stay-at-home Mom. Although I was really hurt about being let go, I know that God's hand was in it. As they say, when one door closes, another one opens. Being at home has been the best thing for my kids. They are the most important thing in my life right now.
You may have noticed my lack of Blog posts during the summer months. That is because during the summer, not only do I have my 3 children (ages 5, 4, and 3), but I also have my niece and nephew (ages 7 and 10). During the summer break, my house is chaos. Some days we would just hang out at the house and play. Other days, we would try and get out and do fun things. We would go to the movies, go swimming at my best friend's house, go to McDonald's PlayPlace, or go bowling. Any outing with 5 children in tow is sure to bring chaos with it. So, for the last 3 months, there has been too much going on for me to even consider posting on my Blog.
Most of the time, I write when my two oldest are at school and my youngest is taking a nap. However, right now my oldest are at school, and my youngest is hanging out on the potty with my iPhone. He likes to watch animated movies while sitting on the potty. I don't mind. Anything to keep me from changing stinky pull-ups is alright with me. If he wants to spend 30 minutes on the potty trying to poop, I won't complain.
The beginning of summer break is exciting. The kids are excited to do fun things and I look forward to spending time with them. By the end of summer break, I am worn out and praying for the first day of school. There is only so much "together" time a Mom can take.
School is back in session and all is right with the world (for now). I'm sure once my youngest starts school, I'll be lonely. At that point, it will be time for me to find some sort of part-time work. I won't be able to sit at home all day with no one to look after. That's not my style. My problem will be finding a job that will allow me to be home in the mornings and afternoons to get my kids off to school and get them off the bus in the afternoons.
My oldest son, Brennan, has ADHD, Sensory Processing Disorder, Impulse Control Disorder, and Anxiety. He doesn't do well with changes and transitions. When I was working and Brennan had to go to daycare in the morning before school and in the afternoon after school, he didn't do well. He was getting in trouble both at school and at daycare on a daily basis. After evaluating our budget and determining that we can scrape by on my husband's income and our adoption subsidy, we decided the best thing for Brennan right now is me being a stay-at-home Mom. This prevents him from having too many transitions during the day. It also provides me the opportunity to spend time with my children while they are young. Brennan will be in 2nd grade when Jordan (3) starts Kindergarten, so perhaps he will be better equipped to deal with the transition from daycare to school back to daycare. Only time will tell.
I have always worked. I started working when I was 16. I was laid-off from work in 2009 for one year. The first few months were very difficult for me. However, I settled into a routine and things got better. I read a lot of books during that year off. That was the longest period of me not working.
At the beginning of 2014, I was let go from my job. I was absolutely heartbroken as I had worked there for 10 years. The workload there was lessening up and my boss had some sort of prejudice about Foster Children, so, he let me go. I honestly think his opinion of me changed once I took in Foster Children. I was still working my butt off, but his attitude towards me changed completely. From that point on, nothing I did was good enough. He began nitpicking at everything I did. I am a perfectionist and a hard worker. I did everything to the best of my ability. During the first six months I had the children, there were many days I had to be home because the kids were always getting viruses from daycare. I would often work from my home computer while dealing with vomit, diarrhea, runny noses, fevers, infections, etc. That still wasn't enough for him. In February 2013, I came down with pneumonia and had to be put in the hospital. He was blowing up my phone while I was in the emergency room. When I told him they were admitting me for a few days, he actually asked if my husband could bring my laptop to the hospital so I could work from there. There was no regard for my well-being. I was too sick to even contemplate working. It was ridiculous. After the first six months with the kids, the illnesses slowed down and I was at work every day. This still wasn't enough for him. So, when the workload changed, he let me go. I still keep in touch with some of my former co-workers (but not my former boss, he got deleted from my friends list).
So, now I am a stay-at-home Mom. Although I was really hurt about being let go, I know that God's hand was in it. As they say, when one door closes, another one opens. Being at home has been the best thing for my kids. They are the most important thing in my life right now.
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