Roots

Yesterday, my parents loaded up a truck and moved to Florida.  Permanently.  Change of address.

They are well, happy and free of a lot of "crap" that they have collected over the years.  And, I did get a nice set of Christmas dishes out of the move.

When my mom told me that their place was up for sale, I was immediately sad.  Very sad.  And I wasn't really sure.

I called my brother and he said, "omg, what are you sad for?  They are alive and go through their own ****** and distribute it themselves.  Sounds like a good plan.  Get over it."

I did, for awhile.

I am still sad.  I do not know my way around Florida except for the Magic Kingdom. 

I was always proud of being a native of Western Pennsylvania.  I know football, can sing the Farkleberry Tart song, love cold beer, bleed black and gold and love the winters.  I love Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and Westmoreland County.  I love my familiar roads, schools, memories, I love them.

And now my parents have moved south to be the early bird special eaters like George's parents from Seinfeld. 

And they are happy.  They are well and they are not going to an old folks home or assisted living home.  Truly, I am blessed. 

I just wish I still had roots and street that I rode my bike on with no hands.

HOPE

Today when I got up, it was really just an ordinary day.

I turned on the TODAY show and I was taken back 11 years ago like the rest of the world.

Eleven years ago today, at 41 years old, I found out I was pregnant.

As we stood in shook and watched over and over the events of the day, Franklin and I could not help but being filled with hope.

Wow, such a simple, graceful word with significant meaning.

Nine months later, our bundle of HOPE entered the world.

We didn't know what we were having and we agreed that the child would be named after the significance of the day.

Our "Walker" was here.  Walker as in George W.

He weighed 9-11. 

This morning, I was not hopeful about our current dilemna.

And then, when I heard the news, I was Hopeful.

And happy.  While we all stood in awe eleven years ago, a few short months later, I held God's blessing in my arms, all 9 pounds, 11 ounces.

HOPE.

I really don't have the words for a title

I was told by my friend Kelly, that I really do need to blog more often.  I do.  Lately, I just couldn't.


Three weeks ago tonight, the "button" left the house in the middle of the night.

There have been a few sightings and some text messages, but no "real" contact with him.

Franklin and I were taught that this is his life and his decisions and his successes and his failures.  Translation, "his deal."  We were advised, let it go its course.  Let Go and Let God.

We did.  It resulted in another underage drinking ticket.  That is what we knew.

And then, the "button" came to his senses, a little.

I have noticed that his arrests come on holiday weekends.  Labor Day was here. 

I invited him for dinner.  He might come, he might not but how could an invite hurt.

And guess what, he came.  He was dirty but he was straight.  And nice, and calm, and relaxed and appreciative and kind.  And he talked, alot.  He spoke like he was talking to himself, like we were not there, he just talked.  He talked about his future and how hard he had made it,  He owned up.  He talked about his bad decision making skills in actions and friends.  And he hugged us and told us he loved us.  And then he left.

I was so happy.  My son had come to dinner, straight and he was "fire paw coyote."  He was the man who came home in July.

On Tuesday, I got a call from the Police Department.  After Fire Paw Coyote left our house, he went across the bridge and all hell broke lose.  He was ticketed or arrested four times in about six hours.  Yep, I know, it could be a World Record, I haven't checked. 

And my husband and I were like the people in Addie's doll house.  We had hair, no brains, no hearts and no feelings.  We were "just there".

The next forty-eight hours were a blur.  We discovered that things were missing from the "button's" car, we discovered that he got a bondsman and got out of summer camp.  And, we discovered two people trying to break into our cars at 1am. 


We layed awake and tried to think about what he was or wasn't thinking, what to do to help him from spiraling more out of control and remaining safe and protecting the innocent. 

The wilderness program taught us so much and now we really had to remember it all, or at least some of it, and let our hearts be at peace.

We did.  For the most part.  There was an incident that may have changed our family forever.

The end result was a phone call from my son that took my breath away.  I am sure that when I die it will still be very raw in my heart.  It was the kind of conversation that is way to painful or private to share.  It was one of those moments in your life, that if it was taped and put on the big screen, you would melt.  And someone may win an Academy Award for having participated in the conversation. 

Regardless, it left my heart hollow.  Empty.  Frail and fragile.  Depleted.  Sad.

No, we have no idea where our child is, who he is with, where he is staying, if he is alive, his phone number, if he has eatern, nothing.  Vanished.  More than likely, it will stay this way for awhile.

And, we had to tell the kids.  Sometimes, those tasks we don't want to do end up being the easiest.

Addie just said,  "she's done."  She will pray but she cannot take it anymore.

Walker, who ADORES the "button" said, "it's okay mom."  "You cannot fix somebody.  And he doesn't want to be fixed."

And so it goes.  Again.  It is different this time.  I know it and feel it in my heart. 

I am like that lady in Addie's doll house.  I am in the house, I am dressed and I have hair.  I am in the kitchen. My heart is somewhere else.

I am so blessed that I started a new job and it consumes me 8-5 instead of my being consumed 24-7.

The program in the wilderness was not a waste, not for me.  I have peace in my heart.  I have been a damn good person, mother and friend.  Not perfect, but damn good.  I have made mistakes and will make more.  I do my best to clean up my mistakes and learn and move forward.  Truly in my code of ethics,I feel that is not the mistakes that you make that matter, how you clean them up shows what kind of person you really are.

I am at peace with my role in this.  I am not at peace as how this will more than likely end but I cannot stop it, control it or contain it.  It is not mine to control. 

I took a few minutes today and read over earlier posts.  I was so hopeful.  And now, all I have is hope and I am not as hopeful.  I have hope.  It is in my heart.  Let's just say I wouldn't need an overnight bag to carry it in.

Miracles happen every day.  The Good Lord does work in mysterious ways.  I have put my trust in God and let my heart be at peace.  This is all I can do. 

Recovery=Relapse

Chicken or egg?

Marrige or divorce?

Diet or weight loss?

Recovery and Relapse go together.  So sad.  You cannot recover if you have never relapsed.

You cannot get divorced if you never married.  Cannot lose weight if you never dieted.

No chicken, no clucking.

The "button" relapsed.   He left. Hasn't lived at home in about 13 days and has gotten ANOTHER drinking ticket. You read correctly.

The people that have lost child and they never found the body, those are the people that  I have the greatest respect.  They go to be every night with an ache in their heart and get up in the morning and do their thing, still with the ache.  Until they die.

Not knowing where your child is, regardless of age is the hardest thing EVER.  Yes, he is still working.   He does text me but that is it.  I found out about the drinking ticket via the mother network.  So, the beat goes on.

I have started a diet every Monday of my life.  Every Monday.  I am 51.  Every  Monday.  Do you know how many Mondays' that is?  I relapse every Monday by 11am.  I am the weight loss "button." 

Please don't think, "oh those poor people" or "that stupid kid". 

We have more kids to raise.  The story isn't written yet.  The "button's" story isn' written yet either.

What has been amazing this time is the way we have handled it.  We haven't driven all over looking for him, we haven't called his work or driven by, we haven't called or text, we haven't Facebook stalked or lost sleep.  I haven't eaten baguettes or sugar, just a spoonful of icecream, and I have been running.  I have slept like a baby.  I just wake up earlier.

The "gift" has been this situation has opened up conversations about the "gift of choice" with Walker and Addie.  These conversations have been powerful and meaningful.  These conversations have also opened up the importance and the power of genetics.  They have also taught my kids that you will make a mistake.  When you do, it is okay to ask for help.

Without the progam in the mountains, Franklin and I may be seen pounding our heads on cement.  Instead, we just regrouped.  Together. 

We have a life, we are living it. 

As a parent, you cannot control your kids, at any age.  They are going to do what they are going to do.  Your job is to love unconditionally and model.  BE the best that you can be. Love and listen.   That is it. 

I got up this morning, got on the treadmill and said a prayer, "let go and let God."  My life is not a treadmill. It is a mountain.  I am going to climb it.  Recovery is a part of our lives now.  And will be for a long time.  Relapse is now part of our lives too.  Cannot have one without the other.

Myths

I don't know why, but when I am on the treadmill, my mind goes like the Ever Ready bunny on crack.  I think of a MILLION things.  Lately, it has been myths.

I have eaten more cookie dough than I have cookies.  I have never had a worm.  I have eaten raw potatoes and raw hamburger, sometimes I have eaten the two together and still no worms.  Seriously, have you have heard or known of someone who had worms because they ate raw cookie dough, raw hamburger or raw potatoes?  Who said this causes worms?
I know alot of nurses and doctors and I have never heard them say, "so and so is in bad shape.  too much raw cookie dough.  the worm gottem."

When I moved below the Mason-Dixon line, I was in a manager's meeting one day.  They decided that we could all sit on this cement wall in Greenville, SC for some promotion.  I said, "No can do, we will get hemorrhoids if we sit on cold cement."  They were astounded and thought I was an idiot.  Everybody up north knows that if you sit on cold cement you will get hemorrhoids.  Really, do you really get hemorrhoids from cold cement?  If this were the case, wouldn't homeless people have signs that say, "will work for food and preparation H?"

My brother was obsessed with peeing outside.  He would pee just to pee outside.  Until my mother told him about the pee-pee bird.  The bird that swoops down and pecks little boys who pee outside.  This cured my brother Todd.  My son Walker, no.  His response, "Mom, me and Ethan googled it, there is no pee-pee bird."  Somewhere, my mom learned of the pee-pee bird but nobody else ever saw it.  Kind of like an snipe hunt with wings.

My mom told me that if I shaved my legs, it would grow back thicker and faster.  I wanted to shave my legs so bad.  We wore "gym suits" and I swear I was the only kid whose mother did not allow them to shave their legs.  Why, "it would grow back thicker and faster".  Mom, my husband has only a few hairs left on the top of his head and he shaves them.  They do NOT grow back thicker and faster, he can prove it to you.  I spent three years in gym class with the hairiest legs because of this myth. 

My mom told me that if you have a lot of kids your uterus will fall out.  I guess the random sock on the side of the road is there because he went to rescue the uterus that fell out and didn't know how to get back to the correct woman.  If this is true, my mother-in-law and the Dugger lady surely would have had the uterus pop out and run off.  I can just see  the uterus now running down the road with the random sock that escaped from the laundry basket.  The sock would be running, "Go uterus, go, keep running, don't look back...go."  Bizarre.

And my favorite myth,"if your second toe is bigger than your first, you will be the boss of your spouse."  You just looked down at your toes, didn't you?  I based trying to find the perfect husband on the length of our second toes.  Is Frank's longer than mine?  No. Real, actually, I am not sure.  You can aske anyone in our family, we know this myth.

Here's another myth, if you spend hours on the treadmill, you will be more calm and together. 

Guess who?

I don't like to repost...but occassionally, I feel the need.
This weekend is the "LOVE" weekend.  Valentine's Day.  I am not a "love" person but I do like Valentine's Day....I love to decorate boxes.  And then slip Valentines inside the box.  Love it.

And lately, bad choices and how to clean up bad choices has been a huge topic in our home and with my friends.  (see F ...the blog prior).  

So, in the spirit of love...and in the spirit of making mistakes and bad choices in schools...A repost.  The most interesting thing about this Valentine's Day story...I think about it every year on Valentine's Day.  Annually.

Feel the love.



I have been blessed in this life to have those "lifetime friends."  You know, the ones that call you after you haven't spoken to them in years, and the conversation flows like you saw them yesterday.  Those friends that have known you in and out of your life for a long time.  Annie is one of those friends.

I have known her since the Kindergarten days, all through school, she was my roomie  at WVU and then by chance, she lived down the road from me a tad in North Carolina. 

It was the other night, during a late night "porch" phone call that the "fourth grade Valentine's Day incident" came up.

Oh, the Fourth Grade Valentine's Day Incident.  Hmm.

Annie still had unanswered questions from that day forty-one years ago.  "Remember when we got in trouble in fourth grade over the Valentine's Day party?" 

"NO, I didn't get in trouble that day."

We read in the paper that we had the dreaded "new teacher."  Ugh.  We were so scared.

The first day of school we saw her. A cross between Snow White and Mary Tyler Moore, Miss Mercer was everyone's dream teacher.  We were her first class and we loved her.  Adored her.  She was "the" teacher that we all still talk about.

But as much as we loved her, we LOATHED Danny M.  Danny M was the one boy that is in every class ... tall, skinny, dirty teeth, boogers,greasy hair, and shirts buttoned all the way to his neck and dirty fingernails.  But, worse than all of this, Danny M. smelled like pee.  Not urine, he wasn't old enough, pee.  I knew.  I sat beside him.  Always.

The Valentine's Day party was coming. "The" party of the school year.  This of course was way back when you only had two parties per year, Christmas and then Valentine's Day.  WE would decorate our boxes when it was too cold or snowy to go out at recess and they were amazing. They were amazing even without Pintrest.  Oh, those were the days.

 The big day was coming.

I am assuming that the "plan" was developed in the cafeteria.  The plan was evil and simple.  Nobody was to give Danny M a Valentine.  Nobody.  Not a one, zilch, zero, nada, no Valentines.  It was that simple.  Annie, Barb (the perfect twin to the Campbell soup girl), Julie, the whole lot of us and we spread the word.

That night, at the kitchen table, while I addressed my Valentines, my mom learned of the "plan."  Linda, my mom, went CRAZY.  Not a little crazy, but a 10 on the crazy rector scale.  "Oh hell NO", she screamed. 

OMG.  What was I going to do?  I knew she was angry enough to call Miss Mercer and my friends, what would they say?  A fourth grade dilemma.

The next day, I slipped my Valentine into Danny M's box.  I did it when nobody saw me.  He sat beside me so I did it before the party.  Done. 

And, I slipped in 12 other Valentine's that simply said "guess who?".

Well, Danny M was sooooooo beside himself that he had 12 Valentines that simply said "guess who."  He gave the plan away. Miss Mercer had a "feeling" that something was up, checked his box and there were 12 mysterious Valentines plus one with very small handwriting that said "Stephanie".  Hmm.  Thirteen Valentines in a class of 20 or so.

You can figure out from there.  Annie, Barb and the gang got called out, demoralized and they have been carrying this around for 41 years.

"Annie, I gave him a Valentine", I admitted.  "And, I took the leftover ones that I had and wrote "guess who" on them because my mom found out and I knew she would kill me."

A confession.  After 41 years, the secret to the Valentine's Day Massacre of Danny M who smelled like pee was out.  

She was astounded.

"You are kidding?"

"Nope.  Linda knew and I knew she would kill me.  I knew it was wrong. I didn't want anybody to make fun of me, so I signed my name, microscopically to one and "guess who" on the others.  My mom was fine.  Danny M was thrilled and wasn't smart enough to do the math and you all never knew."

The bottom line is this, we all screw up occasionally.  I have.  I have one biggie beside my name and a few not so big beside my name and that is today.  Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

And, I knew better.

Every time I tried to screw up, even the first time I had sex, there was this little voice tugging on my ear.  "Guess who" became the inner voice code name for my mom.  My conscience too.

And, your past, whether you want to or not, can and will catch up with you.  

And when it does, sometimes it knocks on your heart and says, "Guess who?"  

Just hope they give you a Valentine.  Happy Valentine's Day. 

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Fire Paw Coyote

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Fire Paw Coyote: Well, the men are home.  Both of them.  After 42 days in the Tonto National Forest, the "making of a walking" is complete. Fire Paw Coyote...