9-10-2021 Journal Entry, aka Too Much All at Once

Geez, there's so much, I can tell this is going to be word vomit.

Today was the Fallen Firefighter's Memorial.  They put the 3 names they lost to Covid on the memorial.  I hate the bagpipes playing Amazing Grace--it always makes me cry.  I met one of the other widows and her condition is just heartbreaking.  You can just see grief written all over her.  I gave her my phone number.

Billy is in the hospital.  Last week he made two threats on text to kill someone with a knife he got from a friend.  The first one was while I was teaching small group.  I put a parental app on his phone and found the second threat about a classmate along with music he was listening to that was vile.  I confronted him when he came home and he got angry and started cussing at me and Arrena and saying hateful things to me and about Scott.  He poured his root beer on my chair and the floor.  Arrena and I tried to restrain him.  Patrick was barking and I thought Billy would calm down when he reached to hug Patrick, but he said he was running away and shoved me out of the way.  We let him go, but he came back and went straight to the knife drawer, which I didn't realize was unlocked, and grabbed a knife and held it to his throat and said he was going to kill himself because no one loved him.  I grabbed the knife while Arrena grabbed him.  I was trying to find my phone to call the doctor's office crisis line, but I couldn't find it, so we called police from Arrena's phone.  They took him to Research and I followed.  I stayed with him until about 5:15am then went home to sleep and go to my discipleship class.  I had to fill out paperwork for him to go to KVC, then I went back and his bed was in the hallway.  He was bored so I went to Dollar Tree and got him some activity books.  Then I went back home.  He went to KVC in the morning.  I've talked to him every day.  The first day, he had to be sedated.  The second day he had to be isolated.  Last night he told me that he's trying to be good so he can come home and see me and the dog.  Kimberly told me she's afraid for all of us and that I should turn him over to the state.  She said I haven't been there as a mom they needed because I was too busy with Billy.  And she's right.  I didn't get to be the mom I wanted to be.  Once a therapist drew a pie chart and said I spend 90% of my resources (time, energy, money) on Billy and the other 10% is what I have left for both my kids, my husband, myself, friends, etc.  Would Kim be different if I'd been there for her?  I started crying because I have spent 16 years trying to prevent us from getting exactly where we are now.  I've wasted 16 years.  And I didn't help any of my 3 kids.  She started talking about her dad and Sarah and how they act different in front of Arrena and Paul, but to her they still badmouth me and reward her with attention if she badmouths me and Scott.  I knew this wedding was going to be difficult but now I feel like everything I do will be scrutinized to make fun of later.  It's too much.  There's just too much going on.  It's been 12 years--why can't he move on?  I told Billy's therapist at KVC my concerns that things are only getting worse and that we're scared of it escalating.  She suggested I call DCS, so I did today.  I have no idea what they can do or what to expect.  They're supposed to call me in 24 hours.  Billy didn't call me tonight.  His nurse did--he punched 2 boys in the face and threw chairs at staff.  They put him in isolation.

Express lane sunday

Newsflash: mom gets sick and the kids lose their minds. Wait, you've heard that one before?

Happy Birthday in Heaven

My husband wonders why I am focusing on what would have been my dad's 70th birthday today.  It's not that I don't think of him every year on his birthday or on the day he died and other times, but I mentioned it because it would have been a big birthday.  Maybe it's the numbers.  So many to mark the passage of time that seemed like it flew by so quickly.

This year is my 20th high school reunion.  And, if I had stayed married to my first husband, we would have been married 20 years this year.  I remember thinking that 20th anniversaries were a big deal and was such a long time.  But, now, it doesn't feel so long.  I feel like high school was yesterday.  Twenty years ago, my dad was 50 and my grandpa was getting ready to turn 70.  I remember my grandma writing to me and asking if I could believe that "that young man" was turning 70.  But, today, if my dad were still alive, HE would be 70.  And if my grandpa were still alive, HE would be 90 next year.  I'll be 40 next year.  My mom will be 70 in a couple of years and my grandma will be 90 in three.  40 used to seem so old, until I started staring down the barrel of it.  70 was the age of my grandparents, now it's my parents.  90 years was an amazing length of time for someone to have made it to, but my grandma is so strong and vibrant that 90 seems incongruous.

It's all perspective, I suppose.  My kids think I'm ancient and I don't feel that way (well, in some ways I do, but otherwise, I feel like it hasn't been that long since I was their age).  I thought 70 was near death when I was young, but I don't think of my mom that way now.  94 was how old my great-grandmother was when she died and she always seemed so frail, but now that my grandmother is nearing that decade, it seems completely different for her.  Maybe it's that my former perceptions are not matching with my current reality that is making me focus on it a bit more.

In any case, it's not depression that's causing me to fixate, it's the numbers: 20, 40, 70, and 90.

The Most Thankless Job

As life is wont to do, this post is in direct contrast to a previous recent post.

I always knew motherhood was a thankless job, and that was ok. The hugs, smiles, kisses were enough. And even when Billy hurls obscenities at me and says he hates me, I've learned to overlook it and know that it's coming from the disabilities that plague him and that his actions show otherwise.

But, lately my kids have been throwing new barbs at my heart. The kind that stick and make you look at them differently and wonder why you bother doing all the vast and taxing things you do for them. I'm sure I'm not the only one to feel this way.

The divorce from their dad was the catalyst. When they were young, the hurt came from their gushing about dad's girlfriend, the very one he left me for. Arrena was the only one that could see through my carefully neutral façade and refused to mention her in my presence, at the tender age of eight.

I take with a grain of salt the angry, "I'll just go live at dad's!" Because I know they're only trying to get a reaction, that it's the difference between the loving discipline designed to grow them into godly young people here and the "Disneyland" at dad's, and even if they were serious, the court prevents it at this time.

There's the little jabs when they gush about how much fun they had at dad's, conveniently forgetting that he went months without picking them up or that he forgot to call on their birthday or that he's gone six months without paying child support and we've been struggling just to put food on their plates.

There's the cruel twist of my heart when they speak glowingly of their step-mom, who was also instrumental in the break-up of the marriage. The fury of knowing they confided rule-breaking to her and she kept her mouth shut so that I'm the last to know.

And, yes, I admit that there's the jealousy of my kids having this whole other step-family that they love and talk about that I don't even know.

Kimberly talks about how she and her step-mom have this plan to move to Florida and open a wildlife park. I know it will probably never happen but the idea that she'd prefer to spend her life with her step-mom over me (she can't wait to go to college out of state and live far away) breaks my heart in two.

The cruelest torture was this week when their dad told me all the things they complain about to him, things that have just enough grain of truth in them to make me believe he didn't make it up, but enough falsehood to make me sound like the wicked witch. How did I turn into the evil step-mother in the fairy tale?

That same night, I listened to both girls talking about how they'd name their first sons after their dad. A dad who tried to kill their mother in front of them, the dad who doesn't show up or call, the dad who didn't participate in parenting even before we were divorced, the dad who followed through on his threat to purposefully get fired so he wouldn't have to pay high child support, the dad who called and left a suicidal message telling them goodbye, the dad who not only threatened to run away with them but actually took me to court to try to take custody and lied in court, and all the other award-winning dad material that makes him worthy of being made a grandchild namesake.  The guy you wouldn't even remotely think was a good man, let alone a good father. Yet, I get nothing. Things they see me do for them, the things they take for granted that I'll always be there, and the things they never saw--things they'll probably never know because I won't tell them. The things they blame me for without knowing the whole story or the motivation behind it. I don't even necessarily want any grandchildren named after me. It just hurts when he seems to win parent of the year over me over and over again.

No, I'm not like many parents that would sit there and point out all of these things to them, in an effort to make myself look better and him look worse.  In fact, sometimes I find myself trying to explain why he is the way he is, almost (almost) defending him, not for his sake, but for theirs.  I've even said that they are smart enough to one day figure it out on their own.

And, yes, I'm sure "one day" they'll see things clearly and that I did the best for them that I possibly could and that he didn't. One day, especially when they have children of their own, I might hear a "thank you, mom" or an "I'm sorry, mom." But in the meanwhile, while I'm embroiled in a fight against the school and the bus company on their behalf, I wonder why am I wearing myself thin, stressing myself out, exhausting myself when dad's the hero. And then I remember that regardless of whether they recognize the sacrifice, I love them and will still do anything for them no matter their reaction. And I bet God feels the same way when His children forget Him. He just keeps on loving us anyway.

Being a Mom is Tough, but the Benefits are Amazing

One day when this is all behind us, I'll write the story of this debacle of my girls being assaulted on the school bus. But, tonight I'm tired. Tired from stress, from adrenaline, from talking to people all day, from documenting everything, from being the mama bear. But I had to share this one thing so I won't forget why being a mom and having to fight the fight is worth it.

We have a family routine. At dinner time, we take turns asking the blessing on the meal. Whoever's turn it is, we all have to say something we like about that person. Tonight was my turn. Arrena said she likes mom because "she stands up for us." Kimberly said, "I like mom because she takes us seriously." This mama bear sure does love her cubs.

The Modern Family

Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, there lived a queen. She was neither a good queen nor a bad queen, but a queen that tried her very best. Her dominion was not very large: in fact, her subjects were very limited in number, but she loved them very much and would give anything for their well-being.

By and by, the queen had a son. The very idea of raising a son struck terror in the heart of the queen. She knew nothing about raising a modern-day knight. She had no magic mirrors or book of spells to help her, for this land was not magical. She feared her son becoming like the wicked king and she longed to instill the love of the Creator in him.

However, when the prince was born, he immediately bonded with the queen. The babe would stare lovingly into her face, bringing tears to the queen's eyes. The prince made the queen feel like a queen. The apprehension the queen had felt melted into love and adoration.

When the boy was a toddler, the wicked king decided that he was too much of a mama's boy and took him under wing, much to the chagrin of the queen. The sweet baby became a hard to manage child. He threw tantrums, he screamed, he hit, he kicked, he threw things, he said bad words. The queen remembered the sweet baby and loved her son still. She hoped he would grow out of this stage.

The prince started preschool. The queen received phone calls from the school that the boy was being mean to other students and could not be calmed and would not give ear to his instructors. As the problems escalated and the years passed, the queen realized that the boy was not outgrowing the issues. They were only getting worse. She went to parenting classes, read books, asked other parents, researched online. She knew it must somehow be her fault. She had done something wrong in raising the boy. The boy still loved his queen mother, however, and preferred her company above all others.

The wicked king, meanwhile, attempted to kill the queen and run away with the prince and the royal princesses, but his plans were thwarted. He was arrested, dethroned, overthrown, and left to set up a kingdom somewhere else. The queen found a new king, who was good and kind and loved the prince and the royal princesses and moved them into his castle, where he lived alone with his faithful canine companion.

As the prince began elementary school, the good king and the queen began to be more and more concerned about his behavior. Words like "high functioning autism" began to haunt them. So, they sought medical help. A doctor, or wizard of the first degree, sent them to a wizard of the second degree. He proclaimed that the prince had an affliction known as ADHD, complicated with a side of ODD. They tried different potions from the apothecary until they found one that seemed to calm the boy down. His behavior was still a problem, but he was finally able to sit still. They were then passed on to a wizard of the third degree.

This wizard gave them new parenting techniques and suggested new punishments for the prince. The wizard charged them with keeping a scroll of the boy's actions. The queen gained confidence in her ability to handle the boy and be a strong mother. However, she missed her son when he had to be banished to the tower, which was frequently. The wizard saw elements of OCD in the boy's behavior. One of his troubling observations was that the prince seemed happiest when he was playing by himself, being left alone.

Though the wizard was still working on the problem, the queen became nervous when the wizard mentioned "occupational therapy" if the prince could not gain control over himself and his actions. This, to the queen, sounded like giving up on her beloved son. She was further troubled when the wizard told them that the prince was selfish and narcissistic and that if they were to quit at this point, they would have to learn to accept him for who and what he is: someone that expects the world to revolve around him. The queen was brokenhearted when the wizard told her that her son obviously did not feel the same about her as she did about him or else he would miss her when he was banished to the tower. Since he didn't seem to mind being in the tower alone, he obviously didn't care about spending time with the queen or being a part of the royal family. The queen felt as though she had lost that sweet baby and that she'd imagined the close relationship she had believed she'd had with the prince.

As with all fairy tales, the question is whether they all lived happily ever after. Unfortunately, I can't tell you the answer to that question because the next chapter hasn't been written yet. We still don't know what is causing the problems with my son or how to help him.

Depression: a Cure and a Cause?

I love my husband...he gently reminds me that I haven't written on my blog in a while. So glad that he is supportive and encouraging of my writing!

Well, update from my last post.... I had thought that was all there was to my little breakdown, but apparently that wasn't it. If you remember my blog from last year, I was finally on some antidepressants that actually helped with no weird side effects or personality changes. But, I lost my insurance and wasn't able to afford them or my doctor anymore. I had hoped that my depression was situational and that once my situation had improved, I would be fine. However, even after I thought I had things figured out and Scott and I had talked about my feelings, I didn't feel better. I would start crying while fixing dinner, for no apparent reason. I felt paranoid and desperate. I have felt sadness too much of my life and I certainly didn't want to waste any more of my life like that. I felt guilty for feeling depressed when I have everything I ever wanted and in all respects, am happy and blessed and content. Maybe my depression is chemical, genetic, or clinical, not just situational. So, I went to the doctor a couple of weeks ago and he gave me a new prescription for my old antidepressants. I am feeling more normal now. The paranoia and desperation are gone, I haven't cried since, and I am enjoying my life much more now. Guess it will be a fact of my life--may have to take the meds for the rest of my life. If that's what it takes to avoid feeling that way...then that's what I will do.

On another note, the kids have been struggling with the selfishness of their dad. He hadn't called or showed up for visitation in over a month. His mother had spoken to me and told me that he had taken off on his girlfriend Mandy that he said he was going to marry last month and that he was with another girlfriend Sarah. He had been telling me that he had been paying child support, but that for some reason it wasn't reaching me. His mom confirmed he was lying and paid a fraction of it (along with his bike payment) to keep him out of jail and collections a while longer. Well, tonight, he finally called the kids. Apparently, he married Sarah and now wants to resume seeing the kids.

I am frustrated on so many levels. It disturbs me that the kids so easily accept that he was going to marry Mandy in April, but married Sarah in May. It is appalling to learn that the kids knew about her and other girlfriends while their dad was living with Mandy. What kind of example does this set for them? How do I combat all of the things they have seen and know and continue to learn at his hands?

There's a deeper ache at how he can blow them off for a month, not so much as a phone call and doesn't bother to give us his phone number so his kids could call him, that they twice expectantly went to the meeting place believing that their dad would show up to pick them up yet leave angry that he cares so little that he not only doesn't show up, but doesn't even have the decency to call and tell them that he can't come this time. And yet, when he calls, all that seems to fade away from their memories and they get excited and exclaim, "Daddy!" or "I love you!" It hurts me (selfish jealousy, I am sure) to be the parent that is always there, doing everything for them, loving them day in and day out, not just when it suits, but to hear on a regular basis that I am a mean mom or "I hate you" or "You are ruining my life," yet he gets, "I love you, daddy! When are you coming to pick me up?" If I feel that way, I wonder how my husband feels, who is daily much more of a dad to my kids than their biological father is. He hugs them at bedtime and tells them he loves them; he provides for their every need (without the help of child support) and many of their wants; he spends his days off eating lunch with them at school, helping out on field trips, or helping me finish decorating their new room; he is there to pick up the pieces when their dad doesn't show up, scooping them into his lap and turning their anger to laughter. I once read a book that had a line in it so profound that I wrote it down: "Kids chase the love that eludes them...Why do kids assume so much from one parent and hold the other to a lower or looser standard? Maybe it's like my old man said, 'You can be a mommy's boy or a daddy's boy, but you can't be both.' So you cling to the one you think you might lose." I believe that was from "For One More Day" by Mitch Albom. I know my kids are smart and that eventually they will see which parent they can trust. But that brings me to my deeper pain. I can deal with the wounds of being mom, but what hurts my heart the most is when they are hurt. I am sure that this will not be the last time that their dad is selfish or blows them off. So, I have to watch them be hurt over and over again and I can't do anything to stop it. A mom's instinct is to protect her children, but when courts get involved, they dictate what is right and wrong for your children. And for courts, it is a black and white, antiseptic, across-the-board decision. Keep on subjecting the abused to the abuser and the children to being rejected by their own father. Oh yes, that's certainly going to be better for their self-esteem than to never have contact with their birth father. The court system has a long way to go before it can claim it operates under "justice".

So, as mom, all I can do is accept the situation and be there for the kids when they need me. Truly, isn't that what all mothers do anyway?

Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day. Last week my husband asked me what I wanted for Mother's Day. I had forgotten that the day was even coming up! I said, "I'd like to sleep late on Saturday morning!" Saturday is the only day I have to sleep late since I have to get my kids up for school Monday through Friday at 6:30am (though mom sometimes stays in bed a little longer) and we get up for church on Sundays. For six years, I delivered newspapers for a living, going to bed, getting up at 2am or earlier, throwing my route, then coming home to grab a nap before getting up to take my daughter to school. Last year, I quit and got a job doing data entry from the USPS. I work 7pm-11pm. Sometimes I have to work later or I go to the grocery store on Fridays and don't go to bed until around 2am. You can imagine my disappointment when Saturday morning around 6 or 7am, my kids start crawling into bed with me or my husband decides to chat with me. He usually goes to work around 1am, so 6am is sleeping in for him! And we get so little time together these days that he takes what he can get for chats. But four hours of sleep is too little for me, so this was my wish!




Yesterday morning, I woke up when my husband crawled into bed. He and my son had fallen asleep on the couch. I put Billy to bed and tried to wake Chris up, but he was dead to the world. So I went to bed alone. When I woke up, I realized that Billy was on one side of me and Arrena was on the other side. Chris tried to talk to me, but he must have remembered my wish because he said we would talk later and to go to sleep. Then I remembered him sending Arrena out of the room and trying to dislodge Billy from his usual spot right next to his mama. Billy refused. Chris whispered something in his ear, but Billy still refused. Chris said, "you always ruin my plans." I don't remember how it happened, but Billy eventually left. I remember waking up again with Chris getting dressed. I thought it odd because he was wearing his hat and getting socks, so I knew he must be going somewhere, but I didn't know where.



The next time I woke up, Chris was there and saying, "I've held the kids off, but they want you downstairs." I thought it must be really late since I had woken up a few times, then gone back to sleep and they had left and returned. The clock said it was a little after 9am. Chris said the kids had gotten him up at 5am. When I came downstairs, arranged on the table were notes, a card made by Kimmy at school, Arrena's silhouette made at school, a bouquet of multi-colored roses, and a box containing a heart shaped necklace with a large pink stone that said "love". I tried to get a picture of the necklace, but it wouldn't come out right. Anyways, this is a big deal because sometimes my husband forgets and that's a big deal to me because after reading Gary Chapman's Five Love Languages, I know that my love language is gifts. It was all really sweet. Billy had gotten his Gaga Pat to get me a pot of miniature roses yesterday. Chris said he picked out the flowers, sniffing them until he found just the right bouquet. This is only the second time my husband has ever bought me roses! Arrena said that I must really like the necklace because I keep wearing it (2 days in a row!).



My mother gave me the picture in the shadow box frame that you see here. She made it with material from both of our wedding dresses and cross-stitched the words and added the corsage she wore to my wedding and pictures of she and I at my wedding and of her and her mom at her wedding. It is really special. She made my wedding dress out of four different patterns that I picked out. She also made hers too. The blue hearts are from the material that she made her bridesmaid dressed out of.

The pastor's sermon today was really convicting for me and I have begun to really think hard about my temper with my children. Well, maybe it was less what the pastor said and more God speaking to my heart. I am praying for God's help with this. I was never a short-fused person before, I don't think. I think a lot of times my anger towards the children is misplaced--I'm angry at my husband and I take it out on them. Anyways, I have been trying to deal with this, but I just feel worse and worse about it. I want them to have a happy childhood, not grow up saying that their mother was angry all the time. I try to be calm and speak to them, but it doesn't seem like they respond until I get loud. Anyways, this is something I must work on. I want to be a mom that hugs and cuddles and plays and has fun and teaches them about God from my example, not the mom that yells and strikes fear. I want them to respect me, not fear me.