reaching out

This past year, as is pretty well known, has sucked. And it was not a transition that was painful just to me, but to my whole family as well.  That is probably the worst part of everything - seeing my kids hurting, too.  

Part of this time included the emotional roller coaster of my 15 year old son.  Putting aside the fact that he's a teenager, and that comes with a wealth of emotional highs and lows, this year scarred him for life.  For the past year, he has tried to pull away, to hide, to lose himself in video games and tae kwon do. 

And it would have been so easy for me to let him do that - to let him have his space and figure out his new normal in his own way. But I have never been a stand back parent, and more than anything, I missed being able to hug my son.  For the past few years, I had been getting a one-armed side hug at most; over this past year, he would physically jerk away from any touch I tried to give him. 

I'm a touchy person, a hugger.  At the end of the day, I could not let my son turn from me; moreover, I could not let him think that anything he did made me turn from him.  I heard a saying on the radio that if your child pulls away, that is when you need to step in and pull them closer - that is when they need the affection the most.

He may want to pull away from me, but I have long legs with which to step in.  And it was so hard - the hardness, the being pulled from, the feeling like I'm being rejected by my own son.  But that is not what was going on. Pouting and angry and sad, he was pulling away because he felt hurt and rejected, and that is when he needs someone to hug him the most. 

So that is what I did.  And when he tried to pull away, I hugged tighter.  If he flinched his head away when I tried to touch his hair, I grabbed his head and kissed the top of it.  If he tried to roll away when I went to wake him in the morning, I leaned over and hugged him in bed. A good morning hug every morning after he was out of bed. A good night hug every night, no matter how bad or low the day was, and an "I love you" on top. Sometimes I would even yell at him: "Hey, I love you and want to hug you, so come here."  When I started to get the one armed hug back, I was grateful, but did not rest on my laurels. If something really good happened, I said: "Ok, this deserves a two arm hug. And a big squeeze!"  

It has been just over a year since this whole fiasco began.   And it was hit or miss, but at the end of the day, every day, I pulled him closer because I was not about to lose my son to hurt and anger over something that was not his fault. I pulled him closer because even if he didn't think he needed a hug, I needed one. It is not something that happened overnight, and it was painful at times, and I can't give up now that we are getting into our new normal. 

We still have really bad days, but  now there are fewer tears and more smiles. There are more easy touches. He doesn't jerk his head or body away when I reach out to touch him. He makes jokes about giving mom a hug. And he may be 15, but he now knows that he can always give mom a hug; he can always reach out to me about anything, and no matter what, I am there. And he knows that even though he is 15, and at a public place like the Airsoft field with his friend and several other young men, his mom will still want a hug before she leaves, and she gets it.  

Having to hold on like I did reminds me of the Gaelic story of Tam Lin: http://www.irishcultureandcustoms.com/AMisc/TamLin.html

Silver linings

I was at the mall today with my girls. Aden has spent much of this summer working for his TKD studio, so while I so wished he were there too, mall shopping is an entirely different experience when it is all girls,  especially when those girls are my daughters  ("Oh mommy, that looks beautiful!  You should get it!").

Our trip to the mall was so enjoyable; we bought some fun stuff, spent more than we should, and came home all smiles. In fact, my daughter Sophie told me earlier that today is her favorite day. Why? "Because I got my drum set and we are going to the mall to get my clip on earrings and a new pillow, and then we get to have Soup Plantation for lunch!  It's my favorite day!"

The happiness of the day echoed as we came home, organized our new shoes and put our new pillows in pillowcases.   And it occurred to me why I was so happy -- I didn't have to explain, justify, or go over every expenditure we just made. AND I don't have to worry about someone's idea of "spending fairness" which would mean having  to spend the same amount  in return (and life sure as hell isn't fair, is it? I never understood that one).

And I don't have to worry about something as stupid as explaining why I bought the one on sale. I like buying things on sale. Saving money is a good thing, so I like how I can come home and share with my kids how I got it ON SALE, and everyone in the house is as excited as I am.

I like how there is never any extra money missing from the bank. I always know the exact balance and there are no surprises.

I like how if I get the in the car and its on empty, it's because I made it that way.

I like how there are never any clothes on the floor of my bedroom. All the dirty clothes magically make their way to the laundry hamper. And I like having to do less laundry as a result.

I like how much cleaner the bathroom remains.

I like that I can move any stack of paper, any item in my house, and not catch hell over "touching my stuff" (my kids know that it does not fly in my house, so they don't say it).

I like that we can eat a Soup Plantation anytime we want. And use a coupon to do it, so the whole family can pig out for less than $30.

I like how I don't have someone else's mother telling me that I am doing something wrong, or there is a better way to do it, or why don't I do it this way?

I like how I don't have to use any "Rule of Three" for housewares selections anymore - If I like it, I get it.

I like how I don't have to hear about what a bad cook I am, or what a bad cook my mother is. (REALLY?!)

I like that I can leave the kitchen a mess if I want to.

I like how I feel better about myself, that I don't feel fat or ugly anymore.

And sometimes, when the girls aren't sleeping with me, I like how I can sprawl across the whole bed and not worry about someone hogging the blankets on a cold night.

There is a lot, A LOT A LOT A LOT A LOT of bad that comes with divorce.  More bad than good every day.  So sometimes, in quiet moments, I catch a good thing about it, and amid all the tumult and torment, a small smile crosses my face.

Tonight we're going to party like . . .

Tonight I am having a party.  Not a birthday party or a graduation party, but the type of party that wields the double edged sword of happiness and sadness.  This party has been in the works since the end of November, and while initially I said I would not have it, when the time came, I decided I needed something to mark this moment with a party, just as we mark most milestones in our lives.

In fact, one of the first things a close friend said to me was "When's the party?" The party. Right now I am decorating and it is the first time in 20 years I have prepped for a party on my own.  And as I put up decorations in 100 degree heat, I am reminded of where I was just over 17 years ago, in a similar heat, putting up decorations before I put on a pretty dress. I'll be wearing a pretty dress tonight, but it certainly is not nearly as pricey, nor is it white. The decorations are not hearts and bells, but fiesta-esq decor.

However, this time I do have REAL champagne.  Not sparkling wine. Not California "champagne" (which is just sparkling wine), REAL champagne from France. Expensive as hell and something I most certainly did not have at that party 17 years ago.  So perhaps that is a good start. Perhaps all real life changes need REAL champagne to mark their significance.

And friends. While more people came to that party 17 years ago, there will be several friends here, some newer friends, some long term friends. We will have music, and food, and drinks, and some fun games, and a pinata filled with grown-up style goodies. We won't have cake, but I will have a chocolate fountain this time, and since I like chocolate more than cake, I think that is more than a fair trade.

This is not the party I wanted to have.  In my dreams, my party would have had a number and the word "anniversary" after it, but we cannot control the actions of others; we can't control fate or the hand that God deals us. All we can do is pick ourselves up afterwards, nurse our wounds, then work on moving forward on our new path. And every crossroads in life needs recognition. This party tonight is my recognition of the crossroads where I find myself, and like the aftermath of most parties, I hope it only gets better from here.

On Getting My Daughter Back

Kaya has always been my odd duck. At age 12, she does her own thing her own way and is happy in her own world.  Sometimes this means she is distracted, or it may seem like she is not paying attention.

We attributed her frequent urination to an incontinence problems she's has since potty training. Since we live in the desert, it is not unusual to be thirsty a lot and drink several bottles of water a day.  With her recent growth spurt, and the accompanying weight loss, most people didn't think much of how skinny she became, especially since she still ate quite a bit. And if she was distracted or off in her own world all the time? Well, that was just Kaya.

But for the past few weeks, the weight loss started to frighten me - she looked like a survivor of Auschwitz. Her sunken eyes, her gaunt cheeks, and we could see every bone and tendon. Then she had no energy, started sleeping more, and the peeing was bordering on ridiculous.  I was worried, so I took her to the doctor, the most awesome of all doctors, Dr. Nguyen of Ivy Springs Medical Care.  We focused on her bladder issues as that seemed to be the worst problem.  He guessed it was an incontinence problem that could be fixed with meds, but wanted to rule out any biological issues first. We were off to the lab on Thursday, June 14th, around 9 am.  She spent Thursday afternoon, drinking 3 bottles of water, searching for bathroom, and getting in trouble for not working hard enough in her Tae Kwon Do class.

Friday morning at 8 am I received a phone call from the doctor. Could we come in right now? No, not this afternoon, but right this moment? And then the panic set in. Only bad news has the doctor calling first thing in the morning saying get in here NOW.  So off we went. I am trying not to cry and my Kaya bunny has no idea what is going on.  It was not until we were sitting in the room and I watched the nurse to a finger prick on Kaya that everything fell into place - like a crazy puzzle in my brain:   The frequent peeing, the  unending thirst, the unbelievable weight loss (she had lost another 1.5 lbs in the week between her first visit and this one, down to 97 lbs for a girl who is 5'5"), the lethargy and sleepiness, the fuzzy and distracted mind.  Kaya has Type 1 Diabetes.

My maternal uncle and grandfather both had it - I had watched them take insulin shots and watch their diets most of my young life, but so see my baby girl, so realize OH MY GOD SHE WAS DYING and no one saw it is a horrifying moment in a mom's life. Then to think of everything it means from this point forward, the shots, the glucose tests, the diet and exercise, just the schedule and focus it would entail was daunting beyond measure.

Kaya, fortunately, had a great attitude about it - she had read about a girl with diabetes in an American Girl magazine and was, if nothing else, relieved to know that it wasn't just her not being a good kid or a focused kid -she couldn't control her bladder or stay awake or focused because she was sick.

How sick?  Well, after trying to sort through all the information from the doctor and pharmacist, and reading as much as I could on the internet, I sat down to look at Kaya's lab work.  The Doctor got a phone call at 2 am from the lab after they ran her glucose serum test; they wanted to know if she was in a diabetic coma. The normal range for this test as indicated on her paperwork ranged from 60-99. Typically diabetes or the like is indicated at a range of 120-140 or above. Kaya's number?  623.   You read that right - I didn't miss type or forget a decimal. 623.  623. 623.  That number is etched in my brain.  There was human writing all over the paper work - FOLLOW UP NOW!  GET HER TO HOSPITAL. CALL THE MOTHER IMMEDIATELY.  The stuff of nightmares.

She is a healthier eater to begin with, so I think that saved us a bit.  She had a salad and some cheese for lunch, and low fat, low sugar yogurt for a snack in the afternoon.  After we picked up $200 in meds and hardware, we went home, researched sugar free foods that she could eat, picked up a few things at the grocery store, and then took her blood sugar level before dinner as required.  345.  I had to call the doctors, as he required that for any reading over 300, he told us how much short acting insulin to give her, and for the first time I injected my daughter with insulin. She was a trooper.

  After two hours, her sugar levels were at 245. Still not got, but better than 345, and a helluva lot better than 623.  Then we gave her the long lasting insulin, which was a bit more painful of a shot as it required more units of insulin, and she went to bed. We took a blood sugar reading at 12:30 that night (I had to make sure she didn't get low blood sugar now that she had insulin in her - a whole OTHER problem that could mean a trip to the ER). Her blood sugar was at 181.  Under 200 for the first time. Still high, but oh so much better.  Then I woke her at 7 for another reading, another shot and breakfast of low fat whole grain English muffin with sugar free peanut butter and Jelly.

 At this point I am only guessing and using what I remember my uncle eating as a reference - today is research and book buying day.  But Kaya took it all  in stride, and we working on yet ANOTHER type of new normal for our family.  And Kaya is so happy right now - not to have diabetes of course, but to finally have an answer, and she is excited to tackle this and get on living her beautiful life.

I am so proud of you, Kaya bunny.

On Finding a Home

I have lived in several places, and I have owned a total of three homes. One we sold to move to Michigan, one we still own and rent out in Michigan, and then this one. The one with the misnomer of Dream House.

I had so many fanciful hopes and dreams tied to this house. We had been living in a dumpy apartment in the ghetto of Escondido, so this house, with all its space, on a cul de sac in the small town of Menifee seemed ideal. However, houses are only extensions of the families that live in them. And if the family is broken, whether all the members know it or not, the house is not truly a home. I wish I had known that 4 years ago.

Over the past 4 years, I though I had a dream home. We had holidays and birthdays. We had friends over, family dinners, and played games together. 4 years ago, I imagined this house is where we would retire. Where my children would come home from college to visit, where the grandkids would come for holiday dinners. I dreamed we would upgrade the kitchen and bathroom, design a beautiful backyard so we could barbecue together, and sit together in the evenings and enjoy out time together.

I now refer to my dream house as the place where dreams come to die. I didn't realize that my dream, my children's dream, was not the dream of everyone in the family, that our dreams of a family home was actually a nightmare for someone else. This house was never a home. I didn't know at the time that my dream house was nothing more than fog and ashes.

Houses aren't inherently evil, no matter what the Amityville movies show. However, they reflect the family within, and when the family is torn apart and destroyed, it cannot help but be reflected withing the house. This house, I realize, was never our home; it was a way-station until our family could be redefined, and now we are moving onto a new house.

My new house is not as big. It is not in the nice neighborhood tucked in a cul de sac. It will contain a smaller family, a broken family. But it will contain my family. My family now has a new set of hopes and dreams, and this new house will reflect our small family that will move within this Sunday. This house will be our home.

Blessings

For the past 9 months, it would be very easy for me to say I really have to search to find any blessings in my life. When the core foundation of one's life is violently torn away, and left behind is only a broken, empty shell, seeing hope in God or counting anything as a blessing in life seems very, very far away.

However, when asked how I am doing, since December my response has remained constant: "God knew I would be traversing Hell, and he made sure I was well prepared and protected while I walked that path." The truth in this is majestic, in that I didn't roll over and want to disappear - I did enough of that in the fall. Instead, I picked up my broken, empty shell, dusted myself off, and with God's help, started putting that shell back together.

I was asked again, just a few weeks ago, how I was doing. I told my friend what my old response was, the one listed above, but then I told him, "I used to say that, but I can't say that anymore." He initially freaked a bit, thinking I had lost my faith in God. "No," I told him. "God is still there - He makes it plain to me every day. No, I can't say I'm in that bad place anymore."

Every day since things crashed down, I have seen God working in my life, making this transition as smooth as it could possibly be, and now that I am walking taller and stronger than ever before, I can see it even more, and it amazes me just as much now as it did when I was still the crumpled heap. I have a friend who just lost her mother, another who received a frightening medical diagnosis, and a third who is in sincere financial straits, and in this past week I have cried for them more than I have cried for myself.

That prompted me to sit down and list just some of these blessing that God shows me daily, to help me remember that we all are on a rough road, and God gives us faith, family, and friends to help us along the way. I think of these blessings every morning, then get out of bed, and take on the day.

My Blessings:
1. My Children - they are first because they are mine and a daily visual reminder of everything in this world that is good. I wake every day wondering what I can do to ensure they are happy, healthy, and can achieve all they want in life. They are my heart, and they deserve so much more than what they've had so far, and I want to help them reach for the stars. If everything else was taken away and all I had were my children, my blessings would still be immeasurable.

2. My God - He knows I am a visual learner, and He makes sure that, every day, I see more and more of his workings in my life. I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. He is the blessing of all blessings.

3. My mom - she has walked a similar road and has always been my biggest supporter and cheerleader. I have just learned a friend of mine lost her mother to cancer, so today, this moment, I feel especially blessed to have my mother still in my life.

4. My sisters - they have been my backbone when I didn't have one, gave off anger when I couldn't, gave me guidance when I needed it,and make me smile when I think I can't. They never stop giving, giving, giving. If you don't have sisters, you don't know the power of sisterly love, and that is a blessing that never ends.

5. My friends - they have let me cry on their shoulders, text and email me every day for support, encouragement, or ranting moments, and they don't care if I call or text at midnight or 5 am. They came to me instantly, the moment everything fell apart, and I am blessed to have friends that I don't even need to talk to, but will be there the minute I need them. I am blessed to never feel alone because God made sure I had a friend at every turn.

6. My job(s) - I work contract. I have zero job security, and I had "quit" two of my jobs in anticipation of a different move. When I needed those jobs back, I got them - I was told they never took me off the roster. When I needed to max out classes at one of my schools, they did it that day. I am blessed to both be able to work, and to have work to do.

Those are just my top 6 - they are blessings that God gives me every day, every moment, so at no point in my life can I forget and think how bad things are. Because they are not bad, different, but not bad. Looking at that list of blessings, how could anyone say it's anything less than wonderful?