I was running around doing some errands today. Joe was home with the girls. It was just me, my music, and my to-do list of about 150 things. I am at a stop light, needing to turn left. I had the yellow arrow, which clearly means if there are no on coming cars, then I can turn. I was good. No cars.

However, what was stopping me from turning were two guys, taking their sweet time trying to cross. In the pouring rain. So…. because I have the patience of a shoe, I slowly started creeping my car up to the cross walk, waiting patiently for these guys to cross, praying that no other cars come in my path.

Finally, the idiots pass. Sagging jeans and all. They were safely on their side of the street which meant I was able to make my turn. As soon as I make the turn, the guys start to wave at me.

First I get a little ego boost. “Oh yeah, I still got it.”

Then I figured they were just being a smart ass, knowing damn well they were holding me up from making my turn.

Then I realized, “What the hell, Vinnie?!?!?!”

Yes ladies and gentlemen, it was Vinnie and his friend that decided to take their sweet time crossing the street. Vinnie, my head-strong yet stubborn 16-year-old son.

About three hours later, I returned home. I walk in the door and who else standing there, Vinnie!

Me~ Oh, hi Vinnie!

Vinnie~ Thanks for pulling over mom.

Me~ What do you mean?

Vinnie~ Did you not see us waving to you?

Me~ Did you not see me waving back?

Vinnie~ We were waving you down, not waving to say “what’s up.”

Me~ Well, you should have texted me!

Vinnie~ Yeah, I should have…too bad I can’t.

Ugh. So he has me on that one.

About two weeks ago Vinnie and I had an argument. An argument that resulted in him walking out of the house at 10:30 at night, even though I told him no. I cannot tell you how mad I was. Livid! I called Christin, and then I called my sister, I was heated.

So of course I did what any rational parent would do. I got online, and reported his phone as stolen. He immediately lost service.

I was pretty proud of my accomplishment.

Two hours after I reported his phone as stolen, guess who decides to come back home.

The following morning, I catch Joe up on the happenings of last night. I am still so mad. How could he just disregard what I say and leave? I know Joe has this, because if you have not figured it out yet, Joe is the more rational one.

Joe and Vinnie ended up having a good heart to heart talk that took about three hours. Seriously, the entire time they were talking I was on the phone with Christin for about 45 minutes, another 30 minutes with my sister. I left the apartment, checked the mail, responded to my messages, bought some Starbucks, came home,  and they were still talking.

I figured that was punishment enough.

Joe took me aside, one on one and told me how Vinnie feels stressed. He needed a minute to get away and clear his head, and although it was handled badly, Joe felt it was important to Vinnie to have his time.

Vinnie worries for Gracie, he worries about her seizures and he does not know how to process it all. Okay fine…..pull at my heart-strings why don’t you. I get it. We are all in the same boat. When you see your sister, your daughter, your student, your niece, your granddaughter, collapsed on the floor, shaking uncontrollably,  unresponsive, and not knowing what to do….well….it will keep you up at night.

More importantly, do you know what happens when you report a cell phone stolen? I will tell you what happens. You end up talking to someone in India who is reading from a script. You pretty much have to offer your kidney to get the blasted service turned on again.

We are going on about two weeks of me arguing with my new enemy in India, and I still have no service for him. He blames me, I blame him.

Vinnie and I are actually two peas in a pod. We are so much alike (sagging jeans excluded) that we tend to butt heads.

I will say, he is a good kid. So business savvy. Set in his ways, and will argue with you until the end. Such a good heart. If it was not for him, I would not have all the cats I do. He will see a stray cat, and bring him to our place, feed him/her, give them water, then odds are, we now have a new cat. I love this kid. As much as he aggravates me, he has so much good in his heart.

He is also the one who got Gracie’s birthday tattooed on his arm.

I know I will get flack for that……but just wait………Sofia’s tatoo is coming next.

That’s my boy!

 

 

I may be hitting my burn out.

Between Gracie and her seizures, trying to find a way to keep the seizures at bay…… having to move yet not really knowing  where it is we will be moving to…….then apparently Sofia is going through a very difficult time. Her hair is not curly, and in the life of a 10-year-old, I guess this is some pretty serious stuff.

Vinnie believes he was put on this earth to drive me to an early grave, AJ lost three dollars in his hourly pay, Joe spends his days working, and coming home to “unwind.” His definition of “unwinding” is watching videos of President Trump. Clearly, I am living in the Twilight Zone.

I had to run some errands today. Joe was home, and needed to jump in the shower. I asked him “Do you want me to leave now, or wait until you finish your shower.”

“Jen, wait until I get out, what if Gracie has a seizure?”

This is my life now. Everything is based around “What if Gracie has a seizure?”

We have to make sure someone is with her at all times. We have to make sure that someone knows how to give her the recovery meds if she has a seizure. Damn it is hard.

I am still hurt by some family members. I do not want to rehash it all, but when everyone else is invited to a birthday party for my sibling, and no one saw fit to tell me, to invite me, well that kinda hurts….and yet I am in the wrong, I am the one who needs to “Let it go.” I get it though…..in a sense, I have always been the black sheep. Sometimes I have felt family only interact with me because they feel they “have” to……but as soon as I say something they do not approve of, it is so easy to write me off. And I am okay with that…….this is not a “Poor Jen” post, I am fine, I will be fine. It’s just sometimes I need to let it all out, and well, that is what this blog is for.

I just need a day. One day. One day where I can regroup for me. One day to myself. One day where I know the kids are taken care of. One day where I can just drive around blaring my music, looking at the water front. Not having a destination in mind. One day to clear my mind and come up with a game plan on how we are going to make this happen. One day to hit up Starbucks and not be on a time limit. One day to visit friends and catch up on myself. Just one day.

We had visitors today.

“Jen, this is how you pack. You get the boxes, get them from the school. Do not go drive back and forth, have them all here. Then you open the box and tape it up…….you put a box in every room and you start putting everything you want to save in a box. Then you close it up and you put it off to the side. This is how you pack.”

Well that is genius. Why did I never think of that?!?!

One Day……Just One Day.

“I was around 10 years old when we moved. I only now know, it was a move that my parents were worried about. As a little girl, I had no idea. I feel bad. I know they wanted more, I just never fully understood what “more” was. The move came at a not so good time, according to my parents….but for me,  I just have happy memories of being able to stay in my same school. Mom blamed herself. She always felt she should have been better prepared, she should have done more, and Dad, like he always does, took the guilt mom had and put it on his shoulders. I was only 10. I understand why they kept so much from us….but if I was able to go back in time, I would want them to know, do not worry, trust the process….because in the end, it will all work out…..and you know what, it did work out. Maybe not the way my parents had planned, but it did work out.”

I worry.

Ten years from now, I can only hope Sofia has those thoughts. I feel we are doing our children a disservice from moving to one apartment to possibly another. As of now, I have no idea where we are moving, just that we have to. We have to move for Gracie’s health. We have to move because our current apartment is ripping us off. We have to move now, yet our Lender needs about two more months ….or better put, he tells me Joe and I need two more months.

I look around at my friends, friends my own age. They are successful. They were able to provide a house for their children, and here I am trying to make it seem like a fun new adventure to my girls that we may be moving from one apartment to another.

I often wonder where I went wrong, however if you are a reader of this blog, you can point out at least twenty blog post that show exactly where it is that I went wrong.

My dad and uncle have a blog (you can read it Here ) about them growing up in the projects of New York City. Their blog is filled with wonderful childhood memories, not only of growing up in New York, but the two bedroom apartment they had in which they had to share a room until they moved out. I look at them, and think “Okay, well they did it so my kids can do it too.” My dad and uncle turned out to be pretty amazing people. Different, but the same. I can only hope for that for my children.

I know a house is not the end all be all to everything, yet I still have the guilt. Maybe it is because growing up, we always lived in a house. I do not know what it is, I just have this guilt I cannot get rid of.

I have no idea what will happen. I have no idea how my children will turn out in twenty years, I just hope that each one of them will be able to look back on these times and realize that their parents did they best they could under some trying circumstances.

As for me, I know one day I will have my house. It may be as soon as three months from now, or with my luck  forty years from now when Hospice is called in, just in time for me to leave this place…..but dammit, at least I will have my house.

I had the pleasure of helping out in a 3rd grade classroom today as they had a “Welcome to Spring Break” party.

Let me explain something, I am not good with kids. Usually, I do not even know how to deal with them, they kinda intimidate me, unless they are my own kids. Over the course of this school year, I have been honored to know these very special 3rd graders. What I have learned…….3rd graders totally rock. I adore them. They have a special place in my heart.

Now, let’s go back about two weeks. I am volunteering in the classroom and two little girls come up to me. They had a serious look on their face, much like the one my own kids have when they want something.

“Mrs. Pedro, we have a question to ask you but it is private, can we go out to the hallway to talk?”

I quickly glance around to get the silent “okay” from the teacher. He was occupied with another student.

“Well, if your teachers says it is okay, then yes, we can go talk in the hallway.”

The two little girls immediately went up to the teacher and asked “Can we take Mrs. Pedro in the hall to talk?”

I was now face to face with two third graders, in the hall. Will I be able to do this? What do they need to tell me? Oh-my-god I need backup!

“Mrs Pedro, we were wondering if we could have an Easter Egg hunt in the classroom and we would need you to buy plastic eggs.”

Oh I totally have this!

“That is an amazing idea! I love it! Yes, of course we can, as long as you teacher agrees to it.”

Unbeknownst to him, the teacher agreed to it.

Every day for the next two weeks these little girls would come up to me, bright-eyed, excited,clearly they had a plan in motion.

“Mrs. Pedro, we were just checking on if you bought the eggs yet for the Eater Egg hunt, we really want to make this happen.”

They were on a mission! “Operation Easter Egg Hunt” was now in effect.

Much thought went into this plan. It had to be just right. You never want to disappoint 3rd graders, especially when plastic eggs filled with candy are involved.

Today was the much awaited day for the Easter Egg Hunt, except the teacher kinda put his own twist on it while making it a teachable moment as well.

It was an adorable “Welcome to Spring Break” party filled with eggs, cakes, candy, and cookies. Every parents dream!

And then……enter the popsicles.

The teacher had just enough popsicles for each student to have one. I happily agreed to hand out the popsicles. Do you know what happens when you have one adult with 24 popsicles in your hand? You are immediately surrounded by 24 anxious 3rd graders who all want the same color.

So I did what any normal person would do. I held the bag open and told said 3rd graders “Okay, here ya go, go for it!”

They were awesome! I mean yeah they were excited, but absolutely no injuries at all in having a free for all with the popsicle.

I could not help but notice one little boy, an adorable Samoan kid, who is in third grade but looks to be in 5th, grabbed more than one popsicle.

“Don’t worry Mrs Pedro, I will help you out.”

Okay, so that’s good right? He is my helper! I love him….and I trusted that he would disperse the popsicles as needed.

Shortly after, all the popsicles were gone. There were no tears, and each 3rd grader looked happy. That was a success……untill……..a little boy came up to me, hesitant. “Mrs. Pedro, I did not get a popsicle.”

Crap!

Okay, I can fix this, I will just go ask my little Samoan helper if he can fix this.

“Hey, “J” come here I have to tell you something. See that kid over there, the one in the white shirt, he did not get a popsicle.”

Long pause from “J”

“Okay, don’t worry Mrs. Pedro, I can fix this.”

I stand back and watch from a safe distance. “J” goes up to the little boy in the white shirt.

“Hey, I hear you did not get a popsicle?”

“No, I did not get a popsicle.”

“Don’t worry, I got you.”

“J” then opens up his jacket, pulls out a popsicle and gives it to the little boy in the white t-shirt. I say a silent “thank you” prayer to God, because I really have no idea how I would explain this to the teacher that one of his kids did not get a popsicle….when really, all I had was one job.

“J” makes his way back to me.

“I fixed it Mrs. Pedro, it’s all good.”

I freakin love this kid.

“Thank you “J” for having my back!”

“Anytime.”

Crisis adverted.

It was then time for the class to pack up and get ready to leave. The teacher had made these pretty cool journals for the kids to work on during Spring Break. The front cover consisted of their name, with an adjective in front of it. For example……”Amazing Aimee” “Smart Samantha.” You get the point. Then,the teacher wrote to each kid what he appreciates about them. “I appreciate your willingness to learn.” “I appreciate your honesty” “I appreciate you always wanting to help others.” Pretty cool, right?

In the journal, the teacher wrote down what he had planned to do each day on Spring Break. On the same page, the kids were instructed to write what they did on their Spring Break.

Now, imagine my surprise when I was handed my very own journal. I was probably a little too excited about that.

Some people may look at me, and the volunteer work I put in at the school and say “You should just get a real job.” “Why don’t you bring a paycheck home?”

And to those people I will say, there is no amount of money that can make me feel the way I do, when I see day-to-day a difference being made not only in the kids, but in myself.

And for that, I am so very thankful.

 

What do you do with a student who see kids as targets? You know she’s angry. You know she has issues. You know her home life is not what you would wish on any adult let alone a child. You work with her, that’s what you do. You hear your father’s voice say over and over in your head (because you heard it over and over as a child), “Every kid deserves to be loved because they are a kid.” And then you try to put those words into action.

This is a student who screams at kids for touching things on her desk and then touches everything on my desk; including the scissors she was using to stab said desk. She put them down immediately after I told her to…by throwing them behind her back followed by kicking them around the room. This incident was the second time I’ve had to evacuate the classroom in 15+ years.

She has no trouble sweeping everything off my desk while looking me in the eye. She will pick it up later, but an action like this is enough to make sure the other kids are afraid. She has drawn pictures of me that looked like I was a snakelike devil with venom and blood dripping from my fangs (she used both green and red to make sure I knew it was both venom and blood). I have no idea how many hurtful things she has said to her classmates.

When she told me that her mother was sending her out-of-state to live with her father but it would take a few weeks because he had to get the money together I am ashamed to say that my first thought was, “I could start a Go Fund Me page on Facebook”. What I actually said was, “Really? That should be very exciting for you. I will miss you.” Seldom have I seen a more beautiful sight than the glowing look on her face when she told us she was staying. Unlike several other kids she was incredibly happy to get to stay.

Fast forward to Monday, i.e. roughest day of the year that included a new “Triple D” plan. If she’s Defiant, Disruptive or Disrespectful she gets a think sheet and goes to a buddy room. If she does those things in the buddy room or refuses to go to the buddy room, someone from the office comes to get her and calls home. Three times was the magic number. That’s how many times she went to the office.

Tuesday morning conversation looked like this;

ME: I really need your help this morning. I want to have a good day and I need you to help me with the other students.

S: OK.

ME: We are going to have a great day. Everyone is going to get along and we will get our work done and we will all be happy.

S: OK.

ME: Remember, we have to choose how our day will be. It’s a choice about the day you will have.

S: OK.

ME: Promise we’ll have a good day today?

S: No.

If there was one brilliant, glowing quality she has, it’s her honesty. And her smile. Her smile is pretty amazing.

As is turns out, Tuesday was a pretty amazing day. And so was Wednesday. Two in a row and right before Spring Break? Are you kidding me?

Aaaaannnnndddd now it’s Thursday. Enter Jim (not even close to his real name. I suppose I could rearrange the letters in his name, maybe write it backwards and pretend no one knows who I’m talking about…). Jim picked his nose in PE today. Then he rubbed his finger in HER hair. I thought, “Two days was pretty good. I should be happy about two days”.

She didn’t do anything. Until after lunch. Jim also has issues. Jim likes to yell at people when they look at him. Jim likes to cry if someone says anything he doesn’t like. Jim and our friend have been instructed to NEVER go near each other. Remember the target thing? Jim is the biggest target I’ve ever seen. She tells me, with Jim close by, how nasty and disgusting he is. He starts to cry. She turns to him and rubs her eyes like she is crying like a baby. Complete with sound effects. I asked her what happened and reminded her that this is not how we treat each other (in spite of boogers in the hair).

We go inside and proceed with our day. Did I mention that I wanted to take a sick day and rest to hopefully get over this cold? No sub. Anyway, our day continues with Jim putting everything into his mouth and spitting it out; pencils, Kleenex, random things he finds on the floor…

The day is finally over. Clean up is done, chairs are stacked, the bus riders are lined up to go home when someone (I’d make up a name, but can’t remember who it was) hands me a little piece of paper. I examine it and it appears to be a book that someone has written. The cover says, “I called you nasty names”. I groan. I’m thinking, “So close”. I open the book. “I had no right to do that. I’m sorry.” I gently put the note into my pocket and get the bus riders ready to leave. As I shake HER hand and say goodbye I pull her out of line. All the bus riders are gone and the walkers are in the classroom. It’s just us. “Did you write this?” “Yes. For Jim.” “I’ve never been so proud of you.”

This is what I have learned: children do not want to be bad. They want to be good. They want to be accepted. They want to be loved. They deserve to have the chance to be good and be accepted. Most of all they deserve to be loved. Thanks Dad.

—————————————————————————————-

I am lucky enough to be in a position where I spend most of my days in a school as a parent volunteer. My eyes have been opened, seeing the “Behind the scenes” of what goes on. These teachers, our teachers, work hard. I am able to see first hand how much they care about these kids, our kids. 

I have personally had parents come to me, to complain, to complain about the very teachers that put their all into these kids.

 

I had big plans for my two weeks off in between quarters. I was going to ….

• Start my spring cleaning

• Rearrange living room

• Redecorate the house

• Spend some much needed to time pampering myself (eyebrow wax, a facial)

• Clean out the kids’ rooms of clutter

• Go to sleep late

• Sleep in

• Enjoy not having to do homework

• Get some writing done on the blog

Now it may not seem like important stuff to you, but I was looking forward to getting my house, my brows and my life in order. Until I got sick along with the kids…so this is what really happened on my “Spring Break”…

• Doctor’s appointments

• Several trips to the pharmacy

• An allergic reaction or two to antibiotics

• Pain and suffering

• Drinking gallons of water each day

• Lying in bed, watching reruns of “Breaking Bad”

• Countless hours of wishing the bed would swallow me whole

So now that my “Spring Break” is almost over, we are all feeling better. I can almost function like a normal human again. Let’s just be honest…all the stuff I needed to get done will still be there for me to do on summer break, well, except my eyebrows.

“When someone shows you who they are; believe them the first time.”

This particular blog post is three days in the making.  Over the past three days, I have dealt with many different emotions. Anger. Hurt. Anger. Disappointment. Anger. And lastly, my all time favorite, Pity.

I use this blog, along with my personal Social Media accounts to share my life. The Good, The Bad, and The Crazy. I share it all. Many of you know this. A few of you have a problem with me doing so. It is at this point where I am going to advise you, if you are one of the few people who have a problem with me venting, sharing, and being a little too open, then you probably need to stop reading now. Seriously. Because the last thing I want to do is read a comment from someone who believes I over-share. I am giving you a way out now. I will wait. I will wait while you just exit this screen. You are welcome.

Now we can move on.

As the story goes, my brother and I were purposely excluded from a surprise 40th birthday party thrown for our sister. Now clearly to some (mainly the ones who I politely told to not read this post) they feel I need to “get over it.” Yeah…..well, that’s not happening. Not until I have my say.

The three of us siblings are close. Super close. I talk to my sister six days out of the week, every single week. I talk to my brother less often, only because he is a Naval Sailor and his job takes him out into the middle of the Pacific ocean often, and who knew wi-fi pretty much sucks out there?! The three of us siblings actually like each other. We get along. I mean I would completely understand not getting a birthday invite if I hated my sister. I would even understand if I disliked her. That is not the case,  it seems I am just dealing with a special kind of crazy.

As tempted as I am to use the real name of the one who excluded my brother and I, I probably should come up with an alias name. Hmmmmm. What shall I call her? I suppose “Crazy Selfish Controlling Bitch” is a bit too long, so how about “Asil”. Yes, that is perfect. Asil it is.

There is a twenty year history between Asil and I. Some good, some not so good. A history that very few are privy to. Perhaps it is because I keep the history between us private that a few well-intentioned ones believe I should “get over this.” Or perhaps Asil has just worked her voodoo magic on some. Jury is still out on that one! I say this because this latest incident was the final straw. Not the beginning of the end, but the end of the beginning.

Asil had this surprise 40th birthday party planned for my sister for one year. I know this because “The Parents” were invited one year and five months ago. Asil invited every other family member you can imagine….from different states to this little shin dig, yet thought it wise to leave out the birthday girl’s own siblings. I have to wonder if Asil is partaking in any ganja? Or perhaps Asil needs to partake in some ganja to take the stick out of her……

In a Facebook group that was created for everyone going to the party, everyone that was invited to the party with the exception of my brother and I (seriously, check your Facebook Invites, I am sure you were invited as well) the question was asked specifically to Asil “Did you invite her brother?” Asil clearly stated, word for word (thank you to my Spy!) that in fact she did not invite my brother or myself to OUR SISTER’S surprise party. Reason being, she was worried we would ruin the surprise. Yes, I know, her “logic” is lost on me as well.

Let me explain something, and this is the most important thing that I would like to be a take-away from this post. Asil does not know my brother. She knows nothing about him. How is it that she can make that assumption that either he or I may spill the beans? She plain and simple did not want us there. I fully believe (along with a few others) that if my brother or I were there, it would have taken away from her moment, and Asil just craves the spotlight, the attention. Most likely because she does not get it from her own family, so she has to go all “Single White Female” and insert herself into mine.

This is what should have happened:

Asil sends a message to both my brother and I ~ Hey Ya’ll! I wanted you to know I am throwing your sister a surprise birthday for her 40th birthday. I do not know how likely it is that either one of your will be able to fly out. I know she would love to see you here, so I am extending you an invitation. If by chance you cannot make it, please, let’s keep this quiet until her party!

Pretty simple right? Not too complicated? Very tactful, very polite, but Nooooooooooo, that was not the case. That did not happen because we are dealing with a special kind of crazy.

This is what did happen.

Nothing! Nothing at all!!
My Spy told me about the party TWO WEEKS before the actual date.

Again, I have to ask, who has a surprise party and the does not invite the ones the guest is closest to?

Asil does, that’s who!

Now, of course, like any sane and rational person, I wanted to have the opportunity to message Asil, one on one, before the party and ask her “Hey, what’s going on, how come we were not invited, is there anything we can do to contribute?”

However, my Spy made me promise to not do such a thing.

Fine. So I sit, and I wait, and I silently watch my side of the family be excluded while everyone else is included.

So….the party happens, my sister is surprised, everyone thinks that Asil is something that you will find on the streets of gold in Heaven.

I then vent my frustrations, anger, and hurt on Facebook…….without using any names!!!!!!

And do you know what happens next? Asil then blocks me.

Of course she does.

I told you I am dealing with a “Single White Female” situation over here.

So, what will now happen,  I will write an open letter to Asil. The odds of her reading it are slim to none. The odds of me caring are pretty much the same.

Dear Asil,

You were wrong. Many people can see that you made a very bad judgement call in not inviting my brother or I. I mean who does that? You clearly went out of your way to keep this a secret from us…for a year, and really, who are you to make that choice for my brother or myself? You did not even give us a chance to say “No, Sorry, cannot make it.” You made that choice for us. You were wrong.

Of course you will never admit this, because you never admit any wrong doings. Everything is everyone else’s fault. A few of us can see that, a few more are still drinking your kool-aide. Do you even realize how petty you made yourself look? A few of us are done with you. You did a WONDERFUL thing by planning this party, you also did a SHITTY thing by not including two very important people in my sister’s life.

After dealing with all my many emotions, Anger, oh you have no idea how much I wanted to call my sister and let her know the 411. My love for my sister is greater than the dislike I have for you.

I was dissappointed. I kept going back in time to a place where I felt like the black sheep, to a place where I was never included in anything, and for a brief moment you took me back to that place, until I grew strong enough to know that my love for myself is stronger than the dislike I have for you.

Then at the end of it all, I decided, well I decided , I pity you. I pity the fact that you seem to be so competitive between the relationship between my sister, brother and myself. I actually feel kinda bad that you had to lower yourself to this. My own sister even told me she was scanning the crowd for me. Thank you, thank you for taking away that moment.

I am sorry you do not have the same relationship with your sister that I do mine, but do not take your issues with your own family and insert them on mine. Because quite simply, you will not win.

Over and Out!

 

Two young girls were sitting side by side on a loveseat. The oldest was 10, the youngest was 7. The older little girl was nervous, the younger girl filled with excitement. The eldest girl silently wondering if things would change, the younger of the two, not having a care in the world. Of course things were about to change. How could they not? Their father looked at both of his little girls, sitting side by side on the old worn and torn loveseat. Proudly, their father laid Him in the eldest girls arms. “This is your new baby brother.”

Just like that, it was as if the Fairy Godmother herself was standing, watching, and sprinkled the moment with magical fairy dust. In that moment,everything changed, and change is never a bad thing. This is when The Bond was born.

It would be a few years later when the eldest girl understood that it was not the Fairy Godmother who sprinkled the moment with fairy dust as she was watching, it was her grandmother.

The girls were on the school bus. One was in 5th grade, one in 3rd. The older of the two hated that bus. It was crowded, loud, and she never had anyone to sit with. The younger of the two did. Everyone knew Her and everyone loved Her. One of Her friends was laughing at the way the eldest girl had Her hair. Her friend laughing, and pointing, and laughing again. In front of everyone. The older girl wanted to cry, the younger one shut it down and shut it down real fast. The 5th grader was both grateful and embarrassed.

He would always want to hang out in Her room. Maybe because Her room was away from everyone elses, maybe because She was the older one. They would hang out in Her room while listening to Bryan Adams’ “Everything I do.”

There was one time that She will never forget. Mainly because He traumatized Her for life. We were sitting outside waiting for Him to get off the school bus. He was little, maybe 2nd or 3rd grade. He comes walking up the long driveway, clearly having something in his hands, along with a mischievous grin on his face. She looked at me, “What does he have in his hands?” He comes walking up to Her. Backpack on his shoulders, his little hands cupped in front of him. Maybe he made me something in school is Her first thought? He reaches his destination, thrusts his hands in Her face, slowly uncovers his top hand, and there, staring back at her is the biggest and ugliest frog she ever saw. She screamed. He laughed. To this day, She is scared to death of frogs.

Wednesday nights, on the way to church. Depending on the time we would always stop at McDonald’s and eat in the car on the way to church. Both girls would fight on who would get to sit in the front seat. You see, front seat means you would get the bag fries from good ol McDonald’s. It got to the point where we had to take turns. Just Her and I. He did not care, always in the backseat fully content on whoever it was that he was sitting next to. One thing is for sure, those bag fries never had a fighting chance.

Over the years, the girls had a love/hate relationship. My God did they annoy each other….and anyone else who may have crossed their path. Yet, it was one of those things where the girls could be annoyed by each other, but heaven help you if you would speak badly about the other.

She was at Her wedding. She was the only one, other than the justice of the peace. They decided on the Courthouse, and no matter what, She knew She had to be there. Afterwards, She asked the judge if She could take a picture of Them, the three of Them. Husband, Wife, and Justice of the Peace. He agreed, She laughed, and to this day, she has that picture in her wedding album.

When Her marriage was falling apart, She was there. Together, both girls would drive around Colonial Heights, trying to find Her husband. Trying to fix something that was not fixable. She knew it, but She was still there. The Bond.

When The Accident happened, The Girls spoke every single day on the phone. Even if it was just “Are you okay?” “No, I am not.” “But you will be.” “Talk to you tomorrow.”

When He “came out”, both girls already knew…and often wondered how come no one else did. They prided themselves on how they observant they were.

When Her baby was born with a deformity, She was there. It did not even matter that She was clear across the country. East Coast/West Coast. It was the same as it had always been. Geography has nothing on The Girls….on The Bond.

When he decided to join the Navy, The Girls shed tears. Both privately and publicly. Both proud and scared.

The Girls, talk daily. Every single day, sometimes numerous times. Their husbands may think they are crazy, The Girls do not care. They have a Bond, something more than a Bond. They know when something is wrong with the other. They just know, “I need to call Her, something is not right.”

This is a Bond that can never be broken. Never. The Bond started back when He was laid in Her arms…..and the Bond continues some 32 years later.

No matter where Their paths may take Them in life….the one the thing that will never be broken, is Them. The Three of Them. Childhood memories, trials and tribulations of life……everything as a whole is what makes Them Them…The Bond.

Driving in the car…..Blue Oyster Cult…..The Girls would try their hardest to belt it out….and now……just give them a mic and they will karaoke for you.

Jury is still out on how good they sound.

 

 

This is the Medical Alert bracelet Gracie picked out. Not my first choice, but I am learning this is not about me right now. Right?

On the back, it will have her name, my number, “No Allergies” “Epilepsy” and “Autism.”

I cannot believe how expensive these suckers are. It’s insane!

Gracie’s neurologist is located in the same hospital where she was born.

As Joe and I silently pulled up to the hospital, I looked up from our car. I was so tired. At this moment I wanted to be anywhere else but here.

There staring back at me was the all too familiar breeze-way of Mary Bridge Children’s Hospital. The windows to the NICU are on my left. I will never forget the layout.  Joe and I made this drive twice a day back in March of 2005. The NICU windows were always a welcoming sign. “You daughter is here, waiting for you.” And also a sign of sadness, and goodbyes. “Your daughter is here, waiting for you.”

These were the very same windows that I would look at while she was in the NICU. The same windows where I would look out into nothing and say a prayer to God that I would leave the hospital with a baby.

The same windows where once we had the official “Okay” to be discharged, I would look out in the early morning hours on the Tacoma streets and say a prayer for the babies who were left behind, and may not even make it home. It was in those moments I would thank God that my baby  was okay…and pray for the parents who would not be.

My heart is forever broken seeing them. I saw a baby go into cardio arrest, while Mom and Dad helplessly stood by.

They did not go home with their baby.

Gracie’s “neighbor” was a beautiful baby boy born at 28 weeks. I had the pleasure of seeing Mom and Dad daily. For a brief period, we went through the same milestones together……until we did not. They also left Mary Bridge without their baby.

My God, can you imagine?

Many memories from those windows in Mary Bridge.

Once Joe, Gracie and I left, I never thought I would see those windows again.

Yet, here we are. Twelve years later.

That same baby who was laying in the NICU fighting for her life, the same baby who was born with her intestines outside of her body…the same baby whose fate was up in the air….and now, twelve years later,the same baby who would has been diagnosed with autism……and now epilepsy. That same baby who is now a beautiful young lady is back again……as are my memories of the NICU windows at Mary Bridge.

This time around, I am a little bit stronger. I am ready to tackle epilepsy and tell it to go…well, you know.

I am ready to fight, to advocate, to be a voice……but more importantly, now, 12 years later, you have the voice of that baby who was on a ventilator. The same baby who had a collapsed lung, you now have her voice…the voice of a very feisty strong pre-teen..and you know what will happen…..she will look at you and say “Really, epilepsy, that’s all you got? I will do this.”

And…she will.

Thank you all for you never-ending support.

Thank you Ntombi for showing me the site for the ID bracelet.

Thank you Deb for the phone call. I need to hear your story….we will connect soon.

Thank you Barbra for your way too generous offer of offering to help pay for ID bracelet.

Thank you Stacey for your New York humor, and thinking of me at my worse.

Thank you family for your prayers.

Carolyn, please thank your community for thinking of Gracie, I am humbled.

Dad, thank you to reaching out to your friend, I have learned a lot and I am ready to go.

And most importantly, to anyone who is reading this……thank you, thank you for caring about not only my words, but my life.

~Jennifer

 

 

 

Gracie had a pretty good day today. This was the first day of her returning to school since her seizure. She was nervous. I mean think about it. She had a seizure in the middle of the foyer at school, fell down, and was then taken by ambulance. Who wouldn’t be nervous going back to school?

When the seizure happened, her backpack was left behind. Clearly. Gracie was so worried about getting her backpack back. For her birthday, Sofia picked out a beautiful butterfly key chain for Gracie. She loved it, and knew the perfect spot for it. On her backpack. When everything had settled down, the only thing Gracie really cared about was her backpack with the butterfly key chain.

We get to her school and  I explain to Gracie that I have to walk in with her so we can talk to the nurse about her medicine. Gracie and I  make the long walk from the parking lot to the front doors. There’s a lot of people around. Teachers and students. Usually Gracie will wait until the bell rings before she makes the walk. However, today was different, we had to be there early which meant dealing with the crowds of other students.

“I am so embarrassed Mom.”

My heart sunk. I figured she would worry about how people would look at her. Would they remember “She is the girl who had a seizure.” Middle school kids can be cruel.

“It’s okay Gracie, we can do this!”

I know, not much of a pep talk. My main goal was to get her inside the school with the least amount of anxiety possible.

“Mom, I am embarrassed because I am walking with my mother.”

Well, alrighty then!

As soon as we went into the office, the attendance secretary saw Gracie. She reached under her desk and handed Gracie her backpack, with the butterfly key chain still intact. Gracie was now happy, while I am still wondering why it is she embarrassed to walk with me?!?!

Gracie and I speak to the school nurse. The school has a plan in place if God forbid Gracie were to have a seizure in class. Please God, do not let this happen.

We leave the office and have to go back out into the common are, where all the students are waiting for the bell to ring. Hundreds of students. I asked Gracie if she wanted me to walk her to class.

“No, I am good.”

And I stood there. I watched her from a safe distance as she maneuvered her way through 6th, 7th and 8th grade students. I kept my eye on her, waiting to jump in incase she needed me. Incase some little punk would say something to her. I watched her. I watched her go through those double doors to her classroom, I watched her independence. I saw her taking on new terriority….and she did it. She did it.

Me…..not so much. Once I saw she was safely through those double doors on the way to her 6th grade classroom, it was now my tun to make way to the front doors. Make my way through 6th 7th and 8th graders.

It only took a second. As I was going through the double doors that led out into the parking lot, some girl, I would guess an 8th grader, runs into me. This was not an accident. She runs into me hard…..and I may have lost it.

I quickly turned around “Jesus Christ do you NOT see me here?!” The girl may have been taken back. We are standing there, face to face, for a good 8 seconds, looking at each other. Most likely thinking thoughts that we not dare to say. Because I am old enough to be her mother, I decided to be the bigger person and turn around and continue my walk to my car.

And then, just like back when I was in middle school, the talking started. I could hear it behind me. Her friends were now joining in.

“Bitch.”

“I do not know who she thinks she is”

“She is lucky we are not on the street.”

This would be the part where I pretty much lost it. I quickly turned around, took a step on my pedestal and just let it all out.

“Excuse me, is there a problem here? Is there something you want to say to my face, or should we go back in and have a conversation with the principal? I mean I just saw him, I know he is not that far off……and really, why are you going to talk about “seeing me on the street” I mean what does that even mean? Who do you think you are?! I am older and wiser and pretty much know you are trying to act all “street” to show off for your three follower of friends, who are looking at us right now. So here I am, street or not, what do you have to say to me other than an apology for running in to me.”

Silence.

“Yeah, so next time you want to show off for your friends, show off with kindness, be kind, be a nice person, because if you are going to come at me with anything other than that….well then I am bored, and have other things to do.”

Tomorrow, it may be I who is in the principal’s office.

I do not know who to be more afraid of….the principal or Gracie.