Many of you know Gracie. You know her through my post, you know her because you are family, you know her because you have been her teacher on one way or the other, or you know her because she has made an impression on you.

Every year on her birthday, I reflect on what may not have been. If you had told me then what I know now, I would not have believed you. Just like most stories go, Gracie’s does not begin at her birth. It begins three months prior.

My pregnancy had been normal. The usual morning sickness, lack of energy, small weight gain. I was measuring as I should, all was well. It came time for the 20th week ultra-sound appointment. Joe and I were excited. Nervous, but excited. There was a time not too long ago when we went to another ultra sound appointment only to be told “I am sorry, there is no heartbeat.”

That was a time in our life that really messed us up. We were challenged in ways that we had never been challenged before. That day, the day before Gracie’s ultrasound, the day we were told “I am sorry, there is no heartbeat” was one I will never forget, although if I were to be honest, there are times when I want nothing more than to forget.

Before

For whatever reason, there was no heartbeat. The Doctor prescribe me some medication to allow me to induce on my own. Joe and I left the doctor’s office, devastated. We both blamed ourselves for something we could not control. We went to our local pharmacy so I could get the medication to help me induce, to rid my body of “the fetus.”

There was a long line. Joe and I are standing there at the end of the line. I am crying, Joe is being supportive, but nothing could help me. I was at the end of my road. Something just snapped in me. After standing in the same spot for 15 minutes I had enough. I gave Joe a silent look, as I made my way up to the counter, ignoring every other person in line.

“I am sorry Mam there is a line, you have to wait in line.”

Bullshit.

“I have a 20 week old dead baby in my stomach, I need this medication right here, on this paper, I need you to give it to me now, because if I have to continue to walk around with my baby, my dead baby inside me, then I wont make it. I am telling you I wont make it and I need help now.”

Immediately Joe was at my side, the line cleared, and a few of the shoppers muffled “I am good, take care of her.”

Twenty minutes late I had my medicine and all I could do was wait. Wait for nature to take its course. It sucked.

After

Fast forward to six months later when Joe and I were in the same ultra sound office waiting. Just waiting. My new pregnancy seemed to be normal, but time had told me one can never be sure.

The ultra-sound tech made her way in, put the wand on my expanding belly while we waited. We waited in silence. Joe and I both afraid to ask “Is everything okay?” “Do you know if it is a boy or a girl?”

None of that happened.

The ultra-sound tech immediately left.

Bitch.

Did she not know what we had previously been though?

About seven minutes later she decides to grace us with her presence. “I have your Doctor on the phone, he wants you to meet him at his office immediately.”

I hated this woman.

“Please, I just lost a baby six months ago, is there anything you can tell us? Please, I am begging you.”

Nothing. She would not tell us a thing.

Joe and I made the quick walk from the ultra-sound tech to my Doctors office. He was waiting for us. As soon as we walked in we were ushered back to a room.

“I am sorry, there is a problem, your baby has gastroschisis. Are you familiar with that?”

What the hell?

“It is a condition where the abdominal wall does not close and in the case of your baby, it means the intestines are floating outside.”

I clearly remember Joe and looking at each other. He grabbed my hand as my eyes filled up with tears. I looked at the doctor. My eyes told him more that the words I was able to get out. “Is the baby going to die?”

My doctor took a deep breath. He laid down his notes, took his glasses off and looked Joe and I directly in the eye. “I am going to do everything I can to make sure that does not happen.”

After that, everything was a blur.

“I will be your doctor but you will deliver at Children’s Hospital”

“You will have to be monitored weekly.”

“There are specialist, we are putting specialist on your case.”

“For this condition, you are in the perfect spot, we have the best doctors.”

“You will need a c-section.”

“Your baby will be in the NICU”

“It wont be an easy road”

Everything was coming at me, I had no time to process. My Doctor took out his paper and pen and scribbled out “GASTROSCHISIS” for Joe and I. We were then  handed phone numbers after phone number, instructed to go home and set up an appointment.

Joe and I left the office and went to the library. This was back before Facebook, back before MySpace, and honestly, the library was the only source of information that was at our finger tips.

We walk in, I grabbed my coat and wrapped it around my belly. I did not want anyone to see I was pregnant. Joe and I make our way to the “Information” desk. He gives the lady the paper with the word “Gastroschisis” written on it. “We need every book you have on this.”

There was no book. Not one single book in the Federal Way library. The very nice lady at the information desk looks at Joe, she looks at me. I am crying. She does a quick “Google” search and prints out the only information she can find on Gastroschisis. “I am sorry, I wish you luck.”

Joe and I came home. We took in the five pages of material that came from Google. He made calls to his family, I made calls to mine….and then….we waited.

The next three months were gut wrenching. Every single week I not only had to see my regular doctor, I had to see the specialist. I had to be monitored, I had to count the kick count of my baby. I felt like every little thing I would do, would cause harm to the baby.

I will never forget the first meeting of our specialist, the one who would be delivering the baby. He took Joe and I back into his office. Sitting across from us in his big fancy chair, glasses on, pen and paper in hand, the questions began. Looking directly at me he asked…

“Do you use drugs?”

“Do you consume alcohol?”

“Any history of STD’s?”

“Any domestic violence?”

“How many sexual partners have you had?”

This is when I pretty much lost it. I looked at Joe, Joe knew what was coming, and silently gave me the “okay” to let it out.

I repositioned myself in my chair, a nervous habit that has stayed with me over the years. I made eye contact with my new “specialist”, and with every bit of confidence I had, which was a lot, I said…

“Look, I do not know what you are getting at but I can tell you in about three seconds everything you need to know. I have never had an STD, I was a smoker, I was a drinker and I can count on one hand how many people I have slept with, can you do the same? Because right now, all I need to know, is my baby going to die and if not, what are you going to do to prevent that?”

The specialist looked me. He took his glasses off, he looked at Joe. “Well, she is a feisty one isn’t she.”

Joe laughed, as he put his head down “You have know idea.”

I was reborn that day. I saw the end of the road, I told it to “fuck off, I can do this” and I persisted.

The following three months were anything but easy. Every week there was some sort of appointment. Every single day I had to monitor kick counts. It was hard, and if I am to be honest, the two older boys suffered because of that.

At 30 weeks, we were looking good. Joe and I understood what was going to happen. As soon as I delivered our daughter, the one who we still had no name for, she would be taken to NICU (intensive care for newborns) I would be in recovery, Joe would be allowed to follow the baby.

The baby had quite of bit of intestines outside of her body. Nobody would know until birth just how much there would be. How long the “closure” surgery would take, but we had our plan in place. I was scheduled to deliver at Children’s Hospital in a little over a month……excpet, the baby had different plans.

It was a week night. Joe was cooking dinner for the boys. I was in my usual spot on the sofa, trying to count the kick count. There were none. No matter what I did, I could not get the baby to kick.

We knew, I had to go to the hospital. Christin graciously enough took my boys while Joe and I made the all to famaialr drive. I was hooked up to every machine you can imagine. There was nothing.

It was time for an emergency c-section. There was not enough time to transport me to the hospital that had the NICU, to the hospital where my specialist was. My OBGYN was literally on the phone with my specialist. My specialist was explaining to my OBGYN how to do a “Gastro Baby C-Section” this would be his first.

I was quickly introduced to the medics who would transport the baby to the NICU at Children’s Hospital. With tears in my eyes, I begged them “Please, just take care of my baby.”

One of the three medics, looked at me with tears in her own eyes. “We will protect her, we will watch over her, we will transport her. You do your part, we will do ours”

And just like that I was rolled of into surgery.

It took two doctors.

One to grab the baby from my belly,

the other to grab the intestines.

They cleaned her up, and handed her off to the transport team. Joe closely behind. I, well I passed out.

I would give my life to give this baby life.

When I came to, Joe was by my bed side. He handed me a poloroid picture. I did not know what I was I looking at. It was like a puzzle, which way does it go?

I asked him “What am I looking at?”

He patiently pointed out the intestines…..and….the baby. I had a baby girl.

By the Grace of God I had a baby girl.

That is when we agreed on the name. “Gracie.”

Twelve years later, one autism diagnosis, a few seizures here and there, we are still on the journey. Currently, there are some issues going on with Gracie that we are trying to figure out……however, just the other day in school, a teacher and Gracie were having somewhat of a “Gracie Conversation” the objective being…….How loud can you really burp? Yes, you read that correctly. The same baby who I had no idea if I would be bringing home or not, the same baby who could never calm down because of her rock hard tummy, the same baby who had always had delays and will continue to have delays, this baby has grown into a pretty bad ass young lady…..and is now asking me, “I need to learn to burp the loudest Mom!”

That my friends, is music to my ears……..years ago  when I told the road to fuck off……this is what I meant. This is what I had hoped for. By the GRACE of GOD I have GRACIE.

Gracie, walks to the beat of her own drum. She is my life. She is my good, she is my heart-break, she is lessons taught and lessons learned….she is my legacy, she is my accomplishment, she is my breath, she is my life……she is my story, she is her story.

 

 

 

 

 

Christin~ A conversation with a friend the other day got me thinking about a taboo subject. Is it ever okay to date a married person? Now, I know your first reaction is “Hell NO!” but as I probed the subject more deeply, there is no one answer for different scenarios. In the case of my friend “Jax”, he has been dating a married woman for about a year. She has told him repetitively that she will get a divorce when “her son graduates” or “when she gets all of her ducks in a row”. Needless to say, her son graduated almost a year ago and does anybody ever have all their ducks in a row? Unfortunately, he believed the lies she told and he is left heartbroken, while she goes home to her husband.

A similar situation transpired with another friend of mine. After reconnecting with an old friend, spark began to fly. The chemistry was real and promises were made. Unfortunately, “Frankie” was married, but in the middle of a divorce. So, he said. A year later, he was still in the middle of divorce, luckily “Carmen” was able to see the truth and end it. WHY DO PEOPLE SAY THEY ARE GETTING A DIVORCE, WHEN THEY ARE NOT? If you are planning on staying with your husband/wife, why waste someone else’s time. I don’t get it. If you are that unhappy in your marriage, it’s simple…JUST LEAVE!

Jennifer~ I also have a friend who has been struggling. Completely different end of the spectrum from Christin’s. My friend, “Gina” has been married to “Jack” for 13 years. Not always an easy road, but nothing good is. They have seen their ups and downs, and are still kicking strong. About a year ago there was a shift. Intimacy stopped. There has been no sex, no kissing, no hugging, no affection whats-so-ever. One would automatically assume one of the parties was having an affair. But, what if they weren’t? What if for no reason at all, all intimacy stopped? One of the parties has expressed their needs, and it has fallen on deaf ears. So what happens now. Do they continue on, pretending everything is okay? Does one party have “pity sex” just to keep the other one happy? Who wants to have pity sex? Would anyone in their right mind give them a “free pass” to stray in their marriage? Of course not, nor should they……however, what if, no one would get hurt? What if no one would find out? If a need is not being met in a marriage, and the need has been expressed, what then do you do? Do you call it quits even though every other aspect of the marriage is fine? No you don’t…..but what is the answer? Is it fare for the other party to continue going without their needs being met?

It seems that in all the commotion of Gracie, her seizure, her EEG, and her upcoming MRI, I have overlooked one very important aspect in all of this.

Sofia.

Two teachers approached me today at the school with concerns regarding Sofia. The first teacher just wanted to give me a “heads up” that today, in class, Sofia was on the verge of tears.

The second teacher, who Sofia has an exceptional bond with, explained to me that Sofia is feeling lost. She has a lot of questions about Gracie, yet does not know how to ask.

I did not see this coming, but I should have.

Sofia and I had a little chat tonight. Mother daughter. The first question Sofia asked, “Is Gracie going to die?”

It has been determined I pretty much suck at this parenting thing. How did I not see this coming? Sofia was the one who found Gracie. Sofia saw the seizure up close and personal. Sofia saw her dad and I try to wake Gracie, and Sofia saw her dad and I run out of the house with Gracie, giving Sofia the only explanation we could in the heat of the moment. “Aj Vinnie will be here, I will call and check in.”

So for the past few days, this little girl has been holding this in. Wondering if her sister was going to die, and felt too afraid to ask those tough questions. I have absolutely no idea on how to find that perfect balance, however it is more important now than ever that I do.

I told Sofia that Gracie will be just fine. I told Sofia if she has any questions, or does not understand anything, to ask questions! Whether it is her dad and I, or the teachers at the school. Just talk, get those questions answered.

For now, the only explanation I could tell Sofia was that Gracie will be going back to the Doctor in a few weeks for a special test where she gets to be asleep. I explained that she will be with us as we take Gracie to the Doctor and bring her home. I do not know what else I can do.

Then there is Vinnie.

Vinnie also had a breakdown today. I was outside on the phone and hear a loud noise. I come in to check on him (as he was the only one here) and find him laying on his bed. He has a bloody hand and punched a hole in the wall. It seems that Vinnie’s girlfriend has been cheating on him, and he found this out by way of text message. From the guy who is doing the cheating.

I have never seen Vinnie this way before. I am no doctor, but I would say he was having an anxiety attack. He was so distraught, he fell into the cat liter box, and just laid there. Crying, bleeding, and hurting.

Needless to say, I have no idea what I am doing….because if I do not keep myself busy, and productive, then I would be right there with him, laying in the cat liter.

Jennifer

Vinnie and Sofia 2007

My eleven-year old daughter, Gracie, was born at 35 weeks.

Gracie was also born with Gastroschisis. A condition where her intestines were outside of her body.

The day she was born. March 8, 2005 

It was not an easy birth, emergency c-section. There was a point when Joe and I did not even know if we would be coming home with her.

Gracie spent one month in the NICU. A very hard, trying time for us.

March 17th, 2005 Gracie had surgery to close the opening where her intestines protruded.

March 17th 2005

In April of 2015 Gracie was diagnosed with autism. Another trying time for us. It’s not always easy to navigate the system, while learning your new normal.

Over the years, our biggest challenge has been the delays. Delays in learning. Delays in speech. Your typical milestones would take Gracie twice as long to meet. However, she was always healthy. Very rarely did she get sick. If she happened to have a cough or runny nose, she knocked it out in two days tops.

Then, when we least expected it, everything changed.

It was 2:30 am, Thursday morning. Just two nights ago. Our youngest daughter, Sofia, comes to wake Joe and I up. “There is an emergency, Gracie is throwing up.”

Joe and I are instantly up. We make our way to the girls’ bedroom to find Gracie sprawled on the bed. Her eyes are rolled back in her head, drool coming out of her mouth. We shook her, we turned her, we tried to sit her up, and nothing. Joe looks at me “Something is wrong, we have to take her in.”

I wake up my two older boys. One of them stays with Gracie while I quickly throw some clothes on. Sofia is crying. I am trying to tell her “everything will be okay” when the fact is I had no idea if everything would be okay.

Joe scooped Gracie up in his arms. Still no response from her. She was limp, just laying there. I ran down to the car, warmed it up, and did what I could to get the car as close to the front of our building as I could.

I am in the back seat with Gracie, “Gracie, please, please wake up, do something, wake up!”

Nothing.

“Drive faster. We may lose her, just go!”

I grabbed my phone. While trying to wake Gracie, I texted my oldest son. I needed him to find out the exact details from Sofia of what happened.

I also made a Facebook status.

“You guys something is very wrong with Gracie. Not responding not waking up. On way to hospital its like she has seizure. Please pray with everything you have”

Joe is driving like a mad man on the empty roads. Our hospital is only about an eight minute drive from our apartment. We were there in five.

We pull up in front of the emergency room, and I run inside like I have never ran before.

“You have to help, something is wrong with my daughter, she is eleven years old, with my husband in the car, she is non responsive, not waking up….she has autism and she was born with gastroschisis, and you have to do something now!”

Before I knew it, two doctors were out by the car. They had to wheel Gracie in. Still no response from her.

I threw my wallet at the “check in” desk and went back to where Gracie was getting her vitals.

And then, she was up. Something happened, and she was there. She was herself. She was looking at us all like how dare we disturb her. Typical Gracie.

Gracie had a seizure. Her first one, ever.

Because of her age, along with the autism, an EEG was ordered for Friday morning. Yesterday.

From the time we returned home, Gracie was fine. She did not understand what all the excitement was about. She was fine. The Doctors were not convinced, and still ordered the EEG.

February 24th 2017 EEG

We had three hours in between the time of the EEG and when we were able to sit down with the Neurosurgeon and hear the results.

During that time we took the girls to lunch, spending some time at the waterfront. In my mind, and I did not communicate this to anyone else, but in my mind, I had no idea what news we would be hearing in the next few hours. I had no idea if our life was about to change. I wanted to capture a moment of innocence, a moment where the only concern my daughters had was who could throw the biggest rock the farthest.

February 24th, Tacoma Waterfront.

It was then time to meet with the Neurosurgeon and hear the results of the EEG.

The results were abnormal.

There is a spot on the back of Gracie’s brain that the Neurosurgeon wants to further investigate.

What we are hoping for is a benign seizure.

The MRI is scheduled for March 17th, 2017

Twelve years to the day when she had her wound closure surgery.

Gracie is a feisty young lady who has her whole life ahead of her. She has so many friends and family who are rooting her on. Who support her, who love her.

There is not enough space here for me to list each and every person who holds a special place with Gracie and I.

We need her to be okay. She is a fighter, and has the strength of 200 men. But I do not want her to have to fight anymore. She has been through enough.

At the beginning of the year, Gracie, all by herself, made a list of goals for 2017.

1. Talk more at school
2. When someone is asking you a question, never say “I don’t know.”
3. When someone is asking you a question, never blame them because they can’t hear you.

Gracie’s Goals for 2017

I need her to reach these goals.

You need her to reach these goals. To know Gracie is to love her…..and to be afraid of her, because she is just that feisty, and if given the chance, has so much to teach us all.

Jennifer

The kids and I spent a nice relaxing day doing nothing. With it being President’s Day, there was no school. That meant we were all left to our devices. No schedule to follow, no place we had to be, no need to get all dressed up and no need to wear a bra. It was perfect….until it wasn’t.

On days when the kids have school, I need a blow horn to get them out of bed. Today, they were up at 5am. I am sure they planned this. I stumbled around, making coffee for myself, and breakfast for the kids. I politely told them “I am just going to lay on the sofa for just a minute.” I was out for about twenty minutes when they woke me up with a life and death emergency. Gracie was breathing too loud and Sofia could not handle it.

I was then able to defuse the situation, “Gracie, do not breath on your sister!” and decided I was going to watch a movie. The only time I get the t.v to myself is when Joe is at work. I was going to take advantage of having the tv for a good few hours before he came home and started watching his conspiracy theory shows. I made myself a nice comfy bed on the sofa, lots of blankets and cats to keep me company. My hot coffee on the end table, while I had bacon cooking on the stove. It was perfect….until it wasn’t.

Another emergency. This time the emergency involved a pillow case that was coming off of a pillow. It was horrible….so say the kids, and I was needed to fix the pillow case asap. I am now wondering why it is the kids do not have school on Presidents Day?

Back to the sofa I go. One of my all time favorite movies awaits. “Goodfellas.” I have seen this movie a million times and pretty much have the entire script memorized. Ray Liota, Robert DeNiro, Lorraine Bracco, Joe Pesci and many others. Who would not want to spend a lazy Monday morning with these guys. It was perfect until it wasn’t.

Enter my 23-year-old who has moved back home. “Mom, you did not wake me up for work! Did you not know I was here?!?”

Well, no. I did not know he was here and I did not know it was my responsibility to wake him up for work. I spent a good ten minutes sitting there listening to him complain that he was now late for work. I pointed out the fact that the sooner he stops complaining and gets ready for work, the less late he will be. Right?? Why must I explain these things?

I now needed something more than even”Goodfellas” could accomplish. I needed a bath. A nice long hot bubble bath where I could relax…and write. Write in peace without worrying about who was breathing on who. Without worrying about who overslept, and without worrying about Vinnie. Wait…..Crap! Where was Vinnie? I cannot take a bath, Vinnie is not even home and AJ is leaving for work. The girls will jump out a window if I leave them alone.

So now I must wait for Joe to come home, take his shower and then I will be able to finally take my bath. I may not have any hot water, but hey, beggars cannot be choosers.

I cooked an amazing roast for dinner, rice and corn as a side. Of course no one ate it. I made the rounds and asked every single person “Do you need the bathroom? I am taking a bath and I will be long. No one can bother me. No one. Unless there is a fire, or blood. Only then can you bother me.”

Of course Joe and the kids look at me as if I am loosing my mind. Sure, I am the crazy one in this scenario. I had the go-ahead. I was able to take my bath in peace. Everything was perfect until it wasn’t.

Funny thing. I have not quite figured out how to write in the bath without the tablet getting wet. Also, having a cat in there with me is not as cute as it sounds. Why is he looking at me like that? And why is he scared of bath water yet sees no problem drinking from the toilet?

Screw it. I’ll just jump on Facebook while in the bath. That will relax me, while killing time. I am scrolling through my feed, reading the usual “I hate Trump” “I love Trump” post. I was able to get a firsthand look on what a handful of friends were having for dinner….and then it happened. Somehow during my scrolling and “liking” of certain post, I accidentally hit the “Live Video” feature on Facebook. Now, keep in mind I have no idea what this “Live Video” feature does, other than posting a “live” video at the moment…..in real time.

Oh holy hell what did I do?! WHAT DID I DO????  No-no-no-no no this cannot be happening to me. I cannot post a “Live Video” of me in the bath with my cat drinking toilet water in the background. Kill me now just kill me now!

Facebook makes it too damn easy to make a complete fool out of yourself. With this “Live Video” feature, there needs to be a second screen that pops up. A screen where you have to answer a series of questions before you are “live.”

1. Are you appropriately dressed?
2. Is all laundry and dirty dishes out of video range?
3. Is there any nudity?
4. Are you in an embarrassing position?

Depending on how you answer the above questions then you are now ready to go live. If you answered incorrectly to any of the above, your phone is now locked until you fix what needs to be fixed.

Now, being that my account is still active on Facebook and I did not receive any phone calls or text messages that fall under “Jen, what the hell are you doing” I am assuming that I was able to stop this “Live Video” feature in the nick of time. Because between you and me, a Facebook Live Video of yours truly in the bath, is not exactly something that can be unseen.

And I was now officially done.

it was the perfect bath….until it wasn’t.

 

An incident happened today that kind of made me turn into the girl from “The Exorcist” with my husband and children. Of course I am bringing it to the blog, because that is what I do best.

Funny thing is, there are a few people from my son and husband’s job who read the blog. (Shout-out to the work people! Thank you for reading.) With that being said……and because of the story I am about to share, it is important for me to note, we are fine. Everything is fine. I just had a moment.

I have been out of the work force for the past twelve years. When I was pregnant with Gracie, and we knew she had complications in utero, Joe and I decided together, I would be a stay at home mom. Once Gracie was born, the complications continued. We had weekly therapy appointments for her, along with her regular doctor appointments.

I had found my new niche, and I welcomed it. Our only concern was making sure Gracie was okay. That meant me being a stay at home mom, and doing what I needed to do. Although not always an easy road, we have made it work.

Twelve years later, Gracie is now a 6th grader,making wonderful progress. I feel I am now ready for something more, something for myself, and something that I can be proud of. My long-term goal (and by long-term I mean when Gracie hits highschool) I would like to work in the school district. I volunteer at my youngest daughter’s school daily. I have developed a bond with not only with the teachers, but the students as well. I cannot explain it. Everything about being present in the school is passionate to me. From seeing the same group of kids day in and day out, to popping in on classrooms and watching the teachers teach. The “behind the scenes” of it all.  I love everything about it and take in as much as I can.

A oppurtunity was presented to me that I felt I had to jump on. I was offered to be a parent facilitator. I felt this would be a good stepping stone for me. I would learn a lot….and why would I not do it?

Joe and I talked about it. He changed his days off so he could be home with the kids while I had my training days. He is supportive and will always support anything where the school is concerned. Our children’s school is amazing. We owe them so much and will always help out where we can.

I had my last training today. It was a very long yet productive day. Joe had everything under control. I was not worried.

My day was spent in a classroom for six hours. Trying to get myself prepared to run a meeting. I had “Listening” exercises. I had to talk about racism, I had to “problem solve.” And afterwards, I had to run to the grocery store for some last-minute items.

Joe’s day was spent in our livingroom.

I come home, lug all 8 grocery bags up two flights of stairs by myself. I am exhausted, and doubting my own strengths. I am questioning everything and find myself wondering if I made the right decision. I open my front door and have all my cats greet me, while their food bowl is empty. I throw the bags down for no other reason than loosing feeling in my arms. Joe comes to greet me, “Did you bring home any food?”

Annnnnddddddd that about did it!

“Are you kidding me right now, that is the first thing you are going to say to me. Did I bring home food?!?!?!”

At this point my youngest daughter comes out of her room crying. Apparently she feels her old brother and sister are all “up in her business.” She is 10.

Joe knows he probably should have used a better opener. “Hey, I did not mean anything by that, I just thought you brought home food.”

Because THAT is so much better.

“You see that bag on the floor, the one by your feet, the one the cats are getting into, well, that’s fried chicken. Enjoy!”

Because God has such a good sense of humor it was at this exact moment when my 23-year-old son texted me.

“Mom, any chance you can do my laundry for me?”

Kill me now.

It was also at this exact moment where Gracie comes out of her room.

“Mom, the brush is stuck in my hair. I fell on the brush and now it is stuck.”

I have no clue how she did it, but she did. The freaking brush was stuck in her hair.

Then, I had my breakdown.

“YOU GUYS WOULD BE LOST WITHOUT ME. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT. GOD FORBID SOMETHING WERE TO HAPPEN TO ME, WOULD YOU EVEN KNOW HOW TO GET DINNER….OR DO LAUNDRY……OR BRUSH YOUR HAIR. I NEVER ASK FOR ANYTHING, I HAVE ONE THING, ONE THING THAT IS IMPORTANT TO ME, ONE THING THAT MAY MAKE A DIFFERENCE AND I CANNOT EVEN DO THAT WITHOUT EVERYTHING FALLING A PART?!?!?!?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!?! I HAVE SPENT 12 YEARS ADAPTING TO YOUR WORK SCHEDULE…….I HAVE BUILT OUR CREDIT UP ALL BY MYSELF SO WE CAN BUY A DAMN HOUSE……DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT BILLS WE HAVE TO PAY EACH MONTH……AND……SOMEONE NEEDS TO EXPLAIN TO ME EXACTLY HOW ONE FALLS ON A BRUSH WHICH RESULTS IN HAIR BEING TANGLED IN A WAY THAT I NEED SCISSORS TO UNDO. I ASKED FOR ONE DAY,ONE SATURDAY……AND THIS IS WHAT I GET……DO YOU GUYS EVEN KNOW WHERE I WAS?!?!?!?!

Silence.

Yeah, I kinda lost it.

Look, I love my family. We have been through hell and back and have beaten the odds. I have always put them first, even if it meant my own needs were ignored. That’s okay. It was my job, one that I enjoyed. I nurtured the babies, I would take them to the ER when they fell out of windows, or they had projectile vomiting, or when they swallowed a thumb tack. I would stay up all night trying to bring down 103. fevers. I have went through ups and downs. I have felt my best and have felt my worst. I have been supportive of giving money we did not have to give. I have spent years away from my own family, I have done it all for my husband and children. All I ask for is the same in return. As the kids get older and my husband advances in his job, this is my time to shine. I would like to look at it as I was your light for 12 years. I kept those home fires burning….but…….my light is running out. Allow me to be relit…….without burning the house down in the process.

I’m in the middle of Wal-Mart, the day before Valentine’s Day and as I look around, I am surrounded by boyfriends and husbands frantically searching for the perfect card for their wife or girlfriend. In typical “man fashion” they waited until the last minute to buy their loved one a present, only to find that the shelves are picked over and they may have to spend good ol’ V-Day in the doghouse.

I am reminded how Valentine’s Day has progressed for me over the years. I remember putting the “perfect” V-Day gift bag together for my first serious boyfriend. I believe it contained some silky heart boxers, some Calvin Klein cologne and some candy with a card that said “I LOVE YOU MY VALENTINE” written across the front in some cursive romantic font. Inside the card, I wrote a chapter confessing my eternal love and devotion Valentine’s evening consisted of the anticipation of getting dressed up and going on a romantic date that consisted of dinner and most likely, some kind of jewelry.

Two kids later, reality slapped me in my face. As the kids started school, my romantic gift bags turned into baking dozens of cookies and my sappy cards turned into me staying up all night writing V-day cards for each of my kids’ classroom, making sure I didn’t forget a name.

As they have grown older and no longer take treats and cards to school, I am now shopping for the perfect Valentine’s Day presents to fill their gift bags. This year it will consist of new headphones for each, candy, stuffed animal, and some other odds and ends that I just needed to put in, along with a card telling each of them how much I love them. I will bake them some red and pink cupcakes for when they get home from school.

I will most likely, get a cute handmade card from each of them. I am happy to say that I have two Valentines this year, one is 12 and one is 13… and I know someday (NOT SOON) they will be too busy getting ready for their dates on V-Day and I’m sure I will be the farthest thing from their mind.

So, for now I will get their gift bags ready for tomorrow and bake the heart-shaped cupcakes that they love so much, which is so much better than stupid boxers and cheap cologne.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Christin

 

It was a typical Monday morning.

Well, not really. My girls were home from school because they believed I poisoned them with my cooking. Vinnie, my 16-year-old was actually at school, so again, not my typical Monday morning. AJ my 23-year-old, was home, because, well, I have no idea. He was supposed to be at work. So perhaps it was not a “typical” Monday morning, and that should have been my red flag.

The girls are sleeping because of “tummy issues.” I am getting caught up on laundry and Facebook. Vinnie calls me from school. Apparently he fell in some mud and wanted to know if he could come home and change. Of course he can come home and change! Did he seriously think I was going to say “no?”

AJ, is in the bathroom. Everything after this is a blur. It began when Vinnie came home and wanted to go to the bathroom. He realized AJ was in there, they got into some verbal scuffle that I was not able to make out.

Vinnie comes out to the living room “Mom, what is he even doing here? Shouldn’t he be at work?”

Enter AJ. AJ comes out of the bathroom, and sees/hears Vinnie. All hell broke loose. I knew what was about to happen. AJ is coming for Vinnie, Vinnie is not backing down.

Important to note, both of my sons are not only taller than I am, they are bigger. I had no chance.

I tried, I really did “STOP, STOP, STOP! WE ARE NOT GOING TO DO THIS!”

They were not having it. Before I knew it, my two sons were punching each other, rolling around on the floor, had eachother in headlocks….and there was me, in the middle of it all. Trying to referee yet not having much luck.

Vinnie had a chokehold on AJ, AJ somehow had a chokehold on Vinnie and all I could do was say “WE ARE BETTER THAN THIS…..STOP!!!”

It fell on deaf ears.

Then the two idiots jump up at the same time, each taking their place across from each other, like a boxer stance if you will. “C’mon, let’s go!” “I’ll take it outside, bro, come with it!”

I jump in the middle. One hand on AJ’s chest, one hand on Vinnie’s chest. They may be strong, but I am stronger.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING, I WANT AN EXPLANATION NOW!”

Again, I am talking to myself.

“Mom, get out the way, get out the way mom, you’re going to get hurt.”

Now, between you and me, I was soooo afraid I was going to get hit. Not intentionally, but something set these two off and there was no bringing them in. I said a silent prayer “Please do not let me get hit, please do not let me get hit.”

I am in the process of training to be a parent facilitator at the girls’ school. Can you imagine if I got hit in all this mess. “Meet your new parent facilitator, Jennifer, she is the one with the black eye. Clearly she can not facilitate her own home.”

And then, enter Gracie and Sofia. All the damn fighting woke them up. Sofia is crying, Gracie is laughing.

Sofia~ “Please do not kill each other!”

Gracie~ “This is the best day ever!”

And then just like that, it stopped. Vinnie went outside to cool off, AJ stood there with sweat dripping down his 6’6 frame, and I went to make sure the girls were okay.

Even now, hours later, I have no idea what set these two off, but it was not pretty. I know it is normal for siblings to fight….but to fight in a drop down dirty kind of way…..WITH YOUR MOTHER IN THE MIDDLE……well, it was not good.

I know my sons. Vinnie takes a long time to get over things. AJ is able to let it go. All I know is this is unacceptable for two brothers, it is unacceptable behaviour for this household…..and more importantly, it is unacceptable behaviour for their sisters to see.

Jennifer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hated the house. It was too big, and needed way too much work for us. Jack and I had only been married  a year when he found it. Thanks to a small inheritance, and us cracking down on the budget, we were able to afford the down-payment. Truth be told, it was affordable. Very affordable which should have been red flag number one. Why was it afforadable, because it needed so much work. The second and third floor, do not even get me started. You needed a hard had just to ascendthe stairs. No one in their right mind would take the project on. Except for Jack.

By our second year of marriage, the second floor was “just about complete.” I was pregnant with my first baby. Isabelle. Nine months in,  I began to worry where Baby Isabelle was going to sleep. Two weeks past my due date, Baby Isabelle was still  without a room. Jack was a saint. He dealt with my crazy mood swings, hours of crying, all because Isabelle did not have a room of her own. Had I known then that she would spend the first six months in a bassinet laying beside Jack and I, maybe I would not have given him such a hard time.

Five years later, Ryan, our son came along. Thankfully the beautiful Victorian that I was so against, had made itself a home. Memories and all. Although the second and third floor were sparse, there was no danger of plywood falling from the ceiling, knocking you out as you made your way up the stairs.

Isabelle was a perfectly happy five-year old little girl in her own princess themed room. Ryan would also have his own, decked out in sports memorabilia. Of course this would not happen until he made the transition from our bedroom to his. In six months.

Our dining room table, which started out as a picnic table, was the meeting place. At the end of our busy days, we would all gather around the table and talk about our respective days. Jack working crazy hours with the hopes of one day making partner at his firm. Isabelle and Ryan, learning to talk. Somehow we went from teaching them “Mommy and Daddy” around that table to questioning them on their plans for Friday night football games, making sure they both understood their curfew times. As they were getting ready to head out for the night, Jack and I would kiss them goodnight, wishing them a safe night, while we both secretly craved the alone time that would immediately follow….once we made our ascend up the stairs.

Our living room. Brightly lit from the hot summer sun, to cooling down in the winter months.  Our seven-foot Christmas tree that I bought in January on clearance had served us well for twenty years.Our dog Rex finding his spot under the glow of the ornaments. Christmas mornings of opening presents would quickly turn into Summers in July, drinking sweet tea on the all to familair sofa….and at the end of it all, we would each make our ascend up the stairs. Whether it was to spend hours on the phone in the comfort of bedrooms, or to finish up last-minute work projects.

There was a time where I felt Jack was spending too much time at the office, and we, his family, were becoming more distant. He would come home, dinner would be in the fridge. There were no more “good nights.” As soon as I heard the keys in the front door, I would make the ascendup the stairs. This time alone.

When I started to do my freelance writing, the tables were turned. On Sunday mornings when Jac wanted to have a nice family breakfast around the dining room table, I would have a deadline to meet. I would come downstairs, kiss Jack “good morning.” grab a cup of coffee while checking in with Isabelle and Ryan, before making my way  back up the stairs, to where my computer awaited.

It was on the stairs when I found about Her. She was a new secretary in the firm. I had a feeling there was something going on.  Jack confirmed it. I was making my way up the stairs, crying, when he grabbed my arm and admitted to infidelity. That was a rough  for us.  I wanted to leave. I also wanted to fight. I wanted to fight with Jack and make him pay for what I was feeling, but I also wanted to fight for my marriage. I knew we were better. In the end, I wanted to fight more than I wanted to leave, and that is exactly what we did. We fought for our marriage. That night, when I made my way up the stairs, I knew, we would not have an easy road, but we would get past this.

When Capri came along, she was our proof that we would be okay. Although we had to constantly work and put each other first, we knew that nothing could tear us apart. We had a family, we had our memories, we had it all in this house.

Even when hospice came in. We had it all.

Jack was no longer able to use the stairs. We set up the hospital bed in our living room. The same one where our Christmas tree stood in the previous years. The same living room were we would drink our sweet tea, and say our good nights, before heading off to bed….and I knew. I knew the moment it happened.

Jack was cold, he was in pain. I made a quick dash up the stairs while Isabelle, Ryan and Capri remained at his bedside…..and I knew, that would be the last time I used those stairs.

Jennifer

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She drove all night and through the next day. She needed, wanted to get away but no matter how hard she pressed on the gas, it just wasn’t fast enough. Hundreds of miles, umpteen cups of coffee and a repetition of her “Fleetwood Mac” Cd is what kept her going. With nothing to lose or nobody depending on her, she was free for the first time in 2 decades. Free to be whom and what she wanted to be.

But first she needed to see him. At a gas station outside of Memphis, she googled his address. 891 Birchwood Lane. Wonder what he looked like now? Nearing the state line, she knew this could go one of two ways. Preparing for both, there was an unsteadiness in her hands. A tremble. The what-ifs and should have been’s flashed before her eyes.

200 miles left until she hit Birmingham. Drowning out the thoughts, she turned up the music. Wind in her hair, a determination in her eyes. She rehearsed what she would say when he opened the door. Would it be enough? Would it be too late? Did she do the right thing? She had no choice that day in May almost 20 years ago. A brutal attack had led to the hardest decision of her life. Why me? WHY? She felt the tears stinging her face. Tears that were too late. Too late. Was she too late? The thought made her push on the gas even harder, as the blue mustang roared beneath her.

30 Miles Birmingham. Almost there. That day replayed over and over again. If only she hadn’t gone to that bar alone. If only she had stayed home. If only she was stronger. If only…

And there it was. A big, beautiful, green Victorian house. 891 Birchwood Lane. She glanced at the reflection in the mirror, blue eyes staring back at her. This was it. Slowly making her way up to the house, she ironed out her sweater with her hands. A few deep breaths and a quick silent prayer, and a quick push on the doorbell. Nothing. Another quick press on the doorbell. Her heart was beating so fast, her hands sweaty and trembling. What if nobody was home? All these miles for nothing…and then she heard footsteps. Slowly the door opened. Familiar eyes looked back at her. Her nose, her lips. Hers. He was hers. “Chase?” “Um, yeah, that’s me” His eyes searched hers intently, trying to figure out who she was. “Hi, I’m Sara”…her voice quivered unexpectedly. “I’m your—mom”

Christin

 

 

I was chatting with a friend last night. During the course of our conversation, unbeknownst to him, he gave Christin and I a pretty cool idea for the blog. The premise is, you find a picture and write about it. So…..that is exactly what Christin and I are doing, except, we will be writing about the same picture. Doing so will give you guys an insight to how different Christin and I can be…..and may make you question our sanity.

Please feel free to join in and write your own story about the picture below.

Jennifer’s Story

It was finally time.
I was nervous. Yeah, I’m a guy and we are not suppose to get nervous, but I was. What can I say? The last six months I put my all into this girl. She had me. There was something about her that told me “she is the one.”

We met on Tinder. Not for some sort of “hook-up” or anything, that’s not my style. If I wanted that, I could go to the local bar. Anyone could. I wanted something more, and though she did not know it at the time, so did she.

Our respective jobs and school kept us from meeting. It was better that way. Neither one of us wanted to say it, but that’s how we felt. No pressure. We would text each other during the days and spend hours on the phone at night. I feel that was important. Had we immediately met in person, it would have been too soon, yeah, this was better. When I was not talking to her, I wished I was. I wanted to know everything about her.

She was easy to open up to. I told her things about me that I had never told anyone else. Trusting her came easy. It’s nice when it is easy. It should never be hard. When it becomes hard it is time to walk away.

Now here we are. Enough time had passed. I feel we are both in the same place, we are ready. It hurts to not have her in my arms. I crave that. How can one crave something they never had? Of course there were others. The difference is I always wanted them to leave, there was never a connection, but not this one.

She told me she was going to bring me a rose. That’s how I would know it’s her. I did not  get it, I mean I had seen pictures of her before, it’s not like I did not know what she looks like, but I went with it. Aside from her long chocolate-brown hair, and  gorgeous blue eyes, I would look for the rose.

There she is. I saw her before she saw me. It looked like she was on her phone. Most likely texting her sister. The closer I got to her, the more excited I became. It was time, it was finally time. The excitement of it all. The newness. The meeting, the first time I can shake her hand, or give her a hug. Yeah, a hug. I mean who shakes hands anymore?

This would be it. She is the one.

Just looking at her, puts a smile on my face.

She does not know. She has no idea that today, today will be the last day she is alive.

Christin’s Story

I was at a fork in the road and as I held this rose in my hand, I contemplated each path. Do I go down the comfortable, familiar, paved, straight path or do I dare take the unknown, exciting, windy, rocky path that leads to an unknown destination?

I had always done as I was told ever since I was a kid. My parents forced me into piano lessons, ballet, etiquette classes by the age of 12. By 15 they had picked out my college and planned my whole future without even asking me what I wanted. I went to the college of their dreams and met a man there that “had a bright future and could provide a great life.” Those were my dad’s words. My mom supported the idea of this “fairytale” relationship too. I’m not going lie, I bought into it.

He was charismatic, funny, life-of-the-party guy that just happened to be from a prominent family, just like mine. We spent our college days together, planning our future, our wedding, even our kids’ names were pick out. It’s funny how even back then I knew something wasn’t right but I buried it and just went along for anything he said.

After graduation, we (our parents) bought us our dream home. We moved in and almost immediately he started working for the law firm. We fell into a comfortable, predictable routine year after year. Until, that warm spring day. I was at the supermarket picking up some items I needed to make his favorite meal when out of the corner of my eye a young man about my age caught my eye. He was about 6’3”, dark hair, blue eyes. I couldn’t stop staring. I noticed some tattoos on his well- sculpted arms. For just a moment, our eyes met. I felt something, something I had never felt before. He smiled and I smiled back, embarrassed that he caught me checking him out in the produce aisle. I grabbed my parsley and carrots quickly and begin walking away.

He was following me, I could feel his eyes burning into my back. I made my way up to the register, not wanting to turn around. After checking out, I could still feel like I was being followed. I quickly opened the car door and began putting my groceries in, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and there he was.

“Hey don’t you remember me?”

“Umm, no I’m sorry, I don’t think I do”

“It’s me Sam, from high school”

“Oh my goodness! I didn’t even recognize you, Sam”

Sam and I had dated for a short time in high school. My parents weren’t the wiser and I was fine with that. Sam didn’t come from the “right side of the tracks”. I didn’t care. We had fun for a short few months our senior year and that was that. I reached in for a hug and it was reciprocated. Maybe a little too reciprocated. It was as if time had never passed with us. Conversation was easy and the chemistry, the chemistry between us was beyond anything I had with my husband.

After an hour of catching up in the parking lot of the supermarket, we decided it was time to part ways. He ran over to the edge of the parking lot and returned with one red rose. As he placed it my hands, he looked down at me and said

“Meet me at Jacksons Bar and Grill tomorrow at 8pm”.

Before I could stop myself, I replied ”Ok”. Within a moment, he was walking away and there I was standing there with a rose, thinking about which path I needed to take.