OK, it's been more than two years since I've made a post public. I can't stand it any more. I need to vent (and not go to jail). Please stop reading if you only have warm fuzzy feelings in your body and can't get righteously passionate about injustice.

Here goes... Dasha. Dasha, Dasha, Dasha. She graduated in May. Here's how the story unfolded.

Dasha has always been the sugary sweet kid that no one wants to upset. Teachers wanted to have nothing but grace for her. Again, and again, and again. Due dates? No problem. Too much work? No problem. Retaking assignments to get her dream grade. Permissible. She was always excused by teachers. Back at the ranch, Ray and I fought a downhill battle. At IEP meetings, we asked, no, we begged, teachers to hold her accountable. Treat her like everyone else. In high school, Dasha was in small group classes, but they weren't considered special education classes. Year after year, she was passed on with a happy smile and song... tra la la... because she was D-A-S-H-A.

Fast forward through four years of worthless instruction to today. Now that Dasha has a general education diploma, she's not eligible for the county's extra services for folks with disabilities. Teachers continued to encourage Dasha to seek higher learning opportunities at colleges and technical schools. But, wait! Did anyone notice that Dasha still can't do multiplication, tell time, or even navigate a store unassisted? Nope. That didn't seem to matter. The glass was always half-full for those IEP folks. Now, we have a 20 year old child at home without too many opportunities. She can't get the HOPE scholarship to help pay for college because she didn't have the "right" high school courses. But, she can't participate in most of the county's special education services because she has a general education diploma. Hmmm.... Let's also throw in the tidbit that we've been turned down multiple times for disability which would help off-set the cost of getting her into something during the day to help build independence.

So, we have resorted to having Dasha complete an online home school curriculum. It's for 5th graders. She's failing almost all of the subjects - but she graduated from 12th grade WITH HONORS!!!!!

Y'all. We are worn out. The education system is so stinking broken. Throughout Dasha's educational career, everyone cheered her on to do great things! They leveled the playing field so she never knew that she had any mental issues. At first thought, that might sound wonderful. But, it created a monster. Dasha doesn't see her limitations and this is astoundingly frustrating at this point. She sees Ray and I as the "bad guys" for not letting her go to college or drive a car and do all sorts of other things that would put her in harm's way beyond a small flesh wound.

I don't want to give up my job so I can chauffeur her back and forth during the week to her current job (40 minutes away) which employs special needs kids. So, she can only work on Saturday. That would also mean that Annie's school situation would have to change. We can't turn the entire family upside down.

But, what do we do? If you have a baby with an IEP, you must be a warrior. Fight like your life depends on it. We did fight, but we didn't fight hard enough. Now, we're left with a handful of stupid choices.

So, my rant is over. This is what is seeping into the fabric of our family right now. I'm hopeful that I'll look back in a year and laugh at this. But, please learn from our mistakes. Fight. Be ugly. Table discussions. Get lawyers. Be proactive. Look at the big picture and know what your intentions are for your special needs babies NOW so you can get a clear road map.

Yes, Dasha is still the sweet kid she's always been. But, she's growing up and needs to learn some independence and participate in life beyond these walls. She has her gym friends (which have been my saving grace), but she needs to learn coping skills to live a REAL life in a REAL world.

That is all. Carry on.

Susan

Snot Bubbles and Fun Dip Snorting

Sometimes, laughter is the best medicine. Sometimes, laughter just means that you're on the cusp of being certifiably loony. I'm pretty sure the latter is what applies to me tonight.

This has been a crazy week. We've all passed around varying degrees of the plague. Then, you can throw into the mix a "snow" day. And to cap the week off with nothing more than sheer insanity, tomorrow is Dasha's anticipated Night to Shine. (This is a prom for special needs kids sponsored by Tim Tebow and First Baptist Woodstock). Hmmmm.... I'm visualizing all of those events being thrown into one of those fancy silver shakers that you see bartenders using to shake up those expensive drinks and then spilling the contents all over the floor only to have me on all fours trying to lap up the remains. Ok. That was weird. What a horrible image. Maybe I should quit while I'm ahead. Or not.

So, the loose ends that need tying up at this point for the week all revolve around Dasha's prom. We really wanted to make this special for her. We ordered THE fancy dress with the hot pink ruffles and bedazzled and blinged accents. We ordered THE sliver sparkly shoes. Now, we just need THE hairdo and THE fancy nails.

I attempted to discuss with Dasha the options of checking her out early tomorrow in an attempt to gain some control of this week and get everything checked off of my list. As I was trying to have this conversation with her, Grant was in the front seat blowing snot bubbles. Yes, folks. I'm talking about snot bubbles like the kids in the toddler room blow before knowing how to blow their little noses. He thought it was hilarious. (Remember, I said we'd all had the plague. Grant was the last one to have it). Return to conversation with Dasha. Then, Grant grabbed Annie's Valentine's Day box from school and proceeded to do... Oh, I can't even begin to tell you what this normally subdued kid was doing with it. For pitty's sake! I just wanted to talk to Dasha. Before I knew what had happened, Grant had convinced Annie to snort Fun Dip powder. Yes, this is really my life. The drive from school to home takes just over twenty minutes. In that twenty minutes, two of the three kids transformed into absolute idiots. It must be something in the DNA - and NOT in the X chromosomes they got from me!

I guess you get a picture of how the afternoon went.

Somewhere along the way, Dasha and I engaged in battle, as well. I do try to pick my battles with her and remember that this is a marathon and not a sprint. However, there are some behaviors (obviously not snot bubble blowing, burping, farting, or snorting Fun Dip) that cause me to go into overdrive. Dasha exhibits classical signs of what "professionals" call Executive Processing Disorder. We don't have a formal diagnosis, and I really don't care what they call it. To me, it's ridiculous. I don't get it. And, it's so sad to say, but I have a really hard time extending grace in situations where these issues occur. Basically, what this whole "disorder" means is that Dasha doesn't see the big picture. She cannot connect actions and consequences. When we issue a consequence for something, she can usually only tell you that it's because we are angry or upset. She can't identify her OWN action. Folks, think about the ramifications of this sort of thought processing. Driving a car - rules are merely suggestions, being left alone - the rules were merely suggestions... the activities go on and on. While she is absolutely nothing shy of a perfect child when she's in public, when she's at home, we see the the impact of her limited ability to see the big picture. It's so hard to know if these attributes are part of her CP, her life in an orphanage, or being a teenager. Ultimately, it doesn't matter. We have to figure out how to help her be a productive part of this word and find what God has in store for her. The battle we engaged in had to do with a math test. During the snow day yesterday, I asked Dasha a million times if she had any homework. She retorted, "NO," to all million requests. Then, she told me she had a math test today, and they let her take two whole class periods to complete it - which she did not. I asked her if other kids had taken that long. She sassily replied, "No! They knew the answers to the problems!" Her plan was to come home, review the study guide, and go back tomorrow to complete the missing questions and redo those that she didn't know. I don't think so. My question was about telling me that she didn't have homework when she should have been studying for the test. She informed me that studying is not homework. Ugh. Now, I'm left with a dilemma. Do I email the teacher and tell her not to let Dasha finish the test? They already think we are demons based on Dasha's reports to them. Oh wait! Maybe I should show up at the school tomorrow to pick her up for her hair appointment wearing horns and a tail while holding a pitch fork? Maybe that's a bit dramatic. I'll just wear the horns.

So, that was sort of the backstory so you'll know why I'm still sitting here almost an hour later feeling like I had the wind knocked out of me. Did you know that when your child turns 18, they are responsible for their own academic decisions? Yep. Dasha can choose her own classes, advocate for her own IEP changes, and basically act as an adult. No one seems to notice that she doesn't have the skill sets to make those choices. They are letting a child who can't plan for next week make decisions that will impact her high school graduation. Am I the only one who thinks this is nuts? Dasha chose her own classes for next year, again, without having us, the responsible parents, ok the choices. And, no one at the school really gave her any support either. What are we supposed to do? Dasha fits into a very small gray area. Her intellect is too high to be part of the full time special needs group, but her intellect is too low to allow her to make informed choices. I'm not talking about choosing to have white milk or chocolate milk for lunch! I'm talking about having to make up classes during the summer at $250 per class if she didn't register for the correct classes!

That really wasn't the worst of it, though. As we sat at dinner, Dasha was telling us about watching some videos of the the presidential candidates today during her history class. Wait for it... then she said that she didn't know who SHE was going to vote for. I gave Ray THE eyes. I figured this was another discussion like the ones Dasha has with us about being able to drive and have her own house. But, Dasha added on to the conversation with, "Since I'm 18, I can vote." Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges... Lamaze breathing wasn't cutting it, so I resorting to naming the books of the Bible. She is 18. She can legally vote. How can she vote when she can't even keep up with her own homework? Is this really legal? Aren't there some sort of rules? Oh my. That sure wasn't the dart to the head that I was ready for tonight.

Like I said, we have LOTS of messy conversations in this house. I guess tonight Ray and I will add the "Dasha voting" conversation to the agenda. Have you seen the presidential candidates? I guess it really wouldn't matter if Dasha voted or not. (OK. That was horrible, but I'm not sure about any of those folks)!

Please don't read this and think horrid thoughts of me. Every day we struggle to help Dasha succeed in a world that enables her to feel helpless while empowering her to take control of her own life. It's a tightrope act. We are standing below her with the net stretched out and ready to catch her fall. With most kids, you know that you need to let them hit the ground once or twice for them to learn to balance and stay on the rope. With Dasha, the falls continue. They don't seem to phase her. What do you do then as parents?

So, I still don't know how I'm going to juggle getting Dasha's hair and nails done tomorrow. (Or where I'll find those horns and that pitchfork). I've painted nails before, and I can use a can of hairspray and a curling iron. (Those skills have been minimally honed, but I haven't done unnecessary damage with those tools, either). Worst case scenaio, I guess we have our own little salon party here at home.

Meanwhile, if you see Gigantor blowing snot bubbles or Annie snorting Fun Dip, please just know that we choose our battles carefully here at the Rudd-olph Asylum, and those activities just fell below the line of delineation of importance here tonight. I'm sure Annie could teach some of her classmates how to snort Fun Dip (or crushed up Altoids as Grant later tried). That's a pretty unique skill set! That would look great on a college application!

Amen

When your past, present, and future keep colliding

Oh my. It has been over a year since I updated this blog. I’m not even sure where to begin. The last post I wrote was a piece about blending vomit. While the majority of the vomit has finally homogenized, there are still some curdled chunks that keep rising to the top. It’s the same chunky pieces that fester up. Again, and again, and again.

When Ray and I said those blissful words, “I do,” almost three years ago, we knew that blending a bachelor, three kids, and a control obsessed woman would be challenging. Neither one of us “adults” quite realized how challenging things would be.

I guess part of the reason that I haven’t blogged in so long is because I feel like I’m giving the details of some intimately fragile being. I’m still afraid of breaking something. Ray continues to laugh at my fears of him running out of the house screaming while Annie is running around naked asking for someone to wipe her butt, Dasha is talking to herself about an episode of some Disney soap opera, and Grant is hanging lifelessly in his darkened room in his hammock. As for me, I’m usually rendered helpless at those moments. It’s amazing how your past can continue to pop up in your future. I know there are all sorts of verses and sayings about not letting your past determine your future. Bull crap. Yes, I’m an adult. I only said crap – that time. I know the verses. I know the sayings. But, sometimes life is messy and you can’t just clean it up. You need a HAZMAT team, and you need them on stand-by because the mess will reappear at unplanned intervals.

Going into marriage for a second time, I didn’t realize how unprepared I was. If Ray didn’t have the character and integrity of a saint, I think I can say with confidence that I’d be a single mother again. Yes. I know that is a really bold statement. However, folks just don’t realize the baggage that divorce leaves. You can pack the bags up and stow them in the closet, but eventually they are going to tumble out. All of the unmentionables are going to spill into the middle of the room. That’s just how it works.
So, dealing with the idea of Ray heading for the border has been something that I’ve dealt with a lot. Ray does not like it when I compare him to folks in my past, and he wants a clean slate. I truly try to give him that, but… Let’s face it. There are plenty of days when I don’t want to be here with two teenagers and a high maintenance six year old. That’s harsh, but I think most mamas get to that point. I get tired of being a responsible adult. But, I’m bound to be here by those maternal instincts that drive mama bears to protect their cubs at any and all cost (even when the cub seems to have lost it's ever loving mind). He, admittedly, doesn’t have that bond. The girls both love Ray beyond measure, but many times, they still will look toward me when he asks them to do something. They still see me as the Alpha. As for the relationship with Grant, honestly, that’s just too fragile to be putting out in print. Our prayer is that one day he will understand and accept.

For nearly three years, we have worked so diligently to become part of one of those Norman Rockwell pictures. Well, maybe not Norman Rockwell. I think we might have been aspiring for something closer to the Simpsons. Doh! But, the road has not been easy. We have had to have some really tough and messy conversations. But, some of the most loving and growth-filled moments are when emotions are raw and naked and spilled all of the floor. (Visualize a butcher's shop after he just had the busiest day of his life). Ray has seen me at some of the lowest moments in my entire life. He has seen the bile that I had been holding in for so long spattered from floor to ceiling. And, somehow, he never flinches. Many of the discussions have revolved around what we are beginning to accept with Dasha and that she will most likely never live independently, and we will always be responsible for her. Talk about having to revisit your bucket list. The discussions that surround Grant always end up with me being nearly hysterical. Yes. I can be dramatic and hysterical. It’s not a pretty sight. Grant will forever be my “baby boy.” I just wish Ray could have known him when he was so sweet and compliant. Now, Grant doesn’t even speak to Ray. He has no use for any of us in this house. Those words came from his mouth. I’m sure they were motivated by other things, but hearing your baby boy say that he doesn’t really care for you or have anything in common with you is heartbreaking. And, then there’s Annie. Annie. Annie. Annie. This girl is something else. She loves Ray like nothing else. She asks to watch techie shows with him, and her personality reflects so much of what Ray has invested in her over the last three years. Maybe that’s why I struggle with her. It’s like having a mini version of Alton Brown and Albert Einstein mixed together with a dash of Selena Gomez running around the house. She has such a tender heart, but her brain and mouth NEVER stop.

What’s my point? I don’t know. I think I chased a squirrel back in the second paragraph. However, I had a friend recently tell me that I should blog about the challenges that have come with a second marriage. She said that folks appreciated my honesty. Well, I’m not sure that I call all of this mess honesty. It’s called a messy life. It’s called real life. I do absolutely love this season of my life, but I am learning that I have to be very intentional about my attitude, feelings, and communication. I’m not really good at any of those. I prefer to slap on the “I’m fine” face and walk it off.

The thought of posting this rambling out on the web for others to see does sort of terrify me. I’ve moved on in my life. Most of the folks who read the details of my divorce and upheaval have moved out of my circle of friends. In fact, I was thinking about the folks that are still in my life who could walk you through the events of the birth of two kids, the death of one, the adoption of one, the birth of another, a divorce, and a remarriage and they are very few. (That does sort of make me sound like a high maintenance friend, doesn’t it)? But, I’m ready for this. Folks need to realize that a second marriage will NOT fix what ailed in the first marriage. Those issues are still going to be waiting for you – more like haunting you. If the person who you’re choosing to “do life with” can’t put on some gloves and clean up a LOT of vomit, duck chairs, ignore dirty words said in heated moments, accept that you have a past, and not retaliate, then you need to rethink marriage with that person or seek some serious counsel (not Dr. Phil style – someone who will dump the dirty laundry on the floor and force you to work through the stale undies, stiff socks, and whatever else you might have been stowing there).

For those who are reading this and don’t find yourself anywhere near this ballfield called “remarriage,” just be mindful of the enormous adventure that marriage is and don’t take it lightly.

Amen
(Not the kind of Amen that you hear muttered in reverence, but the kind that a Pentecostal would yell out in the middle of a sermon)

Blending Vomit

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This is a compilation of my thoughts on the subject and his. Yes, my husband can write. His thoughts follow my post.

Blended. When I think of that word, my mind conjures up images of a toddler finger painting and blending colors together. I think of the girl at Smoothie King tossing the ingredients in the blender and blending the perfect smoothie. (Why won’t my blender make them taste the same way)? I think of all sorts of beautiful combinations of things that have been blended together. People even call some families “blended.” The Brady Bunch, they were a blended family. However, we all know the moment that the cameras stopped filming, those Brady kids must have turned into Satan’s spawn and started poking each others’ eyes out and shouting obscenities at their parents. They were a bit too well blended for my reality. Have you see Adam Sandler’s movie Blended? I love that movie. Two completely unlikely families blend into a beautiful family. Once again, they blended just like when you mix Kool-Aid powder and water. You could never separate the two again. Perfection.

Those were the expectations that I headed into my second marriage with. And, let’s face it, I thought the blending of my crew of convicts and Ray would be flawless. He didn’t even have kids that he was bringing to the blender!

Folks, the time has come for me to admit that I was wrong. The reality of blending families is nothing like blending finger paints or fruit in a smoothie. I’m pretty sure that using one of the Ninja blenders wouldn’t even make the outcome any better! Blending a family is like blending two piles of chunky puke. Once the puke is out, there’s evidence of the past (be it a pizza dinner or red juice) and there’s usually no denying which parties delivered the piles-o-puke. It’s messy, and it sure ain’t easy to clean up. Although I wanted to pretend like my past hurts had healed, they hadn’t. Those hurts have shown up in multiple pukey piles at various times over the last year. Ray’s past has shown up in a few piles along the way, too. And, even if you can get to that weird sawdust-like puke picker upper stuff and sprinkle it all over the piles, the evidence of the puke is still there – be it the stank or the on-lookers left staring at you.

Ok. I’m tired of talking about puke. I’m not really sure what inspired that parallel. Gross.

So, let’s just move on to the nuts and bolts. After doing the single mom “thing” for several years, I think I sort of just assumed that marriage to Ray would be remarkably easy. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually, I knew that we would be cared for. The kids loved him. My parents adored him. What else could a girl want? (Insert large lightning bolt and ominous sounds of thunder in the background).

Let me take a step back for a moment and tell you my inspiration for carving out time to write this… Garbage Pail Kids sort of rampage today. Over the last few weeks, I’ve had several single friends who’ve gotten engaged. I’ve heard them make comments alluding to the idea that second marriages are just like first ones – you’re just getting a “do over.” One friend even said that she had expectations of perfection because she knew that her hubby-to-be would never do the things her ex did. Um, yeah. Folks, we are humans. We all do stupid… even asinine things! We are selfish by nature and would prefer to side-step the reality of hardships. Believe me. Second marriages are harder – especially when there are rug rats involved!

Let’s start by talking about those rug rats. Many times, they are like time leeches. They have needs and wants (and demands) that need to be met. It’s not like that first marriage where you came home after a long day at work and you could collapse on the sofa with a bowl of cereal. I guess I could still try that, but I’d have Annie on one side of me asking to have a bite of my cereal, and Dasha would be asking to change the channel. Grant would be in the kitchen slamming cabinet doors as he looked for something to eat more substantial than cereal for dinner. And, in our situation, Ray would be left standing in the kitchen with that wide-eyed look of, “This sure doesn’t fit that Norman Rockwell photo that I had burned into my memory!” It’s just different. Alone time is nearly non-existent. So, as a couple, serious discussions or issues that need to be dealt with are frequently done via email or text. We’ve even started using an app called Wunderlist to organize discussion topics. Doesn’t sound like a great system, does it? Starting a new marriage with kids in tow is nothing for the faint-hearted. We won’t even begin to address meshing discipline styles and expectations for each child. I have the knowledge of what each child has been exposed to and what they “know” to be right. Ray doesn’t. He’s at a disadvantage. Does that mean that he should just stand in the background and let me do all of the parenting? No. That’s not what we want. However, finding a good started point isn’t easy, either!

Who wouldn't be proud of this?

You can even see their halos! Right?

Sleeping arrangements are another laughable thing. First time around, you want beautiful linens and candles to decorate your bedroom in hopes of encouraging “the mood.” Second time around, there aren’t any linens on the bed because someone puked on them and they are in the washer. And, if you do make it into bed, you’re likely to be shish-kabobbed with a Barbie shoe or a rogue toenail from someone’s shoddy clip job while sitting on your bed! And the candles, forget it. If you light those puppies with three kiddos running around, you’re surely going to be making a homeowner’s claim for a charred bedroom. (Ray did invest in LCD candles. However, I believe they’re in Dasha’s room now). And, combining the sleeping styles of two folks who’ve had their own beds for quite a while becomes even more laughable. Our headboard has slats along the top. Ray has counted them off and knows that the exact middle of the bed can be calculated at the “nine line.” This would be where the ninth slat is located on the headboard. More than once, he has muttered, “Get on your side of the nine line!” Let’s not even get into the arrangements that happen when a storm rolls through and our bed becomes the hang out. Is this something that folks think about heading into a second marriage? Well, they need to. This is reality unless you want to be like June and Ward and invest in two twin beds. Will you new hubby be open to having the little convicts crash your bed each night?

And finances? Well, I’m not even sure that I can adequately address that. We are still working on that. He was used to controlling his money. I’d grown accustomed to controlling mine (or my lack of). Using an envelope system seems sensible, but actually making it work has been another challenge. But, my point is that I don’t think families who are blending really think through the nitty-gritty of finances. I believe many of them look at the bottom line of what gets deposited in the bank each month, and they simply agree that the income will exceed the outflow. At that point, they assume that it’ll all be ok. Have you ever really even thought about your spending habits? I’m not talking about what the numbers show. I’m talking about the WHYs behind how you spend the money. Ugh. That’s a big ugly boogie monster waiting to grab your ankles and pull you under the bed! It’s gets even uglier when your spouse’s habits are drastically different. Just think about it.

Believe me, there are lots of other things that I was unprepared for. But above all, I wasn’t prepared for how my past was driving my future. I just didn’t realize how many bruises I still had from my first marriage. In order to protect those bruises, I had created quite a system of coping mechanisms to insure that I never felt that sort of pain again. The biggest coping mechanism I nurtured was making sure that I was always in control. Yes. I know you’re surprised. Me? A control freak. Yeah, whatever. I just didn’t realize how much of a freak I’d become. Ray knew from the start that I was… oh, what was the nice word he used?... independent. And, somehow, he managed to put up with my need to continually be in control. I needed control for the safety of my kids. I needed control to keep my finances in check. I needed control to make sure that things were done the right way (that ‘s MY way in case you needed the 4-1-1). Once again, this is an area that I was absolutely oblivious of until trying to “blend.” Believe me. My pile-o-puke was full of massive chunks of control. I still deal with this on a daily basis. Do you know that I can’t even ride in the car with someone without getting carsick now? If I’m driving, I’m fine. If I’m riding, I get sick. It doesn’t have anything to do with motion sickness. It’s control sickness. I could go on forever with how bad this has gotten. While Ray is patient with my insanity, I know that he grows weary of it at times.

My past still tempers how I parent, how I cope, and how I live. I think this is called life. And, I’ve come to the point of believing that if I can take my past and use it for my good, I might be able to call it wisdom. But, that doesn’t always happen. Sometimes I’m like Elsa. I use my control to build ice castles around myself. Do you want to build a snowman? Oh wait. That was sort of random.

My point is that if you are a single mama and you believe that the answer to all of your problems is to find a man and blend, then you need a reality check. Blending is a messy job. Until you’re ok cleaning up your own pile-o-puke, don’t expect someone else to want to step in and do it. I will admit that we when we got married just over a year ago, I was partially ok cleaning my own puke. I wasn’t like the iron-stomached custodian who swoops into an elementary classroom and sprinkles puke dust everywhere and then sweeps it up without hesitation. I was still gagging and choking as I cleaned. Wait. How did we get back to puke? What is wrong with me?

Ray and I have talked repeatedly through the last year. The books that we read on blending families just didn’t do it. He read books about how to be a dad since he had never operated in that role. I read books about supporting your husband through prayer and helping blend the “beautiful colors” of a new family. I just kept hearing Dr. Phil’s resounding words, “How’s that working for you?” Maybe we did glean a few truths from those books, but the majority of what we learned came from bumping our heads on the door (and floor and ceiling and against each other). I can’t even begin to address this whole blending activity if both parents have kiddos. I would need a full-time live in counselor (and pharmacist) to implement that deal! That has to be nearly impossible!

Single ladies, take my advice. If you are looking for someone to complete you (or your family) Jerry Maguire style, stop. You are wholly perfect and complete through His grace. Blending is a messy thing. While the Bradys and Adam Sandler were able to do it on the big screen, reality looks and feels very different. Be honest with yourself and remember Andy Stanley’s words. “Are you who the person you are looking for is looking for?”

I didn’t really mean for that to be a fountain of puke covered wisdom. However, my heart is breaking for a few women who are near and dear to me. They are looking for someone else to complete them. Until they discover that they are complete in Him, another marriage will never meet their needs or expectations and will most likely cause more devastation.

In case you were wondering, Ray and I are thriving. We have accepted that “normal” in this house is absolutely abnormal. We continue to learn from each other as if we are from completely different planets (most likely Mars and Venus). He works daily to coax me out of my comfort zones and gently push (toss) me into situations where my control is minimized. My prayer daily is that God allow me to learn to trust fully again through Ray’s integrity and patience. It’s quite a story that’s being written around here. Some chapters are full of bloopers and blunders. Other chapters are full of heartbreak and frustration. But, the majority of the plot revolves around this odd little family learning to love and work together through God’s unending grace. I never know what the next chapter will bring. But I do know that we are traveling through this journey together and that Ray was worth the wait.

Ray’s thoughts:  

 Life has definitely been a roller-coaster for the past 14 months.  Puking from the ride is not unexpected.  When Susan sits with a bowl of cereal, I am not standing in the kitchen.  I am working on dinner for the kids. (We are on this ride together).  

The past year did not go as I expected, either.  I prayed for God to bring the woman into my life that I would work with, in family and in ministry, for the rest of my life.  God brought Susan into my life, with three bonuses: Annie, Grant, and Dasha.  I’ve never been a father before.  Being an uncle was easy.  I could stop over and visit.  I could even babysit.  Then I could return to the peace and quiet of home.  Everything had a place (more or less), and everything was in its place (more or less). 

Going from the quietness of bachelor life to having a wife and three kids not only turned my life upside down, but inside out and backwards, too.  Things that I’d grown accustomed to in 39 years being single, such as quiet time, a semblance of order, control over my schedule… were gone.  Yes, there have been times that I look back and think that those were the ‘good old days’.  Then I look around at my wife, son, and two daughters and realize that the ‘good days’ are happening now, with my family.

We are still working a few things out.  Sharing the bed (with a wife who crowds and steals the covers, and refuses to keep her pillows on her side of the nine line).  Finances are definitely different with five people, two cats, and a dog.  We’re working through it, though, together. 

Any men out there who are thinking about marriage, do it!  Pray, and when you are sure that it is God’s will, don’t look back.  Yes, it’s different!  Yes, there are changes that you’ll have to make!  Yes, your life will never be the same!  Yes, it is wonderful! 

God blessed me not only with a wife, but with three kids, too.  More than I had asked for.  I will continue to do my best to be the husband and father that God called me to be.

Amen

Nitty gritty...

 Picture this. You're sitting in a peaceful spot that your husband created just for you. There's soft music playing in the background. Two lovely girls are seated at the table working on summer school work. As I type, that's exactly what's going on here. Maybe. Sort of. Ok. You can stop laughing now and get a paper towel to sop up the water that you just shot out of your nose and mouth. I am seated in this perfect little nook that Ray helped create. However, the desk no longer looks this neat and tidy. There are crayons scattered all over the top now and little pictures from Annie are tucked onto, into, and around the shelves. There is also music playing. However, it can't really be heard over the racket the girls are making at the table arguing about why the word Kohl's is spelled K O H L S and not Cole's. I guess I should ask them their thoughts about Coal's. So, the truth of the matter is that I've finally tried to carve out some time to sit and write. The floor is littered with Hot Wheels cars. (The girls started making roads on poster board, but the game turned violent and they started folding the board into ramps and launching the cars at unsuspecting animals. The dog has currently taken cover under my desk, and the cat is peering out from the chair next to me). So, as you can tell, although time has passed since I last wrote, some things will always be the same around here! Controlled chaos will rein supreme and housework will be sacrificed for the sake of laughter.

In a very feeble attempt to catch everyone up to speed on this crazy life, I'm going to give you a few snippets of what's gone on around here over the last year. Please feel free to walk away from the computer as your mind becomes cloudy and you begin to drool with the lunacy that may ooze out from this point.

It's been almost a year since Ray and I got married. The learning curve on marriage between two psychos with completely different backgrounds is VERY steep! Can you imagine how he felt after about a month of coming home every day to face three stooges and a psychotic woman instead of
sauntering in the door to his cat and a calm quiet home? I think the first time we really vocalized the differences, Ray said, "I feel like I'm in a foreign land!" Over and over again, he tells me that the insanity is completely worth the blessing, though. (When he says that, I really want to ask him if we need to look into some medication for him, because that's just really hard to believe). Anyway, the roller coasters of combining someone who lived the bachelor life for almost forty years and someone who had become a certified control freak trying to keep a leaking boat afloat with three kids aboard has been fun at times, scary at others, but are well worth the loop-the-loops and mind blowing hills and dips.

Annie prefers that Ray fix her hair. She says that I am in too much of a rush. Ya think? If I get too "rough," she'll run off to find him.

I'll leave the whole wedded bliss soliloquy alone for now. That's a whole other topic.

For now, I'll just try to catch you up to speed on what's going on around here.

Dinner out to celebrate not eating at home and having to do dishes. Sounds legit, right?

I think Ray was surprised / mortified / in disbelief about  a teacher's job. Heck, I'm allowed to say it now, too. I'm surprised, mortified, and in disbelief about what teachers are called on to do. "Officials" continue to pack more and more students into classrooms and then want to hold teachers "accountable" by surveying students, looking at doctored up test scores, and reviewing observations (on which the good teachers get the same scores as the bad - just FYI), and then wonder "what went wrong?" So, at the end of the school year, I walked away. After 16 years, I walked away. It still doesn't seem real. However, I have some other opportunities brewing (one being writing). So, we shall see what happens and how long it takes me to either learn to be Martha Stewart and flip this house, or to simply lose my mind.

I'm not sure where time went. Dasha is 16, Annie 5, and Grant 14 (going on 40).

 However, since I'll be home, I will be able to devote more time to the chicken nuggets. (I can hear Grant moaning now)! Grant and Dasha will be in high school next year, and Annie will go to a small school three days a week. Yes, I'll be responsible for being the responsible party on the other two days. I'm actually looking forward to that part of this new journey. Unlike the big nuggets, Annie actually listens when I try to "teach" her. I'm sure that we'll have challenges, but, if nothing else, I can claim that the laundry didn't get done or dinner didn't get started because I was helping Annie. Right? The day I lose my excuses for those things, I'm sunk!

Despite his weirdness, Grant is still the Gentle Giant. He'll be doing marching band this year, and is really excited (do teens get excited?) about being part of the group.

 Grant is still Grant, though. His snarky comebacks always keep me in that twilight zone of trying to be the parent, but wanting to fall over laughing hysterically at the things he says. The boy is still infatuated with Legos, too. I'll never tire of passing by his room and seeing him sitting in the floor surrounded by Legos and GI Joes. I'm hoping that the Peter Pan syndrome will hold true on just that one little part of him. (I don't need him to "never grow up" completely, though. He needs to grow up and get a job so he can pay for his own Legos)!

 And then there's Dasha. Whew. I'm just not sure what to say on this account. While her chronological ages continues to increase, there are parts of her that definitely mature (yikes!!!!), but there are some parts that are still stuck in the late elementary stage. How do you parent a sixteen year old who has a range of emotions, social abilities, and physical abilities than range from about an eight year old to a twenty year old? Ray is INCREDIBLE with Dasha, though. Somehow, he never loses his patience with her, and can speak to her in a way that I'm simply not capable of doing. Dasha clings to Ray - literally and figuratively. We don't know what high school is going to bring for her. We're sort of at a "wait and see" status. While she needs the socialization, she just doesn't have the skills to navigate the social world of the average high schooler. (She was propositioned by another female student to be "special" friends toward the end of the school year. Grant got wind of the situation, and alerted us. Dasha had no idea that this girl didn't want to just be buddies. We tried to talk her through the whole situation, but then she decided to tell the pediatrician at her check up that she'd been in a romantic relationship with another girl. I can laugh about the whole ordeal now, but at the time, I was praying that God would suddenly render her completely speechless. The look the pediatrician gave me was priceless)! And, mobility wise, we just don't know what we're going to be up against. Dasha is back to wearing the braces that go up to her knees. I'm not sure if she's really falling any less, but... During her last year of middle school, she ended up with a broken finger at one point, and a broken hand due to falls. The high school campus is much larger with lots more kids jostling around. We shall see. But, beyond the crazy Dashaisms, she is still wonderful with Annie and loves to help around the house. Ray is working with her cooking skills. I normally stand back and get my drawers in a major knot worrying that she'll topple over and fall into a hot pan, but Ray is determined to help her find what she's great at. (I feel guilty sometimes because I never really looked at it that way).

 And, as for Annie... Whew! At five, she has the mental capacity of a NASA monkey. (If you aren't sure... that's way more capacity then I have). Annie loves to build and create things. She also loves to read and will attempt to sound out just about anything. Millions of times each day, she'll ask how to spell something.

When I left for the store, she was just getting started.

When I returned, it looked like this. I was sort of expecting that she'd have built a Transformer, though.

 Annie graduated kindergarten in May. At the end of the year conference, the teacher didn't even address the academic items. Her main concern was that Annie plays much better with adults than with children. Maybe the teacher thought I'd be offended by that statement. I just sort of had the Homer Simpon, "Duh," zip through my head.  Oh well. At least the teacher didn't tell me that she eats paste and boogers. (Although, that would be much easier to remediate)!

She doesn't like help. Anyone surprised?

Graduation day

 As for the rest of the family, everyone is hanging in there. Ethel and Fred are still up to their routine antics. Their newest adventure is the war that they've staged with the resident squirrel population. Each week, they add something to their arsenal of crazy things to combat the squirrels from getting to their almighty bird feeders. This week, they added empty 2-liter bottles to the ends of the line that the feeders dangle from.

 In an attempt to deter Fred's squirrel chasing, Ray decided that an RC airplane would be the ticket for Father's Day. However, I'm betting that by the end of the month, Ray will have one, as well, and the two boys will have disappeared somewhere to fly their toys. I'm so thankful for how well Ray and my dad get along. Although, I am afraid that if they ever decide to use their powers for evil, we might all be in for some trouble. (Anyone else imagine Fred using that plane to dive-bomb the neighbors' homes who don't keep their yards in tip-top condition)? Just saying!

So, as I finally wrap things up, the girls have finally stopped launching cars at the animals. They've moved on to arguing about who will get to help make the ba-sketti tonight, and which jobs are most important. Maybe I'll just hand them each a can of Chef Boyardee and let them work it out for themselves.

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Matthew 6:25 - 7:29

Forgotten treasures FOUND!

It has taken me over 18 months to break back into my original blog. This is what happens when you have too many email addresses and too many passwords.

The old blog, Happily Ever After for Now, now holds the craziness of 2013 in one nice little package. However, I'm going to abandon that site and move my exploits back "home."

Painful Learning Experiences and the Boot Scootin'

Ugh. I'm not sure where to even start this. My emotions are raw and still sting. I feel sort of like a slug who has been doused with an ample helping of salt.

Those of you who follow me on Facebook knew that I took some pretty drastic measures last night. I stepped so far out of my comfort zone that I completely left my zip code, my county, and basically my planet. I decided to go "out" for New Year's Eve to a party. I'm not going to say that it was a bad decision because if I hadn't gone, I would have always been haunted by the "what if" monster.

So, for those of you who didn't see the insanity via FB, here's the general scenario.

1) Grant convinced me to go to a party. Duh! Why the heck do I listen to the 12 year old male in the house? I think it was his monologue about his mother turning into a weird spinster cat lady that might have tilted the scales but... He even offered to pay the entry fee. Ultimately, it was my decision, though. I decided that I'd splurge on a new outfit and do it.

2) Grant proceeded to procure arrangements for he and his sisters for the night. Not just until midnight. For the entire night with my mom. My mom had NEVER watched all three kids overnight at her house and Annie had NEVER slept away from home without me. The whole scenario continued to have disaster written all over but I sort of decided that one night out would not hurt me or the kids. (My mom was the only one who risked permanent damage from over working her nerves with all three kids).

3) So, the next morning, I went to the mall. Yes, I said THE MALL. People who know me well can tell you that I don't go to the mall and I don't pay full price for anything. If I need clothes, I go to Old Navy, Marshals, TJ Maxx, or Ross but not THE MALL! However, I was on a tight time constraint since I'd left all three convicts at home alone. I had to move quick. After scouting out several stores and wanting to puke at the thought of paying over $100 for a dress, I closed my eyes and pretended that I was buying five dresses and not just one. Then, I sort of got into the shopping mood and hit Payless in the mall for a pair of glittery sandals to finish the outfit off. I'm not against shopping. I enjoy shopping. I just don't like spending money and I have a hard time participating in one without the other happening. Hmmm....

4) I dropped the kids off at Mom's prior to getting dressed. I couldn't tell you when the last time was that I had a shower without turning it off at least once thinking I heard someone screaming. I actually almost did that while the kids were gone and then realized that I'd left the TV in the bedroom on. So, I got showered and then began the Dance of the Spanx. What is wrong with the manufactures of those stupid garments? I've pondered the scene of several guys sitting around a conference table brainstorming the next great prank of the female population and one of them squealing, "A ha! Let's make a tube out of elastic and then tell the ladies that it will make them look skinny!" The other jack... oh, oops... the other donkeys around the table laugh, as well, and then begin designing this undergarment. I'm sure they'd all fallen out of their seats with laughter multiple times before they finished designing the entire line. I'm also quite sure that none of them ever tried any of the darn things on. (Remember that movie with Mel Gibson and Helen Hunt - What Women Want)? Anyway, I finally got the stupid Spanx on and was pretty darn glad that the cat was the only one around for the gymnastics performance. The thing I always forget, though, is that when you displace one lump, the lump doesn't disappear. It moves somewhere else. I wonder what would happen if you wore a full body Spanx suit? Would the muffin top migrate and pop out somewhere around your neck or ankles? Ewwww.... Anyway, I got dressed, fixed my hair (I do own a flat iron - I just never use it), put makeup on (I do own makeup - I just never wear it), and tried to figure out how I was going to walk in the glittery sandals. They looked like a great idea in the box but walking in them was another story. Oh well. What's the worst thing that would happen? I'd break my ankle because of those beautiful sandals. I took the bet and figured that it would be worth it.

5) So, I climbed in the van and just sort of sat there. I kept hearing strains of that old song that Mr. Hooper used to sing on Sesame Street, "One of these things is not like the other..." Me all dressed up in the minivan. Oh well. However, as I pulled out of the garage, I realized I needed to put gas in the van. I made a pit stop to do that and then headed to meet some girl friends for the "pre" party.

6) We met at a local restaurant. No big deal. I knew these girls and they knew me. Or, they thought they did until I walked in. I'll admit that they actually laughed. They were shocked that I had dressed up. I guess they expected to see me in the school marm khakis and button down collared shirt. Geez. Maybe things are worse than I thought. So, we had a fun dinner and then they headed on their way to a bar scene in Buckhead. I know my limitations. I don't do alcohol and that's what they were after - and some men. No alcohol and no man fishing. So, we went our separate ways and I headed to the non-alcoholic party.

7) When I pulled into the parking lot, the reality of the situation sort of hit me. What the heck was I doing? But, I still had some guts left (although they had been rattled by my friends' laughter) so I parked the cool minivan amongst the other sedans and headed in. There was a line to check in and that's when it hit me. Not just, "What the heck was I doing," but I seriously thought, "What the hell am I doing?" Look folks. I'm just being real here. If you want me to candy coat the remainder of the story, you'd better stop reading because the emotions that surged through me over the next four hours almost undid me.

8) When I got through the line and into the building, I realized that the entire middle section was a dance floor and there were tables around the perimeter of the area where folks were mingling. Now, the invitation did include the word "dance" but for some reason that hadn't really occurred to me until that point. "Oh, you mean D A N C E like shake your bootie and be in other people's space?" Nice. My eyes welled up with tears and I almost spun around on those very slick glittery heels (which I'd gotten some lessons in walking in by my laughing friends) and headed out of there. However, one of the biggest What If monsters came out of hiding and bit me square on my Spanx clad butt. Maybe I shouldn't call it a What If monster. It was more like a taunting voice from my past saying, "You're never any fun! You never want to go anywhere or do anything! You just want to stay home!" Yip. I hear that voice quite a bit and I do everything I can to prove it wrong. It that misguided motivation? Maybe. Has that voice pushed me out of my comfort zone in the last three years more than once? Absolutely. I don't want that voice from my past to have any power over me but it motivates me to do and try things that I've never done. I don't guess it's always a bad thing. However, I was too far out of my comfort zone. In 37 years of my life, I've never been in a bar or a club. I'm not kidding. Now, remember this was a non-alcoholic event but it was sort of like a club scene. There I was. Stuck right inside the door way. There were no seats of the side of the room where I was stranded and I would have to cross the entirety of the dance floor to get to the other side. Fight or flight? I kept looking around for someone I knew but didn't see anyone. Nice. Here I am in a building with hundreds of people and I'm acting like a lost 2 year old. Man up. Cowboy up. Grow up. So, I walked across the floor and almost slid into an empty seat.

9) I sat back for a few minutes and praised my bravery. I know that you socialites are scratching your heads (or butt) right now thinking, "What the heck is wrong with her?" Go ahead. I've told you many times before that I am NOT a social being and that any sort of comfort zone migration takes a major toll on me. I've very cognizant of my short comings and this is probably numero uno! I was seated toward the back of the room so I could get my bearings. I mapped out the DJ, where the dance floor seemed to stop and start, where the food was located, and the general traffic flow. I'm not kidding you when I tell you that I sat there for probably 30 minutes trying to acclimate myself to the new surroundings. I watched the dance floor fill up and people having... fun. Then, there was the voice again, "You never want to have fun." Dang it. He has already wreaked enough havoc on my life. Why in the world have his words stayed lodged in my psyche? Get the heck out of my life!!!! You don't have any power over me nor do you even deserve to have any part of my mind occupied with your hateful comments! Once again, I was fighting the urge to get up and leave. I looked ridiculous sitting at a table alone like I was a lost child about to cry. So, I started playing games with myself. I looked at the big clock on the wall and told myself that I'd stay until 9:00 and then reassess. Ok. That seemed reasonable. I'm not sure why I play games with myself like that. It's not like I'm ever going to win or lose. Maybe I have some sort of split personality and they are fighting to see who will have the next win.

10) It was about that time that I completely got sideswiped. I was sitting there playing my own little tic-toc game when some guy came along and asked me to dance. I'm still not sure what I said to him but he obviously understood my, "NO!" Now, I had not ever once even considered that I might have to deal with actual people - especially the male variety. There I sat wondering if I could teleport out of there so I wouldn't have to move. I was petrified. But, it wasn't 9:00 yet, so I couldn't leave.

11) I did enjoy the music and knew most of the tunes that were played. See, I'm not so dull. I do know about some pop culture. As I was reveling in my coolness (and watching the clock), there was another group attack. All of the people around me headed for the dance floor and somehow swept me out to sea with them. Ok. DO. NOT. PANIC. I was relieved to hear the first strains of Boot Scootin Boogie and realized that I did know that and that was a line dance. I would not have to be in someone's bubble. Deep breathing. For a few nano seconds, I loosened up and just went with the flow - until my brain unfroze. Then, I started thinking about how I was going to get out of the sea of people and back to my safe little chair on the edge of society. No luck. The Boogie ended and some guy with a name tag that read "Kevin" (yes, we were tagged as we entered the door), swept me up and tried to dance and talk with me at the same time. I really wanted to scream, "Are you a dentist? Just like I can't talk to the dentist with my mouth propped open, I can't talk to you while we're dancing in this craziness." Anyway, he was harmless enough and deposited me back to my table after the next song. My head was spinning. But, on the positive side, it was 9:30. I was free to go if I felt like it. As I contemplated my next move, I was again swept out for another "group" dance. I was doing ok with the whole thing and even thought about patting myself on the back because I knew what  gangnam "style" was. (You Tube is a wonderful tool for trying to unlock preteen language and activities).

12) After being deposited at my seat again, I looked up to see Jello girl walk in. Now, if you remember Jello girl from my earlier posts... you can imagine my surprise. Last night, she didn't look like congealed Jello though. She was so wiggly that she looked like she hadn't been in the fridge long enough. Oh my. And, while I was worried about the neck line of my outfit being lower than normal (although my laughing friends promised me that I was safe), Jello girl's cleavage was well on it's way to busting out like a can of biscuits. Geez. I silently prayed that she wouldn't sneeze or shake anything too hard. (Once again, it was much easier to people watch and be judgemental than process my own feelings).

13) By this time, it was after 11:00. I was so proud of myself. I was going to make it through this seeming nightmare that hadn't been quite as bad as I'd first thought. By this time, there were some other folks seated around the table with me and we were conversing politely. (I used my best "outside the house" manners and didn't use the words poop, fart, or crap)!

14) Grant texted me at 11:25 and said that Annie was melting down and calling for me and that Grandma was not coping well with the situation. Crap. (I didn't say it out loud because I was still using my "outside the house" manners). What do I do? My kids are always my first priority but sometimes Grant can be a bit dramatic. Geez. One of the guys sitting at the table asked if something was wrong and I guess I sort of chuckled. I wanted to say, "Hmmmm... Where should I start?" I gave him a brief summary (excluding the word crap and my fear of having fun) and he said that he was a single dad with two kids at home with a sitter and he just laughed. At least he could pay the sitter and send her home. I couldn't just offer to pay for Mom's increase in meds due to my children and send her on her way. The guy (I'm not sure of his name because his name tag was long gone) offered one last dance and then bid me adieu at the door. It was 11:40 and I was headed to pick up children. For a fleeting second, I laughingly thought, "It's probably best that I go now anyway because this whole charade may turn to a pumpkin at midnight and I'll be left holding my glittery sandals and having images of a nameless guy!"

15) When I arrived at Mom's, she was pissed. If you know my mom, she doesn't get pissed. She gets her feathers ruffled or her undies in a knot but she doesn't ever get full out pissed. She didn't know Grant had texted me an SOS call. Grant bolted out the door toward the van. Annie stumbled down the stairs with her eyes red from hysterics. Dasha slept soundly upstairs. Mom kept apologizing and saying that she could have handled it but... At that point, I was there and taking the two children who were still awake.

16) We made it home just in time to see the peach drop. The end.

Yeah, it wish it was as simple as The End. What a night. I've been left with lots of brain work today. I do not like the fact that I stepped so far beyond my comfort zone just in order to prove someone wrong - especially someone who doesn't give a crap about me. Why? I'm sure Dr. Phil would have something to say like, "Well, now, how did that work out for you?" Truthfully? I ended up getting to know myself a whole lot better amidst the moments of near hysteria on that dance floor. I also learned quite a bit about what and who others perceive me to be. I'm still twirling that notion around. I know I shouldn't care what others think but, give me a break. I don't know a single soul that could have endured their friends' laughter and not have taken something to heart. (Sorry girls, that's the way it was received. Maybe you didn't mean it to be like a sword though my spirit but it sure felt that way).

So, for all of the emails and texts from well-wishers and those curious about "how it went" last night that have not been responded to... there's your answer. Last night was one of the most painful learning experiences that I've had in a very long time. Yes, there were moments where I did let my guard down and just went with the flow and had fun but I struggled. Would I do it again? Yes.

Proverbs 2:7-8

⁷ He holds success in store for the upright, he is a shield to those whose walk is blameless,

⁸ for he guards the course of the just and protects the way of his faithful ones.

Good rainy night, all.

Ha! For those who said I wouldn't post the picture. Bam. There it is.
If you post the others, I won't worry if I have enough bail money. I'll simply get even!