It's a bird. It's a plane. It's... an eagle?

 So, it's been a month since I last posted. Yes, we're all still here and alive. I know many of you are losing bets at this point in the summer since I haven't gotten myself on the six o' clock news yet. Sorry! There's still a chance that I might snap in the next two weeks and you'll win the pot. Here's a review of the last month.

Winter's Adventure, Clearwater, FL

The Gentle Giant and his cousin

Dad and Grant... who knows what they're doing. Maybe they're doing YMCA but only had Os. (That was stupid).

Annie's first "boat" ride. I kept hearing strains from the Gilligan's Island theme song. Uncle Tom is either brave or crazy! (We know where Aunt Kim is on the spectrum). :)

Annie's canvas spans the entire back patio. Her smile reminds me of Stripe the Gremlin - so do her actions sometimes.

She's a perpetual firecracker. BOOM! Happy 4th of July and Happy 10th Birthday to Ansley.

My poor baby never seems to have pants on. Tis the season of potty training!

So, after every post I make lately, I get some comment wondering why I haven't been posting regularly. Well... The simple answer is that it takes time to wrap words on all of the things zinging around in my noggin like a pinball that's just been launched out of the shoot. Even during summer break, my time is like some wild exotic animal that's on the endangered list and must be protected at all cost. (So is my sanity). The other truth is that I was beginning to get a bit nervous at being introduced as, "This is the lady that writes the blog...." Crikey. How many folks read this craziness and then link me to it? Seriously, the last few months have brought lots of changes around here and I've simply had to make a concerted effort to put some walls up to maintain privacy. I'm not sure why I found it so much easier to give the "full Monty" of the details when things were falling in around me. My guess, though, is that rebuilding a family is a very fragile ordeal and I just didn't want too many people peeking in the windows. Who knows. That was just my best Dr. Phil explanation of what I was thinking. How's that working for you? (If you've seen my little nuggets lately, you know)!

As for Annie, she is turning into a real diva. During the Fourth of July parade last week, I watched in horror as she did the Miss America wave to passing floats and acted as if she belonged in the middle of Toddlers and Tiaras!  Everything she does is animated to the n-th degree! And, her imagination simply borders on insanity. Currently, she is housing an imaginary cat named "Saphira" who is a "pinkish, whitish" color and barks. I've been screamed at more than once for sitting on Saphira and making her "mad." Annie knows most of the lyrics to the current pop Christian tunes and will sing at the top of her lungs until everyone begs her to take a breath. She continues to climb on and jump off of anything that she can. A few weeks ago, the "Paci Fairy" came and snipped the ends off of the two remaining pacis she had and left her a treat in place of the broken pacis. I believe her dramatic words went something like, "Oh no! They are ruined! This is very not good! Can I just hold them now?" So, she now holds the pacis in her hand at night. Believe me, I almost caved in and made a late night run to WalMart for more pacis when she started oozing with the sadness. As for the potty training situation, as long as I remember to remind her to go to the potty every hour or so, things are fine. However, it's the remembering to remind her part that seems to go awry. I've tried setting timers and all sorts of other things but at least we're down to only one or two accidents a week during the day. For all I care, she can use Pull Ups for the rest of her life at night, though. Changing bunk bed sheets is worse than having a diaper ridden ten year old! At this point in the game, Annie provides the majority of the comedy for the family but she's still willing to cuddle up at night and watch Mary Poppins or Barbie. (Fresh Beats have finally been put to rest)!

Grant is now taller than I am but just as sensitive as ever. He has spent most of his summer hanging out with friends and building an arsenal of swords out of cardboard, duct tape, and brads. In one week alone, he and his friends went through about 400 yards of duct tape (that's 8 rolls), 800 brads (that's 4 boxes), and several cans of spray paint. Then, they discovered hot glue. Whew. I conveniently forgot to buy more glue sticks in order to curtail that part of the project! Grant made Star Scout last week and is now one step closer to getting his Eagle rank by the time he's 13. In fact, he's at scout camp this week in the mountains of Georgia. Last year, we fussed over all of the things he needed to take and packed and repacked to make sure he didn't forget anything. This year, I couldn't even tell you if he took any underwear. If he didn't... well, so sorry to his fellow scouts. Next week, he'll head off on another adventure. He'll be flying alone for the first time to visit Eric in Texas. I'm quite sure that I'll be more nervous than he will. All he has to do is sit on the plane and read for four hours. Those four hours will be hellish for me, though. So it goes with letting your kids use their wings. Grant still will sit and build with his Legos, set his G.I. Joes up into battle formation, and has a wicked sense of humor that is going to get him shot or me on the bad parent list for laughing at some of his jokes!

And then, there's Dasha. I'll be honest. I'm going to be very guarded about what I say in this department. Dasha has given me a run for my money on more than one occasion over the last few months. On two occasions, I've put her out on the front porch and simply told her that she couldn't be part of this family until she could follow the rules like everyone else. If this sounds harsh, I'd urge you to hold the stone you're about to throw my way until you've seen her in action. Hitting, screaming, spitting, and throwing things have been added to her list of combative activities. At over 100 pounds now, I can't just throw her over my shoulder and deposit her to her room. (Believe me. I tried this one night only to realize the folly of my ways about half way up the stairs).  I'm in the process of seeking more professional help to sort out what is going on. It's been hard, though. She has moments where the "old" Dasha shines through and she loves to help clean up or play with Annie. She still loves music and anything technology related. I'm doing what I can to make sure she has what she needs and I've tried to allow her some room to be independent and stretch her 14-year-old self. But, the thought of getting her back into the routine of "doing" school makes my stomach queasy although she can't wait to get back to school for the socialization. Typical teenager!

As for me... the last six months have been full of transitions and changes. A few months ago, I read a piece about the life cycle of eagles. When an eagle is about 40, they have to make a decision about their longevity. If they do nothing, their old feathers, talons, and beaks won't support them and they will die. So, death comes with choosing to do nothing. However, they can choose to make a painful transformation that takes about five months and renew their feathers by plucking them out and letting them regrow, breaking their beak off and letting it regrow, and breaking off their talons so that they will grown in stronger and sharper. For five months, the eagle is basically a sitting duck. (Ha, ha. Wasn't that funny)? Anyway, I realized several months back that I was sort of like that eagle. I could sit in my comfort zone and do nothing and gain nothing or I could take a chance and make myself extremely venerable in order to grow. I'm a creature of habit and I thrive on consistency and safety. Honestly, I sort of chose to take the safe road and just dream about what it would be like to be soaring like a renewed eagle.

Now, most of you know that I'm rather a perfectionist and most folks are pretty respectful of that and don't challenge me too much. That's just the way it is. I just assumed that everyone had gotten the memo! And, that's what I was used to. However, back in February, I met someone that had the kahunas to challenge me and most definitely had NOT gotten the memo about my perfection. (Maybe I shouldn't be so blunt but it's the truth). I honestly didn't know what to do. Here I was sitting in my nest watching the world going by and this guy had the audacity to try to push me out of my comfy nest. Now, he absolutely nudged gently at first and just started laying truths out about my comfiness that I couldn't deny. For those of you who know me, you also know that I hate to be wrong and sure don't want to be called out for being wrong. The people who have been crazy enough to call me out on anything in my life probably number fewer than five. (No, it's not because I knocked off the others, either)! So, with some time and major consideration, I decided to start plucking feathers, breaking talons, and ultimately breaking off my beak leaving myself exposed and feeling anxious. The same crazy guy stood by and picked me up, dusted me off, and put me back into my nest more than once as I renewed myself. He understood the anxieties. (He'd already gone through the "renewal" process after being through a divorce under the same circumstances that I found myself in and had three kids along for the ride, too). Anyway, that fragile renewal process is still underway for me but I'm beginning to regain strength and confidence in stepping out into a new world. From my parenting strategies which went something like, "Do whatever to keep everyone happy" to avoiding anything that might put me at a risk for failure, I'm finding renewed energy to get out of my comfort zone and risk making folks unhappy or even potential failure in order to do what is Right. The guy? He's still standing by sort of gently laughing and shaking his head at me as I stretch my wings as I  look over the edge of the nest and scramble back to the center in search of security. Each day, I creep closer to the edge and get more secure with the idea of soaring out of the nest that has been my comfort zone for so long. The transformation process was and is riddled with moments of awe as I see things about myself that I've hidden away for so long but there have also been moments of feeling like a complete idiot when I look back over the last years and see my stupidity. A pastor once wrote, "I'm glad that God has more grace in His heart than I have stupidity in mine." Amen to that!

Yet those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength; They will mount up with wings like eagles, They will run and not get tired, They will walk and not become weary. Isaiah 40:31

So, there's the scoop on what's going on around here. Sort of vague. Sorry. It's like a construction zone around here and I'm just protecting you from having a rogue piece of crap land on your unprotected noggin and knock you out! 

But, stay tuned. Like I said earlier, this show just keeps getting better and better. Stay tuned for the next installment of "As the World Turns at the Randolph Asylum."

Good night, all.

Parenting for Dummies: Chapter 5 - Potty Training

Since Adam and Eve wondered around in the Garden and then added Cain and Abel to their gang, potty training has existed. I have to believe that potty training in the Garden was much easier, though. My assumption is that letting two little boys run commando would have been much more acceptable. I can imagine Eve yelling, "No, Cain! Don't pee on THAT plant!" as Adam stood off to the side inwardly high fiving his son and pride surging through him knowing that he'd wanted to pee on that plant for years! But, even Mary would have had to potty train her son! After all, he was human and as the book says, "Everyone Poops!" (OK, I feel a bit sacrilegious going that far. There's just something not right with that thought).

Anyway, I'm learning that potty training is not for the faint of heart. I feel like I've been training Annie for months. All of the great child rearing books say that as soon as a child starts recognizing that there's something going on in their diaper, you can begin training. Do those authors even have kids? Have they ever been in the general vicinity of a pooping baby? Every kid from birth up knows what's going on when it all "goes down!" Just watch America's Funniest Home Videos. How many kids have you seen in their high chair making the bulging eyes and grunting noise? It's simply a part of nature. So, here's my remedial version of what the other authors consider to be the appropriate way to potty train a child.

Oh, and just let me say that there's a difference when training girls and boys. Boys carry their very own weapon with which to shoot floating targets whether they are Cheerios, Goldfish, or unsuspecting cats (oh, wait, that might only happen in my house). Please keep this difference in mind. You can NOT expect girls to have this sort of aim! Maybe aim isn't the appropriate word to use since even grown versions of boys never seem to master this and only make lame excuses about spraying the walls, floors, and total surround of the commode.

So, to begin potty training, simply let the child follow you into the bathroom every single time you go. This is part of a child's innate being so they will seek you out the moment you head toward the bathroom. If you try to lock them out, they will stick their fingers, toys, paper, and anything else under the door that they can squish under the crack. If you don't respond to this, they will likely begin a war with unsuspecting siblings or animals in the house and then you'll simply be left to waddle from the bathroom with your drawers at your ankles to see who is being killed. So, don't fight nature. Simply leave the door open and let them watch every single thing you do. Skipping this step may prove disastrous to others. Please don't be selfish and expect to have private time when you go to the bathroom. This is outrageously unreasonable.

Now, as these bathroom visits continue, conversations including, "What's that?" and, "What are you doing?" will surely occur. Have a clear game plan ahead of time about what you're going to call all of those parts and pieces. Please keep in mind that at some point over the next five years, your child will probably use these terms very loudly in public so choose wisely. While some families go with "correct" terminology, others choose to use terms such as "private" or "wee wee." Please don't forget that you'll need to have separate terms for the front and back. Just saying! Being prepared is half of the battle.

As the bathroom visits continue and curiosity peaks, your child may begin to create their own private little area in which to do their business. In my house, one child chose to go behind a big stuffed chair when he needed to take care of business and another chose to go under the table. Now, if you've ever litter trained a kitten before, you know that you're supposed to simply put their litter box where they decide to "go." I actually tried this with my daughter and moved her potty chair under the table. Let me just say that visitors aren't always so receptive to your child's potty training needs. So, in order to try to be a bit more socially appropriate, I moved the potty seat into the living room so my daughter could sit and watch cartoons. That was actually quite effective. (She now asks for the iTouch to watch videos on when she needs to have an extended bathroom visit).

Other experts say that the kids should be able to explore their potty seats and "play" with them. I take issue with this, though. I think we all agree that a potty seat is simply a training tool and that ultimately you want your child to learn to use the same facilities that everyone else in the house does. Do you see anyone else in the house playing with the commode in the bathroom? With the exception of the rogue boat being floated in the bowl or a Hot Wheels car getting launched into the water, no. It's just not acceptable to play with the toilet!

In an attempt to help my kids see the value of a good old fashioned toilet, I did not purchase a potty chair that sings when you pee or lights up when you press the button. Let me just say that if music or lights come on when I use the facilities at Target next time, well... Let's just say it wouldn't be pretty. So, I purchased a simple one piece design from Ikea. No frills. No bells. No whistles. However, I quickly realized that I needed more than one seat. It never failed. We were never close enough to the bathroom housing the potty seat to make it in time. I also discovered that the one piece design turned out to have a major gross factor. You had to clean the entire thing every time it was used. There wasn't a simple little pot to pull from underneath and dump out. Nope. So, I rethought the whole scenario and bought the seats that clip on to the regular toilet. This worked great for my daughter. However, this definitely did NOT work for the rest of the family. We quickly learned that while Annie might be able to be successful in getting to the potty on time, the rest of us were not successful after having to remove the training seat and the step stool and clear away her toys and books from where she'd been meditating. Final solution? At this point, we've decided that risking having to do a deep water rescue from the toilet to fish Annie out is the best solution. No training seat. She must hold on to the seat for dear life or end up taking a swim. Cruel? Nah. It's just a rite of passage in our house now.

Once you get a system of training worked out for home, then you have to conquer the big world of other peoples' toilets. There are way more issues here than you can imagine. First of all, you have to get from point A to point B and this usually involves a car seat. Have you ever had to field strip a car seat? Not fun! So, invest in piddle pads (yeah, like the ones for puppies) to put under your littler trainer. At this point, you probably don't carry around a huge diaper bag with several changes of clothes anymore, either. Nope. Revert! Keep a couple of extra outfits in the car including shoes and socks. When infants have a blow-out, they normally only ruin their clothes. When a toddler has a blow-out, all bets are off. The car seat will be wet. The driver will be wet. And, most likely, the occupants of the car will be wet, too. I'm not sure how this happens, but just trust me and pack some extra outfits.

Now, if you make it from point A to point B, and everyone is still clothed and dry, make sure to orient yourself with the facilities in your destination so you'll know where to run when the announcement is made, "I need to go NOW!" Once a trainer makes this declaration, you have about 2.3 seconds to find a bathroom. (Never mind finding a clean one). When this scenario goes down, please keep in mind that kids that are used to cushy cutesy little potty seats may be terrified of the split seats, loud flushing, and imminent danger of falling into the swirling bowl full of germs. (You may be equally scared). If you have a boy, this is one of those situations that you should count yourself lucky. Just pretend that suddenly aliens are invading through the sewer system (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle style) and have him stand, aim, and fire. (Unless you have a child that prefers to ready, fire, aim - good luck with that one - buy Lysol wipes - LOTS)! Anyway, by the time your little trainer has done their business, you'll probably decide that you need to go too. Why not? You're already there. (If you've never read the book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, read it. It applies to this situation).

It's at this point that all of your planning comes into play. While you are taking care of your business, your child will likely busy them self by looking around the stall. You may find yourself saying, "Don't touch that," repeatedly. I'll never forget going with a large group from church to Cracker Barrel one Sunday after church. One of the guys went to take his young son to the bathroom and then when they returned, it was obvious that the little guy had been crying. Dad and son sat down at the table and dad simply said, "He won't touch another urinal." Then, lunch proceeded as usual. I still laugh and wonder if that little guy ever tried that again. Anyway, I think I'm stalling to avoid telling you the horror of what happens when you take a child who's well-versed in bathroom language into a public bathroom. Last Sunday, I lived through my own horror story. I, being a responsible parent, took Annie to the bathroom prior to dropping her off at Sunday school. I decided that I'd go too while I was there. Why not? So, I assisted Annie and let her cling to my knees to keep from falling into the bowl, wiped her (Do NOT use regular TP on toddler cheeks! They clinch their cheeks together and you'll never be able to get all of the remnants out without a recon mission. Use strong wipes.), and then busied myself with my own needs. We had been the only ones in the restroom. However, some poor unsuspecting soul decided to use the stall next to us. Annie announced their entrance to me which wasn't too bad. She simply proclaimed that someone else needed to pee. OK. No too bad. Then, she squatted down and made note of the person's feet. At this point, I did say, "Get up. The floor is dirty." She obeyed. (Miracle of all miracles). Then our stall neighbor... well... it was obvious they were taking care of some pretty serious business. Annie proclaimed at what seemed like the top of her lungs, "Mama, she pooted!" Great. At that point, I did not intend to leave that stall until everyone else had vacated the bathroom! But, it got worse. Our neighbor failed to give the complimentary "flush" to cover up any unlady like noises. Once again, Annie keyed in on the noises despite my shushing and pleas to keep quiet. She said, "Her tummy must hurt bad. She has to poop, too!" Ugh. Good news, we were in the preschool area so hopefully the lady next to us had her own kids and understood that Annie was just wildly amused with bathroom noises (thank you to a big brother). However, this is one of those situations in which the embarrassment factor could have been even greater if Annie had been commentating on anatomy and using crazy terms. Just keep this in mind as you plan your potty training journey.

So, this is just a snapshot version of potty training. For some book stores, this section might fall into their non-fiction section on child rearing. For other retailers, this section might show up in their birth-control section. Either way, if you've lived through potty training children and now have children that can take care of their own bodily needs, congratulations. For those who might be in the same boat as I am and are looking down the barrel of a potty training deadline (like entrance into preschool), know that you're not alone.

If all else fails, take heart in knowing that Pull Ups now go to XXL and Depends sizes start at XS so you've got coverage no matter the age or size! I'm already started to make a plan to stencil Disney Princesses or Dora on to the XS Depends for Annie when she goes to kindergarten since I'm beginning to doubt this whole training situation.

Good luck!

Changes in latitude but not attitude

First of all, I'm quite aware that I haven't posted in weeks. There's a reason. I have barely had time to take a breath lately and once the kids are in bed, I collapse into a heap (ok, more like a puddle) myself.

However, I did want to take the time to throw out a speed bump and recognize the passing of an era. Tomorrow will be the last time the the original members of the Third Grade Academy will all officially be teammates. I've lost track of how long we've been together, honestly. We've seen each other through births, deaths, divorces, sickness, and insanity (reoccurring theme). We've earned quite a few names throughout the school due to our united front. No, we're not divas and we're not snobs. We're a family. We've stuck together through the good times and bad. We've watched kids tie themselves to chairs, throw shoes at principals, staple their fingers together, pole dance, lick each other, "hump" inanimate objects, and a host of other things that you just wouldn't believe. We've also watched some of those same students achieve personal and academic successes that no one would have ever believed possible. It has taken a village. Yes, we do take turns being the village idiot, although, Smoochie seems to play the main role most times. (Ugh. I'm just kidding. I'll bring you some dollar bills tomorrow to make you holler)! Seriously, next year, only two of the original eight Third Grade Academy founders will serve in their exact same capacity. I know that change is good and many times, change is needed. However, no one said that it is easy or even likable. However, families endure change all the time, and this family will survive this change and come out intact on the other side. Some of us may end up on the six o' clock news on the way to the other side but we will rise above the craziness of these "changes of necessity" and kick butt!

As for the Mario music, you wouldn't believe me if I told you.

On a personal note, everyone at the Randolph compound survived another school year. Things are moving at warp speed around here and hopefully once I can bring the roller coaster to a complete stop (or simply a speed slow enough so I won't end up with anything more than superficial wounds when I leap off), I'll let you in on all of the craziness. Told you it was getting good around here. If anyone would have told me two years ago where I'd be today, I would have laughed so hard that I peed my pants. Ok, well, since that only takes a church giggle, maybe I would have laughed harder than that! Too much information. Sorry. Anyway, stay tuned...

Good night, all. And, to my sisters of the Third Grade Academy, it ain't over yet, girls!

Randolph Menagerie

Yes, we're all still here and alive. Things are just simply C R A Z Y! Here's the quick version of March and April. Believe me, there's so much more than meets the eye around here right now. It's hard to believe that one year ago this week... Anyway, that's another whole blog chapter that will have to wait. For now, here's evidence that the Randolph menagerie is alive and well.

Good night, all.

Daily Affirmations with Stuart Smalley

Here are the random thoughts which are bouncing around in my noggin like the room full of balls from Mr. Macgorium's Wonder Emporium...

1) Annie is silently plotting to take over the world. I don't have any real documentation of this beyond my own gut feeling that she's a bit too smart for her three-year-old body and she keeps eyeing me when I deliver a time out or other consequence that she's not pleased about.

2) I'm my own worst enemy. The more book knowledge I cram into this head, the more common sense gets squeezed out. Case in point... My parents were out of town and I had to tend to their animals. I simply drag the 120 pound dog to my house and let the kids pretend they actually got the pony that they've always wanted. However, their cat (aka Diablo, Lucifer, Satan and a host of other "pet" names I've granted her) is stuck staying behind in an empty house. Poor, poor kitty. Anyway, she hates her routine being changed. When she's mad, she poops in the tub. Who would make up this ridiculousness? Anyway, on her third attempt at letting me know that she was unhappy with my custodial care, I decided to get smart and simply fill the tub with water. (I'll admit that I was doing the evil snicker and dreaming of the cat having to dog paddle around the tub for hours). Anyway, after cleaning the tub and then filling it with water, I walked out the the bathroom feeling victorious until I noticed the door stop on the floor. Then, it hit me. Why the heck didn't I just close the dumb door to keep her out of the bathroom? It's moments like this when I just stand in awe of my own stupidity and listen for the air hissing out of my ears. Geez. Ok. I'll admit. I left the door open and the tub full hoping that the cat would go for an accidental swim anyway. :0 Oh darn. Poor kitty cat. Did your nice fluffy butt get a little wet?

3) Nagging preteens is pointless. The last couple of weeks have been really hectic around here and bedtime has not been held to any sort of standard. That translates into mornings being like scenes from some weird zombie movie where the mom is the zombie and keeps chasing the kids around the house and threatening to eat them if they don't get moving. I did, however, finally figure out a secret weapon. After all this time of getting the kids up and out the door by myself, I found the miracle cure - Annie with a squirt bottle! The drill now goes something like this - First, get Annie up by taunting her with a fully loaded squirt bottle and giving her permission to "shoot" anyone who doesn't get up when she tells them to. Annie (now locked and loaded) quickly dismounts her bed and heads off to torment the big kids while I get ready. Yes, I do hear frequent screams and guttural sounds eeking from the hallway but... The big kids have hauled their butts out of bed faster than they have in quite a while. Yes, their clothing has been a bit damp by the time they load up in the van but they've yet to melt. So, I'm going to invest in a whole arsenal of water cannons. I may even label them. One gun would be simply for "encouraging" folks to get their homework finished. Another cannon might be deemed for reminding children to finish up their chores. Wow. I'm beginning to think seriously about writing a parenting book with all of the creative tactics I'm devising out of sheer necessity and the goal of survival. (Oh, the other thing that works well is taping construction paper hearts saying, "My mommy loves me," to the side of the van when pulling up in car line. This method yields immediate results for a whole host of things). I'm beginning to think I might just live up to my parenting mentors - Claire and Cliff Huxtable!

4) Change is the new normal. I'm a creature of habit, routine, and overall dullness. However, I'm slowly learning to let go of that and ignore the house looking like a bomb went off in order to simply have fun. In the words of Ms. Frizzle (Magic School Bus), "Take chances, make mistakes, get messy!" There have been chances way out of my comfort zone. There have been LOTS of mistakes. There have been more messes than an entire warehouse of Mr. Clean could handle. However, I'm finding myself in a new season that has been borne from all of these things. I'm a completely different person than I was a year ago. Yes, there are definitely scars and bruises that I have to be aware of but those scars have added to the character of who I am now. And, "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!" (Daily affirmations with Stuart Smalley).


And, these are the Boggle letters that are being jostled around in my brain right now.


Good night, all.

Happy 3rd Birthday, Annie!

So, poor Annie has fallen victim to the "3rd Child Syndrome." While I have tons of pictures of her with all of her birthday goodies, those pictures are locked into the deep dark corners of my camera's memory!

However, her birthday was definitely something special this year. This was the first year that she actually "got" blowing out the candles, getting presents, and eating HER cake! I just don't know where the last three years have gone. From the surprise of, "How can I be pregnant," to, "What if she has Pompe's," to "Is it ok to put her in a cage?" I regret that I don't have the time or energy tonight to follow the thought tangents which are bouncing around my head like a box of spilled super high bounce balls. The bottom line is that Annie is becoming her very own little person. She absolutely LOVES babies and cradles, coos, and cuddles over every doll she can get her hands on. Her sitter is now keeping a baby a couple of hours and week and Annie spends the entire days telling me about what the baby did. Annie, like the other kids, loves to please everyone, too. She has absolutely mastered pooking her lower lip out like a grumpy Gerber baby when she thinks she has upset you. She was overheard complaining to Dasha last week that I had, "Talked loud to her," and she didn't like it. Despite her fiery tendencies, she definitely has a tender heart under the stubbornness. (Please remember that I'm writing all of this as she sleeps soundly in her room and not under my feet. If she were awake and rousing the troops, my soliloquy might be a bit different)!

So, to my baby girl who's brought so much sunshine, laughter, gray hairs, and insanity to our house, Happy Birthday. Without you, things around here would be... quiet? boring? restful? Nope. Without Annie, life as we know it would be very different!

Good night, all!

(As an addendum to my last post, my lawnmower accident did require my leg to be glued back together again like Humpty Dumpty and a tetanus shot. I'll admit that I'm still laughing about the whole darn thing! Like I said, it just gave me a bit more character)! :) Good times at the Randolph Asylum!

2nd Annual Randolph Lawn Freak Show

Here's the run down for today...

• 5:55 a.m. - Mom, I'm sick. I can't go to school.
• 6:15 a.m. - If you plan on riding to school and not walking, get up NOW!
• (This coming from the child who spent the weekend on a ship with a bunch of other scouts in Charleston and is extremely sleep deprived).
• 6:20 a.m. - Mom, did you realize that Annie doesn't have any pants on?
• (Um, we've already pulled out of the drive way so she'll just have to go "as is" today).
• 10:30 a.m. - Phone call from middle school nurse letting me know Grant wasn't feeling great. Once again, I get another strike on this nurse's tally sheet for my lack of concern by replying, "He'll be ok. There's only five more hours in the day."
• 1:00 p.m. - Front office calls to tell me to check my voice mail regarding a phone call from the middle school nurse. Are you kidding me? I couldn't figure out how to check the VM on this new phone (pining for my iPhone) so I didn't worry about it. I'm sure she added another tally next to my name!
• 2:00 - 4:30ish p.m. - This time block was somewhat of a blur of trying to finish up the yearbook and filling out the annual "letter of intent form." Ugh.
• 5:00 p.m. - I give up and go get the kids from mom.
• 5:30 p.m. - I realize that Dasha isn't wearing the same clothes I sent her to school in. Not good. Her nice loose jeans had been traded for yoga pants that left nothing to the imagination. This wardrobe change was the topic of the nurse's second phone call according to Dasha. Also according to Dasha, someone made her laugh so hard she peed her pants. (Second code yellow for her in less than a month due to hilarious laughter at lunch). After realizing that she was clueless about the condition of my blood pressure, I simply told her that on the 3rd code yellow, you have to wear Pull Ups to school. She can go ahead and add it to her list of topics to talk with the therapist about. Ugh.
• 6:00 p.m. - I need to escape. I'm surrounded. I decide to hold the second annual Randolph Lawn Circus. Yep. First, there was the ordeal of starting the lawn mower. I'd already tried to do this and then someone lovingly pointed out that it "might" just be out of gas. Hmmmm... Yeah. So, the lawn mower and I did the first act without too much drama. I did have to pull the string several times and ended up yanking the knob off of the end of it but that wasn't anything a good 'ole knot wouldn't fix. In the second ring, though, the edger and I ramped up the drama. I couldn't start the darn thing to save my life. I primed it and cranked it but by the time I'd pushed the throttle open, it stalled. So, using every ounce of common sense I own, I sat down in the drive way, put my foot on the throttle and cranked it. Ta Dah! (I think it was probably around this point when the neighbors started calling their kids inside for fear of what I might do next). I have to say that I'm completely astounded and in awe of folks who can edge in a straight line without sending sparks flying everywhere. Not me. I'm surprised I didn't set the yard on fire with all of the sparks flying. Metal against cement. The sound is as bad as fingernails against a chalk board. As one guy walked his dog down the sidewalk while I was working, I think I saw him bend over and look down into the trench I'd dug to see if it was really a mote filled with angry crocodiles. Oh well. I dare weeds to grow next to my sidewalk or driveway any time soon! Ring three of this circus was supposed to be the weed eater. But, alas, despite every trick I did, I couldn't get it started. I'm thinking that my poor old Craigslist weed eater may be destined for the junk pile. But, I was left with a problem. I needed the weed eater to get the wildness off of the bank between my house and the drunken neighbor's. (Although, if I just let the weeds keep growing, maybe she'd get lost wandering over and stay on her side of the hill)! Anyway, I decided to start the mower again and try to just mow around the ground cover shrubs on the hill. (This is the point when you should hear the theme music from Chariots of Fire playing). I restarted the mower with one pull. I think I might have heard a strain of the Hallelujah chorus with that one pull! Then, I gingerly starting pushing the mower in a diagonal design across the hill. Not up and down. I'm not stupid. I didn't want the mower rolling down on top of me. However, I neglected to factor in the old weed barrier cloth that was up underneath everything. In one swoosh, the mower sucked up the cloth the way the vacuum sucks up abandoned Legos. My first reaction was to tug. Duh. I let go of the throttle which killed the engine (major blessing) but then found myself falling backward over the spiky shrub and having the mower following me with quite a bit of momentum. Somehow, I ended up on the ground with the mower in my lap. It was a picture for one of those World's Most Stupid... shows. Luckily, I only sustained surface level wounds which will simply add some character to my wounded ego. However, I'm sure my neighbors are all taking about the freak show at this year's circus! Geez.

Meanwhile, I'd left Dasha at the table working on homework and Grant overseeing Annie. Yeah, I know. Not great decisions on any level at any time. However, I drug myself back into the house in order to get everyone to bed and now I'm ready to give up for the night myself.

While I may be adjusting to the "normalness" of this new life, there is nothing normal about it! There are days when I wonder if I'd be better off working at Disney as one of those characters that you frequently see kids slugging and then I'm reminded how blessed I am to have a job that allows me to do this drama with my kids every afternoon and still provides for our needs. Provisions, blessings, grace, and a very steep learning curve have marked this last year but in nothing short of a miracle, life is good and I'm grateful.

Good night, all.

Conversations with Convicts

So, the new normal seems to be a Monday night post to update the last week's insanity. There's just no time to catch my breath right now. Here's the run down of the last week. Please heed this warning, if you are prone to blush or be easily embarrassed, you might as well stop reading right now. If you are prone to spew your drink out of your nose if you laugh too hard, you'd better put the drink down now. It's been one of THOSE weeks!

February 2010

February 2011

February 2012

Let's just begin this little jaunt down looney lane with last weekend. It was Dad's birthday. I'm amazed at the progression of the kids each year through these pictures. However, look closely at this year's picture and you might be just as disturbed as I was. Annie is holding the cake cutter as if she's Chucky coming to get you. Dasha is eyeing Grandma like she's sizing her up compared to the straight jacket she just bought. And then there's Grant. His look (and the lighter) say about all that needs to be said. So, what is normally considered to be a joyous day sort of takes on a story of it's own after looking at this year's picture. (And, poor Dad isn't sure if he should lean in and snuff out the fire stick or try to protect Grandma from the cake cutter). Where was I while all of this was going on? Well, I've learned a thing or two over the last few months and I'm getting smarter by the second. I was behind the camera gently inching toward the front door ready to flee the moment things got out of hand. Yep. This girls got some learnin' goin' on in her noggin!

The broken doughnut

I mentioned this whole drama last week (I think). Anyway, Annie woke up for several nights in hysterics screaming about her "broken doughnut." Of course, I'd go in and comfort her (while mumbling under my breath that I wish Benadryl would work on this little angel). Every night, it was the same thing. She'd cry and cry and blow snot bubbles and tell me about a broken doughnut. We emptied out her entire kitchen area looking for a broken doughnut. There was nothing there. She did have a few other doughnuts in her set but they were just fine. Finally, we found the broken doughnut. It was not a figment of her imagination as I'd assumed. It was real. It was at Grandma's house amongst the kitchen stuff there. Geez. I really was beginning to worry that this girl was dreaming about being a cop and missing her doughnuts. I'm still not sure why this crazy mystery only surfaced between 1 and 3 a.m. but I'm grateful that I didn't have to call in NCIS or Columbo to solve the mystery! (I'd probably have tried to get the guy from Lie to Me first, though)!

And that, my friends, brings me to last Monday night. Prior to my post last week, I really thought that I was going to have to hand my Mommy Card in. For my Dad's birthday, I baked 3 dozen cupcakes to surprise him with at the scout meeting. First of all, I've admitted more than once that I am not Martha Stewart. The only thing that I ever might even have in common with the woman would be getting locked up. However, in moments of crisis, for some crazy reason, the spirit of Martha always seems to possess me! Thinking I was some diva baker, I whipped up 3 dozen cupcakes (thank you Betty Crocker boxed cake mix - definitely NOT Martha approved) and let them cool. As they cooled, this little crumb snatcher, grabbed a couple of "muffins" and popped them in her mouth. OK. I calmed down and did the math. There were still enough "muffins" to feed the troops so things were going to be alright. Then, I needed to ice those bad boys. Ha. I felt like Dora when she chooses the map (instead of the crayon) to get her over the Troll Bridge or when Blue finally sits on his Thinking Chair and solves the mystery! Ta-Da! I'd seen Martha use a Ziploc bag before as an icing utter. (Um, not sure what the appropriate term is but I bet you know what I'm talking about despite your utter shock)! :) I plopped a bunch of icing into the baggie, snipped the corner off and, nope. Not gonna work. I didn't snip enough of the bag off. So, I snipped again. Yep. It worked - a little too well. Icing started oozing out every where. I moved as fast as I could to just put a pile of the stuff on each cupcake. Mind you, as I'm doing this and feeling very panicky, Annie is dragging her stool around my feet saying, "Can I help you? Can I help you?" I'll admit. I wanted to scream, "Yes, you can help me by being quiet for 3 nanoseconds and standing still over there, away from my bubble of anxiety!" No. I didn't say it. (If you don't know Annie, I'll tell you that even if I had said that to her, she wouldn't have been bothered. She would have continued to drag her stool around and follow me). So, I finally got icing globbed on each cupcake and then used a butter knife (I think that's what it is. It's a cute little knife with a triangular shaped blade) and smoothed the icing out. Finally, I stuffed the cupcakes into a big box and waited for Mom to come and watch the girls so I could deliver the confections to the meeting.

I really thought that I was getting the better part of this deal. Mom was left to bathe and bed the girls while I delivered cupcakes and celebrated with Dad and the boys. NOT! Do you know what a group of boys between the ages of 12 and 18 acts like? I heard more bodily noises and disgusting jokes than I care to hear in a month. There wasn't enough sweetness in those 30 cupcakes to counteract the testosterone pumping through that building. Ugh. However, I managed to tough it out and Dad was genuinely surprised. It was worth my elevated blood pressure and need for a very long and hot shower to wash away the stench of all of those boys afterwards!

For some kids, they need to carry about a blanket for security. For others, they want a special lovey to carry around. For Annie, she needs her stool. I can identify the exact location of Annie by the sound this stool makes while scraping across the floor. Our newest discovery - reaching the sink via the stool. This is a wonderful thing when it's time to wash hands or clean a dirty face. However, turning the sink off seems to be a challenge that she's not up to meeting yet. Once again, I am SO thankful to have tile floors in the kitchen. Whew.

If you haven't seen these "Annie Antics" via FB, please take a moment and make up your own captions for these. And yes, it has already been very well established that Annie is simply mimicking me getting on my own broom in the last shot. Go ahead and say it. Many others have! :)

As for the big kids, there aren't any photos to go with their antics this week. (Those who've heard the story are breathing major sighs of relief on that note)! So, the first email came on Friday. Dasha's teacher informed me that she was having conversations with a boy about... oh, what shall we call it... girl business, lady's days, meeting Aunt Flo... ok. I'm sure you got the picture. I've had SO many conversations with her about being discrete and private but for some reason, she just doesn't get it. So, this weekend, knowing that I was opening up a major can of worms, I kind of danced around having "the talk" with her to see what she knew. Here's what I got. The birds and the bees according to Dasha - Having a boyfriend means that you talk and hug. If you kiss them, that means you've had sex with them. The only time a boy and girl should touch is if they're hugging, kissing, or helping each other. (OK, I got the giggles so bad at that point that I had to take an intermission. The smart alack in my brain wanted to say, "I've never heard it called 'helping each other' before")! Geez. Anyway, I tried to gently steer the conversation back to first base and start at the beginning. Well, it didn't take too long to realize that we needed the remedial beginner's version. After a few very blunt questions from me, I came to the conclusion that Dasha didn't have any clue that there wasn't anything like "boys business, men's days, or visits from Uncle Flo!" Why in the world was she worried with trying to be secretive about something that she thought everyone dealt with. Ugh. I'll admit that I had a visual image of someone stamping "FAILED" across my forehead at that moment. So, I gently lowered the bomb that boys didn't have the same issues. Of course, that was followed with, "Then why do girls have to deal with it?" I truly tried to give just the facts and leave any emotions out of my whole delivery. However, the look on the poor girl's face was just too much to handle at some points and I couldn't decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. So, we ended the conversation much as I end the conversation with Annie. Boys and girls are just different. After pondering that thought for several hours, I think I might just leave the discussion at that because that's about all that holds true in every single account! :) (Oh, but I did order a couple of books from Amazon because I'll admit major defeat in this area. Eric handled this business with Grant and I have a hard time staying serious. I can't even say some of the terminology without getting the church giggles). Geez.

However, it got even better after that. Don't say I didn't tell you! The minute a boy gets involved, things get ten times more complicated! So, Grant climbs in the van and kind of sits quietly for a minute. I can't decide if he's huffing at me for another unknown reason or if there's a problem. So, I fall for his bait and ask him what's wrong. Absolutely nothing could have prepared me for his question (not even my discussion with him after this year's sex ed class). He mumbles quietly so I almost had to have him repeat the question but he said, "What does choking the chicken mean?" Seriously? I'm SO thankful that I was stopped at a traffic light. I'm pretty sure that I would have put the van into a ditch if I'd been any further down the road. Well. Now. Do I answer him? Play dumb? Tell him to call his dad? Crap! In my mind, I was flipping through all of the episodes of The Cosby Show to figure out what Cliff or Claire would have done if Theo had asked them a question like that but I came up empty. So, I tried to answer his question with a question. (Some might call this stalling). After a few questions from me that got more and more detailed, his poor face went white and then he burst out laughing. Well, dang. I was glad he was laughing because my blood pressure had definitely exceeded it's maximum limit! (Look folks, the first thing I'll admit to is naivety so I'm not really even sure how I knew what the term meant but I was kind of glad that I did at that moment). For the rest of the night, every time Grant made eye contact with me, he bust out laughing and ran off. Poor thing!

What I neglected to mention about this whole scenario was that the girls were in the back seat. I thought they were doing their own things and oblivious to my heart attack and Grant's embarrassment. Nope. Without going into any more detail than I've already subjected you to, I can tell you that Dasha heard just enough to be dangerous. She decided to "one up" her new found knowledge about what boys don't have to deal with by telling someone that boys can most certainly choke chickens. (When she told me what she'd said, she literally made a choking sign with her hands around her neck). Ugh. And this, my friends, is why I'm having a sign painted to hang over the front door that reads, "Randolph Asylum!" Once again, we had another conversation about parts and pieces, their respective owners, and the privacy that they demand. Maybe Dasha would have been better off in a nudist colony where there are no secrets of this nature. Just saying!

So, as the week begins, I'm looking forward to celebrating Annie's 3rd birthday this weekend. She's getting a new "big girl room" with an official big girl bed that she won't fall out of. (Oh yeah. Add her falling out of the little toddler bed every couple of nights to our list of night time interruptions). :)

As for me, I'm finding myself again for who I really am and I have to admit that it's kind of fun. New friends, new experiences, and... well, lots of new and different things that I had no idea I enjoyed.

Philippians 1:9-10
And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ.

Good night, all.

(Oh, and to the anonymous deliverer of the rubber chicken this afternoon, that just about made me faint from not being able to catch my breath from laughing so hard. Very funny! You must have a house full of boys yourself)!!! It's so nice to have demented friends who constantly make me feel like I'm a little bit normal!

Ansley's Day

Friday will mark nine years since Ansley slipped away from us. I don't have the stamina to revisit the "story" or really even put too much emotion into it. Time has healed so many of those hurts and has also opened my eyes to the impact she made on so many people in her nine short months. No, the day doesn't slip by without my thoughts wondering how many meds I'd need if Ansley and Annie were both residing under this roof! Those two would have probably figured out a way to take over the world by this point. Whew!

What a blessing to be able to look at this picture, though! This is exactly where Annie was sleeping (lounging) when I got the phone call from Dr. Hardin that Annie had tested negative for Pompe's. Words can't describe that moment in time. It's hard to believe that Annie was ever that tiny, still, or quiet.

So, that's sort of where a piece of my heart is tonight. I've been so busy lately that it has been hard to even slow down and think much less be emotional. There are so many things that are going on right now! But, I thought I'd take a minute to quickly spat down what I know may be the biggest thing in my week. (Never mind Annie stealing cupcakes intended for Boy Scouts, Dad's birthday, or other crazy things! Those crazy things will wait for another night's musings)!

Good night, all.

Song of Solomon lessons for Dasha - NOT and Cow Brains for Dinner

So, the blogging has been moved to the back burner (obviously) for a host of reasons. School work has become overwhelming and reproduces at the speed of little bunnies. The kids have all made a pact to take turns seeing who can pop the most gray hairs out of my head. And, I've just sort of been in protective mode for the last several weeks. I've spent a lot of time thinking through who I am as this new journey begins and what I'd like the journey to look like. Now, I've made enough plans to know that I need to check my flight plan with the Control Tower and get clearance to take off and land but I'm also way too familiar with having my flight rerouted through foreign (and enemy) territory! The process has been frustrating, painful, and even gut wrenching at times. I make it sound as if I simply wrote everything down and said to the kids, "Load up! We're heading on an adventure." No. This new journey is definitely going to take some tweaking along with the way but I feel like I've at least got my bearings about who I am now, what I stand for, and where I'm going. Some of those things didn't change but a lot of them did. When you're with someone for close to 20 years, your dreams sort of mesh together and it's nearly impossible to separate them. (Think about trying to separate Kool Aide powder from water). So, many of those dreams and goals have to be rewritten within the new template. OK. Maybe this is all strange and unintelligible for some. However, if you've ever walked this journey, you can relate.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

This kids have done their normal things and taken turns seeing who could make mom dial 9-1-1 first. There hasn't been too much major drama beyond getting an email from Dasha's teacher informing me that Dasha seemed to have a new beau. The teacher said that Dasha gave the boy her phone number and then hugged him. OK. I'll admit. The first three thoughts that ran through my head were 1) she doesn't know her phone number, 2) do they make cages big enough for 14 year olds, and 3) I looked down at the floor to see the hood that I'd zipped off of Dasha's vest before she left for school that morning and suddenly had the realization that I could have her wear the hood backwards and avoid any more interactions with the wild boy species! So, before the week is out, I have to figure out how to have a portion of "the talk" with her. I'm just not sure where to start or stop. I think I'll start at the beginning (Genesis 1:1) and then stop when her eyes start bugging out or before getting to Song of Solomon for sure! Beyond that little bomb, things have progressed in a semi-normal fashion.

Grant has convinced her that everything tastes like cow brains!!!! She asks for cow brains for a snack. The next time I see cow tongue or something that only a tribe in Africa would eat in the meat section, I'm going to buy it and make Grant eat it!

See? Nothing abnormal there.

As I'm beginning this new journey, I've realized that less than a mile down the road, the flight plan I'd filed is already being modified, though. I've said it over and over. I absolutely know that God has quite a sense of humor. Slowly but surely, I'm learning to let go and relax enough to see the humor and adjust my route. I feel like my poor old GPS screaming, "Creating a new route! Creating a new route!," when I miss a turn! I'm simply taking comfort in Jeremiah 29:11. "For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Things that I never thought possible just might be.

Good night, all.

The End and The Beginning

As many of you know, Thursday was the day. So, instead of answering all of the emails and trying to rehash everything, here the details are.

Arrived at courthouse only to find that for some reason, I couldn't get through the metal detectors. I've never had a problem anywhere else before. Every time the officer waved the wand over my butt, it sounded like an alarm going off. Seriously? Looking back, I can find a little bit of humor in the situation but at that very moment, it was definitely not funny. My mind was racing and I was beginning to look around to see if they were going to make me strip in order to go into a courtroom and have the remainder of my dignity taken. Finally, the officer laughed out loud and waved me on. I'm still not sure what the deal was. Was I their morning target for their first laugh of the day? Who knows.

In my mind, I'd pictured a quiet courtroom with a few other people sitting nervously as they waited for their marriages to be obliterated. Nope. This was civil court. People suing their contractors. People suing their banks. The courtroom was packed. This was definitely not what I'd expected. Thank goodness, my case was second on the docket for the morning so I wouldn't have to sit there all day or risk my case getting bumped to another date as we'd originally thought might happen.

The first case was called and the judge made a complete mess of the girl's lawyer. He kept asking for other documents and then asking the girl about the details of why she was divorcing her husband. He asked about her children, her own personal life and finances, and even asked her why she felt that her marriage could not be salvaged. What the heck? I'll admit that I thought more than once about bolting from the courtroom. I don't know what I would have done but I figured I could have at least made it to the elevator before having a heart attack. So, the judge did not grant the first contestant of the day her divorce. Her poor lawyer (very young and kept apologizing for his ineptness) looked as though he'd been hit by a truck. They were missing some paperwork that the judge found to be quite necessary after his badgering.

Then, they called my name. But, they didn't call my name. They said something like Randolph vs. Randolph or some other nonsense like that. No sooner than I'd been called, I felt the tears starting to well up. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why must I cry about everything? I did manage to stifle the tears after my lawyer gave me a look that would have scared a dead person. Her words to me right before court began were, "Simply take the stand, raise your right hand, agree to tell the truth, answer any question form the judge with simple responses, and don't get emotional." Yeah. This coming from a lady who dissolves marriages on a daily basis. Anyway, somehow, I made it to the stand, was sworn in, and from there, it honestly becomes a blur. The judge started asking me questions. However, my lawyer literally gave me "the hand" to inform me to stop answering the questions and she began to answer them for me. Oh my gosh. The questions that were asked made me want to slink behind the stand with embarrassment. Personal questions about finances that the entire court gallery was hearing. Personal questions about the details of the divorce decree. Justifications about certain parts of the decree. I alternated between channeling my energy to keep myself from crying and to keep myself from leaping over the banister and into the judge's box and strangling him for making Eric sound like a monster. (Then, I spent time being mad at myself for wanting to protect him). Geez. The day I can make my heart and mind connect, I might be safe to society. But, for now, the two entities don't seem to be on the same wavelength. Anyway, this went on for an hour. For a flipping hour, I sat there listening to two strangers rehash the details of the last twenty years like I wasn't even there. Don't get me wrong, I couldn't have answered if I'd wanted to. But finally, in some sort of secret motion, the judge and lawyer seemed to quit their tug of war and I was divorced. I seriously don't remember walking out of the courtroom. I made it to the elevator before I lost it. Lost it is putting it mildly. As I bolted back through security, the same officers who'd haggled me a couple of hours before just opened the doors and let me fly out of that God forsaken building like a wild animal escaping from a cage. Once I got to the van, I started it, and just drove. I ended up in the Publix shopping center on Riverstone. I guess I was there for a little over an hour before I got myself together enough to navigate home. I don't think I've even processed all of the emotions of that journey. I'm not sure that I'll ever be able to, either. But, bottom line, he got what he wanted. In fact, it was a year ago this weekend that he made his final decision. I can see that now. Heaven knows that I couldn't see it at the time, though. He chose to lie to me about a business trip and rendezvous with her at a hotel in TX. That was the first time that I'd realized he'd directly lied to me. Yeah, he'd been "hiding" things for a while at that point but he hadn't just right out lied. I was at home with sick babies and pulling my hair out. I thought he was in TX trying to work with a new client. Yeah, he was sure working with a new client. He blamed "her" for tempting him by driving from Lubbock and getting a hotel room. Why am I reliving this? It doesn't even matter what the details are now. The bottom line, a year ago, he chose her over me. Now, he can legally get what he wants. Grant's first words to me were, "Tonight is the first night that daddy is doing the right thing." It took me quite a while to ask for clarification because in my heart, I knew exactly what he meant. From the mouths of babes. As I ask for that clarification, he slammed his next question directly into my bleeding heart. "What's the difference in the importance of you and me to him?" Once again, I didn't want to assume the meaning so I asked him. I won't forget his answer to me as long as I live. We both just sat there and cried. I'm not exactly sure what his tears were for but I could begin to make a pretty good list. Heck, I'm not exactly sure what my tears were for, either. In the end, I'm divorced. (That still sounds ugly and dirty to me but I guess I should get used to it).

There's the story in one big pile of words. There are some details that might come back to me as I process through the day. But, for the most part, I've closed the door on those memories for now and decided to simply keep moving forward. The longer I stand still, the more those memories get wrapped around my feet and ankles and pull me down. It's useless.

I've tried to make some extra time to spend with Grant lately and wow. Conversations with a middle school boy deserve their own entry (as do my early morning conversations with Annie). So, maybe I'll have time to put to paper the insanity of those conversations on another day.

For now,
Good night, all.