stupid blood update

My A1C panel was in the normal range (5.6), so they believe that I am not diabetic.  YAY for that!!

My basic metabolic panel was varied, but mostly in the normal range.

The doctor agrees that my blood glucose is doing strange things, but the patterns do not fit diabetes, hypoglycemia or hyperglycemia at this time.

She believes it is mostly due to the previous diagnosis of Insulin Resistance, but wants me to continue tracking my glucose for 30 days and come in for a follow up.

Basically, at this point...no news.

stupid blood

I went to the doctor today to get blood work done, and have to go back tomorrow morning for more.  Oh, joy.

This weekend I checked in on my blood glucose level (blood sugar) and found it to be 256!  After 9 hours of not eating!  Way too high.  Scary high. 

Kept monitoring it every 4 hours, plus 2 hours after eating anything and first thing in the morning.  My fasting levels were all higher than my post eating levels, which is backwards from normal.  My fasting levels were never below 146.  My post eating levels ranged from 112-190.

All too high.

I am hoping it's a hormonal thing (just finished my cycle), or something else temporary and not diabetes.

But...there is definitely a reason to believe it might be diabetes.  Being insulin resistant, there is always the chance it will become diabetes.  Also, I have a family history with my aunt, grandma and great grandma.  My aunt is the most extreme, and scares us at least 3 times a year by almost dying. 

I'd like that not to be me.

public relations dilemma

I've been approached by the CASA PR person to write my story out for use in CASA of SWMO publications.  Kind of a "this is the kind of child that needs you" plea to the public.  If I choose to do it, it's basically then the property of CASA.  If it works well in publications and at events, it could be sent on to other CASA organizations for their use.

I'm having trouble making this decision.

In the pro column, if my story made a difference for a child, even just one child, then isn't it worth it?  And perhaps it would be a freeing experience to send my story out into the world...maybe.  I'm unsure on that part.

In the much longer con column, are the things that cause this decision to become a dilemma for me.  I've still, to this day, only shared my past with those that needed or earned it (and the people at CASA and readers of this blog).  It's a lot of baggage to just dump on anyone else, so I don't.  At least, that's what I tell myself.  But maybe, if I am totally honest, I'm still shouldering the secret and would feel guilty if I didn't.

Lets say the story is only used in Southwest Missouri.  There is no chance of the people mentioned in the story (mostly my parents) seeing it.  But...at least half of the people I hang out with regularly, almost all of my colleagues and absolutely all of my students and their families are not aware of my background.  There would be a chance that any of them could see it.  That could open any number of awkward cans of worms.  It could start a lot of conversations that are still hard and painful for me to have.

And if the story went larger...the can of worms gets bigger.  I, unlike many people with this type of past, still have a mostly positive relationship with my parents.

My dad and I, usually, are friendly and civil.  There is love there, even if our relationship is very different from what many have with their fathers.  We had pretty much no relationship for several years, after his arrest for manufacturing methamphetemine.  While in jail, he got clean and began attending church.  Everyone else was happy, I was completely skeptical.  I was sure it was a classic "foxhole conversion" and would not last.  Sometimes I still have trouble trusting that it won't all fall apart again, even after 12 years.  It has been a building process to get the relationship to where it is, and it remains rocky at times.  A lot of that rockiness comes from his still being unwilling to admit that he knew what he was doing was wrong.  Which makes it hard for me to accept his apology.  A lot of the current relationship hinges on my choosing to accept all deficiencies in the past and present and keep all visits and conversations light.  Him seeing that I published how I really felt, and feel, could cause the rockiness to become a full blown avalanche.

My mom and I have always been much closer.  That has confused a lot of people, since she was certainly not innocent in the whole situation.  Like my dad, she was also using, she was also yelling and fighting and she was also causing me to bear the secrets that were to be the burden of my lifetime.  However, she was the one I could rely on to make sure we had food, electricity, heat, lunch money and transportation.  She was the one who held down a job at all times and she was the one who made sure we had what we needed.  She had her faults, for sure, but when I look at what went on, I know who was there for me and made sure I had what I needed.  She no longer uses, and was responsible for getting my dad out of the house when he went from just using to dealing.  She didn't want that danger for us.  That's when they separated.  My mom has grown up some and changed her life.  But any time a conversation veers into uncomfortable past territory, she shuts down completely.  She does not want to deal with any of it, she just wants to function like the past did not happen.  Our relationship hinges on staying in the present.  Any walk down memory lane is painful for her and seems like an accusation or attack.  I know exactly how badly it would hurt her if she read the things I would write.  She would see it as unnecessary and cruel.

I would not have to mention their names, and I could go by my first name only, which could lessen the possibility of it getting back to them.  But if I am going to be bold enough to release my story to the public, I need to do it knowing and accepting that my parents could very well see it.  I would have to be able to accept any ramifications.  I know my parents.  The ramifications would be them expressing pain, anguish, disappointment, then trying to justify their own actions while never accepting that my feelings on the subject have validity.  Then, there would be a guilt trip or 5.  Then they would want to pretend it never happened.  It would not be permanent, but the energy would be out there, palpably, for a long time.  Possibly forever.

So there it is.  The con list is longer, but the one thing on the pro list is the whole reason I got into CASA in the first place.  To help a child.  A child.  If I help more, great.  But isn't helping one worth going through the cons?  I know it should be an easy decision, I should say yes.  When I think with logic and use only my brain, it's easy.  When I let my feelings get involved...I literally feel nauseas about it.

Part of it, as stated above, is the reaction from people reading it.  Other teachers, acquaintances, friends, parents of my students, my own family.  All reactions that I may not really want to deal with.  The whispers of people who want to talk about it, but not to me.  The people who do want to talk about who I feel haven't "earned the right" to.  The people who understand all too well and see me as an appropriate confidante, but who I am not ready to shoulder burdens for.

But part of it is the child in me.  Children in situations like mine, or abusive or molestation situations, typically don't talk about it.  Period.  Winky, in Harry Potter (which seems a crazy thing to bring up, but it's  the best way I know to put it) says of house-elves "We keeps their secrets and our silence."  That's what children in these situations do also.  The children you hear about who tell a trusted adult about abuse/molestation/rape/drug use, they are statistically in the drastic minority.  For every story that comes out, there are many, many that never do.  That take the secret to their adulthood, or even their grave. Even as an adult, with parents no longer using drugs, I have kept the secrets of my past.  I hold them very close to me, and I make sure I know very well who I parse them out to.  I fear that part of my hesitation in releasing my story is that I am still a scared child, keeping their secrets and my silence.  Protecting the guilty at the cost of the innocent. Taking the brunt of it, because that's who I am and what I do.  So much of my identity is wrapped up in being the one who keeps her mouth shut and takes care of things.  Could I handle not being that person anymore?

And I fear that another part of my hesitation is that I will be giving up all the control over who knows my story.  It's a step I've never taken.  Openness and vulnerability.  It's a hard step to take.  Would it offer me a freedom, to not have to guard these secrets?  I've never not felt that responsibility.  It may not feel like freedom. It may be too scary, too hard.  It may let too many people in to who I really am, and where I've come from.  I may not like it.  I may feel guilty. I can't describe the way even just considering it makes me feel.  It's like a gnawing, quivering nausea.  If I am honest about it, I'm scared.

The devil we know is always easier to deal with than the devil we don't.  But a decision must be made soon, before the May publication date of the new CASA materials.  Will I stay with the devil I know, or step into a whole new world of discomfort?

I'd love to say I've decided.  That I'm ready.  But I can't. Because I don't know if I am.  But, I am thinking about it.

spring surprises

The yard has sprung up with flowery goodness.  Some nice predecessor to us left daffodils and forsythia to bloom in the yard.  Spring has brought warmth and prettiness.  I like this.

it's been awhile...

It's been about 4 months.  I've missed this blog, but at the same time, felt that most of my posts would fall into two categories.  Either so pointless that no one would care to read it, or so melancholy that people would wish that they hadn't read it.  So, I wrote nothing.  It seemed easier, and more merciful to my friends.

Because the truth is, my mind is uneasy lately.  It dwells on things that hurt.  It remembers the past that it did so well to ignore for so long.  It makes me want to stop thinking, so I numb it with mindless HGTV shows, facebook and websites that make me laugh.  But I've decided that maybe my mind would be more at ease if I stopped hiding the darkness.

I have many great people and happy things in my life.  I really do.  My husband, my students, good friends, monday night dinners, and crazy cats among other things.  I'm lucky.  I do not worry about a roof over my head, food to eat, heat for my home.  My job is secure, my income steady.  Things many don't have these days.

But there are darker things, too.  And sometimes, I fall victim to the shadow those things can cast in my mind.  I have a hard time letting go of the shadows.  Some days, there is so much bitterness it's hard to feel the good.  Some days, my mind replays for hours those things I wish I could go back and do or say or change.

Some of those things are from the life I live right now, but most are from a life I left behind.  Or at least, tried to.  But the life I led left scars.  It seems that in college, I was busy enough, or crazy enough or in denial enough that I rarely dwelt on the things I had run from.  I tried my best to create a new life for myself.  I hid the darkness of my previous life from all those who did not need or earn the information.  I was able to not be "the child of drug addicts" for the first time in my life.

I've led two lives.  The first, from birth to 18, as the child of addicts.  I knew from age 6 that my parents used drugs.  I probably knew before then, but since it was so normal in my life I didn't know it wasn't normal, so I never termed it.  My parents, at my mom's orders, never used drugs in front of us.  They tried to hide it, but even at 6, I wasn't stupid.  And my dad never cared as much about hiding it, so there were times we did see it, especially if she wasn't home.  But truthfully, there is nothing noble about not letting your kids know you use dugs.  You're still an addict and it still affects your kids.  I know she was doing what she thought was right (in the hiding, not the using), but it was stupid, really.  Because what it really meant was that I not only had to keep their secret from the world, but I also had to keep the fact that I knew their secret from them.  There was no part of my world in which I did not have to hide or conceal something.  That is a lot of stress and worry for a child to go through.  And I dealt with a lot that was beyond my years, but that I had to deal with because someone had to.  My mom worked nights.  My dad stayed home with us, supposedly to care for us, but you can probably guess how well that worked.  In addition to the drug use, there were other issues or infidelity, arguments and yelling that woke me up at night, and various other things that children should not be privy to.  So, I became responsible, and I cared for us.  Because someone had to.

In a lot of ways, my second life (age 18 and up) was my childhood.  Most people go to college and develop maturity and life skills.  I was finally able to relax a little and be carefree.  I was able to be the same as everyone else.  I still had my secrets, but I could just be an Evangel student.  I could do homework, go to class, eat in the caf.  And when I got married, wow, my family's world was rocked.  I got married at a suitable age and was not knocked up!  Unheard of!  And then, my husband was kind, supportive, held down a job and loved me.  And I held down a job.  And we didn't smoke, drink excessively, use drugs, cheat on one another or fight constantly.  We were certainly a new breed.  I had done what many children of addicts are never able to do.  I had rewritten my life, refused to spiral down the paths I was raised in, and chosen my own way.  I had chosen love, a career, stability, faith.  I had decided that "the sins of the father" would not be carried to me.  Truth is, they did.  Not the addiction.  But the sins of my parents created in me a bitterness that I still have trouble banishing.  I can bury it, but it comes back. From time to time in the last 12 years, my mind would drudge through the past, but mostly, I could tell myself that it was over and done and not worth thinking about.  It's only been recently that my mind goes back to those dark places so often.

I think there are several reasons for this.

One is that my brother is being an idiot and seems determined to relive the mistakes our parents made and put his children through the same crap we dealt with.  My position as a mandated reported meant hard, but necessary, decisions.  And the ramifications of anger that came with the decision to hotline.  I understand the anger.  It's hard for my parents to judge what James is doing when they know they did the same thing.  And when I do judge and take action, to them, it is as if I am attacking them personally and not just doing what I think is best for his babies.  It hurts them to know that I believe that their actions should have led to me (and James) being removed from their care.  It hurts them to know that I now believe the same for their grandchildren.  And when people are hurt, they often lash out in anger.  Its hard for them to understand that I can disapprove so strongly of actions and yet still love the person.

Secondly, as a teacher, I am seeing so many children who need to be rescued.  And I think back, was there ever a teacher who looked at me and saw that I needed to be rescued?  If so, did they take any steps?  Did they hotline my family only to be told that the call did not warrant any action, as I was when I called on my brother?  Or did they take no steps, since I was fed, clean and clothed, assuming that the actions of my parents were not interfering with my health, safety or welfare?  Or were there honestly NO teachers, or other adults, who saw the desperate need I was in?  (For those who hate questions, especially paragraphs of questions in an introspective monologue, I apologize...but it's my blog and these are my questions!)

Thirdly, I have chosen to do something to hopefully reconcile the two lives I have led.   Growing up, I needed someone to see me, know what I needed and act as my voice.  No one ever did.  Including myself.  The kids I see now, need that same thing.  As a mandated reporter, I hotline when I know I need to.  But, my concerns are usually brushed off and not investigated.  In the end, that only frustrates me more and makes me feel like no good is being done.  I want to be the voice for a child who needs one.  I want to be the voice I needed and never had.  So, I signed up for CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocates for Kids).  After training, I will be sworn in by a judge as an "employee" of the court.  (I put employee in quotes because we are not paid for this, but they consider us employees because there are requirements and regulations governing us in the same way they govern the other members of the case.)  I will be assigned to a case and I will be the advocate for the child(ren) in the case.  I will spend time with the child, the parents, foster parents, case workers and schools.  I will make recommendations directly to the judge on behalf of the child(ren).  I will be the only person assigned to the case whose sole responsibility is to advocate in the best interest of the child(ren).  Once assigned, a case can last up to three years.  I am required to remain with the case until it is resolved.  I get to be their voice.  And I am glad to do so.  But the interview did, and the training and responsibilities will, bring up a lot of the darkness I've been through.  But I need to do this.  I need to put the things I've been through to good use, for a good purpose.  Otherwise, there is no point in having come through them.  So, I will be for some child what I needed someone to be for me.  Or I will regret it forever.  And I really don't need any more regrets in this area of my life.

moving mania

Well, we moved! What a crazy week it's been, too.

Last Friday, we were off school due to parent-teacher conferences. The downside of PTC week is working til 7:30 at night. The upside is Friday off. Not exactly a fair trade, but we take what we get, right? Melody graciously offered to come over Friday and help me pack, since she could not help me move on Saturday. We got a ton done! In 4 hours we packed over 2/3 of the apartment. I owe her big time! (She also brought me an egg souffle and gingerbread latte from Panera for breakfast, just cause she's awesome like that.)

Friday night, Bryan came into town to assist with the moving on Saturday. He brought his dog, which was an adventure in itself with our cats. I am sure Lucy just wanted to play, but our cats were frantic. They were positive that Lucy wanted to eat them. The funniest part of having Lucy there was that Bryan tied her to his ankle to keep her away from the cats while him and Donald killed digital zombies, but until they heard slurping in the kitchen, neither of them realized that Lucy had chewed through her leash and escaped!

Saturday, I woke up 2 hours before the alarm, unable to sleep anymore. I had two sleeping people in the house, though, so I was pretty limited on what I could get done. When I finally woke them up and they got around, we brought Lucy to the new house, picked up the UHaul and I sent Donald and Bryan back to the apartment while I went to the bank.

Arriving at the apartment, I found many dear people putting my furniture and boxes into the big truck. I love my friends. There is no other way to put it. People who will help you move for nothing more than thanks and a taco are awesome in my book! Almost as soon as I arrived, the man who was to install our internet called and needed me at the new house. Now, it was only 10:30 am. I was told he'd come between 10 and 5. When, other than when it's inconvenient, would they ever come only a half hour into the 7 hour window?? Oh well, I left to go to the new house, meet the internet man and walk Lucy.

Lauren came to the new house and when everyone got here with the full UHaul and cars with crammed full back seats and trunks, we went out to help unload. We got everything unloaded, decided on Taco Bell for lunch and left. I went to pick up lunch. Donald and Bryan took the UHaul back, followed by Chris who took them to the apartment. Joel let everyone in the apartment where they continued to pack and pile things in cars. (Awkwardest moment of the day? Seeing Joel carry a drawer full of my panties to his car.)

We all ate on the floor of the apartment, then when the cars were full, we brought round two, including the cats, to the new house.

It was then that we found fleas. Lots of fleas. ARGH. We unloaded stuff, took the cats back to the apartment and flea bombed the apartment. We had to vacate while it was done, so we went to eat at Tasia. At this point, the cough and raspy voice I'd had all day became an all-out sickness. I was in major pain, could barely swallow and had little voice. By the time we got to the house, all I could do was sleep on the couch while Donald and Bryan went to get the pets at the apartment.

The next three days, I remained sick on the couch, unpacking a couple things here and there, but mostly just lying down, and eating only soup. I got up on Monday for a few hours. Donald and I went to Freedom Appliance and bought a used fridge, then cleaned some at the apartment. Donald vacuumed the bedrooms and I did some laundry, and cleaned the bathroom. We could not stay too long, since they were coming to deliver the fridge.

Tuesday, we flea bombed again. I took the cats to the apartment and cleaned while it was done. I cleaned the windows, vacuumed baseboards, washed walls and scrubbed out the fridge.

Wednesday, I tried going to school. I was tired by the end of the day and had barely any voice. But I had asked CU to shut off the utilities in the apartment on Friday morning, so I had to turn over the keys on Thursday. So I went to the apartment while Donald was at school and finished the cleaning. I cleaned the kitchen counters and floor, scrubbed the oven (3 times!) with easy off, and finished all the vacuuming. By the time I got home, I was sicker than ever. I was crying and vomiting and in tons of pain. I had majorly overdone it. I did not return to school the rest of the week.

Thursday, I layed on the couch yet again. Then we went for our walk through and to had in our keys. My cleaning efforts paid off, we are getting our entire security deposit back!! She said it was amazing how good of shape our apartment was in after we lived there 6 years.

Friday, I was off work, but used the time well. I changed our address at the post office and bank, as well as calling and changing it with the bank, my work, my retirement accounts, student loans, insurance, cell phones and my magazine subscriptions. I went back to Freedom Appliance and got us a used washer/dryer set. I grocery shopped, which was needed so desperately! Then, more laying on the couch. That afternoon, I unpacked the kitchen. That night, they delivered our washer and dryer! It's so nice not to have to deal with laundromats. Unfortunately, the dryer plug did not match the outlet, so it was still unusable. We ate with friends at my beloved Purple Burrito, then Donald went to watch 2012 and I went home to sleep.

Yesterday, Donald took his graduation exam at OTC and we did some more unpacking.

Today, we went to church and Lowes. We got a new dryer power cord that matched the outlet and I changed it all by myself! I was very proud of myself for this. When I was done, nothing blew up, no one got electrocuted and the clothes got dried, so I assume I did it right. But....the washer was leaking water from the supply hose. I went to walmart and got new hoses and fixed that, too! (I'm now ready to rent myself out as a handy woman.) I also got to watch my boys win at oakland. It was a very sloppy game, fumbles, sacks, interceptions. But beating the raiders will always make me happy.

Tomorrow, I have MAP-A training, so I will once again be gone from school. In 11 calendar days, I will have been at school 1. What craziness and insanity will await my return???

Last night, we had the lovely experience of having our neighbor children beat each other up in our yard, then knock on our doors and windows and run away. Also, flea bombing twice has not completely cured the problem, so the professionals will be coming out to do the job instead.

Other than those two things, it's going pretty well in our new home! There is still quite a bit of unpacking to do, but we are getting it done. It would be done already, had I not been sick.

hoping this will be our house!

We looked around at some other houses today....and we've found a middle ground (I think, anyway). So long as our rental application goes through (she has to check our rental history with Wooten Co. tomorrow), the house will be ours November 1st.

It's a stone bungalow. Donald really likes the stone, I think it's not so attractive. But the inside matters more to me than the outside, since that's the part you look at most. It has 2 bedrooms, 1 full bath, 1 half bath, utility room, living room, dining room, kitchen, full cement-floored basement, detached garage and small yard. The rent is very affordable and there is no pet deposit, which is nice. She'll accept both cats willingly. The previous tenant said utilities run about $80 for all, which is cheaper than our current apartment!

The pros for me were: jetted tub; wood floors; walls that weren't white (we've had all white walls for SEVEN years!); an archway from the living room to dining room; closer to work (1.4 miles from AG H/Q, under 5 miles from my school); neighborhood looks good (houses are well-kept, previous tenant said the neighbors were all nice minus one family); landlady seems nice and non-crazy. Cons for me: no dishwasher (BIG con...); we have to get our own fridge, washer and dryer; creepy basement; garage is detached; kitchen and bathroom definitely on the small side.

The pros for Donald were: the basement (he can have it, I'm staying upstairs!); a hallway (for some reason he really wanted a hallway, the house I loved had no hallways which he hated); neighborhood looks good; fireplace. Cons for him: master bedroom directly off living room (he likes separation of living and sleeping quarters).

As you see, our wants and desires do not have a ton of overlap. That has been challenging. But we both agreed we could happily live in this home. So, hopefully there will be no trouble with the application and we can happily live there!

The only worry is that our current landlady is, as I've said before, crazy. No really. I promise. So, she could screw it up for us. But she has no real complaint against us. We've paid rent on time for almost 7 years, anything we've been asked to do we've done. She does not know about Dash, and he's the only thing she could possibly say we've done that we shouldn't.

Some of our Monday Night Dinner people will have farther to drive, but we will be much closer to a few of them. Hopefully they'll all still feel the drive is worth it! Also, with the wood floors, maybe Hanna will finally be able to be in my house sometimes!

So, fingers crossed!!

what's the haps?

The haps around here have been eventful! Here's a quick peek:
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Almost three weeks ago, Donald was at Chris's house to play the new Halo and a stray kitten "found" him (his words, not mine). We now have a tiny cat. He is white with orange spots, goes by the name of Dash Maul. (The Maul was earned during his first flea bath.)

He's adorable, but he bites like an alligator. He also has unfortunately brought a virus into our home that made Jax very sick this week. A visit to the emergency vet thursday night for 2 prescriptions and a follow up with his regular vet today (resulting in a 3rd prescription) has already made Dash an expensive little thing. Next weekend we have to take Dash for some tests and vaccinations. He is not old enough to be neutered, but that'll happen this winter!
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RenFest was last weekend, um....well....

the faire was fun in and of itself. However, MAJOR drama happened with some of the attenders, the ramifications of which are still not over. I am unsure how lasting the effects will be truthfully, which is worrisome, but the duplicitousness of the continuing situation is cementing some unfortunate and sad things in my mind. (Sorry for the vagueness...)

Donald got to participate in the magic show as "Bob Rigatoni." My volunteering him may have had something to do with it...Tonya also participated, but she was chosen specifically by the magician himself. He got a little too touchy with her, too. Like, if we were the suing types, we could probably have a case.

We had two newcomers to the group this year, Rob and Lindsay. Unfortunately, Matt (Lindsay's boyfriend) opted to stay behind, in order to study. It turned out to be nice in a way, though, because I had a great, great car ride there and back alone with Lindsay. Long talks in cars are one of my most favorite things ever. I contend there is a depth to road trip bonding rarely found any other way.

Got to see baby Ameliah again, she is getting cuter. She has quite a ways to go to catch up to the charm of her big brother, though!

Mom and Grandma were wonderful hostesses, as always. Their generosity is truly appreciated.
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I saw Whip It this weekend and my crush on Ellen Page was reignited. She's just so stinkin' cute!
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Seems like a lot of the ladies I love have been having hurt hearts lately in some form or another...the trend needs to end!!
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We need to move by November 30th. We are hoping to find a place and sign a lease by November 1st, giving us plenty of time to move, clean, etc. It's imperitive that we move before the CRAZY landlady finds out we have Dash. He's against the lease. He's the first thing we've ever done against the lease. But I know she would evict us and that would screw over our rental history.

I've been looking at houses. It's complicated! We need a neighborhood safe enough to make Donald happy, rent that's affordable, the ability to bring both cats, and something we will both enjoy living in. I thought I finally found the perfect house. It was a cute little Victorian style house from the early 1900's. Wood floors, crown molding, 2 bed, 1 bath, fenced yard, renovated kitchen, whirlpool tub, newer heating and air, and getting painted this month. Donald HATED it. The whole thing. It was EXACTLY the house I was looking for and he informed me it is everything he wants to avoid. Yikes!! This makes things even harder. Hopefully we'll find a middle ground. We are looking at another house tomorrow, wish us luck!

Happy Kickoff Day!

It's football season! I am happy. Sunday afternoons on the couch in PJs. (Even if I am dressed for church, when I come home, it's all about PJs for football viewing.)

That's what has been missing in my world since February. All is right again.

Looking back on Tim

Tonight, as I did laundry, I found the 2nd to last gift my Uncle Tim ever gave us. It set me thinking about Tim, and his impact on my life.

In December 2006, at Christmas, he gave Donald and I a 1000 minute calling card. We tried to explain to him that we each had cell phones with free long distance, but he insisted we take the card.

I know this sounds small...but it wasn't. Not at all. It cost him $10.00, which is insignificant to most of us. To Tim, who lived on $475.oo a month (military disability), it was not so insignificant at all. But more than cost, it was the actual significance of the gift that made it large. Tim had schizophrenia, and unknown to him at the time, he had a brain tumor growing in his frontal lobe that would prove fatal in less than 5 months. Tim had little entertainment in life. TV and radio were off limits, as the mental illness caused him to have hallucinations while listening to them. No matter who was talking/singing, he heard Roseanne Barr's voice telling him to kill his mom. I cannot imagine going through life with the trials my uncle had to live with. The nightmare that he could not wake up from.

The one thing he loved, more than anything, was talking to people. He drank iced tea at the diner in the south end every morning and more iced tea in the middle of the night at the truck stop. The truckers and the waitresses were kind to him, and for that I thank God. He needed that kindness so much. He called my grandma several times each day, and other family members often also. He just needed to talk, even if you couldn't give him much time. He was lonely a lot. It's hard to make and keep friends when you are mentally ill. He found a few loyal friends when he joined the freemasons. Say what you will about the masons, but they took him in and accepted him. He needed that. He found another loyal friend in Pastor Don. Anyone who would listen patiently would be repaid, not through money, but through time. Tim would help anyone do anything. He'd give you a ride, change your flat tire, rip up your old carpet. Just ask, and he'd do. These calling cards, they were his lifeline. And he gave us one. We never used a minute of it, it sat on top of our microwave before falling behind the washer where I found it tonight. I wish I'd called him with it...or without it...I didn't. I can't change that. Had I known how soon he'd be gone, maybe I would have.

2 years ago this past May, my uncle died. He had refused all treatment except pain management and said God told him he would come get him. He went in his sleep, without pain. I think in some ways the tumor was a blessing to him. The psychiatrist had told my grandma that most schizophrenics die at their own hand, the disease it just too much to bear. This tumor, and being able to refuse operating, gave him a more acceptable way out of a life of challenges, and very little joy. He was able have healing in his relationship with my grandpa through the tumor, also, which he wanted more than anything else. He died on a Sunday morning, the same day he had asked to be anointed and prayed for in church. I hope he worshipped with the angels that day instead.

As for Tim and me...I don't know if I can even do it justice.

As a little girl, he was my "tiger" uncle. He had so many tattoos, more than anyone I'd ever seen, from his days in the Marines. One was a tiger on his stomach. I'd lift the edge of his shirt and he would roar and I would run. At age 4, this was so entertaining. He'd give my brother and I horsey rides on his hands and knees around my grandma's kitchen for hours. He's pull us in a box (thankfully they had hardwood floors). He took us up what seemed the largest hill in the world to go fishing for bluegill and crappies. He rode us around the pasture on his dirtbike. He bought us poppers and snakes from the fireworks tent. He paid me 50 cents to "clean his room." He was fun.

But he disappeared for months at a time...sometimes he wrote us letters while he was gone, but sometimes he didn't. I was a teenager when I learned why. Tim had schizophrenia. He had to go into the hospital for treatment, and medication changes, on a semi-regular basis. It was then that he wrote us letters...he always drew a monkey under his signature. But sometimes, we got no letters...during those absences he was not in the hospital. He was drunk. Tim was an alcoholic. My grandparents knew that long before they learned about the schizophrenia. They tried to get him help, but it never stuck. It was years before they learned that he drank because it was the only way to shut the voices up. He had fewer drinking episodes after he got treatment for the schizophrenia, but he still relapsed every few years. He knew he couldn't stay at my grandparents if he was drinking, so at those times, he stayed wherever he could find someone willing to let him. Eventually, he'd wind up back at the V.A. hospital, sober up and change meds, and he would be Tim again.

I was never scared of Tim. I trusted that he would never hurt me. As a teenager, even knowing that he mentally ill, I was never scared. My parents were divorced by the time I started attending church and my mom worked nights. Tim would come and pick me and my brother up, take us to dinner and then drop me off at whatever youth function they were having that night, and entertain James while I was there. I did not realize then how much off his monthly pension he was using on gas and food those nights. He sacrificed to do that for us. I thanked him each time, but my gratitude is higher now, knowing all I know.

When I went away to college, he called me sometimes and we'd talk for awhile. I'd see him for holidays and hear how he was doing when I talked to my grandma. Sometimes the news was good...sometimes it wasn't. That's the nature of mental illness.

Tim was generous to the very end. When he found out he had brain cancer, and could no longer drive, he said he wanted Donald to have his car. He died before we could get up there to get it. My grandfather was executor and passed it to Donald. Donald drove it until it died. We sold it this summer...and I kissed my fingers and laid that kiss on the car, feeling as if I was saying goodbye to Tim again. I miss him. All I have is a 2x4 inch plastic card and memories now.

squirrels

I am the squirrel of the month. No, seriously. I was given the squirrel award at the faculty meeting Friday.

Squirrel awards are given to staff members who make fools of themselves.

A few weeks ago, my principal and I were the last two people in the building. Her hands were full, so she said, "Let's go out together and you can swipe us out." We walk to the swipe box, I swipe the card, the alarm activates and we walk out. When we were outside, however, she tested the doors and found them still unlocked. Needing to go back in for the hex-key to lock the push bars, she said, "You swipe us back in and I will get the hex-key." OK, simple enough. We enter, I swipe, she goes to the office door. The light is still blinking red. I swipe again, still red. I swipe again and it says "Zone 1 alarm, zone 1 alarm." I say, "It's not de-arming. Is it because you are already in the building?" Principal says, "No, that shouldn't matter. Swipe it again." I do, still red. She says, "Hand me your card." I do. She laughs, then says, "Amber, this is a Visa."

Yes, I was swiping in with a debit card. Apparently the school only takes MasterCard.

She calls school security and tells them there is no zone 1 alarm, just a special ed. teacher swiping in with her Visa instead of a prox card.

Later that night, as I reentered the building, the security staff gave me a hard time, then said I am probably not the first one to do it, I am just the first one to get caught doing it by my principal.

The bad thing is that I am in the building more than any other staff member after hours. Due to the guinea pigs, I go to school EVERY weekend, either on Saturday or Sunday, to check on them, feed them, etc. Also, with the one car issue and dropping the man off at OTC classes, if I have things to get done at school I usually just go back there instead of driving home. It's closer and I get something accomplished! So, in my hundreds of after hours visits to school, swiping in and out, I have NEVER screwed it up. I have never swiped the wrong card or activated an alarm. The one night I do, of course, my principal is standing there to see it.

So, I am now the proud recipient of a ceramic squirrel....until I hear of a new "squirrel" to pass it along to.

cutsie pies!

I made these tiny little pies shaped like butterflies and tulips. But my camera is at school!! I so want to show these to the world, but they will be eaten up soon by the monday night dinner crowd.

I put NO effort into dinner tonight, its just spaghetti, green beans and bread. I used all my time and effort on the pies. I think everyone will agree its worth it when they see an adorable pie flower on a scoop of ice cream.

do you have a deputie?

I saw a car this weekend that looked a lot like a police vehicle...but I figured it wasn't when I saw that the side said "Sherif."

I laughed.

to-do lists

I like to-do lists because marking things off as I go makes me feel accomplished...but I hate the current one on my desk. It is not getting shorter. I've added so many things as I go that I cannot keep up!

But, I have always had that same type of feeling before a year starts, then I finally get it done and find out I still missed some things that should have been on the list, yet the first day still comes off ok.

I am resting in that knowledge now.

Happy New Year!

Yes, it's that time of year! The August heat has finally gotten to the point where being outside is completely miserable unless you are in a cool body of water, car A/C's can't get cold for several minutes and everything you touch burns your skin.

Which means....school is starting soon! I am excited to be back in my routine, with my schedules and structure. I am ready to see my little darlings and all my teacher-friends.

I've been working in my classroom some this week, getting it ready. I've made trips to IPA, Mardel, Walgreens and Walmart getting the necessities (and a few frills!). I've got a class website half completed, where my students will be blogging about out community outings and cooking projects. I hope to finish it by the middle of next week.

Speaking of the class website...I am now the "Webmaster" for my school building. Our website has not been updated since 2005! It needs some major work. Since I took the technology boot camp class this summer, the head guy of the educational technology department decided I was the one who could do this work. I'm not sure I am entirely qualified...but luckily I married a man who is! Since beginning work in my room, I've already made 3 calls to the help desk, so they are probably scared to death that I've been choosen for this task. I'm not striving for awesome perfection (at least not yet), just something functional and decent to look at.

I've gotten 16 things marked off my to-do list...but 43 left to do, and I am sure I'll think of more before it's all said and done. Fortunately, a lot of them are "10-minute tasks."

That is all I really have to say. I just needed to share the excitement of the new year!

Davy's dirt

For Davy's birthday, I decided to buy him the gift I thought he'd like best. Dirt.

Yes, good old dirt. Here in the Ozarks, digging is hard. Dig an inch and you hit rock. No fun for a little boy who likes to dig in dirt.

Last year, I got to see Davy with access to a dirt pile for over a week. It was his Papa's dirt. Every day Davy would say, "Papa, is this your dirt? I love your dirt! Can I have your dirt?" His Papa always answered, "As much as you can carry."

When Davy was supposed to be napping, he would stand and stare out the window. If you asked what he was doing, he answered, "Watching my dirt."

He played everyday in that dirt, digging with spoons, making holes, making roads, driving toy tractors and bulldozers through it.

I warned Hillery, I would be buying him his own dirt for his birthday. And so, I did. 1400 pounds of dirt. When he saw me dumping it out, he said, "What are you doing with the more dirt?" I said, "It's Davy's dirt. It's for your birthday." He responded with a grin, saying "Davy LOVES dirt! I'm gonna get my tractor!" Dragging his excavator to his dirt, he immediately began playing. With each bag Hillery and I carried in we had to ask him to move so we could dump it on the pile.

Before anyone (else) asks, Hillery was cool with the dirt. People keep seeming shocked about this. They seem to think she should be mad that I gave Davy dirt. More laundry, more mess, all the mud! That's what people keep saying. I say it's a summer of outside activity. Boys will find dirt whether you give it to them or not. I just gave him some he could actually dig in.

My mom and most of the people around our age, including my husband who is still unconvinced that Hillery still likes me, think this is a very strange gift. Hillery's parents and my grandparents think it's genius. I think they remember from having little boys that dirt happens, and dirt covered little boys are happy boys.

So, without further ado, here are some pictures of Davy's dirt.
The dirt from Oklahoma did not have rocks, sand or twigs in it, but the dirt from Ohio had some rocks, a little sand and a couple twigs. The Oklahoma dirt was darker in color, too. What I learned from this is that Lowe's dirt is 1 cent more than Walmart's dirt, but well worth the extra penny. Here Davy is showing me the rocks he picked out of his dirt. Later, these were all being stored in the scoop part of his excavator.




A happy, dirty birthday boy.













Making good use of all his tractors, trucks, bulldozers, excavators, trowels and hand rakes. Just a boy and some dirt. In other words, pure contentment.

The days of Davy

Davy's birthday was 10 days ago. I am late blogging about it, because I had trouble with getting the pictures I wanted for the blog onto the computer. Davy turned 4. As Hillery said, it seems very big. He has completely left toddlerhood behind. He's a "big kid" n0w. I knew he had changed, but I did not know how much until I looked at this sequence of pictures:

This picture was taken in May of 2007. It is still one of my very favorite pictures of Davy, speaking volumes about his affectionate and caring nature.






This one was taken in May of 2008, on a visit to the train museum at Grant Beach Park. He already had lost some of the "babyishness" of the previous year.






This is his 3rd birthday last June. (Side note: How did his hair grow so much in just one month??)









And here he is on his 4th birthday. Crazy. He changed so much in that one year.











Happy Birthday, Little Boy. I can't wait to see how much you change in the next year. It seems like you've grown up so much, and so much faster than it went with Gabbie. I love the sweet nature you have. The hugs, and cuddles and concern for everyone around you. You are so intuitive about how people are feeling. That will serve you well as you grow up. We love you. Enjoy the dirt!

just one extra letter

There is a church on Glenstone with one of those "clever" signs out front. It reads, "Don't be discouraged. Moses was once in a basket case." Just that one extra word, the letter a, takes this saying from just being eye rollingly annoying to making no sense.

Nice.

summertime

It is summer now. Last year, I had several things to do right when school ended. I also had a long trip that happened unexpectedly.

This summer is feeling more "blank canvas-y" than last. Davy's birthday is next week. I will go home and see my family at some point, and go to Bella Vista to see Bryan.

Other than that, the summer seems wide open.

Truth be told...I don't really like that feeling as much as I used to.

sticky thinking

Today, standing in our classroom after school, I realized something. I live a very sticky life.

At that moment in time, my hands were sticky from holding the hand of a truly darling child who had been eating an apple. My pants leg was sticky from another student's juice spill. The crowning touch was the sticky goo in my hair, contributed by a child who hugged my head with pudding on her hand as I tied her shoe.

It was a very sticky day. On any given day, at some point, it is guaranteed that my hands will get sticky with one thing or another. (Only on a lucky day will only my hands be sticky. On a normal day...anything goes.)

I'm very lucky to live this sticky life. You see, the stickiest things in life are frequently also the sweetest. Toffee, caramel, jam... All sticky. My students...sticky, but sweet, for the most part.

I'm happy to have sticky hands, and pants, and even hair. For this stickiness is a sign of some seriously sweet blessings in my life.

It's summer as of 1:30 tomorrow. We all need the break. I'll be happy to have it, I know. But I will miss my sticky life in our classroom.

I will worry. Do they have enough to eat? Are they getting enough attention? Do the summer school teachers understand the words they use that mean something else? Is their home stable? Is their electricity on? Will they move over the summer without me knowing where, or saying good bye? Are they lonely?

I will pray. For protection. For stability. For someone to care. For provision. For retention of skills. For another chance to hold their sticky hands.

Day in and day out, these are my blessings. My sticky, sweet, ornery, stubborn blessings. I am used to being there for them. Letting go for the summer is very hard on my heart. Summer has its own blessings, its own share of sticky, but just as my students need the routines of our classroom, I know my life needs it, too. My heart is held tightly by all that sticky.