Mother’s Day

Here we are again. Another Mother’s Day weekend to gut through. They come every year, no matter what. The good news is now that my mother (usually referred to as Gayle) is no longer this side of the dirt. This year I don’t have to read dozens of cards trying to find just one that isn’t a lie. I finally just bought a box of blank notecards. I could write a simple, “Happy Mother’s Day”, and be done with it. And, if I’m being honest, if I’d decided to jot something–anything-else down, my handwriting has long been illegible. By illegible I mean almost no one can read it. I truly cannot remember not writing. A quick look at my index finger will show a good-sized writer’s knot. That’s what it used to be called. Now the doctor just calls it some kind of arthritis. Whatever. It’s still illegible.

I cherish my sons….Brendan (35), Bailey (23), and Grayson (12). I picture Bailey walking to the beach and I swear I can hear him say: I LOVE the sound of flip flops! In my mind’s eye I see Brendan, very still and quiet in his captain’s bed, as I sing The Promised Land. Then there’s Grayson, or G as we mostly call him. I can’t not see him as the baby we didn’t know but had promised to take care of. Each of them beautiful in the way only I see them. This comes with a melancholy kind of sadness I can’t shake off. I can’t drive away from it. Or swim myself out of it. It’s there and it’s not going away any time soon.

I have spent my life trying not to be the mother I had. Sometimes I wonder if I might’ve missed the point.

I wanted them not to know what real fear feels like. I wanted them to be certain I would always be in their corner no matter what. I wanted them to be secure in the knowledge that I loved them. Period. No conditions. No excuses. And I still want those things. The problem is I fail every single day. My boys know this. I’m not sure they know that I know it.

Every sharp exchange, every word said in anger, every single disappointed sigh….they see it. Feel it. But they don’t know I feel it too. Not like they do. No. I feel it in my soul. The way you feel when you’ve been entrusted with something holy and you somehow screwed it up. Many times I can’t get out of my own way with them. I see it, but I can’t stop myself.

Three boys. Three different decades. Each one calls me a different name. Bren calls me Madre. Bay calls me Mama. G calls me Mom. I don’t know why it worked out that way. I didn’t tell them what to call me. Except that one time Brendan called me by my given name. Let’s just say in Appalachia we don’t do that. It’s disrespectful. And I’m still sorry for that, Brendan, but I learned a long time ago there are some things you can’t take back. And I know that doesn’t track with my previous note that I often called my mother by her given name. Just try to understand that she was never a mother to me and did not deserve that title of respect. It wasn’t a secret.

I want to say here that Gayle was a much better grandparent than she ever was a parent, but I’d be lying. I always hid any type of medication when she was coming to visit because she was a drug addict. She’d been an addict since my earliest memories of her. But there was one time when she drank nearly the entire bottle of liquid pain meds with codeine that one of the boys was taking while recovering from surgery. I discovered it when she left. I noticed something syrupy was spilled on the counter. It only took a moment for me to follow the syrup and then to realize what had happened. She denied it, of course, but it was pointless. I knew what had happened and I made sure it never happened again.

During the early years of our marriage, she would come to visit pretty regularly. We’d make a big meal. Then as we ate, she’d start telling Tony about how she’d made sure she raised me not to depend on a man. That she knew going to college would mean I could take care of myself. Late one night after we’d all gone to bed, Tony looked at me and asked, “Do you know how hard it is for me to sit there while she says those things?” I replied that it couldn’t possibly be as hard for him as it was for me. (Back to why I call her Gayle.)

So what she really taught me was that the only person I could depend on was me. And that is why I went to college. Well, that and the promise of food every day and a roof over my head every night. It was a pretty low bar.

But that’s not the case for my boys. They do know I love them. They do know I will always be here for them. They also know I’m human. But I will never stop trying to be the mother they deserve. Not sure I’ll ever get there. But I’ll keep trying.

Happy Mother’s Day to everyone who stood in the gap for me and helped me to get this far. Many who never knew the ordinary things they did from a place of love were extraordinary to me. All love.

What have you been putting off doing? Why?

I’ve been putting off doing the dishes. We have a dishwasher, but my husband thinks you should scrub every dish prior to placing it strategically. 🤦🏻‍♀️ I, on the other hand, think that’s what the dishwasher is for.

Everyone who lives here (3 adults and a nearly 12 yo) has their little quirks when they load the dishwasher.

Caveat: I get tired of looking at (or smelling) the dirty dishes in the sink so I go ahead and sort it. Putting it off is my little act of rebellion.

Tummy Trouble

I’ve been having some issues with my tummy. It got to a point where I could no longer manage.

So I found a new GI doctor. They sent me for scopes and recommended I try the “FODMAP diet”.

I immediately started the meal plan. Keeping a food diary. Looking for the “substitutes” like the real things and buying them.

And if I’m honest, I’ve been hungry since my first appointment. But any day my belly is actually full, I feel like I’m in labor. (I promise that is not exaggeration on my part.)

I have to see the GI people later this month. My preliminary results are: small hiatal hernia, polyp, and diverticulosis. We were both thinking IBS at the last appointment, too. So it’ll be an interesting appointment. Will update after my next visit to the doctor.

Also, if anyone has questions, reach out to me.

Good night.

Another Foster Care Story

Our son, Grayson, is adopted. He came to live with us through foster care when he was eight months old. There were no transition visits. We tried to meet him and his foster mom on one of our court visits, but weren’t allowed. So they literally just handed us a baby, asked us to sign some papers, and waved goodbye.

I did call the foster mother prior to bringing him home to ask about sleep habits, foods, vaccines, etc. She said she rocked him to sleep every night. I was told she’d started him on solid foods and he especially liked green beans.

But when we brought him home, we quickly realized someone wasn’t being honest. He wouldn’t eat anything. He also wouldn’t tolerate being held and rocked. He woke up at least once an hour for milk.

(I do think it’s important to take a little detour here. Bear with me—it is relevant.)

I think it was the day after we got Grayson that i received a Facebook friend request from an older woman. (Name withheld for privacy.) I was working as a photographer and got lots of friend requests. I accepted the majority of them.

A message popped up straightaway. She told me that she and her daughter were Grayson’s babysitters and they’d like to be able to keep up with him. I asked some questions about what his situation had actually been like.

This is when I learned that foster mom was only present for bio mom’s court-ordered visits. Grayson did not live with her. He lived in an unlicensed, unregulated, and inadequate home that was not even a respite home.

We couldn’t figure out how that happened. A social worker had been regularly visiting our home from the beginning—even though we didn’t have a foster child. How could a social worker miss this??

Well lemme tell ya. The actual social worker ended up getting arrested for trafficking crystal meth while our case was ongoing. That explained a lot.

And now Grayson’s brother has gone into care. He’s fifteens months older. Truthfully, though, at twelve he looks and sounds like a world-weary traveler. He’s much more worldly than Grayson. That boy has seen some stuff.

For a million reasons, we cannot take him on a permanent basis. With the primary reason being my poor health. Bringing him here and not being well enough to get him and give him what he needs is the wrong thing to do. I know this. Still my heart is crushing under the weight of it. And there’s not a single other person who’ll stand in the gap for him.

I am committed to fostering the relationship between the brothers. We will spend as much time with him as we reasonably can. He’s already been to visit us twice, the last time for three nights! We had yummy dinners, we shopped,, played, watched basketball, talked, laughed—so many things. There are a couple of photos I’ll share. And, as I’ve heard so many times: Be the person you needed when you were a child.

Dollar Tree Teachable Moments

Yesterday, my youngest son and I went to Dollar Tree. We were looking for a couple of specific things, but Grayson being Grayson, he found some Hot Wheels he wanted. He also found some Big League Chew that he wanted to try. When he asked for the next thing, I told him no. I reminded him that we went there for specific things that weren’t the things he wanted to buy. So that was it.

A fresh-faced young man was in line in front of us. He’d glanced back a couple of times. He finally turned around and said, “Hey Buddy. Why don’t you go pick out one more thing?” Grayson looked at me to see if he could. I agreed and off he went.

The young man apologized for not asking me first. I told him it was fine. He then told me he was just back from basic training. I asked, “Fort Campbell?” He responded, “Parris Island,” I thanked the young marine for his service and for granting a small wish for a little boy. He wished Grayson well as he left the store. Grayson thanked him again.

My faith in the youth of this world was a little bit restored.

This was such a great interaction. I really didn’t think it could get much better….until I saw what Grayson had bought: sugar free chocolate coconut candies for his dad, who struggles with his sugar. Nothing for himself.

And again, my faith in the youth of this world was a little bit restored.

My most requested part of fall/winter holiday meals

I wanted to hop on and do this quick post just in case someone needs a last minute thing to wow your host tomorrow.

So the first time I had this was at my hairstylist’s. I went in for a cut and color near the holidays and she asked me if I wanted some candied pecans. Of course my answer was, “Heck yeah!” I loved them so much that I called her later that evening and asked for the recipe. I even included the recipe card with several Christmas cards a couple of Christmases ago.

The recipe is fairly simple and easy to make. It is a bit time consuming. Once you have these nuts put together and on your pan, you bake them for a solid hour at 250°. The catch is, you have to stir them every 15 minutes, so if you can’t commit to that, this is not for you.

I do know that pecans are expensive. You might be able to make this with a different kind of nuts. I’ve never tried because I love pecans.

I’m attaching the recipe card and several photos from start to the oven. I can’t post the finished photo yet because I just started that hour of baking.

Let me know if you try these. and have a happy Thanksgiving!

Actual card from my personal recipe book
Pecans coated with egg white mixture
Cinnamon, sugar and salt mix in gallon bag
Coated pecans mixed with cinnamon mix (shake them up really well)
Pour your coated pecans onto a baking sheet (this one’s a giant) lined with parchment paper.
Spread them out into a single layer.
Pop those babies into your preheated oven.
Stir every 15 minutes for an hour. Then you’re good to go!

Raising Special Needs Children in Today’s World

It is so hard to be a mama, even in the best circumstances. Trust me when I say every age and every stage has its challenges. But watching your neurodivergent child being mistreated by others, including other children, parents, and teachers, is a whole new level of hurt.

I’ve already shared that my youngest, Grayson, was born addicted and has a whole alphabet soup of diagnoses. I guess the overarching diagnosis he has is autism.

What you think autism is and what it actually is are completely different things. Autism is a SPECTRUM disorder. That means autistic people might have things in common (low frustration threshold, need to organize things in their environment, for example), but no two people with autism are exactly the same.

In Grayson’s case, impulse control is one of his biggest struggles. I send him to his room for misbehaving. He removes the bar from his window and throws his toys out into the yard. There’s no discernible reason he can give when I ask him why he did this. His standard answer is, “I don’t know.” His doctor has assured me that he’s being honest and he probably doesn’t know why he does different things.

And aren’t we always hearing people talk about how kids are cruel? Well, I’m here to tell you, kids are not born cruel. They learn this at home. Children are a reflection of their parents. If kids are bullies, you can count on it that their parents are, too. When they treat the children they feel are weaker with disdain or contempt, they learned this at home.

Grayson can be very annoying. (Like any other kid.) He always wants to play with his “friends”. I know the parents get tired of him. Because they’ve told me so. Which probably means their children have also heard them say things like that.

He knows all the bad words. (And if your kid goes to public school, so do they.) When he’s cornered he lashes out. He gives his most precious things away in hopes that this will make someone want to be his friend. And the kids are well aware of this. Still, they gladly accept whatever he’s giving away that day, whether it’s Pokémon or cash.

For me, the heartbreaking thing is that Grayson can’t help himself. He didn’t choose this. We’re doing our best with him. He has a lot of resources. But he’ll always be Grayson.

And there’s so much that’s good about Grayson. He’s funny. He loves hard. And he’d do anything for the people he cares about. He loves basketball and the great outdoors. He’s a good little fisherman. He’s great at mental math. He has a loving spirit (in spite of all the trauma.)

If you know someone like Grayson, I urge you to make a point of being kind to them. Encourage your children to be kind to them. Treat them with respect and dignity. And never forget that words have power.

I will leave you with this:

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’” ~ Matthew 25:40 NIV

For the Boys

One of my biggest joys in life is being a mom to my three sons. And if you want to make an enemy for life, mess with either of them. I’ll make a career out of anyone who messes with these guys. 🙂

I have a son who just turned 31. He’s a working musician. He’s probably the single most talented person I know, and I know some talented people.

My second son (a child I really didn’t think I’d have) is 18 and a recent high school graduate. This boy is a natural academic AND a natural athlete.

Then there’s the 7 year old. (I definitely didn’t think I’d have this one!) He was born addicted and in foster care at 6 weeks old. I was his great aunt, sister to his grandmother. He came to our home when he was 8 months old. His adoption anniversary was in March.

Each of these boys have made me a better person. They challenge me and frustrate me and uplift me every single day. I am thankful God allowed me to be their mother.

Motherhood has many stages. First time moms with new babies are often sleep-deprived and unsure of their parenting skills. By the time the next one comes along, those moms are seasoned veterans who likely feel as though they’ve spent time “in the trenches”. Eventually you get to (finally) become friends with your adult children. (Remember all those times you said, “I’m your mother, not your friend”?

I’m in that last stage with the older boys. One is just now at this point. The oldest has been there for a while. They’re both in relationships with lovely young women who treat them well. The oldest is actually engaged.

Side note: I started collecting a few pieces of nice jewelry some years back, with a goal of gifting these things to the boys for their future wives. So when he told me he was going to propose, I took him to the safe where he “shopped” for an engagement ring. She loved it!

The teenager lost his favorite high school teacher to COVID19 in September. He had this teacher all 4 years of high school. They also worked together (along with my son’s best friend) at a local golf course. They were very close and my son is crushed.

He and his friend felt like they really needed to attend the funeral service, which was about a 3 hour drive into another state. Boy, was I nervous! It was all for naught, though. They made a good plan, arrived safely, and honored their teacher. They both also spoke at the memorial held by the school. Brave boys to let others see their hurting hearts. I’ve never been so proud.

Then there’s the little guy. He’s on the spectrum and we’re learning as we go. He’s very high maintenance—there’s everything from keeping the meds straight, arranging various therapies and appointments, and entertaining him. (Because everyone knows it’s a mother’s job to entertain her bored children.) (Just kidding!)

He struggled with virtual school last year. I honestly felt like he wasn’t learning anything. So, after the holiday break, we prayerfully decided to send him back to in-person school.

He has some sensory issues, so I worried he wouldn’t wear his mask. He was getting a new teacher and he doesn’t handle change very well. He has asthma, so he’s vulnerable to illness. I was scared to death. But I knew it was the right decision for him.

Unfortunately, since coronavirus arrived on scene, he’d learned almost nothing. I spoke with his wonderful teacher and asked what she thought of potentially having him repeat the first grade. She agreed that it was the best option. The main issue was that he couldn’t read.

This awesome teacher agreed to have him in her class again this school year. (She’s definitely a candidate for sainthood in my book!) Thataway, he didn’t have to acclimate to a new teacher and classroom. He comes home daily and shares something he learned. He’ll say, “I know what’s 10 plus 10….20! He can now also read enough to make calls from my phone’s contact list! (Often to their dismay!)

Wherever you are in your motherhood journey, just know that it’s worth it. You will survive, but you might need a little help along the way. And when you have the opportunity to see the good people that your children have grown into, take a minute to pat yourself on the back, because YOU did THAT.

Big love to you.

Make Molehills Out of Mountains

I’m having a tough week. I feel like I might have a cold. Only where would I have gotten a cold? I rarely leave the house. But everyone else does. So I could’ve gotten it from one of them. Anyway, mostly I’m just more tired than I usually am. I’m congested. My whole body aches. And I’ve picked up a cough. I’m monitoring it, don’t worry. If it gets worse, I’ll get (another) Covid-19 test.

I did manage to shower today. Should I be embarassed to say I can’t remember my last shower? I’m not. People without a chronic illness don’t understand how difficult it is to do these everyday things. Just taking a shower literally exhausts me.

I have another IV Remicade infusion on Thursday. I hate this drug. It hasn’t helped me at all. Like every drug they’ve tried, it’s hurt more than it’s helped. By now it’s been over three years of steroids, nearly two and a half years of Methotrexate and now this. I really just want to say I’m not doing it anymore. No more drugs. No more treatments. No more of anything that hasn’t helped and has only made me feel worse.

Being sick has caused so much discord in my home life and even with my friends. I can’t tell you how many people have said, “How many more treatments do you have to get?” Or, my personal favorite, “I thought you’d finished treatment.” People are okay with you being sick for about two weeks. After that, they’re ready for everything to be back to normal. I’m ready, too. But there’s no going back. There’s no cure for what’s wrong with me.

And there’s the frustration of needing/wanting to stay home. I have virtually no immune system. Every time I leave the house I’m risking an atypical infection; not just Covid. But nobody seems to get it. I just don’t want to spend time with my family anymore.

Did I mention the pain? It’s breaking me.