If Ever a Favor was Needed, It's NOW! Please?

Here’s the story of my mother’s living nightmare:

My parents built a house on a one acre lot when I was a little girl. The property (3690 Haggin Rd) is just outside the city limits and now in the Lake Whatcom Watershed. My dad spent five years going through the process to subdivide this lot into three lots. One lot with the existing house and two other buildable lots. My dad completed the short plat officially about a year ago. He spent those five years going from the city to the county and back again, along with many places in between, jumping through every hoop he was told to jump through. It was a full time job. He spent over 50 thousand dollars of his retirement savings to complete this project, knowing that he would recoup the money when the first lot sold. They were able to put the lots on the market over a year ago, listing them at the higher end price. After my father died in April, my mom wisely lowered the prices and quickly reached mutual acceptance with a buyer (a wonderful man, Chet Kenoyer). 

During Chet’s feasibility study, the secretary at Water District 7, sent a letter to the city asking, (in error, because we had clearly been granted water service already) for “new water service”. The city wrote back, “no” (because after the 2007 lawsuit between the city and the water district, in which even the FBI was involved, they are bound to only always say “no”). This began a snowball of unfortunate events. We’ve attended meetings with the water district and their commissioners, spoken to numerous people in city hall, made phone call after phone call, only to have it land first on the desk of the city attorney and now on the agenda of the city council this coming Monday evening, August 15th. A closed doors meeting. Prior approval of water service to the lots was granted during the five year process and is documented in many ways. Water District 7’s attorney submitted a long document to the city attorney showing that every single signature along the way was written with the understanding of water services granted by the city. 

Basically, my mom is caught in the crossfire of politics at its ugliest. I can’t tell you how many times we’ve stood in city offices last month only to have the people on the other side of the desk glance over both shoulders to see if any of their coworkers are listening before they lean in and lower their voices to speak to us! Everybody is afraid of everybody, it appears. They will confess “off the record” that they believe we clearly have rights to water and then refer us on to the next guy. We’ve been told over and over that Water District 7 should never have asked the question in the beginning but should have just provided us with water. It really comes down people jockeying to protect themselves and their departments from being sued and to which group is least likely to win in a lawsuit...which is my mother. 

If the council votes against her it would makes her property worth little to nothing. It would mean that she lost 50k of her retirement money. It would, in essence, mean that the City of Bellingham would have stolen from one of it’s finest citizens. This is all so clearly wrong.

My mom and I need your help. Would you do us a personal favor and write a letter to the Bellingham city council members? Their email address is: ccmail@cob.org . Please send a copy to my email as well: kristine3140@gmail.com . 

Even though you don’t have first hand knowledge of my mom’s stack of papers you can appeal to the council to rule favorably for her. Safe drinking water is great...but at the expense of an old lady’s future? Are the two mutually exclusive? The value of her land is her retirement money. She has no backup plan financially. If you are a longtime Whatcom County resident you have every right to weigh in on this situation. 

You can imagine the incredible difficulty for my mom to go through all of this without my father. He died in April. She misses him terribly. And now to have his project torn out from under her without his first hand knowledge to help untangle the mess. This has been a nightmare. 

Here is a copy of a Letter to the Editor I wrote a couple weeks ago but haven’t yet sent to the Herald. It explains it all from another angle:

We may be gaining a future of clean drinking water, but look at what we’re losing in the process. 

There is a sweet old lady who has lived in the watershed long before the term was common vernacular. She is kind. The kind of old person you would hope to be someday. You probably even know her. She would give you the shirt off her back if you expressed a need for it. She has contributed good to this community her entire life. 

You could chart her life by snapshots of her at the Ski to Sea parade every year. One year playing clarinet in the BHS marching band parade under Ralph Pauley; a few years later watching with a baby on her lap; later cheering her nieces and nephews as they marched and helping her aging mother find a lawn chair; still later enjoying her grandchildren all lined up on the curb in front of her as the parade goes by. 

If ever there was a Mrs. I-love-Bellingham, she is it. 

Her husband died just three months ago, but not before he received final approval from Whatcom County to short plat their one acre lot into three lots. It took him 5 years and over 50 thousand dollars, borrowed from his retirement savings, before he saw his little square of real estate made ready to sell. Two months after his death, mutual acceptance was reached between the widow and a solid buyer. The economy forced the price sadly low, but she stayed hopeful that it would be enough, if stretched just right, to provide for her future. 

But now this dear lady is caught in a crossfire of politics at its ugliest The water access that she paid for and has page after page of approval signatures for is suddenly being withheld. Not because her documentation and proof is unsatisfactory, but because after the great lawsuit of 2007, that had nothing to do with her, each political player seems primarily concerned with lawsuits rather than honoring the commitment of water to these lots. Likely the very people she elected, the people whose wages are made of her tax dollars, do not have the guts to do right by her. It seems as if self or departmental protection is the sole priority. 

She cries herself to sleep wishing her husband were here, thinking that he would know what to do. 

I want to be proud of Bellingham and our clean, eco-friendly ways. The direction and the goals of our community are good. But can we not meet those goals without robbing from the people that make us possible? 

Commissioners and Soy Sauce

My normal daily life is pretty much over the top busy. I try to not think too hard about it lest a nervous breakdown show up on my doorstep some morning. But this week...um...ya. Way, way, way over the top.  

First, there is the spilled milk sorts of things. Only try a Costco sized bottle of soy sauce basically exploding in the kitchen when a unnamed person sort of missed the counter. Of course, it had to be just as I was on my way out the door to meet with city officials to beg for mercy or common sense, whichever they are willing to come forth with first.

And my favorite part of the week has been the summer version of the flu. Flu in the summer is twice as wrong as flu in the winter. And I'm now viewing the 24 hour throw up flu as the friendly version of the flu. It's way more pleasant to puke every half hour all night long rather than sit on the couch with a fever for seven days. And, it couldn't be just one person with a fever for seven days. It has to be four. So far. Which says nothing of the severe seasonal allergy turned to bilateral conjunctivitis along with a suspect bacterial infection AND the flu. Poor Ania. So, of course, you go to the doctor, which just about gives her a panic attack (I'm not kidding), and then when you go to fill the $200 dollars worth of prescriptions they smile nicely and tell you the system is saying you have no medical insurance as of June 30th. So you take your VERY sick person home without medicine and start making dead end phone calls for hours, to no avail. You end up asking the doctor for cheaper medicine, which includes the need to dispense eye drops (um, dropped into her eye!), which is pretty much not an option because of last year's allergies which still produces post traumatic stress syndrome if you even TALK about it in front of her. And, of course, it's hard to get past pink eye when you can't drop eye drops into a person's eyes.

Plus it was my birthday. Which, of course, is mostly a happy thing, except when everybody is too sick to celebrate it, which is totally fine because the next best thing to celebrating your birthday is to keep thinking that you are going to celebrate it TOMORROW and then postponing it another day and another day so that all week long you are about to celebrate your birthday. And looking forward to celebrating your birthday is way better than actually doing it, so it turned out great for me. But the sick people end up feeling a little bit bad about it, and guilt of any form is the last thing you need when your tonsils are almost cutting off your ability to breath. So there is then all the psychological soothing that needs to happen.

And a great thing that happened (but still took hours and my friend says that even good things are stressful sometimes) was that we sold the van and bought a new car. Cody pretty much gets Favorite Person for the next 7 months because he was the impetus behind all of it and now it's no longer hanging over my head as 'one of the big things that needs to get done before I start classes in the fall.' My favorite part of selling the van was the guy I sold it to. I couldn't understand his English to save my life. Like, if someone said, "We're going to shoot you unless you can tell us what this man is saying," I would be dead. And how many polite ways can you say, "What?" on the phone? I felt quite horrible about it. And because he was getting a bank loan and he was a careful buyer with lots of questions (which Cody answered), we had to talk a LOT. By the time we were done we were pretty much best friends because I just flat out told him on the second day at the bank, "Hey. I'm so, so sorry that I can't understand a word you say." And he smiled, explained that he was from Africa (I had figured it out) and from then on out we were tight. I basically babysat his adorable one year old in the bank lobby for over an hour while the banker woman worked up the paperwork. He told me I was a "strong lady" when he found out I have 5 children and no husband and that his wife complains with one child. I assured him that I also complained when I had one child. In the end, they got a great van for a good price and I had money enough to go buy a car that gets decent gas mileage.

Favorite Person had done research to find the PERFECT car for me. I needed great gas mileage, not a white car, and not an old lady car. Cody picked out the year, make, and model of the car he thought would be best. We test drove one in Lynden (while sick people were babysitting sick people at home), then drove to Woodinville to drive another one. Cody won rewards in heaven when he did not take the ripe opportunity to mock me when, after we decided to buy the car in Woodinville, I realize I hadn't brought my checkbook. (I don't carry one anymore, which is a fabulous method unless you are buying a car out of town.) The next morning, Collin and I drove back to Woodinville, paid for everything, completed all the paperwork, became best friends with the kind Russian man, looked at 40 pictures of his 18 year old daughter on his cell phone, said all our goodbyes, got into the NEW (to me) perfect car...only to be unable to start it. *sigh* It so fit my week. Collin comes over, "Mom, push the gas pedal down!" (Really? Oh, duh, silly me! jk I had been pushing the gas pedal.) He tried it. No start. Probably my favorite moment of the week was when I walked back into the office at the little dealership to tell them the car wouldn't start. It was SO worth the look on all their faces!!! Haha. The car was out of gas. It's been perfect ever since. LOVE my new car. Thank you, Codance!

And all of that doesn't even get into the biggest, horriblest thing. It's really the topic of another blogpost. Or, actually, a letter to the editor of the Herald (which I've already written). We've spent hours trying to find someone with guts enough to stop posturing against lawsuits from their political counterparts and just acknowledge that the city and the water district have both given prior approval to my parents to serve the completed, short platted lots with water. We've had a lot of people in different offices glance over their shoulders to see who in the office can hear them, move in a little closer, lower their voices, and say, "You have water. You have documentation. There is no question here." And then refer us on to someone else. We're slowly working our way up the chain of command. We've been to water district meetings with commissioners, to city hall over and over again...ugh. It's criminal. And my tax dollars are paying their salaries. My dad spent 5 years completing the short plat, along with over 50k dollars.

And of course, because the short plat was my dad's project, it's stirs up missing him, which stirs up grieving losing him, which colors all the other stuff I've already written about my week. I can only imagine how badly my mom is hurting through all of this. I know that the kids are far from done working through the sadness of losing him.

A few more weeks like this and it will feel like a vacation when school starts up in the fall. Public apologies to my neglected friends if I've failed to connect or left details unfinished. I think we'll have time to catch up in heaven. Or maybe next week.

Sunshine out of Hand Grenades

I don't really consider myself a writer in the real sense of the word. Writers can write stories. And they love it. And they get paid to write.

But there's a different type of writer, and I am that. Some people have to write so that the thought can be completed...or else they're stuck with unfinished experiences. A character in a novel that I just finished reading said it this way, "Writing helps. When you write about something, when you really think about it, you know it in a different way." I would say that you know it in a complete way. I understood this a lot better in myself when I saw it in Kaisha. 

I would keep a blog even if I knew that nobody but God was ever going to read it. My blog is a mixed version of scrapbooking and journaling and it gives me a venue to complete my thoughts. Ultimately, it's all about me. Which is nice because there isn't much in my life that has anything to do with me.

The problem is that you have to be socially appropriate and avoid all hint of defamation of character in a blog. And when large portions of your life are made up of crap, if you will, thrust upon you by others, you sort of have to pretend that those portions of your life don't really exist when you sit down to write a blogpost. So, your personal hell is non existent and your life looks all cherries and sunshine. 

Which is why I love the above picture! It's an album cover. I love the colors, style, and earthy-retro look. Flowers and dirt. Love that. But look closer. The flowers are made up of skulls and poisons and bombs and every sort of death and sadness.  And so are the leaves and the dirt. I was so surprised when I noticed it. And it was so endearing to me.

If a person can feel a kindred spirit with an album cover...I did. I realized that THIS is why my life looks all cherries and sunshine. Because it is. All the day-in-day-out crappy stuff I deal with doesn't turn my life into a disgusting mess. Somehow, instead, God takes all the skeletons that I keep having to deal with and arranges them in some clever way and makes something beautiful out of it all. Not because I'm beautiful or clever or sunshiny. But because He is. I don't get it on one level. And I don't want to get it on another level. But yet I sense it every day. I see it happening. I'm pretty much staying out of it. I figure He knows what He's doing, even though it looks all wrong at times to me, and who am I to get in His way? 

One of Those Nasty Firsts

image by Caleb Scansen, one of my favorite photographers

check out his Facebook page Caleb Scansen Photography

I had a rather dad-less sort of Father's Day today. The only time I felt tears threatening to appear was when I was putting Ania to bed and we were reading a poorly written children's book that had a story of a family getting on a plane to go visit their grandpa and grandma. She looked at me and said, "My grandpa lives far away." I asked her where her grandpa lives now? She tilted her head, said "um....", furrowed her little eyebrows, tilted her head the other way, put her finger up to her lips, and said, "what's it called?" It's like she was trying to remember the name of the city. Trying to recall Everett or Olympia or San Diego. Like in her mind the only thing she can imagine is that he's just living somewhere else on the planet. Which sort of breaks my heart to think she has an inkling of an impression that he chose to leave. I finally said, "Heaven?" She said, "Ya, that's it." And then we were back onto our nearly plotless early reader.

Yesterday my mom and I were driving to Samish Island for a family celebration and mom said, "Tomorrow is Father's Day." I said, "Ya, that sucks." Which pretty much was all we needed to say. I know she misses him more than she ever though imaginable. And even though I don't cry, (I honestly doubt whether I have a tear left inside my body after my past couple years) I do have a hole inside.

You know that passing, fluttery sense you get when you know you've forgotten something really important but what it actually is that you forgot hasn't quite come to mind yet? I walk around with that. That slight uh-oh feeling. And usually, when you force the complete thought to come, you realize it's just the camera or the water bottles or the field trip permission slip sitting on the kitchen counter and life will go on without it or you'll make an extra trip back to get it. No big deal. But when I stop to register what my uh-oh feeling is about...it's my dad. And that he's not at home tinkering in his shop today. He's not sitting in his chair with the phone next to him on the table. I can't ring and ask him my copper oxidization questions. Then I miss him. But usually not for very long because someone is crying or fighting or locking their keys in their car or getting mono, and I have to go save that child from their latest crisis.

I actually hope the little dad shaped hole in my heart never goes away. I can make friends with the hurt so that I can have the joy of remembering. And when it's my happy turn to walk into heaven I hope it'll be just like we hadn't ever been apart.

In. In. In. In!

I got in! It's official. The letter came. Huge sigh of relief to know that I have a working, viable plan to be able to feed, clothe, and shelter my little people for the next decade or two! A brief sadness to say goodbye to my two plan Bs...copy editing and PT school. But super keen to be studying PTA stuff.

I settled on physical therapist assistant kind of the same way I settled on adopting from Korea and not Russia or China or all the other countries of the world (topic for a different blogpost). I wanted something in health care, but it couldn't be gross...I fail at graciously handling bodily excrements of any sort (go, Collin!). I wanted something I could work either part time or full time. Couldn't work night shifts with little kids home alone. I wanted to work with people primarily but paperwork is cool too. A job that could be applied in a variety of settings so I could change it up if I get a little bored later on. A nice balance, preferably, between boring and extremely stressful.  I wanted to go to some school, but probably not a ton. Needed to get into and out of school quickly, the sooner the better. And of course, the more money, the merrier.

I put in over one hundred hours of volunteer/job shadow time last quarter at a local physical therapy office and loved it. Completely wished I could go on to PT school rather than PTA. I would love to diagnose and write up treatment plans! I looked into it some and decided it could be a back-up plan to take out a home equity loan and hunker down for 5 years of school. Was almost hoping...but the practical, go-live-life side of me is relieved to have just 5 quarters in front of me instead. Then I can get done with it, get a job, and go on hikes and bike rides and driving trips and field trips and hang with my kids and play more Xbox.

My mom texted me and said, "finally something good happened." It feels like that. Life has been hard for a long time. Well, and I guess going to school full time while being a single mom doesn't exactly look easy...but it's definitely something good.

Ania's class walked to the library. 

She got her first library card!

Tattered

I did it! I opened an etsy store. It's called a.little.bit Tattered. Very plain and simple. I'm just at the beginning of getting it going. Who knows, I could bail on the whole thing tomorrow. I really don't have time, but I really don't have time for most of my life, so why let that stop me? Other than buying the supplies to make the pretties, it's free to make a store and pretty cheap to sell stuff. 

If there were a story, it would go like this: On my girls weekend away a couple months ago, I came across a book on metal stamped jewelry. I loved it. Came home, bought the book, and showed my dad. He was a metal worker by trade and he was totally into having me come up to his shop and help me get started and show me how to do it. He had stamping letters and numbers that he gave me. I put in a couple orders on websites for other supplies. I was so excited to have a project to work on with him. I pictured hanging out in his cozy, warm shop in the garage...it was going to be the best!

Before my metal stamping stuff was shipped to me, my quiet, kind, devoted dad passed away. I miss him  terribly. I think about him everyday. My mom, brother, and I found a handful of tools in his shop that might work for what I was hoping to do. And a week ago I started figuring out how to do it. I have a steep learning curve without my dad to show me. But I've been having fun trying.

I have a dozen different projects in mind, but decided just to start slow. My dad had some copper sheets in his shop, so I started practicing with those. I've always loved the contrast of something earthy and rugged combined with something glitzy and fancy. Like brown paper bags and organdy ribbon. Or dirt and diamonds. I purposely and accidentally don't line the letters all exactly straight or try to keep them centered. And when they don't press into the metal exactly evenly, it's all the better. And I get to hammer the metal to make it look beaten. And when I cut out the pieces it doesn't matter if I cut in a straight line. It's all refreshingly inexact! At the same time, you can shiny it up and put a pretty stone with it. It totally fits my world right now.

I'm ending up with charms that tell my story. Both the dirt and diamonds of my world. Life is hard. You get knocked around, beat up a bit, broken hearted, tattered...both from others and yourself. And just life. Life is hard. Then add death and things get even harder. But enter Jesus! Sent to save us. Rescued. From ourselves, our mistakes and our self righteousness. From the bad guys in your life that hurt you. From just the messed up fallenness of our whole stinking planet. He picks you up, dusts you off, sets you back on your feet, makes you his own. His. Puts a little sign around your neck that says you belong to him. Taken. Tells you that no matter what anybody else says or thinks, you are everything to him. Treasured. And he will walk this icky world with you. He's done it before and he'll do it with you. Loved.

My friend, Marie, is having a blog contest. I'll copy her. Nothing is better than something free. I'll get back to you on it. Alissa told me I need to get to bed. Yes, mommy. Guten Nacht.

Two Funerals

I attended a funeral yesterday for a friend that died of colon cancer in her mid 50's. Her diagnosis was 5 1/2 months ago. The service was beautiful. She planned it herself. Her husband was amazing to share the story of her life. They have three great kids. Her love for Christ was evident.

Yesterday was also the funeral (half the country away) of a friend that we had met in China. He was 50. He'd been fighting cancer for years. He left behind two young kids and an amazing wife. Wish I could have attended that funeral. His love for Christ was firm. He was so ready for heaven. He had endured so much pain and sickness.

My friend's dad died last month too. An old family friend lost his mother.

And my dad.

It's a lot of sadness. A lot of holding tight to hope and heaven. I'm not asking why. I think I get it.

Alissa's image

For Crying Out Loud

image by Alissa

I've NEVER been able to get past the way a baby crying at bedtime sort of sucks the last bit of the day's life out of you. You would think that with the fifth child I would have learned how to shrug it off. Not. Even worse, maybe, is a five year old crying at bedtime. Ania's never really done bedtime gracefully. But the last 7 months have been seriously horrible. 

Every part of the getting-ready-for-bed process has been crisis triggers for her over the years. Brushing the teeth. Washing the hair. Wearing certain pajamas. Potty issues. Can't find the stuffies. The blankets aren't just so. Etc. All have sparked the nightly meltdown. It's not that she's naughty, although I'm sure there is some of that...its just hard for her. And me. Once she is finally settled into bed, we have civil time. We chat and talk and read and laugh and sing. But as soon as I get up to leave, she falls apart. 

She cries, sometimes sobs. She calls to me and asks questions. Fears. Sadness. Completely unsettled. Six months ago it included screaming and anger. Without exaggeration, it sometimes took over 2 hours of this before she was asleep. By the end I would be crying too. And nobody in the house could sleep until it was over. 

There were lots of contributing factors in the fall. Kaisha moved out. Which meant that Ania's roommate moved out of her room and it was her first time ever sleeping alone. Then her dad moved away. In the spring, my job shadow hours started before she woke up. So twice a week there was no mommy in the house when she got out of bed. Then her Papa died. I'd cry too. I wavered between gushing with compassion for her to pulling my hair out. It was a nightmare. And at the worst possible time of day for me. I was exhausted and there was never a break.

This past week, with the exception of Wednesday night, she fell asleep every night without crying!!! No crying. No questions shouted out. No whimpering or growling or talking mad to her stuffs. Mostly no emotional meltdown. Ahhhhhh. And she is starting to fall asleep quickly. Maybe within 10 minutes of me leaving the room.

You have no idea how HUGE this is for her and I. Huge.

We have the most adorable bedtime routine now. First, I try to start getting her ready for bed at 7:30. Which usually doesn't quite happen. One great thing is that [drum roll...] she is brushing her own teeth now. *sigh of relief* Some nights I pick out her pajamas [feel the tension] but some nights I let her wear whatever she wants [oh, the joy]. Then I sit on her bed and we basically do a reading lesson for about a half hour. [She LOVES it!] We pray. We sing. I lay next to her while she reads to me. I kiss her. She asks if she can come snuggle me in bed in the morning. I always say yes and tell her I love to see her every morning. I turn out the light, go straight to the bathroom to get her a drink (even if she already had a drink), walk back in with the light off, stand there while she pretends to drink, put the cup on the dresser and walk out. 

Last fall I would have paid thousands to have her not cry at bedtime. Now...I would pay thousands to keep it this way.

Bohemian Skirt with a Touch of Crocs

Ania has about ten articles of clothing that she is willing to wear. You're looking at four of them, unless we count the shoes. Five. To get her to wear anything else is just shy of a battle. I figure I have too many events in my life already, so she wears these clothes a LOT. The trick is washing them when she's not looking. 

My mom had promised Ania a quick trip to the park after school one day this week, contingent upon the sun showing up. Which he did. So they went. She asked about Papa. She wanted to know if he was at the dentist? And was heaven a long way? She said she wanted him to come back.

Maybe it's a good thing to have a five year old around to speak bluntly, forcing you to acknowledge a reality that you'd rather ignore. She says stuff that many adults can't say because it's so awkward. I think Ania is growing us up. She's definitely sanding away my rough edges. Fashion wars or honest questions.  Either way, she's good for me. 

A Mess of Contradictions

Isn't there a secret part of you that wants to travel around the world taking pictures of cool garbage cans? Be honest. 

I'm so glad this day is over. I would have done anything to skip this day in history. But I also wouldn't have missed it for the world. A funeral is such a mess of contradictions inside you. Loving my dad with intensity, but hating that he died. So proud of him, his life, who he was ... while in complete denial that his life is all past tense now. All too aware that he's gone from this life, but totally expecting him to come quietly up behind me and take his place in the empty chair to my right to watch this funeral with us. Enjoying every thought of him but feeling horrible pain from those very same thoughts. 

Don't you think that just one teeny, tiny glimpse into heaven, just a deja vu flicker through your mind ...  that it would clear up the whole mess quite nicely? Heaven and hell and eternity and God and sin and Christ and grace and life and time and death ... all of it would become crystal clear. It would be like one of those "ah-ha" moments in life. That one glimpse would give us all we need to live out tomorrow without the conflict of pain inside us. One tiny peek at heaven and we'd all say, "Ooooooooooh. I get it." 

I've always loved the George MacDonald quote, "If you knew what God knows about death you would clap your listless hands."

It's right about there that faith has to kick in. Because I don't know, by personal experience, what God knows about death. This side of death, we simply don't get it. Death is so permanent and black and icky. But is it? Or is that just the side that we see and feel? Could there be a flip side? God says there is. An amazing flip side. Evidently death in Christ has a side to it that is permanently beautiful. That if we really could see it we'd all be fighting for first in line to get there. 

I've never seen the pyramids in Egypt, but I have faith that they're there ... because someone else said so. I've never seen the streets of gold or the crystal sea or the throne of God in heaven, but I have faith that they're there ... because Someone else said so. Well, uh-huh, I get it that I could hop a plane and see, touch, taste, hear and smell the pyramids and verify them as fact. Well, maybe that's the sort of thing that happens when you pass from this life to the next. Heaven becomes fact. 

I don't know. I'm just your average Joe without any great corner on empirical data trying to make sense of my day. I do have faith. Faith in the goodness of God and that truth is in Him. I'm going to crawl into bed now. And clap my listless hands for my dad. 

Papa

I don't have it right now to write a carefully worded, all-that-the-world-should-know sort of post about my dad right now, though there is much to say in that way. He was the dad I would pick out of all the dads. He was the poster boy for the perfect grandpa.

He died tonight. And the rest of us start the painful process of missing him. The days ahead look hard. My heart breaks for my kids and my mom and my brother. And for me. We'll make it. I do know that. Not because we're so strong and able, but because I've seen over and over and over that God gives you what it takes to make it. It's a faith thing. He doesn't fail in this. I don't try to muster up any strength. I just go to bed tired, knowing that whatever is coming tomorrow is covered.

In the ICU

Alissa's photo

So, my dad is in the hospital on life support as of this morning. The cardiologist said there is a 50/50 chance of his heart being able to sustain life on its own when they try weaning him off the meds and the balloon pump, probably tomorrow. My brother will arrive into town at 2AM. I haven't seen him in years. I can't wait. He's a great man.  

I'm waiting for Ania to fall asleep so I can go back to sit with my mom. Mia talked all the way home from the hospital tonight about the losses she has felt the past couple months and how hard it will be for her if Papa dies too. How much can one little eight year old take? My heart breaks for her and for my other kids. Will I have what it takes to walk with them through this grief too? I'm tired. I need to get my PTA school application in. All three older kids have tough academic loads right now. Kaisha is working two jobs. Collin is working part time too. Sigh.

We'll make it. There are no other options. And, maybe Dad will be fine. 

Leave the Mess

image by Alissa

cute legs belong to Kaisha

I've never been happier to clean my house than today. 

For eleven weeks I've forced myself to walk past the messes. Decent grades and a sparkling house were mutually exclusive. I could pick one or the other. And while I'm onto true confessions, cooking didn't happen either. I think Grant cooked more meals in the past three months in this house than I did. (Yes, I fed the kids. And read to Ania. And watched Psych with Mia. And stayed up late laughing with my older kids. Just the cooking and cleaning didn't happen. No people neglect.) 

School won't always be like this. Just this quarter. Future class schedules will be the same or harder, but I won't be going through the stupid life drama that tainted every waking moment of this quarter. 

I finished my last Anatomy & Physiology test online this morning, and I have one more exam that doesn't open online until Monday morning at 6AM and I don't even need to study for that one. I'm so close to being done it feels like being done! So to celebrate, I've been cleaning house. 

You know how when someone has a terrible accident and they really, honestly thought that they were going to die ... and then they didn't die? And not only did they not die, but they made a full recovery. And then you hear how they see the world in a whole new light? The sky is bluer, the grass is greener, the sun shines warmer ... ?

That's how I felt about vacuuming under the couch cushions this afternoon. It was beautiful. I loved it.

I've never been happier to clean my house than today.

Purple Skies

If the sky turned purple, and everybody knew it, but sort of all stood around pretending they didn’t notice ... it would be awkward. It would be far better if someone just said what everyone had already figured out, “Hey, the sky is purple.” 

It really hasn’t been unspoken, but now that it’s all official and final with the government and judges and stuff, I’ll just say it. I’ve been officially divorced. It’s been 5 months since he moved out. It’s sad and horrible and not what I wanted. But it’s done. In one sense, it was the end of the world. In another sense, it’s not the end of the world. Hopefully all the gut wrenching part is far behind me now and I can put all of my energy into tomorrow. And I really am excited about what’s ahead. I feel a little bit like a kid two weeks before Christmas. They know that something great is just around the corner ... but it doesn’t quite yet put butterflies in your stomach. I have a lot of joy. I’m actually very happy. A little shell shocked, but somehow happy.

Deja vu Flashy Thing

I walked in on this scene a couple nights ago. Mia sitting with Ania at the end of Ani's bed. Mia with her 800 page book, the sixth in the series she started a couple months ago, and Ania with her 12 page early reader. Ania making lots of noise and motion, Mia completely undistracted, so fully absorbed in her book that I could hardly get her to look up for the picture. Mia wearing her princess outfit to bed, Ani in her monkey pajamas. It is sooo them.

You know how a body, when it experiences freezing temperatures, focuses all it's attention to keep it's core and vital organs alive? I'm thinking that's what's happening in my head. Except I'm not cold. I'm learning TONS of stuff in my A&P class, and my three other classes, deal with badlifecrap on a regular basis ... maybe a bit much for my little brain to keep track of, so it's focusing all its attention on keeping A&P and the kids alive, and all the peripheral information is out the window.

So, today, I did the blondest thing I have ever done. Ever. It was ten thirty this morning and I had fed everybody hours ago and was just getting around to eating my own breakfast. There were 2 frozen waffles (I did. I fed my kids frozen waffles. All my cooking time is going toward studying too.) left and I was going to eat them. So, as I was about to make them, I needed to run off and do something else for one of the kids, and I came back to the kitchen about a half hour later to toast my icky waffles, and they were gone. I look everywhere. Freezer. Fridge. Counters. Stairs. Office. (maybe I took them with me when I got called away) They were nowhere. So I look in the freezer again. I call downstairs to Collin. Did you eat my waffles? (he had already had 4, so I doubted it) Did he put them away? Did he know where they are? He comes upstairs. Observes that they are nowhere. Tells me to chill, and goes back downstairs. Geez. I look in the freezer again. Fridge again. Counters again. I get a new box of them out of the freezer. (yes, I bought two boxes) And then ...

it was kindof like a deja vu, only instead of a whole scene that lasts a few seconds ... it was like the quickest little flashy-deja vu thing ever. I could not believe it. I froze where I was standing in the kitchen. No one was there ... but I actually put both hands over my mouth and had shocked eyes. I had eaten them! I remember none of it except the little flashy of my pretty red plate that Tara gave me for my birthday that I always try to use when it's clean cause it makes me feel fancy, and the syrup and one little square of waffle. I had cooked them (if you can call toasting cooking) and syruped them and cut them into squares as if they were for Ania and eaten them in the kitchen while I talked to my mom on the phone.

At first I thought ... I'm not going to tell anyone. It would remain a skeleton in my closet forever. But it was waffles. Really? Keep waffle forgetting a secret? When it could make someone else feel really good about themselves 'cause they don't forget 15 minutes of their lives that happened 30 minuted ago. So I texted Collin from the kitchen down to his room. He texted back: Wowwwwww...... (can you hear his voice saying that?) and he turns around and puts my skeleton waffles on facebook. Thank you very much. So, I might as well blog about it so that in a year, when you all wonder when my dementia had its origination, you'll know it was the waffles.

Last and First

My last child to lose her first tooth.

Toothless looks cute on her.

Other than the tooth ... last week included all the thrills of broken pipes and mr nice guy plumber, a meeting with the biology teacher, doctor appointments and antibiotics, job shadowing hours, way too long at the orthodontist's office, five exams, studying til midnight ... ahhhh. A much better week than the week before! 

Go Ahead and Tell Me

Yep. Go ahead and tell me how absolutely beautiful my kids are! Bring it on.

My first day at Performance Physical Therapy was totally it! I loved it. And I'm so excited to love it, cause I really wanted to love it, but I just didn't know if I would love it. And it would so stink to have not loved it and start over on writing my plans. 

Other than that, my last couple days have provided rather unbelievable opportunities to have a lot of guts and deal with some really ugly stuff. In the end, I think its bringing good closure to some things and gives new freedom to move on. It's good. It's just "weird day" stuff. 

Just Going with It

According to my professor last night, this is hell week. Which clarifies a few things for me. Cause I'm feeling it. Getting a D+ on my first Anatomy & Physiology exam that I put no less than 20 hours into studying for was, um ... sad. I have more homework online than I can really sort out. And unrelated to school, a weird visit in my living room with someone I don't know, telling me things that are, um ... weird. Things that are both irrelevant and yet central? I'm going with irrelevant.

A couple friends have asked me, how do you do it? To be totally busy with school and kids and planning for my future while being divorced at the same time. The honest answer: I have no idea. Am I doing it? What exactly am I doing? It's one of those times in life where you don't really have time to think about the next thing you need to do because the thing in front of you needs doing first.

The good news is that my D+ was above average for the class. It was a bad test. They're implementing a new online program through the textbook company. He said that the next test will tell him if it was a bad test or if we're all really stupid.

The other good news is that I got a position at the physical therapy office that I really wanted to do my job shadowing hours in. All, hopefully, 150 hours if I want. Ten hours a week for four months.

Grace and Alissa

December 2010

Lunch Box

I copied Kaisha. She does cool random things that makes you want to copy. Like taking pictures of herself in the mirror or wading in the bay wearing a fancy dress.

In a couple of days I start back to school. I took chemistry last quarter. This quarter I have to take fifteen credits. I'm not exactly sure how to pull it off with the single mom of 5 kids thing going at the same time. But maybe its like cliff diving, where you just have to jump and hope like crazy its going to work out. I'll be breathing anatomy and physiology. My lab partner (gone lifelong friend) will be holding my hand through cat dissection. Here kitty, kitty ...

The big picture is a job that'll buy food and heat. My goal is to start the physical therapy assistant program this coming fall. It's a competitive entry program, so we'll see. Five consecutive full time quarters (they say 17-19 credits). Two years from right now to be finished. The academic stuff is fine. It's the academic stuff combined with taking care of the people that live in my house that is a little unsettling. It helps that I'm gushing with love for my kids and totally in love with helping them through life. And I'm happy. Happy in a way I didn't know I could be. Now if I can just keep from getting in a dither with the busyness that's just around the corner. Pray for me.

I have this friend ...

... she's taking hits from every side. Its uncanny really. How can it happen that the three or four agonizingly painful pieces of her life all show up acutely in one day? One evening actually? She called a few minutes ago. She only had a second. Explained what was up. Crying and trying like heck not to. I got it. I've walked through every unrelated part of her story over the past few years. Only a couple people know the whole mess. I wish I could tell you. It'd be a good read, but sortof depressing at first. On the phone, I did what any good girlfriend would do. I told her everything will be ok, that today has got to be the worst of it, don't feel bad for feeling so sad, you're doing a good job, and a few other things that are totally true too. Then I hung up and cried.

She's so brave. Brave and full of guts. I wish I could tell you. Her story would inspire you to greatness. Kindof like Braveheart, only without the blood. Maybe someday, when there's an end written, there'll be a movie made. You could bring your box of tissues and be amazed. You'd leave the theater and notice that the sky is a little bluer, the grass a little greener, and you'd be a little more confident that there is a God out there that writes our stories in a way we would never chose for a purpose we would do anything to be a part of.

Btw: one year ago today, Tiffany died. Remember her with us. Tell Kaisha you love her.