To heck with humbug.

I received an email yesterday that spoke of "realizations". It's a good email, one I have seen before. It usually makes me think of friends who have passed away much too early for their years and my dad, when it states that to realize the value of a friend or family member, you must lose one. My dad is always in the front of my mind at this time of year. As much as he tried to "Bah-Hum-Bug" his way through the holidays, he made the holidays what they were. Since his death, there are those in my family who have had a difficult time embracing the holidays and appreciating them for what they're really about. For them, the joy isn't there. I hope they can learn to let go and seek that joy again. It's easy to focus on what we've lost and what's been done, but I've come to realize that when you spend so much time in the past, you miss and fail to revel in what's happening right now.

This will be a tough Christmas in my household for many reasons. Today is December 1st, we have just over a month to find a new place to live. Finding a new place means coming up with the security deposit and first month's rent and possibly having to fill a propane tank if the house has one and it is empty. We are behind on bills and the phone's ring has become as incessant as the mosquito's buzz on warm summer nights. The equivalent of bug repellent for bill collectors around here is to turn the phone's ringer off and the answering machine all the way down.

As I drove into Lakeport yesterday to fetch baby wipes and a loaf of bread to liven up our pasta dinner another of the realizations in that email hit me, almost literally. Adam stayed home to finish his homework and Taluelah and Avery came along for the ride. Avery sat in the front, which I normally do not let him do, and the Lue girl was buckled in her car seat with the newly adjusted straps to accommodate her ever expanding body. I was driving between 55 and 60 mph down Highway 29. I make a real effort not to speed, because on the list of "last things we need right now", getting a ticket rates pretty high. About midway to Lakeport, toward the end of the highway's pass through Kelseyville, I saw a black PT Cruiser up the road a way, off to my right, waiting to make a left turn across the two lanes of traffic. I saw her, but apparently she did not see me, even though I was clearly visible had she looked to her left.

I have a habit of saying, "don't do it," under my breath when I see a vehicle waiting to pull out, possibly in front of me. It's my way of willing them to stay where they are, letting us all continue on our merry ways. I guess I should have spoken my command much louder yesterday. The driver started to pull out to make her left turn in front of me, then thought better of it. My guess is she realized that the oncoming traffic, traffic that was opposing me, was "on-coming" too quickly and she would not make it. I still don't think she realized though, that she had pulled out in front of a vehicle, mine, that was traveling very near if not at, the posted speed which was still much too fast to stop on such short notice. Had she remained where she was I could have avoided hitting her by veering to the right but still stayed on my side of the road. There was no way to go behind her. Had I cut my wheel to the the right I would have ended up off the road smashed into a tree or flipped over. Now this is a guess again, but I'm fairly certain that she then decided to look to her left and see if any vehicles were coming her way. Um, hello!

Everything at this point happened so quickly that I can only assume our hearts both leaped to our throats and my life wasn't the only one flashing before a set of eyes in that odd intersection. In her attempt to correct her blunder, and avoid being plowed into by my Jeep, the driver pulled forward... a titch. Then she must have remembered the traffic that she was originally waiting on because she stopped, right there in front of me. I was already in the process of a skid, due to slamming on my worn down brakes on tires in desperate need of replacement, and veering left to avoid what could have been an awful wreck. When she pulled forward she left me no room to pass on the left, while still staying on my side of the road. Instead, I was forced to continue skidding left, through oncoming traffic. I ended up on the opposite side of the road, in the middle of a street that exited onto the highway. As I sat there, my backside facing the cars and trucks that whizzed by, Avery asked, "What's with all the traffic?"

The black PT Cruiser did not stop. The driver did not say sorry, did not wave apologetically. Instead, once the vehicles that she had stopped in front of me to avoid being hit by had passed, she finished making her left turn and continued on her way. A man in a large white truck who had nearly witnessed our "almost - coulda been" nasty car accident, slowed to a stop in the median and looked to make sure that we were okay. Outwardly we were. It took me a minute to collect myself and make the same turn the idiot in the black car had attempted from the opposite direction. I did not pull out in front of anyone. I was taught how to look both ways before I cross a street.

On the remainder of our trip to Lakeport we were passed by two CHP patrol cars and a fire truck with lights flashing and sirens wailing. Avery asked if I thought someone had called the police on "that" lady. I told him it was doubtful. Police don't generally respond to a call for something that almost happened. My insides were twisted in knots, my head throbbed and I felt like vomiting for quite awhile after the near collision. I explained to Avery why I do not let him sit in front when we go places. I can be a cautious driver, but that does not mean the rest of the driving world is. We got our baby wipes, we got our bread, we stopped to talk to a friend at the store and we left, Avery sitting in back without being told.

We discovered the reason for the police vehicles and fire truck on our way home. Our normal drive was rerouted due to a car accident. I don't know the details of the accident. I do not know if the accident involved a little black PT Cruiser or if the driver of a little black PT Cruiser witnessed the carnage that caused a detour on the highway. I can't help but think that whoever the driver of that Cruiser was had to have had a realization of her own. That could have been her, her passengers and a white Jeep filled with half of a family, just going out to get baby wipes and bread. For me, the detour brought back a line from the email I had read earlier that day... To realize the value of a second: Ask a person who has survived an accident (or barely avoided one).

All this writing of accidents and my dad and loss and being thankful and finding joy in the present reminds me of a dream I had a few weeks ago. It was the first dream I've had with my dad in it since he passed away 5 years ago. He was at a hospital in the ICU. He had been in an awful car accident on his way to work. My mother, my Aunt Jaime, some guy named Hawk, Myself and Taluelah were all in the waiting room. I thought I was going to have to leave Taluelah with Hawk so that I could go back and see my father. I figured this hospital was no different from any of the others I have had the misfortune of visiting - no children allowed in some areas.

There was an elderly gentleman at the receiving desk with skin the color of aged dark chocolate. His face radiated warmth and so I found the courage to ask if I could bring Taluelah back with me to see my dad, for her to see her Grandpa. He seemed surprised that I would ask permission and not already know that my daughter was welcome to pass by his desk and go with me into the back. In fact, he said that it was important that she did, that was why she was there. After my mother finished checking names of visitors off a list the kind old guard pointed to a huge clock that stood off in the distance but still appeared to be right there and made sure we knew how long we were allowed to stay. I remember, it wasn't for a very long period of time.

When we got into the ICU there were all the regular sights, smells and sounds... beeps, hummings, florescent lighting, antiseptic, machines, tubes, wires, doctors, nurses. But all of that faded away when I saw my dad standing there looking healthier than he did even years before he got sick. My mom said something to the effect of, "What have I told you? How many times did I say...?" And my dad just smiled and said, " In all the years I drove up and down that hill, something was bound to happen." I stood there confused. Wasn't my dad injured? Wasn't that why he was in the ICU? Why was he not in a hospital gown? Why wasn't he lying in a bed? And actually, hadn't my dad been dead for quite some time? Hadn't his body been reduced to ash? Why was he standing there looking pink and fresh and clean and fit and healthy and clothed? My dad must have noticed my puzzled face and guarded stance, because he turned his attention to me and Taluelah and smiled. And even though none of what I was experiencing made any sense to my mind, it made perfect sense to my heart. We were there so that my dad could finally meet his only granddaughter.

I've often lamented the fact that Taluelah will not grow to know my father. Her brothers have their memories. They remember my dad's scent, the deodorant he used, the gum he chewed, one of them even vaguely remembers the time Grandpa dressed as Santa, only to be found out when the picture was developed. Taluelah will have pictures and stories, but she will never know the joy he would have felt seeing her and her brothers grow. She can't possibly understand what she and he are missing out on. Maybe he'll come back and visit again in dreams, hers or mine, and my girl will be given a sense of who her Grandpa was. Stranger things have happened. I avoided plowing into a car while other vehicles avoided smashing into me and mine.

It would be easy to focus on all of the horrible things that could have resulted from my Jeep and a PT Cruiser meeting catastrophically, on the fact that Christmas gifts will be smaller and less this year because we are not only having to save what little money there is for the new place we must move to shortly, but because the incident yesterday proved what I've really known for awhile - we need new tires and brakes. Instead, I choose to thank the heavens and my angels that I was not down that road one second sooner last night and that I get to enjoy the smells of pine and fir and gingerbread and the twinkling of lights and the laughter of healthy children and the steam from my breath on these magical late fall evenings, that I am alive and that my dad's spirit hovers reminding me of just how joyous this season truly is.

learning to drive. again.

I'm convinced my computer caught the flu. People everywhere are sick, Avery and Taluelah were unfortunate enough to catch it, apparently cats aren't immune, so why not computers too? Okay, maybe it wasn't really H1N1, but my poor computer has been under attack and I have been cleaning up a massive mess over the last week or so. Thankfully, I keep a computer geek close and between his expertise, desire to help, and patience and my willingness to get back on board the rocket ship to cyberspace, here I am. I'm hoping we can all stay healthy now. I've got too much to write to be stuck sitting on a computer that won't cooperate.

A few months ago Dustin was refused entry into the Marine Corps because of a tattoo on the back of his neck. The Marine Corps just got rid of their ban on tattoos. Just weeks ago, Dustin was refused entry into the Army due to our inability to stay current on our house payments and because after months on the market we were still unable to sell the house before he was to ship out. We now have an offer on our house. There's that funny timing thing again. The big question everyone keeps asking me is, "Now that your house may sell, will the Army let Dustin in?" Actually, there are quite a few questions that people keep asking, and that we keep asking too. Why has the military door been slammed in Dustin's face again and again... only to be potentially reopened after we've been forced to move on. Why, after months of being on the market, is there an offer on our house after it's "too late"? Why, when we try to do what we think is the right thing, when we try to keep our integrity in tact, when we travel down a path to what we're sure is our destination, we hit another dead end? The fact of the matter is, I don't know. Just when I think I have everything figured out, I am reminded that I have no clue what any of this means.

I started learning to drive when I was 15. Between my parents risking their lives by being in a moving vehicle with me while my foot was the one controlling the gas and brake pedals, and a nice older gentleman with nerves of steel at the Driving School I attended, and my good old friend Raul sneaking me behind the wheel to give me a few impromptu lessons when no one was any the wiser, I managed to receive my Driver's License at the age of 16. In all that time and with all those teachers I wasn't ever taught to parallel park. It just wasn't something anyone thought I'd need to know. It wasn't part of the behind-the-wheel driver's test that the DMV administered, there are parking lots everywhere, and where there aren't lots there are garages. At least that was the consensus in the desert I grew up in.

One late night shortly after I had moved away from my parent's home, living in Torrance miles from a desert attitude and just blocks from a beach attitude, I was attempting to park my car along a curb in a parallel fashion. Try as I might, I just couldn't get close enough to that curb. The gap in my driving education was becoming more and more apparent each time I backed up and pulled forward and backed up and pulled forward again and again and again with the traffic that so plagues Southern California flying by inches from my car. A man came along on his evening jog and stopped to offer his assistance.

I was raised not to talk to strangers, especially when alone late at night, but at that moment, I'm fairly certain I would have allowed a man with his face obscured in a hooded sweatshirt with a Slim-Jim sticking out of his back pocket to get into my vehicle under the pretense of parking the damn thing for me. The man that took time out of his jog to assist me did not get into my vehicle and do the job for me, but instead stood on the sidewalk and guided me step-by-step into a parallel parking spot just inches from the curb. I'm not sure if he stopped to help because he worried more for my safety in all that traffic or the safety of the vehicles in front of and behind my vehicle. Either way he stopped and he helped and I learned.

Now that I am faced with finding a job, by some stroke of luck, the library clerk position has opened up at Avery's school and the school in Kelseyville Proper. I have applied and I will interview and we will all cross our fingers that this works out for me. I am certain that the competition will be stiff. This is a full time position between the two elementary schools in our small town. The person who gets hired will receive medical benefits, will have one of the very few full-time positions for a classified employee and best of all, will get to work around children and books all day! It is going to be hard for me to leave my sweet Taluelah to go to work full-time, but if I got this job, at least I wouldn't hate going to work.

Dustin is still looking for that thing that will pay the bills and that he will not hate getting up for everyday. We're not sure what it is, but there's no time like the present to go out and find it. Avery got his first 4th grade report card and did not make Honor Roll. He was sure that he would and so he's had to take a step back and take stock and see exactly what he needs to change to attain the heights he is all too capable of reaching. He gets in his own way and while Dustin and I can see what needs work, it is for Avery to figure out on his own. He wouldn't listen to us if we told him anyway! Adam is at the Middle School and while he was excited and nervous about it at first he has seemed to settle into the routine of things. We're pretty sure he's having trouble with one of the other 6th grade kids, but he doesn't want to share what's happening, so we're stuck offering support and advice when he's receptive, and chalking the rest up to preteen angst. This too shall pass? Oh my.

Taluelah is growing much too quickly. I do not remember the boys seeming quite so big when they were a year and a half. In fact, according to their baby books, they were not nearly as big as their little sister is at the same age. Everyday she communicates better. Her words are beginning to flow and we've even had a few very short conversations - usually regarding her food. She's still bossy as ever but it's quite difficult to keep from smiling when she decides to scold me for potentially reprimanding her. She will start digging around in my purse, or she will find a pen or marker or pencil to steal, or she will put a Lego in her mouth, or she will do any number of things that require a reminder that she is doing something she should not be, and when she sees that I have caught her in the act, even before I can get a word out of my mouth, she puts up her hand, palm out, says, "Stop!" and then proceeds to put one finger up and say, "One..." For those of you who know and have adhered to the principles of "1,2,3 Magic" she's the poster child for the children's edition... "1,2,3 Magic - How to stop undesirable behavior from your parents." In her efforts to discipline me and every other big person in her life, Taluelah has not yet made it to two, but I know it's coming.

If the bank does accept the offer that has been made on our house, we have until January 10th to find a new place to live. It feels like the new year is still a ways off, but really it's right around the corner. We're hoping that given our credit history we will be able to find a rental. My realtor has assured me that we are not the only people who have gotten into trouble financially and there are homeowners who will rent to people in our situation. I certainly hope she is correct. There are many many rentals and empty homes in our area. We just have to find the one that is right for us, and do so quickly.

In this conundrum that Dustin and I are faced with, we don't know which way to go. Sometimes it feels like we've exhausted all of the resources we have within ourselves. We're pretty smart, he and I. But, we don't always have all the answers and we don't always make the best choices. This is one of those times when the late night joggers who wear their halos under hats and hide their wings under sweat drenched shirts come out to show the way. They hold open doors that we didn't know existed and light the darkest of days with the glow of their love. But we know, me and the man I married, that no matter what doors we've been led to, we're the ones who have to walk through and hope to find our way in the madness of this world.

In response

Art is always open for interpretation. Every person sees this world through their own eyes. I have two friends with very different opinions of the Mona Lisa. One thinks she looks a bit constipated, the other finds her countenance demure, unassuming. I don't have an opinion, about the Mona Lisa anyway. Written word is no different and faces the same scrutiny all other art forms face when presented to the public. What one pulls from what they read can be quite different from what the author intended. It can be right on too. That all depends on who the reader is and what life experiences they are basing their opinions upon. I think what the artist's followers sometimes forget is that the artist is not painting or drawing or sculpting or writing with any of them in mind, but for release and for the sake of art itself.
I have shared the details of my family's journey over the last couple of years. There have been other blogs that have since been retired and/or are on hiatus for one reason or another. This blog serves the purposes of my family best for now. It allows for my creative juices to flow while staying true to the facts of what this life has to offer or to take away. I feel some of you relate and at times commiserate. I think some don't quite get it, and others are completely on board. Some find escape, hope, adventure, a life more or less ordinary by clicking a link and reading the thoughts that I pour into the big wide world of cyberspace.
Ultimately, this is my life. I choose to share and I fail to see how that makes me anything other than honest. I am a human and so too is my husband, my children and all the others who at some point may make it into my posts. None of us are so above being humble and feeling humility. In fact, sometimes a show of humility is the very thing that makes or breaks a decision. And while I feel the way I do, and act accordingly, I do not choose to put anything in my posts that would truly embarrass anyone, including and most specifically, my husband. Ask him, he'll tell you.
I can't help but find it strange, that the barrage of insults and "reprimands" that have been hurled in my direction, have come not from well informed people, but people who only think they understand my intentions and our situation. Believe me, you do not. And from the very small group of people who actually know of the issue Dustin and I are faced with, not one insult, not one reprimand, not one negative comment directed at either Dustin or myself. It helps to be informed before you make a judgement call. It helps to keep your comments to yourself if you do not know what the true issue at hand is. It helps to know what you are defending before you attempt to defend it.
My family, being the 5 of us, appreciate the show of support we are receiving from our friends and some extended family. I have taken time out of my day and space out of my blog to explain something that really shouldn't need explaining. If you are concerned, call. If you want to help, offer. If you have a resource we do not know of, share. If you want to comment on my writing, do so here. If you do not like reading what I put in my posts, don't. And if you have nothing good to say, say nothing at all. That's what my momma taught me anyway. This life is hard enough without the people who claim to love you making it harder. A lesson Dustin and I are still learning 12 years into this marriage.
We will continue to learn. We will continue to fight this fight. We will continue to pull our boots up and wade through the crap until we find that light we've so been searching for, and then we'll probably have to wade some more. Most importantly though, we will continue to love. That is the road we started down so long ago and neither of us is willing to see this latest stumbling block as a dead end, but instead another one of those lessons in life that hurts like hell but teaches you volumes about where you are and what you have. I can only tell you one thing for certain at this point -- this day is gone, and tomorrow is a new one.

crossroads

I have so much to write but I really don't want to. I have laid myself out raw in front of everyone and the whole world who cares to read knows more than I do sometimes about what is happening in my life. My short term memory has been failing me because there is so much to remember lately. Because of that fact and the fact that I have been encouraged to continue my writing I sit here in front of my computer wondering how to start this next chapter. Quite literally.

Timing is everything and the foreclosure papers we received one week prior to Dustin's scheduled departure did in fact stop him from going back into the military. On the appointed date I drove Dustin to Ukiah for a recruiter to take him to Sacramento for someone at MEPS to tell him that he was not going anywhere. Nowhere but back home anyway. Not only was this military path one that was supposed to pull us out of our own personal economic disaster, it was a break for Dustin and I.

This life, married, hasn't been all that. There have been the highs, but then there have been the lows too. All marriages ride the roller coaster we have been on for the last 12 years. Some people enjoy the thrill of seeing what's around the next skyscraper bend and the weight of the stomach dropping lows. Some learn not to get back on the rides that made your head spin and emptied the contents of your stomach. Some never learn. And some get on a new ride altogether and start on a track they never should have ventured down.

To say I am at a crossroads does not cover the true nature of where I am at right now. Adam will resume public school next week so that I may look for a job in this small economically challenged town. My house will be sold off in January and I will need to find a new place to live with my three children. One that I can afford, very possibly on my own. Taluelah will be placed in daycare. I cannot begin to explain the heartbreak I feel when I write that. Moments like this I think back upon a college career started and then cut short. I think a lot about the warnings against having children so young and with someone hardly known. I think about choices and how the consequences of my actions affect the amount of opportunity available. I think about all of this, but then I stand back and remember how it felt to fall madly in love with a young Marine so long ago. How I felt when I held my first baby boy and looked into his sweet brown eyes. How any number of moments have caught my breath or made me scream or driven me mad and made me realize that this is what life's all about. While there are some things I might change given the chance, I have no regrets. Never have, never will.

I will cry and be sad and be hurt and be angry. I will try to figure out if there is anything worth salvaging from the remnants of 12 hard fought years. Maybe there is. Maybe another door is closing. Only time will tell. But I have my boots on and I am walking, because that's just what I was made to do.

The long road home... and back again.

I am on edge. The whirlwind should be about to end, but then I think it's really just beginning. We are back home, in Northern Cali, from home, in Southern Cali. It is amazing how much we were able to fit in the span of a week. Old friends, scattered family, digging through relics of another life, another time.

Our trip back home was an effort at allowing Dustin to say "goodbye" to anyone who wanted to hear it. The truth of the matter though, is that I still am not quite sure this is happening. And in fact, it may not happen. Our finances are a shambles and that may be enough for the military to decide they don't want Dustin and all the bills that come along with him. Our house is on the market, but we are behind on the payments. It appears we are being foreclosed upon, with a sale date to be set at the end of December. The papers arrived in the mail while we were down in SoCal saying our (premature?) goodbyes. I have heard that a foreclosure will inhibit your chances of joining the military. Dustin was supposed to hear back as to whether all of his paperwork had passed through all the necessary military channels last Friday. He received no answer and so called back yesterday, one week prior to his ship date. Still no answer. Perhaps he'll call today and there will be an answer? While this waiting game frustrates me to no end, it is not a surprise. This is the military after all.

Over the course of the last few months I have been helping to plan another get-together for my high school classmates. Littlerock High School's Homecoming game fit into our SoCal schedule almost perfectly. I only say almost because Dustin's aunt and family were having their annual Halloween party on the same night. We had to skip the party so I could catch up with some old friends... some I haven't seen in nearly 15 years. The organization and planning were a bit overwhelming with all that is going on in life right now, and I have to confess that I really didn't do all that much. Lawrence is in this planning business just as deep as I am. I know he and I both take our responsibility to our classmates seriously. As silly as it may sound, when we were elected Senior Class Officers for the 1994-95 school year, we knew that 10 years after graduation we had to get everyone, or as much of everyone that we could find, back together. Here we are 14 years later still keeping up and putting it all together. Stacia on the other hand had no real responsibility to our class and yet she has come through for all of us. Lawrence and Stacia really did the leg work for our homecoming gathering and I am thankful that they did. It was wonderful to see everyone who showed up and while there's never enough time to catch up and talk with all who show up (Lili, April) it is great to see familiar faces and look into eyes that remember and be reminded of who I was and where I came from so many years ago.

My mother's house is loaded with the remnants of my grandfather's life. The trip down gave me a chance to look through his life in a more personal way than I would have had he still been alive. My Grandpa was good at sharing the answers to whatever I asked, but you never really know what you want to and need to know, until someone is gone and all that's left behind are unlabeled pictures, collections, notes, jewelry and unanswered questions. His funeral was to take place yesterday, but the woman at the mortuary made a mistake. A mistake that may keep me from being at the funeral when it does in fact happen. After cremation my grandfather wanted to be placed in a wall at a Veteran's Cemetery. The cemetery that my mother chose, based on the options given, does not have a wall for internment. The mortuary woman was remiss in her duties when she failed to inform my mother of the nonexistent wall. So now paperwork has to be redone and more time will pass before my Grandpa can be "laid to rest." As far as I'm concerned, he's been resting now for a few weeks. What's a few more?

Adam and Avery came home with pieces of their great-grandfather's life: a pair of cuff links each, art supplies, a couple of elephants from a collection of hundreds, and sports memorabilia. Taluelah only met the man once but she has an elephant to help connect the dots as she gets older and wonders from where she came. Dustin brought home my grandfather's military ribbons, a belt buckle and a Zippo. And I have walked away from my grandfather's death with a few old family pictures, one of his original art pieces, a family of elephants, his rosary and the knowledge that how you live this life greatly influences the way in which you leave it.
In between trying to spend time with my over-worked mother, going through a life's worth of memories and riding around my old high school's football field on the unmarked alumni float (which had the current students labeling us the "old people"), we were able to visit Dustin's aunt, uncle and cousins the day after their Halloween party, spend the night with one of my favorite friends in the world and meet her newest sweet pea, talk via Skype with my Uncle Sean and cousins in Ireland and have a day filled with my sister, aunts and uncle and families, plus meet my mother's boyfriend and his beautiful daughters. It's been a long time since we were all in the same room at the same time talking and laughing and enjoying each other.

We took the long road home yesterday just to arrive right back where we started. I sometimes find it strange that no matter where I am at in California, north or south, I always feel like I am at home... leaving home to find myself back at home, with stops along the way to visit those who matter. If Dustin does depart next week and if we do follow him to whatever base he is stationed at I hope to find the same comfort in my new surroundings and in my new friends that I know here in Cali. If not, I always know I can come home.

will work for words.

Awhile ago I was given a book to read, well actually, I am always being given books to read. My quest for bookish fulfillment never seems to be adequately met. I devoured at least 2 books a week during the early months of summer. Granted, these were not all literary masterpieces, but it was a way to step outside of this box I live in. Sometimes drivel is a means to an end. As summer wore on and responsibilities that come with the Fall season approached my reading time screeched to a halt. The book that has prompted this post though, is something worth making the time for. "Birdbaths and Paper Cranes - A Family Tale" written by Sharon Randall is a collection of her previously published essays on life - hers, and the lives of those around her. Sharon Randall is a nationally syndicated columnist, I guess people really do enjoy reading this kind of stuff.

In my boredom a couple of days ago during my wait at Adam's football practice, my mind drifted to the stacks of unread books I have sitting on my night stand, dresser, table, desk... and I decided it was time to get back to it. I do have a murder/mystery type book begun, but my mind needs something a little more applicable these days. I started reading Randall's book yesterday while Taluelah used the interior of the Jeep as her own personal jungle gym, Avery received a rundown of the connectedness of our small town's people and Adam made progress toward learning and applying his football skills. I have to admit with all the distractions I didn't get far in the book, but already, the foreword written by Randall's eldest son brought me to tears. I am a sucker for a child's love and admiration, no matter how young or old the child be.

Avery is back at Riviera, where he so rightfully belongs. I have no business trying to teach that child anything other than the stuff of life that he doesn't really realize I'm teaching him. In this case the lesson would be, if you try something and it royally blows, you may back out of it with your sanity intact, or rather back out of it to keep your sanity in tact! The first two days of early waking went off without a hitch... the last two, not so much so. Either way, overall, he is happier and so am I. Avery's friends are thrilled to have him back and I know that if I ever really needed to punish my younger boy all I'd have to do is cut him off from his peers. Adam was in the middle of an assignment when I heard him singing and jumping around in his room. When I reminded him of what he was supposed to be doing he exclaimed, "I just can't help it Mom. I'm celebrating Avery not being here!" Apparently, Avery and I are not the only ones feeling a sense of relief. As the saying goes, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and we were all due for a break.

Taluelah has become a certifiable toddler. If we are not attending to her needs in a timely manner she takes it upon herself to open up the refrigerator and point at exactly what it is she wants. If we still do not respond quickly enough she will attempt to retrieve whatever item she wants, regardless of the mess that ensues. She has figured out the mechanics of every pen, marker, and other indelible writing utensil we have in our home and just when we think they've all been put out of her reach, she walks around the corner with another. She managed to bite and break a tube of acrylic paint. Thankfully the paints were non-toxic, but her little green tongue was a sight to behold. Dressing my girl has become a bit of an adventure. She decides what to wear and what not to wear. It's not that she's so particular about the everyday jeans, t-shirts and shoes. But socks are something she has to choose and I have been having a heck of a time getting her to take her Minnie Mouse robe off. So she has an opinion, and desires comfort. I love it!

As I sit here writing my thoughts my eldest is building an empire in the image of Sargon's (all on paper, of course... for now), the 9 year old is missing 3rd recess, but not really missing it as he's informed me that instead of recess they do neat science experiments, and my girl is attempting to force a dish towel to stay on top of her head while she eats her chocolate teddy grahams. I am listening to Pandora radio, which really is one of the best things I've ever stumbled upon. Amos Lee was a name brought to my attention and how glad I am he was. For too long I have been bombarded with a barrage of all things punk, good enough in it's own right, but not entirely me. In 12 years I have forgotten the kind of music that stirs my soul and puts me in that feel good spot. Dido sings about being no angel and lacking perfection but still being able to smile.

I smile as I think about the foreword written by Josh Randall and how nice it would be someday to see something honest, heartfelt and beautiful written about me by one of my children. After all, isn't that what I do here, for them?

Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero.

There are times in this life that I can stand on the ground with my two feet planted firmly, looking to the skies, and I will swear I can feel the spin of this Earth. I am but a speck and this life is but a blip in the whole history, pre- and since, and I am all too aware of my failures and accomplishments. It is late and sleep beckons and yet I am drawn to my blog to put the noise out with the garbage for the night.

I have been pondering what it would be like to let Avery go back to public school. I love the child, but in the words of my hair dresser, Avery is most like me. While I am wonderful, I can be a royal pain in the ass. If there is a system to be bucked, I will buck. With all my might. If there is an opinion shared by too many, I find it's faults. Devil's advocate? perhaps. Open eyes. for sure. Avery is too smart and his eyes a bit too wide for a 9 year old and as his mother the same attributes that bring me pride have me wanting to send the child away to an orphanage in Timbuktu... or somewhere equally as far flung. But just as I had my mind wrapped around throwing in the towel for both our sakes and re-enrolling him at the Riv... the kid says he doesn't want to go back. Huh? Every day for the last month, I have heard how he wants to go back to "regular school", how he misses his friends, how he doesn't like home schooling for a zillion different reasons and only likes it for maybe two, tops - he can sleep in and do his work in his underwear.

I think I was feeling relief at the thought of having one less child to teach and in Ave's case, argue with through the day. And now, he says he'll think about it. Whose idea was giving children choice anyway? Uh hmmmm. Adam is still happy to be home and does his assignments and I guide him where needed. We have a good working relationship... nothing like the quarrelsome attitude I receive from his younger brother. Taluelah runs amok tearing up everything she touches and Dustin comes home to an empty house that looks as if a tornado has run it's course right through the middle of the most traveled areas because by the time he arrives I am sitting at a football field trying to entertain a nearly 18 month old while keeping an eye on my wandering 9 year old so that the 11 year old can play football with his friends who he will be leaving much too shortly.

Times like these I feel my wings stretching against the pins that hold them back. As I attempt to escape, even for a bit, Dustin's insecurities flare. With a day less than one month to go before he departs, I think the reality of what we're leaving behind is giving way to what life will be. I see a time coming when there will be no escape. I don't want to make it seem like taking a break from my family deserves the word escape, but when I am on 24/7... escape is just what I find myself needing. With Dustin here, I rarely have a moment without a child by my side. The last few weeks I have had to struggle against the bonds I have shackled myself into as well as the ideas others have of my role.

I did choose to go the home schooling route. I do not regret it, for if you know me you know there are no regrets... only lessons learned. I have tried, really really tried, to find a way to help the 9 year old see the benefits of this way of schooling and he has done all but spit my words back in my face. And now, again, when offered the chance to go back to his school, his friends, he says he'll think about it? What to do when an orphanage/slave labor is out of the question???

The two times I have made it outside my four walls, without a child dragging along, I have been with people I love and am going to miss terribly. I have met people who could end up being just as important, just as missed. Good people are everywhere, this I know. Nothing lasts forever, as I'm frequently being reminded. Letting go, saying goodbye, it's never easy. All I can hope is that this next chapter will benefit my family. That my children will be afforded a better quality of life. That they will see more of this world than I ever would have been able to show them in our current circumstances. I am struggling with the idea of death and how final it is. If Dustin does not come home, life will go on, but what a different life it will be for our three offspring. I suppose that is not what I am meant to dwell on... but I can't stop the thought from reaching it's creeping tentacles across the lobes of my overactive brain.

With all that is on the verge of happening in my life I rarely have time to stop and think outside of the box I live in. Much too much to think about in the here and now. My grandfather passed away on September 29th. I have felt strangely detached in my grief. I was listed as the alternate, behind my mother, on his Advance Directive. My mother called to tell me he had passed and really that's all the info she could give me. Shortly after her call, a chaplain called to inform me of the death. The chaplain said he called me because I was listed as the person who would make sure my grandfather's wishes were followed. I live 300+ miles away. I met my grandfather when I was 13. I have seen him one time in the last 8 years. I am having difficulty reconciling the man he was to many with the man he supposedly became. They could have been one and the same. I do not know. I wasn't there all those years ago. But the stories that have followed his death and the light bulbs that have flashed above my head as pieces of this puzzle fall into place, make me a bit shaky. Either way, he's gone and I've done what I could from my distance to carry out his last wishes. There has been much grief in this family over the course of the last few months. My Aunt K, his daughter, is gone. He is gone. The rest of us are left to pick up pieces and grapple with our own personal realities, memories. The weight keeps getting heavier and heavier.

I think I will have a talk with Avery again. See what the hesitation stems from now that the opportunity is there. Lighten my load either through sending him off to public school or through arranging some kind of deal with him regarding his attitude here in home school. Stretch my wings a bit, maybe even spread them and fly away for awhile... enjoy what I have while I have it and hope that someday when I leave this plain my children and my familiars know that I lived with the best of intentions, loved with all my heart, and was only human for needing to escape the confines of these walls occasionally.