Just Wednesday.
I feel like a lot has been going on the past couple weeks. That may just have a lot to do with a puppy that literally takes up every second of our day when we’re not at work, so I feel like I haven’t been doing much or sitting still much or anything the past two weeks. Not complaining… just sayin’ 😉 It’s amazing how fast he’s growing! It’s been a really long time since I’ve had a puppy around and I’ve forgotten how quickly they grow. He can now “sit” and “shake” and we’re definitely still working on him COMING when he’s called (Grrr) as well as biting/nipping at everything in sight. lol
Last week, I successfully forced myself to go to the Agency to drop Dustin’s letters off. Most people know that I have weird emotional issues with stepping foot in that building (or in the parking lot, for that matter) and it bugs me really bad. I don’t know why I can’t just completely overcome it, considering I am WELL aware that it’s a completely irrational “fear”. Anyway, I made myself go and now Dustin gets letters ranging from February to current, all at once. (Really, it was only 4 letters, not like one a week or anything!) I can’t help but think, every time I drop a letter (or a bundle of letters) off, maybe, just maybe, I’ll get a response from them sometime soon. I don’t really expect it, but I can’t help but wish for it. Even the last letter I got (May, 2009) didn’t actually “respond” to any of my letters from the previous 4 ish years… but hey, a letter is a letter. I definitely wouldn’t complain if they sent me a scribbled note on a diner’s napkin. It would just be heavenly to hear from them. It’d be even more heavenly, nay, surreal, if they actually sent me a picture of him. I think most people (who aren’t birth mothers) would probably be really surprised how often I think about this, but just don’t say anything out loud. *Shrug* Some days it’s just more pronounced than others.
While I was at the agency last week (Tuesday) I ran into a fellow birth mother that attends the groups (she attended while Melissa was pregnant and she recognized me as Melissa’s friend) so I popped in and stayed for the 4:00 group session. One of the birth mother’s there, whos son is about 16 months old, immediately started crying like the second group “started”. It was emotional for all of us… long story short, after a very personal, great, open relationship with her son’s parents, she got an email from them basically telling them they needed to back off and cut off communication for a while. Basically that she could keep emailing and stuff, but pretty much that they didn’t intend to answer. Selfishly, my first response to this (which I chose to NOT say out loud) was “at least your couple is honest with you”. I would so much prefer to be flat out told “we’re not going to write to you” rather than being told over and over that they ARE…… and just not getting anything. Waiting and wondering is so much worse than knowing and having to deal with the truth. At least for me. It doesn’t make it any less painful for what she was trying to deal with, but it just made me think of my own situation and how right now, I would be grateful for a flat out answer like that from Dustin’s parents. I handle bluntness a lot better than being vague or sugar coating things. Anyway, one of the girls in the group made a comment about how selfish it was of the adoptive parents to do that. For some reason, this made me angry. Sure, I get upset at times when I think about how badly I wish I knew how Dustin was. How badly I wish I knew what he looked like. Regardless of my really low days, I can still firmly say that Magui and Geary have every right to not write to me. They have no obligation to me. People say “but you gave them a child, the least they can do is write you a letter!” I admit I’ve felt that way before. Sometimes I still do. But those are just selfish emotions in all reality. If it was about ME, I wouldn’t have placed him for adoption, obviously. I knowingly and willingly released my right to know all of those things when I made the decision to give him a better life. I can’t demand anything from them. He’s their son. They’re his parents. I’m not his parent. I find myself feeling defensive when I hear birth mother’s bad-mouthing their child’s adoptive parents (or bad mouthing MY child’s adoptive parents when I bring it up) because I just don’t understand why you would think you’re entitled to all these things when you GAVE your child to that family. They’re not babysitting. They’re raising the child. They’re a family. I can’t blame them for simply wanting to BE a family. I always love when I hear about really successful adoptions where the birth mother/families are involved almost as an extended family member. But everyone knows this isn’t how it always works. And you know what? Deal with it. Yeah, it hurts, but it’s not about you. It’s not about me. It’s about him. It’s about Dustin. I know he’s loved and taken care of and has way more than I would have ever been able to give him, so after everything’s said and done… my pain isn’t relevant. That’s about it. And I wish some people would open their eyes and stop being so selfish. Now, that being said… it doesn’t make it any less painful and it doesn’t make it “right”. They’re not obligated to send me things, but they did say they would. So, I’ll never say it’s what I deserve or they have to or they “should” or what not… but, they did tell me that they would, so it comes down to keeping your word. It hurts more than they didn’t keep their word. If they had told me on day 1 that they didn’t want to write that often, I would have been fine with it at this point. It’s the simple fact that I was told they would, so I kind of always “expect” and hope for it and then feel myself falling in disappointment when another year goes by where I have to accept that I’m not going to get anything. Again. The last picture I have of him, he was 4 years old. He’ll be 9 in January. Nine.
For those of you (birth mother’s) who are blessed enough to have visits with your child, or receive regular contact, letters, pictures, etc. from your child’s parents… just don’t take it for granted. Don’t let yourself get caught up in believing they “owe” it to you either. Because they have every right, legally and in reality, to continue on with their family with, or without you. Just be grateful for the things you’ve been given.
I am extremely grateful for the letters and pictures I do have of Dustin. I can at least remind myself of that when I’m feeling sorry for myself and sad that I don’t know what he looks like anymore. I don’t know what his favorite food is or his favorite activity. I don’t know what subjects he likes or dislikes in school and if he has good friends… but I knew I was forfeiting the ability to know all of those things the second I made my decision.
Ok, I’m done with my rant. …
Ah, so… I have finally, as of last Friday, completed the entire Harry Potter series. Pathetic that it took me more than 7 years to read the whole series, but I’ve finally finished! I read 1-4 when they were first released, then Kaitlyn was born and I moved in with Lena to help with Kaitlyn and, well, I never got around to finishing it. So, that was 7 years ago and I stopped in the middle of book 4 and never went any further. I started a few months ago, re-reading from Book 1 and I finished Book 7 on Friday (which, I cried in…) Anyway, I absolutely loved the books way better than the movies… and I’m glad I finished book 7 before seeing the movie and now I’m actually looking forward to seeing the movie. I hadn’t even allowed myself to see previews of the 7th before I read the book, so I’m glad. Totally awesome!
Introducing…
Gideon 
It definitely happened sooner than I thought it would, but yup, we got a puppy. Last Friday (the 6th), Bart happened to get onto Facebook, which he doesn’t do very often, and noticed that Russell’s status was something like “I have 6 puppies to find homes for” and long story short, we ended up going over there Friday afternoon to see the puppies and by 6:00 PM, we had this little guy at home. So, not totally PLANNED, but we definitely don’t regret it.
Of course his first day at his new home, he was a little uncertain and shy, but that didn’t last long. By day 2, he was in full puppy mode, so no worries. For the first two nights, we closed him in our bathroom with a blanket and a toy and he actually did pretty well. We had to wake up 3-4 times the first couple nights to take him outside, but we were just happy he was letting us know. He never did pee in there! Impressive
Sunday afternoon, we went to Petsmart and bought him a crate. It’s surprising how quickly he accepted it, but now he goes in with little or no pursuasion (depends on how hyper he is) and sleeps in there all night and only whines when he needs to go outside.
He has a really funny personality and of course as a puppy, he’s wild and crazy and runs all over the place. Our biggest challenge is going to be teaching him to not bite/nip/chew on everything that stands in his way! We’ve been pretty good on keeping him on a schedule and taking him outside every half hour or so (kinda tiring, but it’ll be worth it!) so I’m confident he’ll be fully housebroken within a few months. The BITING though gets pretty frustrating, but we just have to be patient.
We took him to Santaquin to meet the kids and to meet Jaxon. Of course everyone loved him (including Jaxon). We want to focus on getting him used to other people and other dogs/animals so we don’t have issues with that later.
On Saturday, Lisa watched Gideon for a while and Bart and I went up AF Canyon to visit Sam. I hadn’t been to his grave at all and Bart hasn’t been up there since he buried him, so it was really nice to go up there. I still find myself surprised at how much I miss him. Every once in a while something will remind me of him, or I’ll just feel lonely and I miss him coming up and putting his chin on my lap, or nudging his nose under my arms when he wanted me to pet him. I miss a lot of things about Sam, even the things that used to annoy me. Funny how that works, isn’t it? It’s been a little over 2 months since we lost Sam and it’s still hard. It was nice to visit him and we promised we’d bring Gideon up in a couple months.
Bart let Gideon have Sam’s bowl. I was actually pretty surprised and impressed that he would, because Sam had that bowl his entire life and I think Bart’s had a hard time letting go of some things. It made me cry when I took this picture, because Sam’s head barely fit in this bowl. LOL Gideon can’t quite use Sam’s ice cream bucket for water yet though. LOL
It still kinda makes me tear up, thinking of Sam and how small Gideon is compared to him… and to think that Sam was once this size. He woulda liked Gideon He always liked dogs that were smaller than him! lol
I had to document Gideon’s first few moments home. This was shortly after we got him home and introduced him to his toys, which were handed down from Sam, for now.
On another note… Last Thursday was Bart’s 25th birthday and Xoe’s 11th. It was a really good day and honestly I think one of, if not THE best birthday of his I’ve ever witnessed. Zack, Xoe and Lisa came over and Bart got spoiled Zack got him a NICE BBQ grill and Lisa got him a Kitchenaid mixer. lol Xoe got a laptop from Zack, Super Mario Wii from Bart and me. So, we had a BBQ (Steak, baked potatoes and corn on the cob – ALL GRILLED!) and played Mario for a bit, then had Arizona cool cake for Bart and an ice cream cake for Xoe (they even blew out candles!) and it was just an all around awesome night. I was VERY happy that he finally had a really happy birthday.
“Discovering Destiny”
Looking back on the past couple years of my life, I would have never guessed I’d end up where I am now. I would have never imagined the experiences and struggles I had faced in such a short amount of time would have ever been possible. I came from a great family, was one of the minority of people left on earth who still had their Mother and Father married to each other, loving siblings, a good education, raised with good values and discipline, but everyone knows there’s no guarantee that you’ll walk the ‘straight and narrow’ just because you were taught to.
Here I am, sitting upright in this flat flimsy hospital bed with nothing but depressing white walls and ugly curtains covering the window with the view of the street, thinking about the last 2 years of my life and wondering how the hell I ended up here. None of that mattered though. Lying warm, chubby and perfectly beautiful in my arms was my son, only a few hours old.
I had heard stories of how the second a Mother sees their child for the first time, it was like a lightning bolt to the heart and you were forever changed. I always thought it was a load of crap, if I’m being honest, but I guess you just can’t know that until you’re in the exact spot that I am. I was absolutely floored, the second I looked at his face, because I didn’t expect it to be true. It couldn’t be more true. I had never experienced or thought it was possible to love another human being as much as I loved this baby boy in my arms. I could not get enough of him. I wanted to hold him, love him and kiss him for the rest of my life and never, ever let go. Looking down at him in my arms, watching his chest rise and fall with his steady, warm breathing, his perfect plump red lips and thick velvety black hair, my heart suddenly ached more than ever imaginable. I knew what was coming next and nothing in the world could prepare me for what was ahead of me.
Chapter 1
It was supposed to be a fun summer filled with sunny swimming days, sleeping on the roof of my house, night games, movies and warm nights. Instead, I found myself leaving my friends in Utah and being shipped off to Nebraska to spend the summer with my Aunt and cousins. On an Air Force Base no less. Believe me when I say; I wasn’t planning on having a fun time there. I barely knew these people aside from my mother assuring me that they shared our DNA. I recall meeting them once, when I was approximately 5 years old at the one family reunion that took place in 1990. I’m not a shy girl, but there was just something about the thought of spending an entire two months with a family I didn’t know that I wasn’t totally thrilled about. My Aunt Elly was my Mom’s youngest sister who was married to Bill. Bill was in the Air Force and I was nervous that he’d be a stereotypical Drill Sergeant. I had three cousins: Trent – age 17, who I had just recently been in contact with via snail mail because he was as much a trouble maker as I was; Timothy, who I’m told was about 5 years younger than Trent, then Lilly who was 10. To be honest I was more concerned about the fact that they didn’t know me. I was the trouble maker, which is why my parents decided I should spend a summer away from my friends who were such “bad influences” on me.
Here I was, somewhere in the middle of Wyoming, stuck in the car for the remaining 6 hour drive until we reached my home-sweet-home for the next two months. My mom in the driver’s seat, dad in the passengers’ seat and older sister by 3 years; Elizabeth – a.k.a: Liz, next to me in the back, happily listening to her headphones and humming while doodling on her arm with magic marker that I hoped stained her skin. Why she was here, I had no idea. We despised each other. Then again, who didn’t despise me? I was the black sheep of the family, the screw up, the child in the shadows and that’s where I preferred to be. She, on the other hand, was Miss Over-Achiever: Catcher for the local girls’ softball team, leader of the “Winter & Color Guard” in her High School and Queen of the Drama Club. That was her; “Drama Queen”. Deep down, in the cellar of my heart, where no one was allowed but me, I had to admit that I admired her. Part of me even wished I could be like her. From her thick, pretty brown hair, big popping brown eyes framed by thick, dark, long eyelashes to her small waste and perfect Marilyn Monroe hips. She got her looks from my Mom. If you looked at a picture of my Mom when she was younger, it was like looking at a photo of Liz. She was pretty, spontaneous, outgoing, loved by all and mostly, she loved herself. Sometimes I thought she loved herself too much, a term I would use was “stuck-up”, but I only used that term because I didn’t want to admit that I wished I could be like her. I was so opposite of her in almost all aspects. Here I sat next to her in the back seat, mentally scrutinizing the differences between us two. I hated my straight, white-blonde hair, which matched my eyelash color. My blue eyes I got from my Dad, but even he grew out of the blonde hair as a child. He grew into a sandy, strawberry-blonde color that I prayed I would get some day. Regardless of how often my mom would tell me I wasn’t fat, I was pretty sure that she said that just to make me feel better about myself. I knew that my size 10 jeans said otherwise. I didn’t even like looking in the mirror to get ready in the morning, but I had to, I just pretended I couldn’t see my face.
I can’t say where it started though, because I remember being a very happy, loving child. A Momma’s girl, if I had to choose. Up until about 12 years old, she still sang me to sleep almost every night and I didn’t care that it was juvenile. I loved that time I had with her when she paid attention to only me and I felt loved. Being the youngest of 5, I often felt like I wasn’t getting as much attention as they did. Whoever said the youngest child is the spoiled one was completely wrong. To be fair, my parents were impressively equal with myself and my siblings and none of us were “spoiled”, but maybe that was because my parents didn’t have the money to “spoil” us. When it came to loving us though, they were very fair and loving.
My Dad owned the local repair shop where we all helped with scheduling service-calls, taking orders for parts and stocking the shop with various parts for vacuums, stoves, washers, dryers, microwaves, sometimes even car parts. You could say my Dad was a “Fix it all” type of guy and my older brother was his side kick. My Mom worked hard with her day job at a local fast food restaurant and went to College about half an hour North at night, pursuing her Registered Nursing Degree and didn’t really enjoy that the downside to my Dad’s well-known repair business was that people in town thought it was ok to drop off unwanted or broken appliances and leave them on the side of our house, or the end of our driveway, flowing into what used to be the back yard. It long ago converted from a side-yard, to a junk-yard.
They were great parents and I loved them, but recently I felt like they couldn’t stand me. I admit that I often felt guilty for the tears I caused my Mother. She was the most caring, selfless person I knew and I was hurting her with all the trouble I’d been getting into the past couple years. I don’t know what she’d do without my Dad, because she didn’t have the strength to discipline the way he did. I knew he loved me, but he didn’t put up with disrespect or irresponsible decisions, particularly coming home after curfew, often stoned, back-talking my Mom. My disrespect to my Mother often earned me a slap on the mouth from my Dad.
Somewhere between the age of 12 and now at 14, I had begun to hate myself. I was 12 years old when I tried my first cigarette which soon after followed with my first beer. At 13 I’d had my first real boyfriend who just liked that I had big boobs that I’d let him grab and I was too stupid to say “no”. Luckily I hadn’t gone much further than 3rd base with him.
I met Matthew shortly after, who I almost immediately fell in love with. Aside from the fact that he introduced me to weed and was my main reason for sneaking out at night, he was the first boy to ever actually look at my face and tell me he loved me. He would tell me I was pretty and no matter how often he said it, I felt like hiding in a corner. It didn’t matter if people told me I was pretty, I really didn’t believe that I was. I was 14 when I lost my virginity to him, which eventually lead to the reasons why I was stuck in the middle of Wyoming, heading to Nebraska to pretend like nothing happened in my hometown of Santaquin, Utah. Population: 4,834. Matthew was part of the 414 that made up the Hispanic population of Santaquin. I loved his mocha smooth skin and wavy black hair. He had the most beautiful face and always smelled like “Tempest” cologne, which he wore because he knew I loved it. I loved him, whether or not people believed 14 year olds could be “in love”. I hated when my parents would say I was too young to understand what real love was, but they didn’t know how I felt toward him. I could see myself spending the rest of my life with him. I was never the normal teenager anyway. I was always able to see the possibilities of the future and think logically. My emotional thinking came from my Mother, no doubt. My Dad on the other hand was a “This-is-the-way-it-is-and-you-need-to-deal-with-it” type of guy. That’s what caused most of the tension between us, because I hated how intelligent he was. Always thinking with logic, not emotion. Again, something I admired, but at this age I had somehow made the decision to be as opposite as I possibly could from my parents. This is what they call “rebelling”, right? I wasn’t rebelling, at least I didn’t think so, it was just that no one understood me. No one understood how it felt to be the outcast in my perfect family.
My oldest sister Lyla was ten years older than me and already had two kids and had moved out a good seven years ago when my nephew Calvin was born. My brother Gabriel was just a year ½ younger than Lyla, followed by Rebekah who was only a year and four months younger than Gabriel. I used to picture that and be amazed that my Mother hadn’t gone insane from having three children that close in age. Liz was about 3 ½ years younger than Rebekah and I was 3 ½ years younger than Liz. Believe it or not, my parents even wanted more children. Living on the East Coast, my parents had a ridiculously enormous family to have never been divorced and remarried or something like that. No, we were all full siblings and no, my parents weren’t even Mormons. Not at the time. They joined the church shortly after randomly landing in Utah when I was very young and when I was about 12 years old, I decided I didn’t want to be part of the religion. That was the biggest difference between me and the rest of my family. I think my parents thought it was just a stage and that I was rebelling against the church just to spite them. No matter how different we all were, I loved my family very much and would do anything for them, I just wouldn’t admit it out loud.
Wyoming was such a boring place, at least from the backseat view of my mom’s Perriwinkle colored Geo Prism. I had no idea where we were, but that there was nothing but sage brush and barbed wire fences as far as I could see in front of and behind us. This wasn’t the first time we’d traveled through Wyoming, but the last time I don’t remember it being this sullen. My mom always sped when there wasn’t much around to gauge her speed off of. Telling her she was speeding didn’t do much good either, so I learned to just let her be. Sometimes I wondered if she felt relaxed driving fast, my dad often lovingly snapping at her for not paying attention to her speed or things around her. She was a free spirit. She was flighty, maybe even a bit ditsy and eccentric and I absolutely loved that about her. It made me feel slightly less alone. I was the same way, but I convinced myself it was just stupidity on my part. Looking at her made me feel like at least I was like someone else, even if just in a small way. I often wished I could have seen her back in the 60’s with her “Peace & Love” T-shirts and crazy skirts and sunglasses. She must have been the perfect hippy. That was her to the “T”. Peace and Love. That’s why she was so easily distraught when things weren’t happy. That’s why I made her cry. She wanted everyone to love each other as much as she loved everyone. She loved animals of every kind, even bugs. She made me believe that everything on this Earth had a purpose; a life. I took her very seriously when I was little. I would get upset if I saw someone kill a spider, or kick a flower. Everything that was alive on this Earth had a right to live. When I was probably five or six years old, she told me I could be whatever I wanted to be in life. I took her seriously at that time and she allowed me to truly believe that if I wanted it badly enough, I could become a Panda Bear.
Such carefree days. Where I was right then; in the back seat of my Mom’s crazy Perriwinkle-mobile, I couldn’t figure out what had happened to me. I couldn’t figure out where that carefree spirit went. I had to decide if I was going to make an attempt to turn this summer into a make-shift rehabilitation opportunity and try to make my mom cry less, or dig my heels in and insist on being miserable until I was allowed home to my friends, my windowless bedroom in the back corner of the house and my futon mattress on the floor. While contemplating my chances of survival if I hurled myself out of the car and hide myself in the sage brush on the side of the road, I decided to throw my head back and close my eyes to ignore Liz’s upbeat, bubbly dancing in the seat next to me.
I felt safer with my eyes closed. I could think of whatever I wanted to and not be judged. I could even pretend I was back at home sitting in my best friend Alise’s bedroom where I preferred to spend my time. She and I didn’t even have a whole lot in common, but we were connected at the hip. She was my one friend that didn’t judge me for the things I did, even though she didn’t participate in most of the activities I chose to be part of, such as getting high or messing around with guys. Everyone knew she was good. Sure, she smoked cigarettes, but around our town, who didn’t? I was always impressed with her ability to “Just Say No” when drugs were offered, even if everyone around her was doing it. She never went past 2nd base with a guy either and I wished I could have the strength she did. Boys were my weakness. It wasn’t any secret either. I was oddly protective over her because of this. She was unique, unlike anyone else in our group of random friends, which mostly consisted of whoever was getting high at that moment. I didn’t consider many of them “friends”, just conveniences because I rarely had to pay for drugs. I would get upset when people would try to offer her any or if a guy rubbed up on her too much. Everyone knew I’d be willing to lay their ass flat on the ground if they got out of line with her. I never fully understood why I was intimidating to people, but I also learned to just take advantage of that and let them be intimidated. I was safer that way.
I envied Alise for her looks; sometimes I referred to her as a pixie: small, petite and pretty face with a button nose. She had beautiful eyes that made her look like an actress and we often talked about her desire to become one. I knew she would make it if she got out of town. She lived with her Dad who was raising her and her three siblings on his own. When I met Alise in 6th grade, I didn’t know where her Mom was or why she didn’t live with them. It was a long time before I ever asked, too. They didn’t like to talk about her. If I hadn’t known they were all full siblings, I would have thought the other three didn’t have a Mother at all. I never heard them speak of her. Then again, I assumed that was partially because their Dad didn’t like to speak of her. Her dad was a school teacher at the Jr. High a few towns over and he was fairly strict, but of course I thought he was amazing compared to my parents. My parents wanted to know what I was doing at all times and had to know who I was with and where I was going. Blah, blah, blah. Alise’s Dad, however, just wanted her home at a certain time and didn’t seem to ask much more than that. Coincidentally, that’s the main reason why we preferred to stay at her house in her bedroom downstairs that he never came down to. I think he was more content upstairs watching his baseball or wrestling games and never came down to her room to check on us. We often had friends crawl through her window and we’d sit around and smoke cigarettes just sitting on her floor. I always felt happy being around her, but of course my parents insisted she was a bad influence. Everyone was a bad influence. They didn’t mind her coming to our house, but they always made it difficult for me when I’d go to hers.
I missed Alise already and the more I thought of her, the more I realized that I was getting further away from her with every second that we continued on this never-ending Wyoming road. I felt as if I was being shipped to Military School and I’d never be able to see her or Matthew again. I didn’t want to open my eyes, because I knew as soon as I did, my day dream of being with my friends would end and I’d have to see the miles of sage brush and barbed wire fences again. What a desolate place. I always complained about Utah, particularly the hick-town of Santaquin my parents chose to settle in years ago, but being stuck in this car feeling a million miles from civilization, I suddenly missed Santaquin, hicks and all. At least there were mountains to surround me there so I didn’t feel so exposed. The emptiness here made me feel even more lonely.
I was officially pretending I was asleep to avoid any possible conversation with my parents or God forbid – Liz. My parents seemed like they were in their own bubble, casually talking about their last drive through Wyoming and the last speeding ticket my Mom received for going 95 miles per hour in a 75 zone. Liz was still singing and humming along with whatever she was listening to on her headphones. Even her annoying singing was perfectly on-key. She was just always perfect. Sometimes I wonder what she’d be like without a voice box.
Just as I was contemplating what Liz would be like if she couldn’t speak, I felt the car halt to a stop. Sometimes my Mom hit the brakes the same way she hit the gas – floored it. My eyes popped open and realized we’d stopped at a gas station. I immediately got out wanting to stretch my legs and get some air. I hadn’t smoked a cigarette since last night and was feeling tense. Alise told me it would probably be better for me to try to quit this summer, rather than having to figure out a way to get my hands on cigarettes in a place where I didn’t know anyone. Not everyone was willing to buy a 14 year old a pack of cigarettes. Secretly, I’d stashed a few packs in the bottom of my duffle bag, but unless I rationed them, they wouldn’t last a week. I knew they’d go stale within a week or two if I saved them, but I didn’t care. If things got bad enough, I’d smoke them without complaint. My mom had stocked a bag of tootsie-roll pops, Life-Savers and gum and tried to convince me that they would help my cravings. She desperately wanted me to quit smoking. She had even paid $150+ for Nicorette patches earlier this year during school. I’d come to the conclusion that quitting smoking was going to be impossible when in the back of my mind I had absolutely no desire to quit. I wanted to make my mom happy, but at the same time, smoking made me feel better for the 4-5 minutes it took to smoke, even knowing I was slowly killing myself. Maybe that’s why I did it.
I dragged my feet and walked to the edge of the gravel to the road, shoving a stick of gum in my mouth on the way. I-80 was completely empty whichever direction you looked and I swear I saw a tumble weed bounce across the road a ways down. I doubted this was even considered a town. It was probably officially the “middle of nowhere”, in between city or county lines. Other than a beat-up red Ford truck parked near the side of the station, ours was the only vehicle within miles. This gas station was about the size of our garage back home, with chipped metal bars covering the windows. They reminded me of the old bank windows in western films. Or maybe that was the saloons. I couldn’t remember. The awning over the whole length of the roof looked like it had been built in the 1920’s and not mended since then either. I wondered if the small prickly looking bushes that surrounded the gravel had a name, or if they were just an in between species of weed and bush. I started wondering if Wyoming always looked this dehydrated, or if it was just the 90 degree June weather that caused it.
“Destiny, do you want a drink?” I jumped as I heard my Mom call from the other side of the car, just putting the gas pump back in its cradle. She must have been in a good mood, or maybe the closer we got to our destination, the guiltier she was feeling for dumping me off in the middle of nowhere. She rarely bought things from gas stations because she always disliked how over priced things were. “You can buy that in the grocery store for at least $0.50 cheaper!” she’d always say, so we never asked for anything. I knew we had water bottles in the cooler in the back of the car too, so I didn’t understand why she was offering to spend money when it wasn’t necessary, but caffeine sounded really good to me right now, which was something my Mother never packed.
“Yeah, cherry coke …please.” She really didn’t like us drinking sugary caffeinated drinks, but she pulled a five dollar bill out of her purse and held it out for me to take. I took the money just as she said “ask Liz if she wants anything” with a ‘please don’t start anything with her’ look in her face. I was really hoping I’d be able to survive this entire trip without us having to speak to each other, but I didn’t want to upset my Mom or start an argument that I didn’t have the energy to finish.
Liz had already jumped out of the car and headed into the gas station before I’d even walked out to the road. My guess is she had to pee. I noticed her walking from the back of the gas station and realized that this station, the size of our garage, didn’t even have indoor bathrooms. She had a large piece of what looked like two-by-four in her left hand and swinging loosely on the end was the bathroom key. It reminded me of the classic “Hall Pass” that we’d have to carry around in Elementary School, proving that we had permission to be out of class. It was usually a large piece of something ridiculous with the words “HALL PASS” written on it somewhere. I remember seeing a cartoon once where a boy had one of those huge old fashioned space heaters as a hall pass and had to drag it through the hallway.
“Do you wanna drink?” I yelled toward her as I lifted the $5 bill for her to see.
“Yeah. Maybe V-8. Actually I’ll just come in with you, I have to return the key.” She lifted up the big chunk of wood with the word “WEMANS” on it. Only in the middle of no where would they spell “Women’s” incorrectly and not have the desire, or the knowledge, to correct it. I started to wonder why everyone was being so nice to me. Maybe they were just all be happy to be rid of me and were rubbing it in.
I had hoped for some relief from the heat when I stepped into the small station, but none was to be found. I could hear multiple fans running in corners of the small area, but all they seemed to be doing was pushing the hot air in circles, like a lava tornado. The man behind the counter was probably old enough to be at home in a grave and I wondered why the hell he’d choose to sit on that stool day after day and not just stay at home and watch Jeopardy or something. I tried to hide my smirk when I took in the sight of him. Messy white hair and beard to match that probably hadn’t been cut or trimmed in years. A red faded and stained t-shirt underneath the most classic hill-billy overalls. I couldn’t see his feet, but I imaged beat up cowboy boots. He looked our direction and nodded, then returned to his magazine that had a picture of a large Buck. Figures.
After paying for our drinks, we headed back to the car where our parents were seated and ready to go. We sat into the back and noticed my Mom peeking in the rear view mirror, no doubt to make sure we were putting our seatbelts on. Seconds later, gas pedal slammed to the floor and gravel spraying behind us, we were back on I-80 with miles of nothingness all around. In approximately 4 ½ hours, according to my Dad’s amazing navigational skills, we would be reaching our destination of Bellevue, Nebraska and my new Home-Sweet-Home.
Will you bring me my chapstick?
I really wish I didn’t have to work on Monday’s. For most people, I imagine Monday is the busiest day of the week. For me, however, it’s one of the slowest. Today, not only is it slow, but I am exhausted and my stomach is killing me. What’s new though, right? Speaking of which, I’m supposed to be going to the hospital sometime soon for an appointment to knock me out and stick a camera down my throat and look into my stomach and see what’s going on. I wouldn’t be surprised if they got in there and discovered a million tiny little blades slicing around my insides. Ok, maybe not, but for real, I wouldn’t be surprised! Now I’m just waiting for the hospital to call me back so I can schedule it. *Sigh*
My dreams are crazy lately. I’m just trying to brush them aside and not let them affect me so much. The past couple nights have just been WEIRD dreams. I can’t decide if the “weird” ones are better, or worse than the freaky, creepy, haunting ones. Seems like the scary ones, I can convince myself faster that they weren’t real… whereas the weird ones, I find myself feeling confused once I wake up and end up spending a number of minutes trying to decide if I’m asleep or awake. If it really happened or not. Like the teeth dream. I really did stick my fingers in my mouth and feel around to make sure my teeth were there. It SOUNDS funny, but it’s not. It’s horrifying. And feeling something THAT real is extremely disturbing. I had a dream on Friday night that my ear fell off, but at least I know exactly where that dream stemmed from. LOL I had been reading Harry Potter pretty late on Friday before I went to bed, so I’m positive that the dream came from me reading the chapter that involves George Weasley having his ear shot off by a curse. So, as weird as that dream was, it didn’t bother me at all, because I at least knew where the weirdness came from. Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.
Woohoooohoho, guess what I did? I made jam. Yup. Homemade jam. I only cut my fingers like twice and didn’t burn or break anything significant. Of course I couldn’t have done it without Lena teaching me how and Harmony supervising and making fun of me for making such a mess. Plum jam and it’s good! hehehe I have huge plumpy chunks of plum though, ’cause I didn’t think about that when Lena told me to chop ’em up. So yeah, mine have pretty big chunks. lol I think we’re gonna make apricot jam this week sometime. Yay!
We had such an eventful weekend. Not really, actually. We basically did nothing of use other than go grocery shopping yesterday and I guess we did sorta drive around to look at fireworks on Saturday. Oh, and passed Super Mario Bros for the 3rd time. LOL That is definitely useful. Kaitlyn came over yesterday while Lena, Jake and Ryan went to their meeting and we painted her fingernails purple. That was fun. And she drew a picture of Heidi. She asked me how to spell “Heidi” and then after I told her, she went on to say that she drew her with blue hair because her hair was blue when we went to Lake Powell a couple years ago, but she didn’t really know what color her hair was now, ’cause she changes it all the time, etc. etc. etc. LOL It was nice to have some one-on-one with her even though it was just for a couple hours.
I was gonna write more and then I got distracted. That’s what happens when I try to write at work.
*Sigh* I love Bart.
Disturbing subconscious
I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. Not just a little bit of restlessness, but most nights, I lay in bed, completely wide awake, even when my body feels like it’s exhausted. It takes me forever to fall asleep and once I’m asleep, more often than not, I’m having extremely disturbing, scary, creepy, weird, uncomfortable dreams. I’ve kind of always struggled with waking up multiple times throughout the night, but over the last couple months it’s been worse. Multiplied by ten. It seems like each time I wake up, it takes me a while to fall back asleep and then once I’m asleep, a new dream starts and ends up just as creepy or scary or WEIRD as the one that made me wake up previously. It’s just really frustrating. Well, skip to the reason I’m writing. I don’t write about a lot of my dreams, because realistically as weird and creepy as some of them are, I tend to know WHY I’m having that certain dream. Like a dream about a certain person following me, or chasing me, or threatening to kill my family. Dreams like that, I understand and don’t make me feel confused… they just make me feel uncomfortable. The dream I had last night, which was actually the only dream I recall having (if I had dreams after it, I don’t remember them), but it was so disturbing, I literally woke up sweating and almost screaming. I say almost, because I felt like I was choking and I don’t think a scream actually ever came out more than just gasping. Anyway, I still feel sick to my stomach just picturing it, but the image has been going through my mind ALL day and I can’t stop thinking about it, so maybe writing it out will help. Anyway, there isn’t much to it. It’s not a whole big novel of details. It was simply me, standing (seemingly) alone, holding my hand open, palm side up, catching my teeth that were falling out of my mouth, one by one. At one point I remember looking down into the palm of my hand and about 10 of my teeth were in my palm, just as if they’d popped cleanly out of my mouth. As silly as it sounds, it was absolutely horrifying. I was SCREAMING and sobbing, having a severe panic attack (in the dream) and no one seemed to be around to hear me. Even though I didn’t see anyone else, I felt like people were there, but no one noticed that all my teeth were falling out. I was just standing in a completely black, vast, nothingness. Totally black, empty. I can’t even call it a room, because there were no walls, it was just never ending… nothing. I just stood, holding the teeth that kept falling out of my mouth and that was it. It FELT as if my dream didn’t ever change from anything other than that. Almost as if you’re watching a 2 hour movie and the entire 2 hour movie is just that one thing. A girl screaming in the middle of nothing, holding her teeth in the palm of her hand. When I say it out loud, it sounds so amazingly ridiculous, I almost WANT to laugh… but it literally makes my stomach knot when I picture it and the feeling of complete panic… just… ugh. WHY do I have dreams like this?! This one was just… just SO weird and disturbing and I can’t think of one possible reason why I would have a dream like that. Like I said, the other dreams I have, even with how scary and creepy and horrifying they are, still seem to have a foundation. I know where they come from. I can usually pin point exactly where it stemmed from. This one? Not a clue… but it makes me uncomfortable. It’s not that I think my teeth are gonna fall out, and I can’t describe what I’m thinking, but there felt like there was a much deeper, solid, unavoidable meaning to it. *Sigh* Anyway… I couldn’t help but turn to google… Go ahead, laugh! But, apparently this is an extremely common dream. Top 10 of most common dreams, anyway, so of course there are a bunch of different theories on it’s meaning. Most of which don’t even remotely fit me, but there were a couple theories that stuck out to me, because I can relate in even a small way to both:
This further points to teeth dreams as being related to getting older and/or feeling unattractive and less feminine. Teeth are an important feature to your attractiveness and how you are presented to others. Caring about how you look is natural and healthy.
The reason that one sort of struck me is because I totally admit, I have been struggling with the fact that I’m turning 25 this year. I don’t know why. I mean, I have thoughts on it, but all in all, it’s REALLY dumb and it doesn’t matter at ALL! Logically, I don’t care that I’m getting older. It’s unavoidable, for one, and secondly, there’s absolutely no difference between 25 and 24! Anyway, I do know that this is something that floats through my mind a LOT lately, so if it my TEETH falling out has some symbolic meaning to me having anxieties about turning 25, then oooooooooook!
Teeth are used to bite, tear, chew and gnaw. In this regard, teeth represent power. And the loss of teeth in your dream may be from a sense of powerlessness. Are you lacking power in some current situation? Perhaps you are having difficulties expressing yourself or getting your point across. You feel frustrated when your voice is not being heard. You may be experiencing feelings of inferiority and a lack of self-confidence in some situation or relationship in your life. This dream may be an indication that you need to be more assertive and believe in the value of your own opinion.
I don’t even really wanna get into that one… lets just say, my answer to this is “Yes”. But what does it have to do with my TEETH!? LOL! Stupid.
Introducing……
Keenyn Samuel (Pudge) Kroeber
7/16/2010 7 lbs. 9 oz. 18 inches
Keenyn
Keenyn is Heather and Christopher’s 3rd child (and 3rd boy, I might add!) He’s PERFECT! hehehe I’m SURE I’ll have lots more pictures later on
I’ve been pretty amazed at the difference in me between Keenyn coming around, compared to other babies. That probably doesn’t make sense… well, lately, I’ve been struggling (silently) a LOT with the amount of people, particularly people my age, friends, people I went to school with, etc. being pregnant. Don’t get me wrong, I am absolutely happy for them, but it’s hard to describe. Every time another person announces they’re pregnant, the ache inside me gets a little harder to bear. It really doesn’t make sense, but since when do emotions have to be rational or logical? lol The reason I say there’s been a big difference between those and now Keenyn is that the second I got the text from my brother with this picture, well… I can’t really describe it. In a way, I feel this way every time I get a new nephew or niece, because it’s an addition to my heart, but I guess since I’ve been having a particularly hard time lately, seeing him for the first time kinda seems to have patched something. I’m sure it’s a temporary patch, but still… I guess it’s ’cause I get to be part of this baby. Everyone around me is having babies, but they’re babies that I don’t necessarily get to hold, or to kiss, or to love. So, I dunno if it’s just ’cause of that, but… I don’t think I could be more excited if I tried! I love this little guy. I got to see him for the first time yesterday. This weekend was a crazy busy one, so unfortunately I didn’t get to see him until 2 days after he was born… but it was really, really nice having the opportunity to hold him, just with Heather and no one else around (Christopher was at church and the boy’s were at Auntie Polly’s house). I just got to hold him and look at him for like an hour without having to share him with anyone else. LOL Whenever new babies come into our family, it’s kinda like a circus and everyone of course wants their turn and stuff… so, it was really nice for me He’s so teeny too! I mean, compared to Eli and Isaac as newborns, Pudge is pretty tiny. But just so, so perfect :). I can’t wait to see Eli and Isaac with him though!
Green fever
A few posts ago, I introduced my new plants that Lisa helped me pick out. I’ve expressed my surprise that they’re even still alive after just a month 1/2. They’re doing amazingly well and as of last night, I think I’ve discovered why. Lately, I’ve been feeling sort of… sad. With the loss of Sam, obviously both Bart and I have been feeling sad. It’s inevitable. There’s nothing you can do to prevent or get rid of the sadness that comes after losing a friend. A baby. It’s only been 2 weeks (today) since he passed and I still am tearing up just thinking about him. And of course I’m at work, so I’m not going to go into detail quite yet. I did intend on writing a post to talk about it (post before last) but quickly discovered that I couldn’t, without hysterically sobbing, so his picture was all I could do. Maybe in a few weeks, I’ll be able to talk about everything that happened without bawling… or sometime when I have time to post at home and not worry about people walking in and seeing me bawling. Anyway… moving on… Other than Sam, the past few months have been emotional. Although the birth mother’s weekend in Charlotte was AMAZING, I admit it made my sadness of missing Dustin surface a little more. Which isn’t a bad thing… it’s been good. Anyway, my point is… last night, I was re-potting a plant outside on the pack patio, hands covered in dirt and I realized that it feels really good to be taking care of something. Granted, it’s a plant… but you know what? It’s still a living thing. It’s a living thing that I’m responsible for. If I don’t water them and pay attention to the soil and care about their growth, they’ll die. It feels good to be take care of something. I think I got so used to taking care of Sam just in normal every day life, then even moreso when he got sick, that when he was gone, I’ve felt even more empty. Bart tried to tell me “well you take care of ME”, which I admit made me feel good, but still, it’s not quite the same. If anything, realistically, Bart takes care of me WAY more than I take care of him :p lol
So, I started off with the three plants that Lisa and I got from Home Depot, plus the little ficus tree that Carriene gave me when we closed on our house about a year ago… which I was REALLY going to throw away because it was totally “dead”, but Bart convinced me to keep it and guess what? It’s TOTALLY thriving. LOL Don’t ask me why, but I’m glad I didn’t throw it away :). (Every time I comment on how well it’s doing, Bart says “and YOU were gonna throw it away. Tsk tsk tsk” lol I love that kid.) Well, Lisa also gave me a plant that she brought into my office a few weeks ago (think I mentioned it in an earlier post, although now I can’t remember and I don’t wanna close this window right now to go look). It was basically four difference species in one plant, one of which didn’t survive very long at all :(, so I lovingly removed the dead one, then yesterday dug out the big leafy one and transplanted it into a new pot, so it left the original pot with the ivy and the other leafy plant (yeah, I still have no idea what species any of my plants are). Sooo, now I have SIX plants. LOL! Oh, plus the big pot Lisa gave me for the front porch… so SEVEN! Aaaand, I’m gonna plant my cool avocado pit that’s been growing like crazy in my windowsill for the past few months and we’ll see what comes of that. I read that you can’t actually plant an avocado pit and grow edible avocados from it, but, it should grow an avocado plant. That’d be freakin’ awesome :).
…Now it would be even better if I could learn what kind of plants I have. Then I’d really be cool. Maybe I just need to post pictures of all of them and maybe someone can tell me what they are. LOL Ok, here goes:
and last, but not least:
If anyone is good with identifying different types of plants and knows what these are, let me know! LOL
Not just words.
It was years ago that I heard this quote. I don’t remember where I heard it, I just know it stuck with me really strongly. I guess it’s the same theory as “try, try again” or “never give up”. It’s the same message… it just had stronger meaning. The obstacles that I’ve been through throughout my life so far have been a lot more to me than just “oops, gotta try that again” It’s not trying again, it’s picking myself back up after I’ve fallen, been walked on, drug through the dirt, beaten and bruised, broken and scarred… and no matter what get put in front of me and no matter what knocks me down, I WILL get back up. Coley sent me this photo along with a link on my facebook wall this morning. From almost the first day I “met” Coley, she has had an almost eerie way of knowing how I’m feeling without me saying anything to her. She’s on the opposite side of the country from me, yet when I really need a pick me up, it’s always her that’s either texting me saying she knows something’s wrong and “what’s up”, etc. Most of the time I can’t help but laugh, because I don’t know how she does it! It’s insane. Well, she did it again. I really needed this today. With everything that’s going on in her life with Noah’s surgery and now his stressful and exhausting recovery, not to mention she’s been sick herself throughout the past week or so, she STILL does it… and knows when I need a hug. Thank you Coley. I love you more than you’ll ever know.
Here comes the sun (do de do do)
Yesterday was the weirdest weather I can recall in a long time, at least for May 24th! Snowed almost all day. Of course it’s already gone and pretty much no trace that it snowed, but it was strange. Today’s still chilly, but sunny and blue skies. I prefer the chilly air, actually. For now, at least.
I guess not a whole lot going on. Today I’m getting off work early to spend the afternoon with Melissa and I’m waiting for one client to let me know when they’re finished with their payroll because other than him, I’m done with my work for the day. lol The earlier they call, the earlier I can go. I realized a few days ago that Melissa and I have really not “hung out” since before Chloe was born. That’s way too long. So, for no real reason, we’re just gonna spend the day together. Wish I coulda taken the whole day off, but… half is better than nothing. We don’t even have any particular plans… just, hangin’ out.
Lately I’ve been in a “plant” type of mood. I posted about a month ago that Lisa and I went out and bought a few plants for my house. Well here it is, a little over a month later and guess what? They’re still alive! Yuuup. Didn’t kill ’em. So, I think since she saw that I could do that, on Sunday she brought over a big pot, dirt and some plants for me to put on the porch. I planted them yesterday when I got home from work.
Porch Plants!
Cute, huh?! Teehee. Hopefully they’ll live. Oh… and I also managed to REVIVE my dying baby ficus plant thingy that Carriene gave me when we closed on the house. So, I realized I have had THAT plant for almost a YEAR! Sure, it’s wilted and suffered a few times, but it hasn’t DIED, so that’s the important thing, right? Oh, also… on Friday, Lisa came by my office, for no real reason, and gave me this:
Pretty Plant
I kind of almost cried when she gave it to me. It was just pretty amazing that she’d give me something JUST because, for no reason at all. I need to focus more often on how lucky I am to have such a great family, on both sides. I know SO many people who can’t stand their in-laws and such and I can honestly say I love Bart’s family the same as I love my own. They’re much more than family. They really are my friends. Lisa is probably one of my best friends when it really comes down to it. I think I do more with her than most of my “normal” friends. lol Anyway… I just thought it was really cool :). And more plants!!! (To not kill!)
Yesterday was Eli’s 6th (GAG) birthday. Sigh. Yes, 6! We had his birthday party on Sunday at Heather and Christopher’s and it was awesome. There were a lot of people there (more than usual) and even with the extra people, it wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as it usually is. haha. I don’t know why! But yeah, it was really fun and Eli looked like he was having a lot of fun :). It’s really just amazing to me that he’s already 6 years old. I had it stuck in my mind that he was turning 5. No seriously… I thought he was only 5 until I heard him talking to Kaitlyn saying “Now I’m 6”. I think I’m just stuck in denial and I’m trying to keep my nephews and nieces stuck at one age only. Maaan. Kaitlyn’s gonna be 8 this year. 
Stop growing people!
I’ve talked about my amazing friend Coley in past posts and now I’m gonna mention her again. Particularly because I want to mention her son, Noah, who will be going through “brutal surgery” this Friday to repair his spine. This is a really scary thing and I’ve been trying not to drive her insane by texting every single day (which I don’t. I’ve refrained) asking how she’s doing. Duh, what a stupid question. “How you doing?” and one of these times, I expect her to say “Freaking the hell out man, stop asking!” Seriously though… plah. I’m nervous. And if I’m nervous… I can only imagine how she’s feeling, having to prepare for her baby to go through this. I really do have faith that everything is going to be alright, even though it drives her nuts to hear people say that! LOL I just have a feeling he’ll be ok. …So, for those of you who haven’t already seen my multiple posts on Facebook and Myspace, here’s another one. Yes, it’s not too late… please send Noah cards! He LOVES getting mail and cards will help brighten his day.
Card Drive
Just look at that smile!!!!!!!! I can’t look at that smile and NOT grin myself. To find out a little more on this, you’re welcome to read Coley’s post: http://coleybelle.blogspot.com/search/label/Scoliosis%20Surgery