Dang, I guess I'd better shave. Hahahaha.
It must seem like my posts revolve around Mr. R coming home. Well, thats how my life seems to work out. Yes, we do well when he's gone. I've got this house under control for the most part. But Daddy coming home is a big deal! We use real dishes instead of paper, make sweet tea, and eat real food instead of microwaved stuff. Sometimes I even sweep! ;)
There is something about that husband of mine that brings out the best in me. On the day he comes home, I'll wear my nicest pair of pants or skirt, a flattering (read, busty but not pornographic) top, wear make-up and possibly some earrings, and actually do something with my hair besides throw it in a bun. Sometimes I'll even get a mani-pedi. Like I said, he thinks I have cute feet! I'm trying to figure out what to make him for dinner Sunday night. How does chicken in the crockpot sound to ya'll? With some green beans, sweet tea, fresh baked bread, and maybe a peach cobbler for dessert?
I make chicken all the time though. I'll have to go through my cookbooks and maybe find something new.
Mr. R just loves coming home to a clean house. Now, we do have three children, so its not clean 24/7. I'm not going to sit here and lie to you people about how perfect my house is, cuz I'd be lying! No, I have enough paperwork in piles to choke a horse, my photos are taking up one end of the dining room table, and there are always dishes. I am caught up on laundry though, can I get an amen? He loves burning candles, a clean kitchen (I really try) a freshly made bed, a homecooked meal, and I keep talking about that sweet tea, don't I!
I make pretty good sweet tea for a Yankee girl. Even my MIL says its good, and I don't think she'd lie to me.
Then the kids will go to bed, and we will clean up the kitchen together. We'll chat about the kids, or his truck, or the election coming up. And finally, we get to go to bed together.
Ok, I am not the lying type, and I will admit, I miss my husband for the OBVIOUS reasons that a woman in her mid 30s would miss a man. Ahem. But after all that stuff is out of the way, I miss him for so much more. I love how he checks the kids in their rooms after they fall sleep. How he wiggles the doors and windows to make sure they're all locked. How he'll come to bed and hold me in his arms and play with my hair (loooooove when he plays with my hair!) It is that familiarity, that closeness we share. I miss that the most when he's gone, that time at night when no one exists but the two of us in our bed, watching SNL or Fox News or CNN, I'm on the right and he's on the left. I have my head nestled in the crook of his armpit, and his hand is either stroking my hair or my back. My arm is draped around his stomach and we just *exist* together. I just drift to sleep while some political pundit is screaming about something. It seems like something silly to dwell upon, but I love every second we are with each other. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.
This is sort of a weird post for me.
My entire life, I have been the tomboy type girl. Yes, I had always had long hair, and I liked to curl my hair and paint my nails and stuff like that. But I played basketball, not Barbie. I had Hot Wheels, not Pound Puppies. (My only exception to this rule was that I always loved baby dolls. In fact, I am looking at my first baby doll, Rosie, right now. She sits on my desk!) I broke more eyeglasses playing softball than my mother cares to remember. I wore jeans and tshirts, generally with sports motifs. When I got to my teenage years, those sports shirts morphed into black band shirts, specifically Metallica, Guns n Roses, and other heavy metal bands. For me to wear a dress or skirt meant it was forced on me.
As I've gotten older, I've been shocked to find myself changing. I realized that black was not the most flattering color on me. I found that I looked tired and it emphasized my under-eye circles more than I liked. I switched to wearing red and blue, and the compliments came bursting forth. Encouraged, I let my hair grow long again. More compliments. Then I tried simple make up. I started getting carded when I went to the store to buy Mr. R his beer, so I definitely liked that, especially after age 30! I stopped wearing men's shoes and started wearing more delicate sandals and shoes. I've still been wearing pants, but I switched to dressier pants instead of sweats and jeans. But I do have some skirts, and Mr. R has been encouraging me in my newfound femininity. I have one long tan suede skirt that he requests when he comes home from a long trip. I still have a few black blouses, I just make sure I don't wear black pants or skirts with it, so I don't look like I'm heading for a funeral.
Sometimes growing up is weird. Even 5 to 10 years ago, if you had asked me if I was going to give up my band shirts and tight jeans, I would have laughed. Now I don't even look at them anymore. In fact, I gave all my band shirts to Missy (she says they're vintage...thanks for making me feel old!) and have been buying myself new flattering clothes with more womanly flair. I'm not talking old lady clothes. I will not be wearing a matching hat with gloves to church any time soon. Or orthopedic shoes. I've just become more comfortable with the idea that God designed me as a woman, and that design was not a mistake.
Easter of course makes me think of Jesus. The fact that men and women are so sinful, that God had to send his Son into human form and die for us. That is pretty sinful. (duhhhhh) Just because I am a Christian doesn't make me better than anyone else. I am not perfect, not even close, and I don't think I'll be a saint any time soon. I make mistakes on a regular basis. I choose tv over my Bible, I choose arguing over forgiving, I choose punishment over grace. Which bring me to my point...CHOICE. I also chose Jesus to be my personal Lord and Savior. So even though I screw up...a LOT!...I am forgiven by his Blood. That doesn't excuse me from doing my best, and at age 32, I still have plenty to learn. I'm just so grateful that even though I am sinful and filthy, I am still extended the gift of grace.
On a lighter note, we were in church on Sunday. We have an amazing pastor, and even Bucket can understand his sermons, to a degree. He does tend to get very squirmy throughout the service, as most 9 year old boys will. While he was using me as his personal jungle gym during the service, Bucket whispered, "Mommy, why did they nail that guy to the cross?"
I said, "He was a thief."
He said, "They nailed you to a cross for stealing back then?!?!"
I said, "Yes, they did. What do you think of that?"
Bucket said, "They could have tried a time-out, first!"
Let me start off by saying, this is something I know very little about. Yes, I do have an aunt and uncle who are both "recovering alcoholics" but neither one of them have had a drink in about 20 years. And they were having their issues when I was a very little girl, and I don't remember any of it.
This is not going to be an anti-alcohol rant. I actually enjoy a drink every now and then. I've been known to pick up a pack of Kahlua drinks, or get a margarita, or even share a Corona with Mr. R. In my entire life, I have *never* been drunk, or thrown up from drinking, or driven drunk. As soon as I knew I was pregnant with one of the kids, I stopped with no problem. I have been *tipsy* however, and that is normally from one drink. That's it. And you know what, I like it that way. I don't let alcohol control me, I control it. That's how I roll.
So it always takes me by surprise when I run into someone who deals with alcohol addiction on a regular basis. Mr. R's best friend from middle and high school, is a chronic drunk. In high school, it was funny at parties when James would get drunk. But that was more than 15 years ago. What was funny in high school is pretty pathetic in your mid 30s. Where everyone else grew out of the party mode, got married, had kids, started careers or got jobs, James kept drinking and partying. At this point, James is 35, unemployed, and still living with his mother, who supports him, and his girlfriend, who also supports him.
I guess this is where I come in...I've befriended James' long-suffering girlfriend, Angie.
Angie is very sweet. We actually have quite a bit in common. We are both moms (her son is not James's son, he is from a prior marriage) we are both voracious readers and music lovers. Both in our 30s (but she's 5 years older than me) and both of us have been at our jobs for quite a while. She is also going to college part time at night, and I'm proud of her for that. But the fact that she is subjecting herself to James on a regular basis (they've been together over 7 years) just befuddles me. I mean, WHY?!?!
He has hit her in the past when he's drunk. He won't work. He steals money from her. He takes her car in the middle of the night to do drug runs (yes, he's also addicted to crack). He sleeps all day while she's at work, and then bothers her all night while she's trying to sleep. He will wake her up at 3am to ask her for ten bucks, or to get up and make him something to eat. And if she doesn't do it, he will either hit her, or threaten to destroy her property. So this woman who works full time during the day, and goes to college in the evenings, is not even allowed to sleep in her own bed. He downloads porn on her computer and sends it to MY HUSBAND on his cell phone. When Angie complains about the treatment, he tells her the way he treats her is normal, and she should be grateful to have a man like him. And she...believes this. I don't understand it.
Anyway, we talk every day on instant messenger. We chat about kids, music, sex, James and Mr. R, holidays, work, college...I mean, nothing is left out. We've actually only met three times in person, but we've become very close, and I adore her. I've also...I don't know if counseled is the right word. But I pull out my Bible and type in verses for her when she is having troubles. So I guess that would be counseling. I've talked to her about marriage (basically begging her not to marry James) and how real men treat their women. You know, by actually having a job, and not beating them. Ahem.
Angie comes online yesterday and tells me that James has decided she is not allowed to speak to me anymore. You got that right...we got grounded!!! I am so...outraged! Who the heck is this man who has decided who *I* may or may not spreak with? I am 32 years old, I will speak to whoever, whenever I want! But Angie was all apologetic, about how she will miss me, and all that. And I said, "Angie, you can't possibly be thinking about obeying James on this." And she laughed it off, so I thought we were good.
This morning, she has her out of office on. Looks like she decided to shut me out, because James told her to do so.
I'm sad for my friend Angie, and royally ticked at James for doing this to her. James called Mr. R last night, and Mr. R didn't have time to talk to James because he was dealing with the kids. But I heard Mr. R tell James not to send him porn on the phone again.
I'm so, so, so blessed that my Mr. R is a good, Christian man who loves me, and loves our home, and loves our children, and most importantly loves our Lord. What a life we would have without the grace of God.
Mr. R has an appointment with the US Foods in Ormond Beach at 9am. Let's just say they're not the most prompt people. So I'm guessing Mr. R will be home this afternoon. As always, I'm very excited when he is able to come home, even for a short period of time. The kids are always happy to see their daddy, and it's always good to be held by your husband!
I am pre-heating the oven right now, to bake some fresh banana bread for him. With walnuts! It's his favorite. I'm not sure what I'm going to make for dinner tonight. The cupboard is pretty bare right now, thanks to diesel prices.
We were so blessed to pay off Mr. R's semi. Mr. R was hoping and praying that this was the answer to our financial prayers. Having a child with a disability has limited my career. I consider this a blessing, as I have not put my children in daycare, and I am here for them when they need me. (which is all the time, of course!)
I have to say, God has an amazing sense of timing, because just as the we paid off the semi, the price of diesel skyrocketed. We were hoping to save about $1100 per month without having a truck payment, and instead, we are just breaking even again because all the extra profit is going to fuel. Mr. R is reconsidering his choice of career. I am blessedly stable in this area, praise the Lord. It may be selfish of me, but I pray that whatever Mr. R chooses to do next, it is something where he is home more often. I am quite the lonely lady here at times. Yes, I have the kids, and I love them dearly, but that is obviously not the same as having your husband next to you at night.
My college roomie Miriam took that pic of me when I was a mere girl aged 18. Seriously, that has to be one of my favorite pics ever. That was before I had major circles under my eyes! Pre-kid! You can't tell, but I have no stretch marks back then. My boobs stayed up WITHOUT A BRA. And my hair was dark brown, not from a box. With no gray. And while I was never skinny, I certainly wasn't fat.
I was still addicted to coffee, though. Some stuff just doesn't change, y'know?
Anyway, thanks for the memories, Mir. Now whenever I leave a comment, I get to leave that pic. Sweeeeeeeet.
I wanna come to Harpers Ferry to visit you!
First of all, let me start by saying my boss IS pregnant. I'm very happy for her, but I'm not supposed to say anything. So I figured I'd post it on my blog. Hahaha. Well, she doesn't blog and none of her family or friends would know I'm talking about her, so there. She hasn't even told her own 10 yr old son yet. I feel honored that she told me. Of course, she also tells me she's gassy. Not sure if she just likes to overshare, or what. But yes, I'm happy for her!
Anyway, I was reading over this blog recently, and discovered that I tend to only write about Bucket, which sort of makes me sad. After all, I am a mother to three. Not one. THREE. There are days though, that Bucket feels like three kids wrapped into one. He is quite the challenge. Some days, I am up to the challenge and feel quite successful. Other days, I am quite certain God made a mistake in giving this child to me. I mess up a lot! But my God does not make mistakes, and therefore I know it is right and good that Bucket is with me. I rest in that.
However, tonight I am going to talk about my other two.
Missy is 12 going on 28. She has days when she acts like a toddler, which makes me want to scream. There is nothing quite like seeing your 5 foot tall daughter throwing a temper tantrum or talking in baby talk. Grrrr, pet peeve there. And 5 minutes later, the girl is making dinner and acting mature. Weirdo! She also talks like a valleygirl: "Mom, can I like, go to like, Jennifer's house and like, spend the night?" Like, gag me. Just go. Before I make you read a book on grammar. She loves taco bell, cooking, playing with fashion dolls online, myspace, and rock music. She has days when she's quite the girly girl, then other days when she's outside playing football and she will tackle you and bring you down. She has the most gorgeous hazel/green eyes. They are show stopper eyes. With thick black lashes. She's a mascara commercial waiting to happen. She loves her brothers, but she gets annoyed by them really fast. You can tell she is the only daughter, because she thinks she's a princess. She's terrible at math, and never cleans the kitchen after one of her cooking experiments. I dream about buying her Brillo pads to put in her Christmas stocking and maybe then she'll remember that stuck on tomato sauce is no fun to clean. I love her dearly. I think she's going to end up being a chef or cook of some sort. While I think she's a smartie, I don't see a traditional college in her future. She is not a dedicated student and barely scrapes by in her classes. She's not stupid, just not motivated. I think being a cook will be wonderful for her. It's something that is a good career, especially for the Orlando area where we live. And then if she ever gets married and has children, her cooking skills will be most helpful. I'm very supportive of her going to cooking school, which is the direction she's moving into now. Of course, she is only 12, but sometimes what you think about yourself is 12 is dead on, you know?
Now on to my Tiger. He is a big 10 year old boy. He was my biggest baby, at 8lb 4oz. A wonderful nurser. An Olympic sleeper (still is, to this day.) Also terrible at math (oh, the terrible things I passed on to these poor kids.) One of my favorite things about him, is probably what he hates the most about himself. He is soooo sensitive. Any cross word or mean look will have him in tears instantly. He is the only child who gets pulled in by my guilt trips. He is the child who would find a bird with a broken wing and try to help the bird. Even though he is nearly 5 feet tall and weighs 130 pounds, this one will still climb into my lap and cuddle with me. He likes to wear pajama bottoms as soon as he gets in from school. He's in love with milk and chocolate chip cookies, and will give up cake in order to eat fresh corn on the cob. He likes football but isn't as crazy about baseball. He's growing so fast, that he is wearing a size 10 shoe in mens, and drinks about a half a gallon of milk every day. He loves pizza, burgers, corndogs, and refuses to eat any veggie but corn and carrots. He loves to swim and fish. He loves rock music. I think he will be the first one to get married and make me a grandmother. He has huge round blue eyes, long lashes, and the thickest hair I've ever seen on a white kid. I guess having an older sister makes him more understanding towards girls. I would consider him "a lover not a fighter." I could see him doing what Mr. R and I did all through high school...finding a girl in the 9th grade and dating her the entire four years. He is also a slob no matter how hard I try to teach him to pick up after himself. I refuse to unroll his dirty socks because they're so gross.
So see, I *do* have three children. Just because they don't have autism doesn't mean they don't matter to me, or that I love them any less. All three of my children are wonderful individuals, and I love them all very much.
I am sooooo jealous of her. If she's pregnant, she'd be due in October/November, which sort of drives me crazy. Know why? Because she'd get both Thanksgiving AND Christmas off, which is IMPOSSIBLE to accomplish when you work at a hospital!!! That also means that I won't get either off those holidays off. Again.
I hope she has a girl. Then I can play dress up!!!
Ok, things are a bit calmer since I last logged on. Got Bucket an emergency appointment with his "behavioral specialist." True to form, Bucket acted out. He threw stuff, screamed at the doctor, spit on the floor. I was mortified and embarrassed, but at least the doctor knew I wasn't kidding when I said it was bad around our house.
Bucket had not been on medication in over two years, and I liked it that way. He is only 9 years old, and I don't like my son being on mind altering medications. However, I also don't like autism, and I don't like manic depression, and I don't like my son trying to kill himself. (We had a second suicide attempt at school, so the laying in the street thing was not a one time deal.)
So Bucket is on a medication called Risperdal. Do I like it? Well, he is calmer. He is sleeping at night. He is cheerful during the day. He is getting perfect scores on his behavior report at school. He wants me to read him stories about whales and he is asking to go to Sea World. He is being funny, dynamic, and pleasant. But the fact that my son needs medication in order to be...somewhat human? No, I don't like that.
Here is my reasoning.
If you had a child with diabetes, would you take away their insulin?
If you had a child with lazy eye, would you deny them their glasses?
If you had a child with a heart malfunction, would you withhold surgery?
No, you probably wouldn't. You'd give your child what he or she needs. So it is with a heavy heart that I allowed Bucket to be medicated.
Mr. R just told me this morning that now that Bucket is sleeping throughout the night (and this has only been a week of him sleeping) he wants me to take Bucket off meds and try the Melatonin again. Melatonin is a natural supplement that aids in sleep. However, it didn't seem to work for Bucket. I used the Melatonin the entire time we were waiting on the emergency appointment, and he was only sleeping for about 3 to 4 hours a night.
I am hesitant to take Bucket off the Risperdal. Mr. R is accusing me of doping up our child for my own benefit.
Admittedly, this does benefit me. I get sleep. I get a child who is more willing to obey.
But the meds seem to be benefitting Bucket too. He is not telling me that he wishes he was dead. Or that God hates him. Or trying to scratch and bite his own arms until he bleeds. Or slamming his head into walls, trying to get the voices out of his head. Or attacking people at school.
At this time, I don't want to take Bucket off Risperdal, but Mr. R insists. I am at my wits end here. Mr. R says these things, but who is the person who deals with the fallout? ME. He is off in his truck, merrily seeing the country, while I am here 24/7 on my own with literally no help.
So, do I obey my husband and take Bucket off the medications and possibly see Bucket spiral into deep depression and suicidal thoughts, or be defiant and stand up for my baby?
