A call for advice

Last semester, the Boy was in daycare four days a week and my MIL watched him one day a week – it was a busy semester, with classes five days a week. Nearing the end of the semester, the Boy did not want to be left at daycare. It was after Thanksgiving break, so that may have played into it, but it was heartbreaking. The last day I left him there I ended up rocking him in a chair for 20 minutes while he clung to my coat with a death grip and sobbed. He would NOT let me put him down, even in a chair at the table while I sat beside him. He actually turned away from Christine, our provider, for the first time EVER. It broke both of our hearts.

There IS a little boy there who has some issues. He and his siblings are foster children and if you know *anything* about the foster system, you know it can be hard on kids. We’ve no idea why they were taken away, not really, and while that doesn’t really matter, it sorta does. It’s hard to deal with issues when you don’t know the root cause. I understand that his issues are not his fault – he’s only 3! – but they play into his behavior towards my son and that’s not good. He hits, he pushes, he screams and cries. The Boy isn’t a fan of loud noises or people up in his face, and that little boy can be really intense. He’s not a bad kid – he’s actually pretty good and I really like him – but he’s attention starved and it shows. The problem is that because he and the Boy are so close in age, the Boy gets the brunt of things, I think. Christine watches closely, and stops the little boy when he is getting intense or out of control, but she can’t watch everything at once, not with 9 kids there. She has an assistant but…well, I don’t really like her or trust her. There were some mishaps last semester that just turned me off of her.

Anyways, all that is background to the current thing: what to do this semester. I plan on taking the Boy back to daycare and hope that it was just end-of-semester stuff and being DONE. I was done, why shouldn’t he be too? No one wants to go back to anything after having a week off! He’s currently slated to go back four days a week, Monday through Thursday. No classes on Fridays – huzzah! (Fridays are bad for the little boy, because Thursdays are the nights he sees his mom. Fridays are just…disastrous.) Husband seems to think that I should have his mom come watch the Boy on Mondays, like I did last semester. It would make her happy and it would save us about $240 for the semester and who can’t use more money? But having his mom watch the Boy is stressful for me. Like really stressful. She has issues with getting up in the morning (it would help if she went to bed at a reasonable time, but she goes to bed at like 4AM). This means that she periodically forgets to set her alarm, or sleeps through it, or is otherwise running late. It stresses me out if I don’t hear from her that she’s on her way by the time it’s 45 minutes before she should be here. (I know that sentence is awkward but my words don’t work again so…yeah.) In other words, if she is supposed to be here at 10:30, I want to hear from her before 9:45 or I start to really stress. If she’s not going to show, I need to get my ass in gear and get the Boy over to daycare with enough time to then drive down to campus and find parking and catch the shuttle and stuff. If it’s not something I was planning on doing it can get REALLY hectic!

And then there’s money. More money for us is good, but our daycare lady also needs to be able to stay in business. Economics! She counts on the money she makes from her daycare to keep her house (where the daycare is located). While it’s not my responsibility to make sure that she can do that, it’s nice to be able to help. I should make my decision soon, so she knows how much she’ll be getting from us. We pay in one lump sum so the money doesn’t get spent, so that’s always nice too. But thinking you’re going to get nearly $900 when you’re only going to be getting $650 or so is not cool. The choice is between MIL and my stress level or daycare and possibly a different stress level. What think y’all? What would you do – have MIL watch him one day a week and hope she shows up every time or just say forget it and put him in daycare and spend an extra $240?


2013 in review

Looks like I’d better do better next year. I know, I’ve sucked. This is the longest I’ve ever been silent. Too much going on and yet not enough.


The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,100 times in 2013. If it were a cable car, it would take about 18 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

I remember

I was awake half the night with the thoughts for this post running around in my head. I sorta know what triggered it, but I am not sure WHY. So…you get a blog post. Lucky you!

Late last year I started getting random pain in my lower left/center abdomen area. I can’t really pinpoint which organs, since knowing exactly where my organs are is not a strong point for me. Ovaries? Intestines? Stomach? *shrug* Anyways, this pain is a “knock you out of your chair and make you cry” kind of thing. My first thought was cysts bursting…except that I’ve been on BCP for over a year now and I don’t HAVE any cysts because of it. After it struck while I was in philosophy class last year, I went to the doc. I mean, I was white knuckling my desk (I sat in the front row!) and trying not to make a sound. I couldn’t have gotten up and left the room because I couldn’t walk. I was trying to gasp for breath very quietly. Talk about embarrassing! A friend thought it might be diverticulitis, and the doc sent me to get a CT scan of my abdomen to see what they could find. The result was “inflamed lymph nodes around the intestines”. Nothing to be done for it but ride them out, and no idea what’s causing it. I assume it’s the fibro, except that THAT isn’t supposed to cause inflammation. I do, however, have inflammation of some sort running rampant through my body.

Last night it struck again. I haven’t been able to figure out what triggers it. In philosophy class, I think I shifted in my seat. Other times I haven’t even moved when it’s struck. Last night I was laying on the couch, trying to get my back to behave (it’s been spasming for a week now…). I took my hair out of its ponytail…and the pain struck. I laid there, trying very hard to breathe very carefully while pressing down on my abdomen area to try and soothe the spasms. You can visibly SEE the muscles rolling and freaking out – kind of weird to watch, even weirder to feel.

As I lay in bed last night, I got to thinking about the day mom had to go to the ER. It was the day they discovered that she had a tumor, what would be diagnosed a few days later as ovarian cancer. I remember. I remember her getting up from breakfast and going to lay down on her bed. I remember getting up a few minutes later and going in to her, to find her quietly crying on the bed and unable to talk from the pain. I remember directing my father and my grandmother to call 911, gather up all her medications so they’d know what she was taking, while soothing mom and holding her hand. I remember waiting for what seemed like an eternity for the Quick Response Unit to arrive at the house…although it was probably more like 5-10 minutes because it’s a small town and some of the QRU responders lived just down the street from my parents. I don’t remember the ride in, but I remember being there at the hospital. Three days later we were in SLC, having the tumor removed, and found out it was indeed cancerous. I had sent my husband home because he had to work but I didn’t. I spent almost a week in the hospital in SLC with her, before they let her go home. My dad had had to go back home because his mother was visiting from MA and refused to come to SLC. I may never forgive her for that – for putting my father in the position of having to decide between her and his wife. I don’t know what the outcome would have been if I hadn’t been there, but I hate to think my mom would have been in the hospital all by herself. I might never have forgiven HIM if he’d done that.

But the pain – I remember her pain. I remember where her tumor was and it was on the same side my pain is. I know there was nothing there but inflammation 6-8 months ago, but…what if things have changed? I know my risks of getting cancer are fairly high – my mother, her mother, and we think HER mother all had breast cancer. Things just weren’t talked about back then like they are now. My maternal grandmother waited a long time before going to her doc about the lump, and she died 6 weeks after removal because it had spread to her brain. My mother was smarter than that, but she still ended up dying because of cancer. FUCK CANCER! I know my chances are high, but there’s not a whole lot I can do. I get all my checkups annually, just like I should. I watch for abnormalities in my body, but…well, I’ve always had lumpy breasts because of the fibrous tissue. It’s better now that I’ve had the Boy, but they are still there. There’s no way to distinguish between my normal lumps and a cancerous lump – even the doc says so. This ab pain is supposedly inflamed tissue…but what if it’s not? It’s the what if’s that kept me awake. Mom had some abnormal bleeding (she was postmenopausal but having breakthrough bleeding) but nothing else until that Sunday. My cycles started going wonky about a year and a half ago, which is the other reason I was put on BCP. They started going wonky around the time the pain started. Coincidence? Apparently so, since I just have “inflamed lymph nodes”. I don’t know. I don’t want to run to the doc and get a scan every time this strikes, but I don’t want to ignore it either. *sigh*


When we were first trying to get pregnant, I suffered what I now know to be a chemical pregnancy. I suspected that I was pregnant because of a few signs (take pity, it was early on before I knew anything!) but the next day there was cramping, worse than normal, and tissue. (TMI, I know, but…just keep reading. It’s not all like this I promise. ) When we got back home from my parents’ house, I jumped online to do some research about miscarriages…which is how I found out about chemical pregnancies. At any rate, during the course of my research, I found the boards at WebMD. These boards would become my home for a year and a half, and I met a lot of friends through there…people that I am STILL in contact with, 7 years later. These are people who understand my worries and fears.

And yet? And yet, I left those boards. I was on the JSO (just starting out) boards for almost a year, helping other people and passing on the information I had learned. By the time a year had rolled around I could no longer stand the “OMG we’ve been trying for 2 months and I’m never going to get pregnant!” and “we’ve been trying for 2 weeks and nothing!” people. I just…couldn’t. Their shiny made me want to slap them. I left and I moved over to the “6 months, still trying” boards. These were women who had been trying longer than I had and who had tons of knowledge. They also had tons of bitterness, which I can understand. Some were doing treatments, some weren’t. I was the latter, because I was refusing to go see an RE. Then I started treatments, and I relied on them for information on that front. We were given a 13% chance of success…and we failed. Meanwhile someone else on the boards who had been given a 3% chance had succeeded…and I couldn’t handle it. I just couldn’t. I left, because I wasn’t going to be doing more treatments and I couldn’t handle all the bitterness and successes.

I actually started this blog while I was on the 6 month boards. It seems so long ago…and it was, really. We’re talking April 2006…and we’d been trying for a year at that point. And by trying, I mean unprotected sex. It wasn’t until I started on the boards that I started tracking information. Here’s the thing, though: I feel as if I never really fit in on any of the boards, or the blogging community, or as a parent. On the JSO boards, I became the person other people turned to for information…which was great, because I like being helpful, but it made me feel really old. I didn’t fit in on the 6+ board because I wasn’t doing treatments and I didn’t have as much information as the other people and I wanted to slap the really really bitter people. Mind not that I am one of the jaded people now, this was then! And then…then I left the boards, because so many of my friends did due to drama, and I lost touch with some of the others, and my blog became my home. It has always been my one safe place – the place no family knows about, the place my RL friends don’t know about, the place where I could just be me. And for the longest time, I was me. I was blogging all the time…and it gradually slowed…and got slower when I wasn’t getting comments, because while I was writing this to get things out of my head, I needed to be heard and if I wasn’t being heard, what was the point in talking? I didn’t fit in in the blogosphere – I wasn’t pregnant, I wasn’t parenting, I wasn’t doing treatments, I wasn’t “technically” infertile because I am fine on paper. When the only person who commented for the longest time was doing so because she was assigned by Mel to my category on the blogroll…I didn’t feel like I fit. Like I was an impostor.

Then, miracle of miracles, we got pregnant somehow. I still blame my mother, but happily. We were an anomaly, one of those infertile couples who got pregnant naturally. Once again, I didn’t fit into the blogosphere. I was an anomaly. I was one of those that infertile/childless-but-not-by-choice couples alternately hate and love. I spent my time talking on FB, to mixed comments. Supportive from my IF friends, “you worry too much” from those who are blissfully unaware of all the things that can and do go wrong. That includes my RL friends, mind you, who have known me for at least a decade at this point, people who should have known better. I’ve never been quiet about my reproductive status or things I’ve learned, people I’ve met who have experienced things gone wrong. So now I got moved into a different area of the blogosphere, but I still didn’t feel like I fit.

When the Boy was born, he was taken to the NICU. His blood sugars were way way down and he wouldn’t (couldn’t!) eat and they took him to find out why. I knew why, I told them, but it was hours before they figured it out. So now, AHA!, I can identify with NICU parents, yeah? I saw the children in the NICU, children born 4 1/2 months too early, with tubes and wires going every which way. Children in isolettes, whose parents are only able to reach through the arm holes to touch them. This was not my child, this was not my world. We were able to hold the Boy, feed him, touch him. I can see how terrifying it must be to have a child in the NICU. I mean, you know that your child is in good, capable hands that will do what is necessary for your child (hopefully, because I know they don’t always)…but then, your child is in the NICU, which means something is WRONG and that’s scary. Even when it was something small, like the Boy, it’s scary. Recently one of our own in the bloggy world gave birth early. Watching the story unfold made me realize that no, I do not belong in the world that is “NICU parenting”. I’m an impostor in that world too.

Ah, but then! Then we have speech problems, hearing problems, eating problems. I could probably classify as a mild special needs parent, but I don’t WANT to. Admitting that my child needs help is like admitting that I needed help, that I was broken and probably couldn’t do it on my own. Yes, I am getting him help…but just how far do I want to delve into that world? Every time I have a meeting with the lady from the School for the Deaf & Blind, I feel guilty. We’re having a meeting on Tuesday with a sign language mentor and I feel slightly guilty, like I’m trying to take resources away from someone who REALLY needs them. My kid has a hearing aid, but I don’t feel like I belong in the deaf world. My kid is in speech therapy so he can learn how to talk, because he’s not going to do it on his own…but I feel like I’m wasting her time, because he WILL learn eventually (or so I tell myself). I don’t belong, but it’s where I’ve been placed. I’m trying to convince myself that all of this is good for the Boy – IESDB, speech therapy, sign language (which isn’t a given yet) – that I need to do these things because they are best for him…but are they? Would he be better off if I just let him be and let him develop on his own? He learns speech from hearing it around him. He mimics us, the TV, words in a book…but is it because of speech therapy or in spite of it? The hearing aids are a godsend. Those I KNOW work, because his speech has increased quite a bit since he got them. Will learning sign hinder him? I know it doesn’t usually in a “normal” kid, but I’ve a kid who doesn’t talk much – will sign cause him to fall back on that and get lazy with his speech? Will immersing him in the “deaf and hard of hearing” world and introducing him to other kids who are on the hearing/lack of hearing spectrum cause him to feel different? Part of me wants to call off speech therapy…but then I fear that I will be holding him back or will get him taken away for refusing to comply and helping him. That, I think, is one of my biggest fears – that someone will decide I’m not doing ENOUGH and take him away.

As far as eating goes, I’ve several friends (you know who you are!) who have had my back the entire time we’ve been struggling with this child, who have given me idea after idea and listened to me panic without telling me I worry too much or to shut the hell up. Thank you. The eating part has been a lot easier, knowing that there ARE people in my life who understand this and can help. It’s the one area where I don’t feel adrift.

I wish I knew the answers. I feel lost sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time. I feel like I’m spinning. And when I spin, I turn here, to try and get my thoughts down…even if I do ramble.


Mel over at Stirrup Queens wrong a PSA on smoking this morning. I started writing a comment but it turned into a novel, so I decided I’d write a post instead.

The PSA is about a guy she was near at Starbucks who was proud of the fact that he’s hid his smoking from his kids. She is sitting a few feet away and can smell the smoke, which means that his kids can definitely smell it. I was writing about my dad and my MIL, and my comment got away from me. This is what I started writing.

I always knew my dad smoked – he smoked in the house and never tried to hide it. Once I learned the dangers in school, I started pestering him to quit. I found pamphlets at doc offices and put them on the table by his chair. I made posters in school that I brought home. I pointed out anti-smoking ads on TV. I begged him to stop.

And he did…when I was 18 and out of the house. He ended up in the hospital for something unrelated, but he couldn’t get out of bed to walk down the hall and go outside to smoke (this was almost 2 decades ago, when you could smoke on hospital grounds). He was there for a week…and when he got out, my mom said “You’ve gone a week without a smoke. I wonder how long you can go?” My dad smoked from age 13 until he was 48. He is now 66 and hasn’t picked the habit back up.

My MIL, on the other hand…she has stopped and started repeatedly. She stopped for about 4 years…until we moved in with them, at their request. I asked her to smoke outside, as I didn’t want to be exposed to it with my asthma. And she did…most of the time. She would tell me ALL of the time, but I could smell it in the air when she tried to be sneaky. Do you know, I couldn’t get pregnant the entire time they lived here? Smoke does the same thing to the cilia on your ovaries as it does to the cilia in your nose. Do you know that 2 years after they moved out I got pregnant with the Boy, completely on “accident”? (We all know that infertility means you are simultaneously trying and not trying after you give up.) Gee, I wonder why that happened? Could it be that all the exposure made it so that the eggs couldn’t actually travel down the tubes, thus preventing me from being able to give her the grandchild she so desperately wanted? And yes, I DID point that out to her while she was here, that her smoking (and that of my FIL, lest you think she was alone in her habit) was damaging both my fallopian tubes AND Aaron’s sperm. That was the only thing that got her outside.

If I’d had my way, I’d have been able to hold to my threat to her…that so long as she smoked, she would never see her grandchild because I don’t want him exposed to smoke. I needed her, though, to help me with the Boy because I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be alone very much as he got older. I wasn’t prepared, I was crazy, I was sleep deprived, and I didn’t know what I was doing. Then school started and I didn’t want to put him in daycare much, and being with the Boy was good for her, so she babysat once a week in both Fall and Spring semesters. She would go outside to smoke, yes, but that meant she was leaving the Boy inside and unattended, which did NOT make me happy. Even if he was napping, which is not the point. At any rate, I haven’t been able to hold to that threat.

She did quit (again…) just before he was born. Her dad died a few days later and she picked it back up again because of stress. It is totally her crutch. She quit again about a year ago, for a few months. Then FIL got worse and she started back up. He was on oxygen and they were BOTH smoking…volatile to say the least. At Christmas we got them both the e-cigs because we didn’t want them blowing up the house. They were too strong for FIL and MIL said it wasn’t the same, but she was trying. In February or so, FIL managed to set himself on fire because he was smoking in bed and hot ash or something dropped onto the oxygen tube and melted it into his face, burned the sheets and his hand and face. He quit smoking shortly thereafter, only to die in April. MIL had quit but…you guessed it…started back up again. She promised it was only short term (we’ve heard that so many times I’ve lost count) but I highly doubt it. I know she knows the risks, but she seems to not care all that much. She wants to spend all this time with the Boy, but she’s shortening her life with every smoke she takes. She bemoans the fact that the Boy will never get to know FIL…but she’s willing to kill herself slowly and make it so he doesn’t get to spend another 20-30 years with her. It angers me so much I could scream, but I can’t do a damn thing about it.

So people, if you smoke, be honest about it. Don’t hide it. Don’t lie and claim you’re quitting when you aren’t. If you quit, don’t start back up. If you need a crutch (and we all do, in one form or another), pick up something else that is less damaging both to you AND to the people around you. Let you family have you for as long as you can, because when you die it leaves a giant hole that nothing can fill.

Protected: Out of the blue

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Neuropsych Results

I met with the neuropsych yesterday to get the results of my testing and figure out what to do next. My brain? It is fine. According to the neuropsych, I am academically intelligent and should have no trouble getting As and Bs. The results:

My processing speed (the rate at which I process information given to me) is in the 96th percentile.

My math, spelling, and reading skills are average to superior levels.

My verbal short term is also average to superior.

Immediate visual short term memory is in the 90th percentile, while delayed visual STM is average.

Higher level problem solving skills? Average to high average.

So I asked him “Why, then, do I feel so dumb and slow?” His response? The rest of my results:

Anxiety levels are high, even considering that I have “generalized anxiety disorder”.

I do not forgive myself easily.

My body is highly physically reactive.

The last part only sort of surprises me. My regular doc figured out a few months ago that my body is chemically reactive – when I start or stop a new med or anything, my blood sugars immediately get all wonky. He put me on chromium piclinate and things are so much better. However, should I miss a day, that night is usually a bitch. I spend the night tossing and turning because I’m hot/cold/hot/cold. It pretty much only happens when I miss a dose, even when I don’t realize I’ve forgotten to take my meds until the next day.

Now normally I would have gotten up and walked out of the office because I hate it when doctors blame stress for crap. Yes, I’m stressed. I’m ALWAYS stressed. It’s taking a toll and I know it. I would love to just be able to relax, to shut off my brain for a little while and be quiet. I cannot, it seems impossible. Meditation has been repeatedly suggested to me, but I always end up more frustrated than I started because I cannot keep my brain quiet and empty and having to fight it to be calm is just…no. I feel exhausted all the time, like I’m running full tilt 24/7. The only times my brain quiets and stops thinking are when I’m doing Tai Chi, when I’m reading or writing, and when I’m playing games. In other words, when I give it some other activity to pursue. As soon as I stop, however, my brain starts running again.

I asked for solutions because I am truly at a loss as to how to be quiet. I know I wasn’t always this way, I just seem to be stuck. His suggestions mostly sound like something my Tai Chi instructor would say, so I’ve started looking into how much Tai Chi will be over the summer. I’m hoping to take the summer and work on my stress levels a lot. Neuropsych told me to practice my breathing – things I will have to do at home, such as lay on a flat surface, spread eagled, and breathe with my whole body. I am also supposed to practice periodically putting my body into a neutral position – one where my muscles are relaxed, not tense. Not sure how I’m going to do with that, since my brain will not be engaged elsewhere and will thus run off and make me tense with its thoughts. Yes I realize I am talking about my brain as if it is a separate entity with its own will, but that’s pretty much how it feels.

His other suggest involved writing – journal, blog, etc. So it looks like I’m going to be trying to blog more often, like I used to. What that means is that my blog will probably become like it used to – whatever is on my mind or irking me at the moment. Now, instead of family, it’s probably going to be world issues because the stupidity of people angers me to no end. It’s going to be school, child, household, whining. You have been warned. 🙂 Hopefully you’ll stick around and keep up with me, but if you don’t, I can understand that too. I’m aware that I’m an angry individual and that my anger can stress out other people and the LAST thing I want to do is put my stress on someone else. Thanks for sticking around thus far!

FIL is gone

I had to say it. I had to say “please let him hang on until the end of the semester so my husband doesn’t end up with so many things on his plate”. Karma was just lurking – she does that. A real bitch, that one.

So yes. We went out to them yesterday when Aaron got off work. Just as we were getting into town, we got a call that they were releasing him from the ER. His stats were back up where they should be, so they couldn’t force him to stay and he wanted to go home. We eventually got him to the car and home. He took his time getting out of the car and into the wheelchair, which Aaron wheeled into the house. FIL sat down in the closest chair to the door, which was his computer chair, to catch his breath. We all turned our backs for a minute or two to finish getting the wheelchair into the house, me keeping the dogs out of the way, etc. We heard him start to breathe very…strangely. I can’t even begin to describe the sound, but I imagine it’s what the death rattle sounds like. Everyone started to say “are you okay?” and I, who was sitting in a chair and couldn’t see him, heard him start to fall and told Aaron to catch him. Aaron dived and lowered his dad to the floor, but I’m pretty certain he was already gone. Poor husband had to do CPR on his dad while the neighbor lady called 911 and his mom became utterly (and understandably) hysterical. The neighbor’s husband is a part-time policeman and is CPR trained, so he came running and took over. Aaron dragged his mom into the kitchen to get her away and give the other man room to work. I think we all knew it was over, but it had to be done. After what seemed to be an eternity but was probably only 5 minutes or so, if that, more police arrived to take over and then the EMT’s arrived. They worked on him all the way to the hospital – I say “all the way” but it’s only about a 5 minute drive – and in the ER. They called it at 7:45.

I spent the time after they let us officially know making the calls – Aaron’s oldest sister and his youngest sister’s husband, MIL’s oldest sister, her best friend, and most of our friends. Today is spent trying to track down paperwork, making decisions, and deciding if we are attending classes or work at all. Aaron gets 5 days paid, and if the funeral isn’t until Monday, he’ll run out of that time. If, however, he goes to work a few days, he might be able to stretch that out. I do not know if it has to be in one chunk or not, though, and it’s all very wonky. My dad has offered to stay until Thursday and then come back on Saturday if we need them – M has two appts on Friday, so they have to be home for those – and I’m very glad of this. Not sure if I’ll take them up on it or not, because I CAN still take the Boy to daycare and it might do Aaron some good to have some time completely alone. No child to be noisy, no wife to bother him, no FIL of his own to hide his grief from.

Oh peeps, this is harder than I thought it would be. Mom…mom already had all her decisions made. Everything was in place, all we had to do was start the process with a call. FIL and MIL have done NOTHING…and I don’t understand that. It’s not like this was unexpected or quick in the coming. They had plenty of time to get things in place so that all THEY had to do was make the call. It made things so very much easier. I hope that if I have to take a long time, like my mom or FIL, that I have the foresight to plan everything out myself and save my family the pain of having to do it.

Fuck Monkeys

So. My stress level is currently so high that I have a migraine. Why, you might ask?

Thursday was The Boy’s 2nd birthday. I know, I forgot to post it. I will hopefully be putting up a post with some pictures soon.

Friday, Dad and M arrived for dad’s bloodwork and meeting with a doc.

Saturday was just busy, but they usually are. That night we got a message from Aaron’s mom that his dad wasn’t doing very well. He’s passing out more and more and isn’t eating very well.

Sunday, we went out to breakfast, Aaron went to Emmett to see his dad, then we had The Boy’s party.

Today, I got a message from Aaron at about 2:00 that his dad couldn’t catch his breath this morning and they took him to the ER. I finally got in touch with someone at the ER and they said they are talking about admitting him. We are heading up there in about 30 minutes. Dad and M canceled their date so they can watch The Boy and we don’t have to take him with us. Trying to wrangle a 2-year-old in a hospital is zero amounts of fun.

Tomorrow, dad goes in for his lung biopsy. Please cross your fingers that they don’t collapse his lung. I really am not prepared for that and I don’t think I can handle much more. My head is screaming and I’m on the edge of tipping over into migraine territory. I can’t. I can’t afford to do that. Nothing I take works, and the few things that DO work knock me on my ass so hard that I can’t function.

Things are not going well. Talking to Dad about FIL, he says that we’re looking at a max of about 2 months, judging by mom’s path. I am hoping that FIL can hold out until school is over, because I do not want to see Aaron have to go to school, work full time, and try to grieve at the same time. I know, sometimes throwing yourself into work (or school) is the way some people deal…but I don’t want him to HAVE to do that unless he CHOOSES to. I feel helpless. I don’t know what to do or say to help him cope. I mean, yes, we’ve known for almost 2 years (maybe longer?) that his dad was going to die…but it’s still not easy. I know that he and I don’t/won’t grieve the same way and thus I don’t know what to do and he’s really not good at asking for help. He and his mother are my main concerns right now.

So please. If you’re a believer in a deity of any kind, or even natural spirits and energy, please keep our entire family in your thoughts. We really need it right now while everything starts to slide.


I have been in this space for 7 years, as of yesterday. I rarely actually remember to post ON my blogoversary…probably because I stay away from the net a lot on that day.

Some of you have probably read this blog from the beginning. Thank you so much for your support over the past 7 years. It’s been an amazing thing to watch. This place started out as just a place to put things so I would have a record and it’s taken on a life of it’s own.

Some of you arrived part-way through my journey. Maybe when I found out I was pregnant, maybe before that, maybe after I gave birth. You’ve gotten to see some amazing changes too.

I would like to say a big thank you to every single one of you who read my blog, no matter how often you access me or whether you comment or not. Just knowing that I’m being heard, that someone sees me, is a really big thing. There have been times when y’all have saved my sanity over the years, when I felt like it was all falling apart and I just couldn’t do it anymore. But no, you saved me, and that’s worth more than I can ever express.


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