I’m angry (org. date 6/5/12)

God,

I’m angry today, although you are God, you already knew that. You see, I am tired. I am tired of waiting. I thought you had something special planned for me. I thought you were up to something fantastic that I would be completely shocked, but so thrilled about, but I guess I was wrong there, because I am waiting, and nothing. Not a word from you. I send e-mails to the people I know who are “important” and I don’t get any response back. Not even a screw you, go away silly girl! I don’t get it God, it just doesn’t make any sense to me at all. Please God, make some sense of all this. Make this something important. I want to do something to make you proud, but what God, what to do? I need you God I’m angry. I need your help God, please. Help me find my place in this world.

Amen

Home (Org. Publish Date 2/15/12)

Just when you thought nothing you say or do ever makes a difference…someone surprises the crap out of you! I was trying to study today at Starbucks (don’t judge, it’s quieter than my house) and I had forgotten my ear buds at home. I get more done at Starbucks because I put in my earbuds and drown out the conversations going on, otherwise my ADD gets the better of me. Well, damn, I forgot them. So, I was checking my phone and I read an e-mail from a dear friend. It was about something I had done for her. She had sent me the blog posting she was getting ready to publish, and it was all about home. She had struggled for a long time after getting married at a very young age, and her marriage had eventually ended in divorce, and two fantastic kids. We met when we were finishing our bachelor’s degree. She had met a guy, and although he was younger, she really liked him. Eventually they got to the moving in together stage, and she really wanted to buy her own house. Well, the divorce made everything complicated. Her boyfriend wanted to buy the house for her, and she just really didn’t want to do it. She wanted to do this alone. This was for her. When she asked me for my opinion I sent it to her via you-tube. I sent her The Dixie Chicks, A Home.

I mistook the warnings for wisdom
From so called friends quick to advise
Though your touch was telling me otherwise
Somehow I saw you as a weakness
I thought I had to be strong
Oh but I was just young, I was scared, I was wrong

Not a night goes by
I don’t dream of wandering
Through the home that might have been
And I listened to my pride
When my heart cried out for you
Now every day I wake again
In a house that might have been
A home

Guess I did what I did believing
That love is a dangerous thing
Oh but that couldn’t hurt anymore than never knowing

Not a night goes by
I don’t dream of wandering
Through the home that might have been
And I listened to my pride
When my heart cried out for you
Now every day I wake again
In a house that might have been
A home
A home

Four walls, a roof, a door, some windows
Just a place to run when my working day is through
They say home is where the heart is
If the exception proves the rule I guess that’s true

Not a night goes by
I don’t dream of wandering
Through the home that might have been
And I listened to my pride
When my heart cried out for you
Now every day I wake again
In a house that might have been
A home
A home

Well, she and Matt bought the house, and now they are getting married. She is getting her happy ever after, I hope. So congratulations, and I love you very much. I am glad my opinion finally mattered to someone.

“Home is where your rump rests.” Pumbaa

Dan Wheldon, A Guy I Never Knew (Org. Post date 10/23/11)

A week ago, Dan Wheldon, an Indy car driver was killed in a horrific crash. For some reason I have found myself obsessed with the images of the accident over the last week and I can’t figure out why. I didn’t know Dan. I had heard him in a few interviews on the radio, and he was a pretty funny guy. He wasn’t from Indiana, on the contrary, he was from England. We are the same age, he had a wife and two kids. Maybe it is because death is really the one uncertainty in life. Oh, don’t go thinking I have lost my religion, far to the contrary. I find that when people die, especially those I didn’t know I wonder about their eternity. Everyone talked about what a great guy he was, how funny he was, and how this was such a shame that he died. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t agree more. The whole premise of the race he was in seems a recipe for disaster anyway. Does no one else see the irony here? If he won the race from starting in the final position he would win 5 million dollars. He was the only racer that had that as an option, and when there was a horrific crash and someone dies, it is the one guy who has the chance at the 5 million! Indy car should give the money to his family anyway.

I do feel for the family in that in the media age his horrific death was broadcast for all the world to see. It can be looked up on the internet and watched over and over. They say his parents were at home in England watching the race. I can only imagine that it must have felt like all the air in the room was sucked out all at once. What a helpless feeling it must have been to see your son’s car fly through the air and burst into flames. This wreck drove grown men to weap uncontrollably. Maybe that is why I have found myself so obsessed over the whole thing because it makes these race car drivers who often time seem bigger than life, a little more human.

So, so long Dan Wheldon, a guy I never knew. They tell me you were a great man, and since “they” tell me what I should believe, “they” must be right. I hope you knew Jesus.

Dear Papa (Org. Post Date 9/25/11)

Dear Papa,

Yesterday was your birthday, no I didn’t forget. You have been gone three years now, and so much has happened. I had another baby, a girl. I thought of you when she was born. I thought what you would have said. You would have said that she looked like you- no hair and no teeth. You always said that about the babies though. You loved the babies so much, and I think especially the little girls.

We miss you Papa, but especially mom and Mamaw. You know she has stopped living since you died. I still send her candy corn every now and then since it is her favorite. I need to send her some, it has been a while. Mom likes to think that you are sitting on the front porch in Heaven rocking baby Chloe, how I wish that were so, but I really don’t think that is the way it works at all. If it were, boy would I have a list of questions for you! Like: What does it smell like there? Can you still get a hug? Does your face hurt because you smile so much? Can you make sure that God puts my house right next door to a 24 hour Super Target that has a Starbucks inside?

If you can see us here, know that we do love you and we do miss you. Tell God to be patient, I’m trying to get it right!

Love Always,
Meg

A fable for you, not one with a happy ending, just so you know! (Org. date 9/11/11)

Once upon a time, there was a 32 year old mother of three. She decided she had better go back to graduate school and finish her master’s in divinity degree. Of her three children she had a 12 year old who is autistic, and an 8 year old who is exceptional, and Aubrey, who is 21 months! She also worked full-time because her husband can’t seem to make himself hold down a job. Every Monday she left home for work, stayed over night to take all of her classes. She worked her ass off to complete her degree, until on day she lost her mind. Her right eye started twitching, and she couldn’t sit still. She ran naked into the street, and it started to rain. She danced and sang out in the rain until her husband finally drug her back inside, because the baby had pooped and he wanted her to change a diaper. So, she changed the diaper, dried herself off, and went to bed. She fell asleep and then she died. The End!

Holding on when you have nothing left (Original Post date 5/30/11)

How many times have you heard someone talk about life getting better when they finally hit bottom. What happens when you hit bottom, and you can’t find anything to use to climb back out of the hole. Damn it, throw me a rope would you? I mean really, seriously. I am stuck at the bottom of this freaking pit, it’s dark, it smells, and oh yeah, I have 3 kids and a worthless husband down here with me.

Speaking of the husband, after 13 years of “marriage” I finally figured him out. Actually it wasn’t just him I figured out, it was me. I was washing dishes when I had a moment of clarity. I don’t have them very often, but when I do, I usually pay close attention. You see, at church they were talking about all the baggage we carry around, and that we carry all this baggage, and it inhibits our functioning in every day life.

I have always been the one to hold things together. That was my job, don’t rock the boat, and no matter what, do whatever you can to hold everything together, even if there isn’t enough duct tape on the planet to hold it together. What I figured out is in every relationship in my life I have been the mother. Not even a good mother, but a mother none the less. My mother had her “issues” we will call them for lack of a desire to describe it at this moment. Because of this, I was my own mother. With previous men, I was always taking care of everything, making sure that every one had exactly what they needed, not that my own needs were met, not my own. I remember one summer I had the boyfriend from hell, and Judy Malone asked me if I was going to be his wife or his mother when I got to church camp that year. Well, I finally figured that out and dumped the dope, only to date two more just like him (perhaps not as damaging, but the damage had already been done).

What the hell was I thinking, I guess I wasn’t thinking at all. I was looking at the guy in front of me, the one that wanted to pay attention to me at that moment. The same one whom I got pregnant with, and then married. How dumb am I? Feel free not to answer that rhetorical question.

There I was, standing at my kitchen sink in the apartment that I rent, but have been unable to pay for this month, staring at the man I have called my husband for the last 13 years while the soap dripped down my arms, realizing that it is not a wife he wants, but a mother. He’s not interested in being partners, or parenting together. Sure, he will babysit the other kids because he is the oldest, and that is what the oldest kid is supposed to do. When mom gets mad at him, he will do just enough to get back in her good graces until the next time. Yes, I am stupid

Life’s Lesson’s (Org. Post Date 5/4/11)

I thought in my old age (33), I might sit down and compose a few things I have learned along the way.

1. The stove is hot, do not touch
2. Mom and dad were usually right (please don’t tell them I said that)
3. Dad was right when he said nothing good ever happens after midnight. (This is in reference to dating and boys, and general teenager stupidity)
4. We are in fact stupid from the age of 13-21 (some of us more than others)
5. It really does hurt to be a parent (if you are doing it right)
6. Life is hard, wear a helmet
7. Hold onto your real friends, you will really need them as adults
8. Kierkegaard is completely correct, “Life is lived forwards, but understood backwards”
9. There is a lot of pain involved in life, laugh as much as you possibly can

Down came the rain (Org. Post Date 3/5/11)

At this point, every sappy big hair band song is running through my head. You know, those song that made you weep because somehow it seemed they were staring into the very essence of your soul. Yeah, all those songs, and a few great movie lines as well.

The only thing I can relate yesterday’s experience to was when my parents dropped me off at Indiana State University my freshman year. My mom was visably upset, and my dad shoved her out the door. The big difference is that I was 18 and stupid. My son is 12 and autistic.

We did his move as a family. First we went to Chuck E. Cheese, because we owed him a visit from his birthday when there had been far too much ice and snow to go. When everyone was played out, and by everyone I mean my husband and I, he announced, “Time to go to the group home.” I will admit Jacob being so willing to go to the home and not arguing about this has made it easier to deal with. The only thing is, it really hurts that he is so willing to leave. He keeps telling me, “it’s for the best.” Yesterday I made him explain to me what he meant by that statement. He said, “It is the best thing for me. I live with a bunch of people who are just like me. Everyone’s autism is different, mine makes me very creative, and angry.” Ah, from the heart of children.

We unpacked him, settled everything in his room, and stayed with him for about an hour. He gave us hugs, and happily told us goodbye. Not one tear was shed. I did very well, even surprising myself. My husband, who says nothing about anything even agreed that I did well. (I had to ask first). Our now family of four traveled home in relative silence. It wasn’t until I went to change my clothes in to my comfy sweats that I lost it. I went to the laundry room which is right next to Jacob’s room. When I went in, and saw his regular mess, things strewn about his room, but no Jacob, I lost it. I crawled into a ball and laid sobbing on my bed for who knows how long. My family didn’t miss me or come looking for me. I was alone. Fittingly, it was pouring rain outside. Down came the rain.

After countless bruises, a trip or two to the doctor, one to the Emergency Room, and on the edge of madness (6 weeks later) we removed him from the horrible group home and have never looked back.

My very first blog post (Org. Post Date 2/1/11)

My dear friend Lindsey suggested I do this blog as a source of therapy while we were consuming our vanilla Cokes (with a bit of Vodka) the other night. The idea of cheap therapy is appealing. Lord knows I could use the therapy, and with 3 kids, if it isn’t cheap, forget it.

I guess I should start by introducing myself. I am a 30-something mother of 3. My kids are 11, 7, and 14 months, and my marriage is a mess. My oldest is Autistic, and I am struggling with the decision of whether I allow him to go to a group home or not. My middle daughter is a drama queen, but she is brilliant, a perfectionist, and just a joy. Then there is my baby girl, one of those little surprises life throws you now and then.

My husband of 12 1/2 years. Well, this a complicated mess. I guess though, when isn’t marriage complicated. I was 19 when we got married, and seven weeks pregnant. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best choice. I wanted my baby to have a father, and I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought we would grow to love each other. That’s what I get for thinking.

The Moment Your World Stops Turning (Org date 5/26/12)

“Mom, I’m tired. I’m going to go lay down on the couch,” my 13 year old son tells me while sitting at the dinner table eating chili. He has barely eaten, which for him must mean he is sick. He looks at me and his eyes are very heavy. He stands and sways to his right, and then to his left before crashing to the floor. His eyes roll back in his head, he is gasping. A seizure. He has never had a seizure before. Oh, Shit! I’m a nurse, I know what to do, but this is my child! God I know you are here, hold him! I scream for my husband, who ushers our daughters from the kitchen, and because he is autistic, and I know he will not handle the whole ambulance thing well, call my dad. After loading him into the van, I drive like a crazy woman and thankfully do not get pulled over. Many hours later after a clean CT, blood work, and urine test we are dismissed from the hospital after declining the offer to be transferred to another hospital over an hour away for observation. His autism doc calls to check on him on Monday, who informs me that 1/2 of all children with autism have seizures, and 1/3 of those do not begin to have them until puberty. Holy Shit! He just said begin. Damn you autism! Damn you for robbing my kid of a “normal” life. Damn you for ruining our family, and slowly destroying my marriage! Damn you for robbing my kid from something simple like going to the amusement park because he is so afraid of the bees that will be outside. I hate you, there I said it!