My Four Sons

These are my boys. (From l-r): Jake, 13 (stepson), Connor, 13, Hunter 10 and Matthew, 17.

They are all terrific kids and I am thrilled to be their mom/stepmom.

Jake

I've been thinking a lot about my wonderful hubby, Henry. I think about him a lot already, my thoughts are just more concentrated lately because of a major stress in his life. The (physical) custody battle with his ex-wife.

For as long as Henry and I have been together (almost 8 years), Jake has been splitting his time 50/50 between the two homes. Monday, Tuesday and every other Friday-Sunday with the ex-wife and Wednesday, Thursday and every other Friday-Sunday with us.

This arrangement, my husband and I have always agreed, is stressful on Jake (he turns 14 in June). For many reasons. Up until three years ago (has it been that long?), we all lived in the same school district. For the past 8 years, my husband (with a little help from me) has been the SOLE transporter of Jake between the two homes. Same school district = not a very big deal. A pain-in-the ass, yes, but not a big deal. On "our" week "days", Henry would pick Jake up after work and, during the school year, would usually drive him directly to school. Still not a big deal.

Three years ago, my husband and I made a decision to move out of that school district to a city (roughly) 15 miles away. This was a decision that we did not make lightly. There were a lot of things, a LOT, that went into the decision. Our growing family (four GROWING boys) and appropriate housing (we were not in a position to buy a home at that time) to accommodate everybody and local crime topped the list.

From 1999 to 2004 we lived in the same apartment complex. From 1999 to 2001 my husband and I rented separate two-bedroom apartments, literally next door to each other. (We have the BEST how'd you meet story! But I digress.) From 2001 to 2003 we rented a third-floor, three bedroom, two-bath apartment.

During the five years we lived in that complex we had two brand-new Ninja motorcycles stolen and had the distinct pleasure of living mere yards from an open field where a BOMB was detonated by a bomb squad. It is here I point out that this explosion occurred in the middle of the night and NOBODY bothered to tell us about it beforehand. Uh, yeah.

That complex was the only game in town with three bedroom rental units so we expanded our search to surrounding communities.

Adding to all that the fact that the ex has been threatening FOR. EVER. to pack up and move back to Florida. (Just GO already!)

For the last three years, Jake has been on the same 50/50 schedule. Henry has still been doing ALL the transporting.

Now the ex is an "interesting" character. I will leave out my personal opinion of her but I will reveal these facts. She has two daughters from her first marriage. Jessica is 21 and Samantha is 18. The ex kicked Jess out of her home, the first time, when she was 16. She kicked Samantha out when she was 17. Jake's comment to me, right after Sam was booted, was "it's only a matter of time until she kicks me out, too.". Which brings us to the present.

The ex has a major thing with "respect". Everything is about "respect". Respect, respect, respect. Oh, and RESPECT. If you disagree with her, you're disrespecting her. If you look at her with-that-tone-of-voice, you're disrespecting her. She probably blames everything in her life on the fact that the world disrespects her specifically.

In early January of this year, the ex and Jake had a disagreement about something so trivial I can no longer remember what it was. Her response? Until "you apologize and respect me, you are no longer welcome in my home". Jake took her literally. In a conversation between the ex and my husband, she told him to "make arrangements to get Jake after school". So we did and Jake has been with us ever since. On top of that, whatever the disagreement was, Jake feels quite strongly that the ex owes HIM the apology.

Ever since we moved to our current home, Jake has contemplated living with us full-time. The ex locking him out of her home was the decision point for him so we enrolled him in our school district. Jake had been agonizing this decision for a long time. Henry and I took a laid-back approach and told him we would support him in whatever, whenever he decided. Jake grew up in the ex's house. The house is situated in a nice neighborhood on a dead-end street and Jake has friends he's known since before kindergarten. Jake didn't want to leave his friends. And we couldn't blame him. Henry was an Air Force brat and he relished the fact that Jake has lived in the same place, mostly, for his entire life.

I could not love Jake any more than if I had actually given birth to him. He is a terrific kid. I have witnessed first-hand how difficult this 50/50 schedule has been on him. His grades have always been less that desirable. Mostly because he received zero homework help from his mom.

On school mornings at his mom's house he was usually left to fend for himself and responsible for getting himself up and ready for school. This resulted in a lot of missed school days and tardies. In elementary school he had to carry an assignment notebook back and forth to school that had to be signed every night by a parent. The ex put TOO much responsibility on Jake for school-related stuff. I cannot tell you how many school projects were done at the 11th hour because the ex couldn't be bothered.

Henry tried helping Jake with homework via the telephone but on "her" days, she forbade Jake from calling his dad because it was "her" time. Even though she was hardly ever home.

Everything Jake has ever needed, lunch money, school supplies, clothing, a new bed (at her house)-- we have paid for. The ex contributed to none of it. Don't get me wrong, we're doing what parents are supposed to do.

The custody battle is really not about custody so much as it is about him living in one place during the school year. We have seen a remarkable improvement in Jake's grades since he started school here in January. In the divorce decree there is no set visitation schedule and Henry and the ex share physical custody. They're supposed to share his expenses 50/50, too. We can dream, can't we? Henry and I are fighting for Jake to live with us during the school weeks with his mom seeing him every other weekend.

Here is the kick in the teeth -- from OUR attorney, no less. The 50/50 living arrangement, Henry always transporting Jake between homes SET A PRECEDENT that the attorney doubts the court will change. The sound of defeat in my beautiful husbands voice when he told me that knocked the breath out of me. Everything Henry does for Jake is because of Jake. Because that's how it should be. It's called PARENTING.

Yesterday was the first court date regarding Jake's living arrangements. They never made it in front of the judge. Mostly because Eminem and his ex-wife and their media circus were there, too. Also because OUR attorney, having watched Henry and the ex talking, highly suggested we adjourn the hearing for a week to try to work things out on our own.

In that conversation between Henry and the ex, they discussed (finally) sharing transportation responsibilities. The ex? Wants money for gas. Yeah. Seriously.

The ex has not seen -- made a barely-there effort to see -- Jake since January. Jake refuses to see her. Henry and I have been counseling Jake that, like it or not, he will have to, at some point in the very near future, see her. The court can, and will, force that issue. The last time Jake talked to her on the phone, that I am aware of, he hung up on her. It was the first time, again that I am aware of, in a very long time since they had spoken to each other and she blew it. Instead of "hi, how's it going?" she launches into how by him not calling her that he is disrespecting her. Click.

Henry and I recently put Jake back into counseling. I say "back into" because the last experience he had with it was with his mother. It was Jake, the ex and the therapist -- together, in one room -- for a several sessions. When the therapist questioned her parenting skills, she stopped taking Jake. She assumed the therapist would side with her and that he would validate her notion that Jake was a disrespectful child. I felt so sorry for Jake.

Several years ago Henry and I took Jake to Malissa (the same therapist I and Hunter have) so we took him back to her. The first session included Henry and Jake for the intake and Jake mistakenly assumed that that was how every session was going to be. The complete relief on his face when he found out that he would be seeing her alone is indescribable. I have a warm suspicion that Malissa is exactly what Jake needs. :-)

More Musical Memories

Read part 1 here.

The song that kept me company for 13 long days in the hospital, in pre-term labor, with my last son, Hunter is 'When You Love a Woman, by Journey'.

The song Sophie B. Hawkins' 'Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover' that my husband (then new boyfriend) sang in my ear while I drove us to his parents house in upstate New York (We live in Michigan). We had known each other less than two weeks and I helped him re-roof his parents house. Hearing it still gives me chillbumps!

I first heard this song when I was pregnant with my first son, Matthew, in 1989. It followed me through each of my pregnancies. Elton John's 'The Greatest Discovery'.

'Return to Innocence' by Enigma was a song that almost consumed me after the birth and subsequent death of my third son, Alexander, in 1995.

I first heard this song, Michael Jackson's 'You Are Not Alone' right after I lost Alexander, too. It still gives me a lump in my throat. I remember pulling into the driveway of my then mother-in-laws house with this song blaring and me sobbing.

Henry and I danced naked, in his kitchen, to John Denver's 'Annies Song'.
'My Wish' by Rascal Flatts for our kids.

For my incredibly beautiful mother-in-law, Josh Groban and Charlotte Church sing 'The Prayer'.

My song: 'Wildflower' by Skylark.

For Barb: 'Summertime' by none other than Janis Joplin.

Season Finale

I finished the snowboarding season last Saturday with a "snap". Of my left arm. My husband, stepson and I drove up to Boyne Highlands the night before (upper-lower-Michigan). This was going to be our last hurrah. My husband and I had visited their sister resort Boyne last year with similar results.

It was my second run of the day. My husband and stepson took a different route down the hill so I was all alone when I fell. I wasn't going very fast, having just come from a small trail onto a larger open space. I feel backward with my left arm extended behind me. I actually heard the 'snap'. I sat on the slope for a few minutes, cradling my arm, trying to figure out how I was going to get to the bottom. There was still quite a bit of hill left to travel.

Snowboarding it would have been the fastest way and I had a fleeting thought that things couldn't get much worse if I fell again. Instead, I released my boots from the bindings, grabbed my board and walked down. Crying into my goggles the whole way.

I spotted my husband and stepson going up on the lift so I dropped my board and dramatically pointed to my left arm. I kept looking around me for a ski patrol but it wasn't until I was at the bottom near the lift line that I finally spotted two of them. I called out "Ski Patrol" but they kept moving away from me. I tried again and finally caught the attention of one of them.

They snapped out of their skis as I was telling them I think I broke my arm. Soon I had several Ski Patrol around me and they braced my arm while we waited for my husband to come down the hill. I got a quick ride on a snowmobile to the Ski Patrol office while my husband made contact with my stepson to tell him we were going to the emergency room and to get our Jeep from the lodge parking lot. Deep breathing is not just for childbirth anymore!

Every year the Boyne resorts have what is known as "Krazy Days" around St. Patrick's Day. According to the ER docs/nurses, I was the first casualty of 2007's annual festivities. It was only 11 o'clock in the morning.

When I got into the exam room I had a whole team of people descend upon me. Cutting off the sling and split, sliding me out of my coat, two shirts and bra in what seemed like one fell swoop.

Soon I was sitting there in a hospital gown with a guy inserting an IV in my right arm so they could give me some painkillers. Yeah me! Once the happy drugs started flowing my pain went from a solid 10 to a solid 8.

Then came the x-rays. The verdict? I broke the radial head at my elbow. It is quite painful to try to rotate my hand face up/face down. I also am not able to bend or flex it completely without tremendous amount of pain. So the good looking ER doc half casted me from knuckles to above my elbow and told me to follow up with an orthopaedic surgeon in the next few days.

After stopping to fill a script for more pain killers and lunch, we returned to the resort. I ate, took drugs and lay down for the rest of the day. My husband caught up with his son and they finished the day snowboarding. The next day the two of them bought a four hour pass and headed for the hills while I headed for bed. I was completely miserable and the pain killers were doing very little to help.

On Tuesday I saw my primary care physician to get a referral to an orthopaedic dude. I sat in the overheated room forever before the she-doc came in. The first thing she did was unwrap my arm and start pushing in places that really hurt. She said she wanted a few more x-rays so I sat there, arm unwrapped, completely miserable for another eternity.

Finally someone took me down for more x-rays then returned me to the hot room. My husband was sitting in the waiting room this whole time because he thought it would be a simple "get the referral and go" appointment.

Forever later the nurses aid, not a nurse, mind you, a nurses aid, came in and said they were making my referral appointment up front and to check out. She handed me the x-rays (so now I was holding two complete sets of x-rays) and told me to go up front. Nobody bothered to re-wrap my broken arm before shooing me out of the office. She did, at the last second, give me a bag to carry everything in.

When I summoned my husband from the waiting room he started laughing because here I was holding two sets of x-rays, a plastic bag, a half cast and miles of ACE bandages. All we could do was shake our heads and laugh. The first thing we did when we got in the Jeep was wrap everything back up again. The soonest I could get into the Orthopaedic guy was Thursday. Yippee. The PCP did give me more pain killers though.

So yesterday my husband drives me to the Ortho guy. We get led back to a large room with floor to ceiling walls between each table in front of or behind you. You can see the other patient on your left or right. So we sat and waited while the little girl next to us got her wrist cast hacked off. The ortho guy did MORE x-rays and came to the same conclusion as the ER doc up north that I broke the radial head.

And, oh, by the way, this is not a type of fracture we cast. It's best if you use your arm and do some exercises. My husband and I looked at each other, yet again, and laughed. I have a broken arm BUT they don't cast it. Geez. So, once again, I left a doctors office with a broken and completely naked left arm. The first thing my husband and I did when we got in the Jeep was re-splint it.

On the upside, I did take my splint off when we got home from the Ortho doctor and I have been icing it and using it as much as I can stand it. Which isn't much.

We Are Responsible

We are responsible for children who put chocolate fingers everywhere,
who like to be tickled,
who stomp in puddles and ruin their pants,
who sneak Popsicles before supper,
who erase holes in math workbooks,
who can never find their shoes.

And we are responsible for those who stare at photographers from behind barbed wires,
who can't bound down the street in a new pair of sneakers,
who never "counted potatoes,"
who are born in places we wouldn't be caught dead,
who never go to the circus,
who live in an x-rated world.

We are responsible for children who give us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,
who sleep with the dog and bury goldfish,
who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money,
who cover themselves with Band-Aids and sing off-key,
who squeeze toothpaste all over the sink,
who slurp their soup.

And we are responsible for those who never get dessert,
who have no safe blanket to drag behind them,
who watch their parents watch them die,
who can't find any bread to steal,
who don't have any rooms to clean up,
whose pictures aren't on anybody's dresser,
whose monsters are real.

We are responsible for children who spend all their allowance before Tuesday,
who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
who like ghost stories,
who shove dirty clothes under the bed,
and never rinse the tub,
who get visits from the tooth fairy,
who don't like to be kissed in front of the carpool,
who squirm in church and scream in the phone,
whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry.

And we are responsible for those whose nightmares come in the daytime,
who will eat anything,
who have never seen a dentist,
who aren't spoiled by anybody,
who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,
who live and move, but have no being.

We are responsible for children who want to be carried,
and for those who must be...
For those we never give up on,
and for those who don't get a second chance.
For those we smother...
and for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind enough to offer it.

~Ina Hughes

Traveling

The path has lengthened and I am no longer alone.

This path I have been traveling has been long and, at times, painful.

The sun continues to rise and set and time moves forward -- and I'm okay with that.

I've learned to adjust me to work in rhythm with the earth.

Changes

The changes are so dramatic, but I hold my breath.
Afraid to let my guard down, for even a moment; a millisecond.
Afraid the other shoe will drop on my head and knock me to the floor.