Hello, Again

Hunter has been in the hospital 40-something days now. In a way the days have flown by. Mostly though they have dragged slower than molasses. He continues to exhibit the violent, aggressive behavior that landed him there in the first place. There have been slight med changes over the past number of weeks, yet ~ and still ~ there is no magic potion to cast the demons from his brain.

I miss him so much I cannot breathe. He's my buddy, my shadow, my boy. I somehow fooled myself into believing that with him I had a chance to be a mother in ways I could not be with Matthew or Connor. It seems I have failed Hunter too. I feel as though I have lost all my boys.

I hate this fucking disease called bipolar! I cannot express just how much I do. I hate that because of it I had to even make the choice to let Matthew and Connor go. The demons I live with over that decision haunt me constantly and on such a deep level that at times I want to scream "do over!". Yet, the time has past. I lost all of it. Every single nanosecond. I missed so many firsts...I was excluded from their lives. Purposely or accidentally is anybody's guess.

I hate this fucking disease because now one of my children has to live with the same darkness clouding his mind that I do.

I am a horrible mother and a bad wife. I want to lie down in a hole and exhale my very last breath...

Annie's Song

Yesterday my girlfriend and my husband and I went to take the plastic winter cover off our boat, erect the canvas and take inventory of what was still on board and what we still need to find in order to start our boating season next weekend. Stepping on the boat yesterday brought back wonderful memories of when we first bought her (used) in 2001 and the slapstick comedy of her maiden voyage. (She's a 1989 2655 Bayliner Ciera.) We had owned a boat previously (21' cuddy cabin) so we had, what we thought at the time, enough knowledge to get us from Point A to Point B without much difficulty. Uh yeah. Then reality set in.

By the time our family of six got the boat loaded and organized to set sail, it was pretty late. We tucked the kids down below and off we went. The broker we bought the boat from had parked our boat in a slip in a marina full of really expensive boats. Some of them were really pretty. Because the shifter on our boat was not working properly (worked fine when we test drove her) and it was really windy, we almost came to know a few of those pretty boats intimately.

After much maneuvering and "oh shit's", Henry wound up backing us out of the smooth water of the marina to the lake where the water was rough and the wind was howling. It was going to be a long night.

At some point in our voyage in started raining heavily and Henry made the decision that he just could not drive anymore and we started looking for a place to tie up to get some rest before continuing on to our marina in Port Huron. In the dark we found a dock, tied her up and went below to get some sleep where we discovered that the blankets covering our kids were soaking wet and the hatches were leaking as if they had been left wide open. (They were firmly closed.)

After Henry and I got some rest, it was daylight now, we untied the boat and set sail for our marina. I don't remember anything significant happening during this portion of our trip but what happened once we got to the marina and were trying to park our boat in our slip is etched deeply in my brain.

By the time we pulled into the marina it was pouring rain again -- and I do mean pouring. Our slip was located next to a metal retaining wall so I was dispatched to the bow to keep us from colliding with it. So I'm standing on the bow of this boat, in a bright yellow raincoat (boaters term: foul weather gear), sweatpants that were soaking wet, no shoes and armed with a dock pole. We're slowly cruising up the dockway to our slip and as we get close Henry throws the shifter in reverse. Unknown to us at the time, the cotter pin holding the propeller on the shaft didn't exist so the propeller fell off. (The cruise up the lake/river in forward gear was enough to keep the prop on the shaft.) We had just enough residual cruising speed and momentum that we slammed into the retaining wall, bending the bow rail.

Standing on my tip toes, reaching high over my head, I grab the edge of the retaining wall to keep us from going anywhere. Oh, and it's still pouring down rain. After what seemed like an eternity marina staff finally showed up to help us get her the rest of the way in the slip and tied off. We instantly (we found out later) became the Beverly Hillbillies of B dock. Several of our dock mates thought we were drunk and until we could get the Lexan replaced in the hatches we had to cover the bow of our boat with a blue tarp. How very attractive! So that was our maiden voyage.

Our home, for the first four boating seasons, was only about a half-hour drive so our choice of marina was pretty convenient. Plus they had a lot of nice amenities: heated swimming pool, showers, jacuzzi, basketball courts. And an even bigger bonus to our choice of location was the easy access to Lake Huron.

Stepping on the boat yesterday also flung me back in time to August 2004 when I tried to overdose and our boat sat in its well in Port Huron unused and neglected. When we put "her" (Her name is "Annie's Song") in storage for the winter that year and we couldn't have imagined she would stay in dry dock for two years as our lives spun seemingly out of control.

The fall and winter of 2004 I was in and out of psychiatric hospitals and undergoing ECT's. Hunter was also in and out of psychiatric hospitals as we tried to find medication to shorten the width of his mood swings and quiet the voices in his head.

The summer of 2005 came and went and Hunter was in a residential facility. He was a danger to himself and other's and it was our only hope. Visiting times at (and the location of) that facility were not convenient (of course) but I visited him at every opportunity given. I missed a lot of work and put a lot of miles on my car during that last hospitalization (that lasted 206 days). I was also still struggling with finding the right medication for myself and we, Henry and I, didn't think we had what it would take to put the boat in the water and actually use it.

Spring 2006 came along and we thought long and hard again about whether or not we could justify putting the time, money and effort in to putting the boat in the water vs. how much we would actually use it. It was a tough decision to keep her on land for another season but the decision in hindsight, was the right one.

This spring the question came up again of "do we" or "don't we" or "do we sell?" The marina we used originally was no longer convenient because we had moved and it would have taken about an hour and a half to get there. So I suggested we put her in the lake about 20 minutes from our house -- which is where we kept our smaller boat.

Henry gave it some thought and decided it was a great idea so we found a marina, picked a well and next weekend our boating season will officially start. Our family has great memories of the lake where our boat will be. There are several small islands, the water is much warmer than Lake Huron and it's three hours closer to Cedar Point than Port Huron. :-)

(I highly recommend driving a boat to Cedar Point and parking it in their marina. It is a awesome ride, inexpensive to dock (around $40, includes water and electricity) and you get in the park an hour earlier than the general public. Another cool thing is going up the Millennium roller coaster, looking down and seeing your boat sitting in the marina.)Because most things come full circle, the marina we chose for this season is the same marina we set sail from on our maiden voyage.

Standing on the deck of "Annie's Song" again felt like coming home. I didn't realize how much I missed the comfort of her until I was standing in the galley overwhelmed with so many happy memories and funny adventures we, as a family, have had with her. That first season it seemed that every time we took her out onto Lake Huron it would rain or hail. It was always clear, blue skies when we left dock (and the marine forecast always told us what we could see) in the blink of an eye we would find ourselves in a horrible storm. One storm produced golf ball sized hail.

One Fourth of July we took the boat up Lake Huron and anchored out from a town called Lexington. It was the most spectacular celebration I have ever seen. From our spot on the lake we were able to see fireworks from several surround communities in addition to private firework shows up and down the beach. It was truly breathtaking.

Henry and I spent our wedding night (June 30, 2002) anchored on Lake Huron sleeping on an air mattress on the stern's deck, under the stars. I still have the "Just Married" flag I bought and we flew proudly from our boat for the rest of the summer.

So, "Annie's Song", welcome home. I missed you.

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. :-)

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