Sorry.

So, yesterday was not my most awesome day in history.
After writing the last post and leaving work, I basically wrecked my four month old, first ever brand new car (I know Dave Ramsey would shoot me for buying a new car.)
The accident was totally my fault. I wasn't texting, messing with music, or even helping my kids (they weren't in the car)...I just wasn't thinking clearly.
No one was hurt, thank goodness - but, seriously....seriously, could my day have not been worse?

After getting home, I went downstairs and found a little something on my bed.
A handwritten note on a ripped piece of paper that instructed me to "turn over."
I turned it over and found a bag of unopened extra valentine box candy (my favorites) and a simple statement:
"Sorry."

Really, truly...I was stunned - to the point of tears.
My Ab has never, that I remember, ever said sorry (and sincerely meant it).  We breed 'em just a tad bit stubborn around here.
It was just the kind of heart softening I needed to gather my parenting tool bag, and figure out what I can do to help this 8 year old daughter of mine whom I love more than I can imagine.
As an added bonus, she had also cleaned her room and done her reading required for school.

Sometimes, through the midst of all this pain, a simple sorry can mean so much.

Abby and I discussed future consequences and plans for preventing these types of things from happening.  We cried together, and validated ourselves by saying, "yep...you know what? things aren't that awesome right now...but, we love each other and things will get better."  Ab tried her best to lead a debate as to how she feels, as an 8 year old, she and I should have (and I quote) "an equal, 50/50 relationship."
She cracks me up...
I told her,  that until she was 18, that relationship would look a whole lot more like 80/20, although I would always be there to listen.  It took her a moment to get over that, but we survived.
And, we will survive.

PS...My cute Deak made a brand new consonant sound yesterday.  He has been practicing on his hand for the past week or so, and I figured he was trying to pronounce, "B"  All night long, he pursed his lips together, so tightly he spit, and said, "Ba,Ba,Ba,Ba,Ba,Ba."  He was SO, SO proud, and so are we.  We haven't heard a new consonant sound in quite a long time, so it was just so encouraging.  Hooray for communication!!!

Days like this.

Or, maybe years.
Regardless, life is hard.

Today, I've decided I suck at being a parent.
When Abby maybe reads this as a adult and hopeful parent...I want her to know the truth.
Parenting is hard, and I screw up a lot.

I don't know what I'm doing half the time. I try, and try and try. I reinforce positive things, spend quality one on one time, enforce consequences, show emotion, give her, probably too many, opportunities to state her feelings and opinions...all that jazz.
But, sometimes I feel like I just should give up.

Abby is at home today, due to another meltdown (this time about her typing homework...which should have been done last night, but wasn't...I told you I suck.)
Lately, it feels like I can't do anything right - and I couldn't take anymore.
I have so much guilt about the move, and not having our own home, and the lack of friends around for Abby to play with.  I have absolutely NO clue as to where she, or her brother are going to school next year. We can't buy a house, nor can we get into a lease without our renters extending theirs on our pre-bulldozed home about six months. I don't have a lot of control, and I feel like I'm losing my mind.
And, it breaks my heart because I feel like I've created this mess. 
I should've been smarter with my money.
I should've had savings when we had Deak.
I should've chosen to stay home full time, rather than work part time.
Should've. Should've. Should've.

And, on top of that I got to deal with some extremely painful leg cramps, unlike I've ever experienced due to my freaking brain this past weekend.
Yay me.

If you see me on the side of the road, curled up in the fetal position drinking a whole lot more than diet coke...at least now you'll know why.

The End.
(And, if you've read this before I inevitably delete it...I'm sorry for the lack of positivity...things will get better.)

Trouble.

That's what Deak has been in.

And, it kind of makes me happy.

Apparently Deak has developed what his teachers coin "an obsession" with the fancy touch screen computer in his classroom.

(I should also add that I've been told he can run the baby all by himself).

The obsession has turned into a power struggle with Deak refusing to do anything but play on the computer.
 Let me just say from experience, when Deak refuses to do something...he refuses to do something.

Like - you'd have a better shot of freezing in that golden pond below.

At first, my heart broke at the idea of Deak getting upset about this...at. first.

Then, after hearing this story, I began to realize I was selling Deak short.

The boy can take care of himself.

Last week at school, his teachers had decided to cover up the computer with paper, to distract Deak from it and perhaps give them a chance to stop having to worry about Deak freaking out.

Deak typically spends his free time at school in the toy corner with the soft mats, and doesn't generally like to crawl on the hard floors, if his walker isn't available. So, I guess his teachers figured they were in the clear (a mistake I've learned a little too well).

Before the teachers realized what was happening, they watched Deak crawl out of his comfort zone, across the room, pull to stand on the computer desk, and then rip the paper off the computer.

That's my boy.

He may not say much right now, but he is not going to be fooled by some pieces of black paper. 

This long-awaited independence gig is pretty amazing to be a part of.  What an amazing kid.

...An amazingly smart secret ninja kind of kid....

Tide.

When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hold on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.

– Harriet Beecher Stowe

I'm doing better.
Mostly because I have a really, really good husband.
A lot little bit of cheesecake, caffeine and Kyle Korver watching have also been helpful tools.
I still basically want certain freeway issues/people/choices to eat *@#$, but I'm assuming that passionately fueled rage will simmer over time.

Deak got really sick, really, really, really fast last night.
He spiked a fever, turned truly lethargic almost instantly and began coughing.
I held him for a long time.
That chubby belly and cute stubby fingers wrapped around my thumb allow for a light of clarity to shine directly through to my soul.
Blair and I carried him downstairs and I broke down.  I looked at Blair, began to shake my head, and said "No....no. I can't do this too."
My sweet Blair promised he would take care of him, knowing I was at my max.
I prayed he would be okay...because, he was not looking good.

And, he is.
He woke up hopping and asking for shows.
His nose is runny, but he is fine.
He is okay.

My own miracle.
Small, maybe...but, real to me.
And, I really needed the extra boost of faith.

Our tide will turn, and I have a renewed hope that our feet are close to getting wet.
Thank you little jumping bean.

In....then, Out.

I'm teaching relaxation strategies to my darling students at work this week.
We are working on visualization, muscle constriction/release and breathing deeply.

"In through your nose for four seconds, out through your mouth."

I will say that phrase quite realistically 50 times today.
Thankfully...
I need the reminder.

I attempting to do my best to hang on to those hope and perseverance traits I've become so dependant on these past few years.  I think perhaps I've relied on them a little too strongly because it feels as if the soft threading is slipping through my fingers. 
I'm not going to tempt karma and format our struggles into a whiny, self-depreciating list.
Although, I'll say for the record that I'm certain we've hit our quota of major life stressors happening simultaneously.

So, for today -
I'm dangling from my tattered cloths of hope, putting a smile on my face, and going to work. 
Fighting tears.
But, I'm here.

And, I am breathing.

Birthday.

I've attempted to begin this sentence several times now.
Nothing sounds right.
I've quite consciously chosen not to have written about this subject before now, as my feelings surrounding this day always flood my veins with a hot mess of complicated and jumbled hallmark movie"ish" emotional stew.

I've never wanted this entry to sound trite or cheesy or hallmark movie"ish."
This date signifies a large portion of who I am; who I've grown to become. 
This date, in my history, changed my life.

Right around this date, 25 years ago, I awoke to a plethora of people I recognized from my church packing.
At first, it was exciting. I loved attention...loved attention, especially from adults.  The gorgeous San Diego sun was shining in such a way that you nearly had no choice but to be jubilant. My sister and I played Mr. Potato Head with a cute young woman whom I vaguely recognized, but felt comfortable enough around to not question her being in my apartment.
As time moved forward, the San Diego January sun created a day warm enough to set up the outdoor plastic pool. My sister and I anxiously awaited the water filling, and made our way to our front porch, just underneath the stairway that lead to the apartments above us.
I was seven.  Just barely.
It was at this point that I began to perceive something bigger was taking place. This party of people and friends, and even family from Utah hadn't arrived just to play and swim. 
I watched the couch being carried out, and then I noticed my things.
"That is why we were sent out here to swim," I thought.
My heart sank, all the way to the bottom.
Not because we were moving, which had become clear, but because I knew my dad didn't know.

Without going into details, I'll mention that things had not been good at home for awhile.  I was keenly aware of this fact...too aware.  My seven year old thoughts were often turned to issues light years ahead of my chronological age. 

My thoughts turned to Nikki and her blond curls.
She was laughing and swimming in the pool, as she should have been.
She was four.
I was protectively placed "on guard."
And although my instincts wanted to run and tell her, "STOP! Stop playing. Don't you see what's happening?? Don't you want to stay here? Don't you notice that Dad is not here?" 
I was quite actually jealous of the naivety and her aptitude for resiliency.
She needed to stay safe.

Time lapsed.
My childhood memory says it was maybe a matter of minutes, but it may have been hours.
I was in front of my white apartment, standing aside, watching the masses of people moving all of our things into a moving truck that had been parked in the alley.

Then, I saw him.
I noticed his long brown hair first, then saw his suntanned skin and loosely buttoned shirt.
I ran to him.

My adult brain understands now that my dad had most likely figured out what was going on, but as a child, it felt like a miracle.  He had come to put us back together again.

I knew my dad was not perfect.
I knew he was doing things that he should not have been doing.
I knew that my mom was doing everything she could to keep us safe and strong.
But, I didn't care. I didn't want to leave him. I couldn't.
Extremely out of character, and without care for the myriad of eyes who were watching, I wrapped my arms around my dad and cried.
I cried tears that had been held in for years.
"I am NOT GOING! I will not go. I am staying with Dad."
Over and over and over.

We didn't go.

My dad entered rehab within the next couple of weeks.
He has been sober since.
25 years.
Twenty.Five.Years.

The feelings become complicated surrounding this date when I choose to allow the past to creep up into my present.  Sometimes I feel sad for the little blond-haired perfectionist who dared not ruffle any feathers for fear she would add more stress to a fire that was so aptly brewing on its' own between her parents.  I feel sad for the little girl who covered her sister's ears as they hid together during some of the rougher moments.  I feel sad because that seven year olds' ears heard everything.

As a nineteen year old, I made a conscious choice to forgive my dad. 
And, I did.
Because his issues were not mine to carry anymore.

My thirty-second year has brought me to a place of simplicity.
And, even more deeply, in this year, I can sincerely say I am grateful.
Immensely grateful for the roads, however rocky they've been, that have lead me to the place I am in today.
I am able to sit in my office, with my J Crew cardigan and skinny jeans, and know that most people who see me on the street have no idea of the life I've experienced.  They make assumptions of me based on visual details.

But, I don't.
I understand that appearances are never the entire story.
There is always more.

I am driven to encourage change because I have had a first row seat.
I witnessed one of the most important people in my life find that internal drive within his soul and do better.
He overcame pieces of his history too horrific to mention and discovered strength in his present.
He learned to find motivation in doing good and developed self-respect by allowing himself to feel.
He found purpose in God, and hope that through his choices, life would get better-better for all of us.

Some say I've kind-of been dealt a crappy hand in this poker game of life: imperfect childhood, a special boy, and now - a couple of brain lesions.
Yes, I admittedly am pretty much not the person who consistently gets dealt a couple of aces.

But, I know how to persevere.
And, I know how to hope.
I learned that from him.

I'd take those two traits over a winning hand any day. 

I used to visit my dad in rehab and drink Martinelli's apple cider in the glass apple bottle jars.
The first time I watched my daughter drink the same drink, I looked into her eyes and smiled through the welling tears.  She was distinctly oblivious to the emotional meaning that small apple jar, now made in plastic, held to my heart.  I watched her blue eyes dance, as she ate her bagel at Einsteins and was proud of my history.

Proud to be my father's daughter.
Happy 25 Years Dad.

Good News.

I'm sorry guys...I will journal/blog about other things soon....but, Deak's Run for Hope is pretty much consuming my entire life at the moment. 

Run for Hope, and Saturday cheer competitions. Phew...

(Oh ya, and maybe work and being a mom and laundry and Dave Ramsey's budget - but, for another day)

I got some great news today in conjunction with our race, and am excited to share.  Click here to see.