Congratulations Aunty Amy!

I work at being a positive person. I try to surround myself with people who are positive and bring out the best in me. I believe that good energy out means good energy in. I try to help others see the best in themselves. I LOVE being happy! But some days I just can't avoid the negative. Today is one of those days.

And hey, it's okay. I'm allowing myself to dwell in this negative place for a little while. I'm also allowing myself to express it to the world. The past Amy would have shoved this hurt deep down inside where it would fester. Inside I would be crying, but to the outside world I would look like I didn't give a shit, like a heartless bitch. I'm tired of trying to look so tough. I'm letting it out.

So today....

Today I became an aunt for the first time! Yay!!!!

A biological aunt that is. I have two nephews, and a niece on the way, mothered by my adopted sister. These words are not meant to minimize those relationships, they are unique, and they will understand that there is a distinct difference between family I choose to love (them) and the family that I share blood with. I don't have a whole lot of the latter, hence the importance.

My brother Brenton and his wife Stephanie had a baby girl today, January 30th, at 12:37pm. She weighed 7 pounds 3 ounces, 20.5 inches long. They named her Beau.

This info was all passed along to me by a non family member who was kind enough to understand that I would want to know. This non family member also took pictures of my new niece and sent them to me. They didn't have to do this, but being a friend of my family, they knew that I wouldn't find out any other way. So they took the risk of my brother being angry at them and shared with me anyways.

For reasons unknown to me, my brother has cut me out of his life. In the process he has manipulated our mother and his father (my step) into cutting me out as well. My relationship with my parents has been severely damaged as a result. Brenton does not want me to know anything about his life and insists that no one else tells me either. I have been pushed out of the family circle. Brenton is 17 years younger than me, and has always viewed me as an adult in the same category as our mother. When Brenton was young we had a great relationship. It's only been the last two years that he's decided I don't get to be in his life anymore. I did everything I could to repair our relationship. but gave up this year when I realized he only lets me back in long enough to hurt me again. I would give anything for it to be different.

Ideally, today I should be driving to Beaver. I should be visiting my sibling, holding and kissing my niece, counting her fingers and toes and laughing. I should be overwhelmed with the joy that this new life is bringing and celebrating with my family. I should know her middle name. I should be looking into her tiny little face for family traits like eye color and dimples and the shape of her lips. Instead I'm at home, cleaning an already clean house, and walking the dogs.

I no longer have a place in my own family. 

I am heartbroken and I'm going to let myself feel the hurt. 

Perseverance

If I were to chart my moods on a graph every day the end result would look like a roller coaster. Depression often makes me feel as if I am bipolar (no offense to anyone who is actually bipolar. Since I am not, I am only using it as a loose comparison).

Yesterday was definitely a roller coaster day. I had the stress of wondering if Eric was alive. Turns out he was camping in a location where he didn't have cell service. Which could have been just about anywhere on the mountain, but he was exactly where he said he would be, therefore easy for me to find him when he failed to come home at the expected time.  Over twenty-four hours had gone by without so much as a text. We never go that long without communicating with each other. I was worried. My ride up the mountain gave me plenty of time to think of all the ways he could be injured or dead. By the time I saw him, safe and intact, I had convinced myself that I would find him trapped under a fallen tree. These thoughts come as a side effect of having a beer loving husband alone on a mountain with a chainsaw. He walked up to me as I approached on the four-wheeler and what did I do? I punched him as hard as I could, called him a sonofabitch, and burst into tears. He was completely baffled, but quickly made me laugh by admitting that, even though he didn't know what he did, he probably deserved it.
Since Eric's safety had been established I was free to ride back down the mountain. I did so leisurely, stopping to watch a red-tailed hawk in flight, smell the flowers and take pictures. All was right in my little world again.
When evening rolled around, and my mood turned dark again, I really wasn't surprised. I went to bed hoping tomorrow would bring a fresh start.
I woke this morning to discover that depression had dug its greedy claws into me. Once again an invisible force was keeping me in bed, and keeping me from doing the very things that I know will help pull me out of my funk.
My chest felt heavy. I felt like I was drowning.
By the time I could breath again I had missed out on the fun I had planned for the day. Immediately came the regret, then remorse, for not following through on commitments I had made. Well, what's done is done (in this case, not done), and there's no sense in dwelling in regret. As for guilt, I was born with that piece missing.
With some help from Eric, I put on my big girl pants, and forced myself back up on the mountain for a hike. For those of you who have never suffered through depression you should know this is an incredible feat. The very act of movement hurts; my feet feel like they have been filled with lead. Every step is an act of defiance against myself.
For four hours I said "Fuck You Depression", enjoying the clean air and the sounds of nature. Tonight I am winning the battle, or I'm just too tired.
My calf muscles are giving me the middle finger.
Mentally, I feel pretty darn good. #givingdepressionthefinger

Canine Midwife

This morning I had the amazing opportunity to help bring life into this world.

My little Yorkshire Terrier, Rue, gave birth to three healthy puppies with the assistance of her midwife: me. 

She began waking me up around 3am. She's been too fat to jump up on my bed for several weeks now. Instead she sits by my side of the bed and whines until I wake up, pick her up, and allow her to do her “circle four times, stomp on the blankets, then lay down” routine before I can go back to sleep. This morning was a little different. She couldn’t get comfortable, so I lay there in a half asleep haze rubbing her belly. It was about 5am when I first felt a contraction. I quickly got out of bed and Rue led me straight for the puppy nursery, aka the sunroom, where I had set up her whelping area. This is her fourth litter of puppies, she knows what to do and where, she just doesn't want to do it without me. 

The first puppy, a girl, was delivered less than ten minutes later, and this is when we came across our first problem. Although the puppy was out, cleaned up and breathing, she was still attached by umbilical cord inside Rue. The placenta had not been delivered. I didn't worry too much. I figured the next contraction would deliver the placenta. Instead I saw another sac containing the next puppy, and I saw paws instead of a nose. Over the next twenty minutes Rue had several hard contractions and tried pushing but couldn’t get any more of the second puppy, or the placenta from the first puppy, to come out. They were trying to exit at the same time and there just wasn’t enough room. The second puppy was stuck. I grabbed the KY Jelly and lubed up a finger. I had never assisted this way before and was a little nervous about screwing it up. Each time I managed to get my finger inside her vagina Rue had a contraction, but I couldn’t get a grip on the cord to the placenta or get the second puppy to budge. I was also aware that if I forced any of this it could cause bleeding to Rue and I could lose her and the pup. It was nerve racking and took more patience than I thought I had. I would have appreciated a second set of hands but everyone else in my home was still asleep and I wasn’t about to leave Rue to go wake someone up. Finally I was able to move the puppy aside just enough that with the next contraction she and I were able to extract the placenta. Which she promptly ate, chewing off the umbilical cord instinctively. We still had the problem of the next pup coming rear paws first. Rue was pushing but the pup still did not want to come out. The four years of experience I have with dog breeding seems very insignificant when facing a problem I’ve never encountered before. Watching Rue push, watching as more of the pup was exposed as it made its way through the birth canal, then when the contraction subsided the pup looked as though it were being sucked back into that tiny opening. It looked painful and unnatural. Again I lubed up a finger. I gently reached up far enough to what I believed was the puppy’s shoulder and with the next contraction I lightly pulled. All but his head made it out, and with the next contraction Rue pushed out the head, and the second placenta.

I let out a sigh of relief. I didn’t realize just how stressed I was until it was over and took a moment to congratulate myself for staying cool under pressure.

I honestly thought there were only two puppies so I began cleaning up. I grabbed a second cup of coffee, I had managed to drink the first cup while up to my knuckles in placenta. I checked on all the other dogs in the house and started a load of laundry.

I went back to check on Rue and her new pups to discover that there was indeed a third puppy on its way.

This little one was coming butt first. Seriously? The butt first presentation is what is considered breech, and the most dangerous of all presentations, for both puppy and mother. I was beginning to doubt the success of this litter. But Rue was having better luck with this one than she did with the second pup. A few pushes later and she had him half way out. With his legs tucked up next to his chest he looked like he was way too big to be exiting such a small space. The female body, regardless of species, is amazingly resilient and elastic. With the next push I gently pulled on the puppy and out he popped. I felt as exhausted as Rue looked, though I know that was far from the truth.

Hours later mom and all three puppies are sleeping in the “cave”, which is a playpen turned on its side with blankets draped over it. Being partially enclosed makes Rue feel safe. The sunroom door is cracked open and held in place by a gigantic cow bone (a remnant from our deceased Labrador and too big for my girls to eat, although they try). Rue has been out a time or two for a bathroom break and actually looks relieved to not be pregnant any more. In the past she’s been an amazing mother and I expect she will be this time as well.

I am overjoyed that all three puppies are alive and appear to be very healthy. I’ve had a few pups die. That’s just the way it is sometimes. Nature is harsh and humans make mistakes. It’s all part of the experience. This go around though, I could do without any heartache. So far so good.

Dogs in general, mine in particular, give me enormous joy. Their unconditional love and simplistic desire to please is all I need some days to make my whole world feel complete. In breeding I have had the ability to share the joy with other families. It’s a beautiful thing. 

#givingdepressionthefinger

Inspiration comes in many forms. Mine came when I discovered that a friend was enduring the same pain as I was, at the same time, a hundred miles away. She began to talk about her depression on Facebook. She didn't know it, but I was glued to her every word. When she took up hiking as a tool to battle her depression she created a hashtag to go along with it: #givingdepressionthefinger. It's now my mantra. I also began using hiking as a tool. Really, I was already hiking, but for some reason this small motivation gave more depth to my action. Hiking is currently a priority that I see to as diligently as showering.

She and I have not discussed this. I have only openly discussed my struggle with Eric, and casually mentioned it with a few friends I consider close. I'm a very private person (this is why blogging terrifies me--step out of your comfort zone Amy!). Depression can be easy to hide with enough effort. There is also that thing. The stigmatization of depression as if it's some sort of shameful mental disorder. Which is lame when you consider how many of us have/are/will suffer from it at some point in our lives.

Depression has unfortunately become my best friend. It's with me everywhere I go. Sometimes it brings along its friends, Anxiety and Introversion. They taunt and torment me like a couple of playground bullies. I am fighting back and I'm winning. This is not my first ride on the depression merry-go-round. It's been part of my life since puberty. This is the first time in over a decade it's brought me down so low. Depression becomes a downward spiral. I know what I need to do to help myself, but doing those things with consistency becomes overwhelming. My thoughts become shattered and nothing seems important any more. Days go by. I wallow in my own darkness. Then a focused thought (or hashtag) emerges and I grasp at it like a life line and I lift myself back up.
On the bright side, I've learned something about myself through all of this. Last summer I was riding a high. I was unstably euphoric; feeling and acting in ways that were out of character and downright dangerous. I now recognize that for what it really was: the first stage of a serious hormonal/chemical imbalance. When winter came I crashed, and have since been trying to claw my way back out. Obviously I'm making some headway or I would not be talking about it (because we never want to talk about it when we are deep in the center).
For now I will continue the hiking and remember to take my vitamins every day. As the seasons change, so will my outdoor activities. My wish for myself is to continue to be optimistic.

Namaste.

My Opinion on Dog Companionship

We've all seen the guy in the grocery store parking lot with a sign for free puppies. More often than not I can't resist the temptation. I must cuddle. I kiss their little heads and croon "I loooooove you" shamelessly for anyone nearby to overhear. Then I politely smile at the human while I place the puppy back in it's box or crate and walk away. Puppies should not be an impulse purchase.
How many of you have done this?
Now, how many of you have done the same thing to an adult dog?
I'm raising my hand. Yes, I do this with adult dogs too. The ones that will let me.
If you did not say yes to the second question, please please PLEASE don't ever get a dog.
I live in the country where the average home sits on an acre of land and fenced yards are few and far between. Dogs here come in three flavors: The beloved house dog, the working ranch dog, and the we-got-it-for-the-kids-when-it-was-cute-dog. The latter is typically chained to something in the yard and is often seen running back and forth on his chain through mud he has created by tipping over his own water bucket. He wags his tail and barks every time someone walks past because, dammit, he just wants someone to give him affection.
This breaks my heart.
If you can not honestly say that you think adult dogs are as lovable as puppies, don't get a dog! When you're children beg you for a pet, don't cave in. Moms and dads always shoulder the full responsibility of a family pet. Depending on the breed, dogs can live anywhere from 8 to 18 years. Eighteen! The commitment of a puppy can be the equivalent of having a child.
Dogs are lovable and kind. They are people pleasers and attention whores. If you can't give them what they deserve. DON'T GET A DOG!

My Interview with Author Terra Luft

About five years ago I was invited by a friend to join her book club. I stepped out of my introverted comfort zone and went. All my fears just melted away in a room surrounded by a bunch of women I didn't know, yet I seemed to fit right in. It ended up being on my list of the best decisions I've ever made. Immediately I recognized a "kindred spirit" (and fellow heathen) in Terra Luft. We have been strengthening the bonds of our friendship ever since through common interests like books, coffee, yoga, motorcycles and more books. Now one of my favorite people is officially a published author! From the sideline I've watched her take her hobby and turn it into a career. She's inspiring, and always encouraging. I couldn’t be more proud of her! 

Reflections is Terra’s contribution to the Secrets & Doors Anthology. I was given an Advanced Reader Copy and the opportunity to interview Terra on my blog. I thoroughly enjoyed the book and I recommend it to everyone. If you like fiction of any kind you will want to read this book. Also, all proceeds go to the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, so you'll be effortlessly donating to a good cause too. Check it out.....

Open the door and unlock the secrets in eleven short stories from The Secret Door Society, an organization of fantasy and science fiction authors dedicated to charitable work. All proceeds from this anthology benefit the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation in their quest to cure Type One Diabetes (T1D).

In these pages you’ll discover a modern woman trapped in an old fashioned dreamscape, a futuristic temp worker who fights against her programming, a beautiful vampire’s secret mission disrupted by betrayal, a sorcerer’s epic battle against a water dragon, the source of magical mirrors—and more. There are tales for every science fiction and fantasy taste, including new works from award-winning authors Johnny Worthen, Lehua Parker, Christine Haggerty, and Adrienne Monson.

Join us in the fight against T1D as you peek into a world of magical and mysterious doorways—if you dare.

Not only is this my first interview with an author, it is also Terra's first interview AS an author. I'm honored to be part of her journey. So here we go, introducing Terra Luft.....

Is Reflection your first published work? Tell me how the opportunity to have your story put in “Secrets and Doors” came to be.

Yes, this is my first published work. Bottom line, it was a combination of taking my writing seriously instead of just a hobby, and deciding I needed to find a professional organization of writers for support, if one existed. About a year ago, I met several of the authors who founded The Secret Door Society with the vision to create an anthology that gave back in some way to the community. Then our publisher, Crimson Edge Publishing, picked it up and we got an editor. It was up to the editor to say when (or if) each story was worthy of inclusion. My story went through eleven drafts before arriving at what readers will see. Eleven. There were a lot of tears followed by digging in and doing what felt like insanely hard things – like cutting the word count from eight thousand to five without losing details – or changing from third person to first person. In the end, the editor is always right, no matter how much she made you cry. I finally reached a point when she had nothing else she wanted me to change. It was that moment, standing alone in my kitchen, that I went from being a writer to being an author, like earning my wings. The by-line and seeing my name listed as an author on a book someone can buy is just the icing on the cake.

How did you come up with the idea of mirrors being a gateway? What made you decide to make the other side dark and scary rather than something wonderful?

Most of my ideas begin with tiny pieces of everyday life and my imagination taking it into fantastical places. I believe this one specifically started while I listened to bestselling authors talking about the best ways to build magical systems rooted in reality. Someone mentioned  a mirror, and next thing I know my fingers were frantically typing the question ‘What if there were no mirrors’ in my idea file. It took about three months of brewing in the back of my mind asking questions about why mirrors would have been banished and how people would see themselves, how they would feel about it, etc. before characters and their stories started to emerge. I made the other side dark and scary because that’s where my mind usually takes me. I blame Stephen King.

Your main character, Jadayell is very skeptical of what she considers folk lore, or superstition. Did you pull that skepticism from your own personal experiences?

Most of the skepticism came from exploring how society without mirrors would work and build stories and characters from there. In my own life I’ve always been a rebel. Tell me I can’t do something and suddenly it is the only thing I want to do. I put myself in Jadayell’s shoes trying to live in a world where you were forbidden the basic ability to know what your face looks like. It wasn’t hard to guess how a rebellious girl would react. In Jadayell’s world, it has been more years than anyone alive can remember that they’ve been living under this oppression. I think the further you get from the cause of a rule, the less likely the youngest generation of thinkers will follow blindly without questions.

There’s very little physical detail about your characters. One would assume they are human and look like us, but I couldn’t help letting my own imagination take over and picture them the way I wanted them to look (I pictured elfish characteristics, pointed ears, long thin limbs, graceful). Did you purposely leave details out so the reader could explore that on their own?

I think that’s the beauty in all fiction. You as the reader get to decide what everything looks like as the story unfolds in your imagination. As an author, I have my idea but it is only the seed I give the reader so they can fill in all the details. How often is a movie made from a book you loved and the person they cast as your favorite character looks nothing like you imagined? There are clues in Jadayell’s story that tell readers specifically that they are from Earth originally but from there you get to decide.

I would love to read more about Jadayell, Zophah and the world they live in. Do you plan on expanding this story into a novella or novel?

In the beginning, this was just a short story I wrote for some instant gratification. I’ve been working on novels for years and I wanted the satisfaction of finishing something in a much shorter time frame – months rather than years. Lucky for you, I’m a novel writer at heart. I’ve been brewing the rest of their story and it’s on deck for drafting as soon as my current project is finished with revisions. The story and where it ended up are pretty special so I’m glad I took a break from novels to write it. All the proceeds from Secrets & Doors are being donated to the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. Eradicating this horrid disease is a cause close to my heart having recently lost my Mom to complications arising from diabetes. It will be a personally satisfying reward to help with such a worthy cause.

As your friend I know what a potty mouth you have, and yet there was only one swear word in the entire short story. I know you have other projects in the works. Will they also be of a similar genre? Fantasy/horror?

It’s true… I swear like a sailor thanks to my Dad who is the son of one himself. I’m not against using profanity in my writing but Jadayell just didn’t like it as much as I do. There were also submission guidelines which dictated reining any potential profanity in as well. Apparently I’ve found the one set of rules I’m unwilling to break.

As for other projects, I have written novels from urban fantasy to contemporary fiction to paranormal. Most of the ideas I have sitting on the back burner waiting their turn are in the science fiction, fantasy and horror categories. Which is why my business cards say ‘Speculative Fiction Author’. Attempts to label me any narrower is likely futile. To steal a line from one of my fellow authors: I write books I’d like to read.

As you know from our conversation at book club, the term “speculative” was new to me. I could be wrong, but I’m willing to bet that other readers are not familiar with that term either. It seems unfair to place an author in one box, such as Stephen King being labeled horror. I like that speculative covers multiple genres. “Secrets and Doors” has eleven short stories and just as many authors. Would you say they all fall into the speculative category?

The term ‘speculative fiction’ is a broad literary genre encompassing any fiction with supernatural, fantastical, or futuristic elements (according to Wikipedia.org). That most certainly would include all of the stories in Secrets & Doors. The truth of genre labeling is that the labels only exist so book stores know which books to shelve together. I know most writers could classify their work in multiple genres – the same book sometimes fitting into more than one depending on which element of the story you focused on. I think more people should label themselves as speculative fiction authors and writers because it doesn’t put you in a very small box. My first novel was a fantasy and I set it aside to write other books in genres I felt I would be most successful in because I didn’t want my fan base (if I get one of course!) to expect only fantasy novels from me in the future. It is a shame people aren’t more familiar with the classification.

As a woman who is passionate about reading and would love to write something of my own, I find the entire process daunting. How long have you been writing? Do you find that it takes a lot of self-discipline to get the story on the page or does it come naturally to you?

I’ve been writing since 2008. It took me no less than five years just to learn the basics of the craft and get one entire rough draft completed. The learning curve is steep. Like most things in life if you’re willing to do the hard work it isn’t impossible. For me, the first draft comes pretty naturally now. That’s only true now because I spent years doing it harder and hating it because I was doing it the way other people told me worked for them. It wasn’t until I figured out exactly what my own process was that it was easier. The hardest part for me is making time in my life for consistent writing. Saying that “someday” I want to write a book doesn’t get any words on the page. That book or that story won’t write itself.

One shock I had to get over was when I finally clawed and dragged myself across the finish line of “The End” just to realize that was only the beginning. The truth is the first draft is the easy part. It is revisions and editing that reduces even a bad ass like me to tears. Writing is hard and takes a lot of hard work. People who want to write should know that going into it. Trust me when I say it is worth it, though.

One final question. Readers are going to want more. How do they find and connect with you? With the Secret Door Society as well? 

I'm a social media junkie. So there are lots of ways to connect with me. As for wanting more, I'm working hard on the next book that hopefully will find a home shortly. I don't mean to be a tease, that's just the way publishing works.

www.terraluft.com
facebook.com/TerraLuftAuthor
terraluftwrites@gmail.com
https://twitter.com/earthandair
www.onceuponakeyboard.com

You can find the Secret Door Society on Facebook as well by searching "The Secret Door Society".
Thanks for having me, Amy, it's been a blast!


There you have it. The one and only Terra Luft giving us a little insight on the art of writing and how much work goes into getting a story from a writer's imagination into your hands (doesn't that make you appreciate it a little bit more?). If you are feeling inspired to write something of your own then jump on over here, www.onceuponakeyboard.com, and get some knowledge from Terra and her cohorts. 

Terra Luft is a speculative fiction writer and prolific blogger. An overachiever by nature, she tackles every project with coffee and sarcasm, and believes all rules exist to be broken. She works full time by day and writes by night; always searching for that ever-elusive work life balance people tell her exists. She lives in Utah with her husband and two daughters, their naughty dog and a cat who stole her heart.

An Anniversary

Once upon a time I was the mother of three children. Now I am the mother of two.

No, I have not lost a child to death. It felt worse than that. I carry the grief of losing a loved one with a large helping of hatred stacked on top. I have not lost a child to death, so if you have, and you read this, do not take offense. This is my story and I'm allowed to feel and think and see the way I choose. I do not want to compare my grief to anyone else's. 

Tristan entered my world in 1995. Terek joined Tristan and I in 1998. In 2001 Chelsey, age 4, became my third child, and my only daughter. She fit right between my boys in age, and they quickly became buddies. It didn't take long for them to start acting like siblings. I fostered the love that grew between them. When they were little all three were inseparable, roaming the neighborhood playing games and laughing. Occasionally fighting.

For over ten years it was this way, with some changing and growing. Then on January 11th, 2012 she left and never came back.

Blending a family can be very delicate and I took the challenge of step-parent head on. My goal right from the beginning was to treat Chelsey as if she were my own, which included scolding, an occasional spanking, and chores along with hugs and kisses and bedtime stories (the last being a favorite for all of us). 

The past three years has been a progression of emotions. Anger (at myself, Eric, Chelsey and Jill), hatred, then sadness, remorse, and back to anger, then indifference. The indifference was a relief, but it didn't really end there either.

Fifteen is such a volatile age. The day Chelsey left she did it big, with a lot of crying and screaming, dragging many family members into the drama. It ended with her mother, Jill, pushing me out their front door and slamming the door in my face.

I don't think children shouldn't lie to their parents, but they do. When they get caught they should not get away with it. Especially when it's a whopper of a lie. Unfortunately Jill and I do not parent in the same style. 

In the first few months after she left, Chelsey played the victim card. Email and text messaging was the only way she would communicate with her dad. She repeatedly said things like "Amy's boys are treated better than me" and "I don't think (insert complaint here) is fair". Isn't that how every teenager feels? And she tried to emotionally manipulate Eric by playing the "if you loved me you would (insert some sort of monetary purchase here)". Eric is not the kind of dad who takes his daughter shopping. If that is how she feels, that love is purchased rather than given, then she's got something wrong with her thinking. 

This is not the girl that Eric and I had been raising with Jill for the previous decade. I found myself wondering what she was going through and how I could help. I continued to text her, just a simple hello, how are you, just to keep that communication open.

After a few months Chelsey cut off all communication with Eric and I. She would not return text messages or answer her phone. We still saw her in passing. She would stare at me if she happened to be picked up or dropped off from school at the same time I was getting Terek. We would pass them on the road while out running errands. These glimpses were like a dagger in my heart. I shed a lot of tears. Eric comforted me, but turned off his own emotions. 

Terek would see her in the halls at school and she would just glare at him. Her friends started bullying Terek. He started taking different hallways to his classes so he wouldn't bump into her. This was especially hard on him. He was two years old when she became his sister. He loved her. Her treatment broke his heart. This is when I began to hate her. 

I was trying to understand why she was so hateful towards Eric and I, but the attitude towards Terek was unacceptable. Who was this girl who could just sever ties as if those family members never meant anything to her?

June came and Eric received a Father's Day card in the mail, signed Chelsey AND Jill. Ouch.

July came and Eric got served. Jill sued for full custody, back child support, and a handful of other ridiculous things that she didn't get. It was obvious what was important to them: money and possessions. 

Friends, when/if you ever get divorced and a judge says something like "I hope I never see you two in here again. If you have disagreements try to work them out among yourselves". Don't listen. Even with documentation, emails, WRITTEN agreement, between Eric and Jill stating that neither party owed child support to the other due to joint custody, Eric still got nailed for that back child support. Chelsey's teenage temper tantrum cost us over $10k. 

Almost two years after the day she left I text her and got a response. She agreed to see me and we met at a little coffee shop. We talked for over an hour, then she went back to the house with me. She appeared to be surprised when she saw the entire house was packed up and nearly empty. I told her we were  moving. We sat on the kitchen floor and played with puppies and talked for another hour before she said she needed to leave. She hugged me, told me it was good to see me, and that she'd keep in touch. After she left I felt such a relief, as if everything was going to be okay.

I felt this was the turnaround point where our family could start to heal again.

The next day she blocked my phone number.

That day in November of 2013, just before Thanksgiving, was the last time either Eric or I have heard from her. 

The third anniversary of her departure from our family came and went. I spent a little time that day thinking about the last three years and how much we have changed. I'm still angry at her but it doesn't hurt as much, and it doesn't consume me the way it once did.

I know Chelsey has changed. That's a given, but I don't put too much thought into it. I just don't care anymore.

I wonder if she's ever thought about what SHE did to US. Did she ever consider what her absence did to Eric, to me, or to the boys? How our family dynamics changed? The daily routine that suddenly felt wrong because she was missing?

Children, teenagers, should know that their actions have consequences beyond themselves. They should learn that they don't get to hurt other people to get what they want. They especially need to learn coping skills when life gets hard. I believe Jill did Chelsey a disservice by letting her make all these decisions on her own. Eric and I did a lot of communicating with Jill during the first four months and it all came back to the same thing "what Chelsey wants is what she gets". Jill allowed Chelsey to run away from the problems at our home. Her lack of cooperation with Eric undermined his ability to parent.

Frequently, family or friends ask Eric or I if we have heard from Chelsey. They ask us how she is doing. When we tell them we don't know we get a variation of the same response. Something along the lines of "when she's older she'll want her dad in her life again" or "when she's more mature she'll come back around".

If you, yes YOU, have ever spoken those words to us, you are forgiven. Just know, we don't want to hear it anymore. Our lives have moved on.

I look around our home, our new home that Chelsey has never set foot in. There are family photos on the walls and she is in many of them. I look at them with a mixture of sadness and happiness. The fun stories they tell are what is important. Two of those children are a daily presence in my life still. They have become kind and independent men. I am proud of them.

As for Chelsey, I no longer have regrets. I did all I could do.

The Silence of Amy

Three weeks ago, on October 11th to be exact, I made a decision to be honest. It was hard and painfully brutal to the two of us involved. I confessed my sins to the one person it would hurt the most, Eric.
In the previous months I had become a liar and a cheater. The lying was hard enough, the cheating didn't actually happen, but I came close enough for it to be wrong. I could have destroyed my marriage and everything that was dear to me.
Short story: my near infidelity saved my marriage (or common law relationship if you want to get technical).
Long story: an old friend re-entered my world a few months prior. This old friend and I have a history together that includes friendship, passion and sexual discovery and other things that are nobody's business. Through a tornado of emotions and reminiscing we made plans to meet. Discreetly, for old time's sake. It never happened. I put an end to it at the last second. I realized that this man, who has been in and out of my life since we were children, has always, always left a trail of destruction behind him when he leaves. This time was no different. He is poison to me, intentional or not. What really snapped me out of it was a drunken phone call one night with a dear friend, my confidant whom I had been telling all my secrets to. With a thick Jack Daniel's tongue he chewed my ass, told me I was stupid for looking for intimacy outside of my marriage and that I was better than that. Because I am better than that. He said many other things that night, he made me cry, and he made me think. I can not express how much that drunken phone call meant to me or how important his friendship is. Afterwards I asked myself several questions. What am I doing? What am I looking for? Am I searching for a feeling, physical or emotional? Am I trying to replace something? Am I happy with my life? I won't go into detail about how I answered all of those questions. I will tell you that had this old friend re-entered my world six months sooner or later the result would have been very different. Never in my life have I felt so confident and comfortable in my own skin, yet entirely vulnerable, as I have through the summer of 2014. It has been confusing, leaving me feeling more like an adolescent than a woman approaching 40.
One night while away from home I opened the door of communication with Eric that I hadn't realized I had closed. He was angry and hurt. The next day I cut my mini vacation short and rode the five hours home to be with him and try to explain what I had done and why. In typical male fashion, he assessed the problem and tried to figure out how to fix it. Because he fixes things and he is generally good at it. Through days of crying (me), grunting (him) and talking (both) we dug into the nitty-gritty of our relationship. What we discovered is that although I'm the one who screwed up the biggest, there were lots of little screw ups done by both of us over the years that we needed to work on if we were to have another 13+ years together. I finally told him how much I hate that he drinks as much as he does, how crushing it is to watch my birthday, Christmas, our anniversary, cruise right on by every year without him acknowledging that they are important. I also told him how much he means to me. We were so busy living our lives that we didn't notice we were falling apart.
The result, three weeks later: I am no longer looking for that thing that I thought I was missing when I started making all my bad decisions, because it was right here at home, just waiting for the unknown damage to be repaired. Eric has cut back his drinking, REALLY cut back  his drinking. He doesn't sleep well at night but he no longer spends the first three hours or more of his day trying to fight off the hangover. We have made sex a priority. Almost daily. No excuses. We vowed to never be too busy for each other again. Eric still has  moments where he lets his mind wander into the what-if's and becomes angry with me. When that happens he tells me, and I understand, and we talk through it. I would never expect him to just get over it, and am very thankful that he has the heart to forgive me even if he can't forget. Only a few weeks have gone by but I think we have gained some valuable relationship skills needed to continue with the rest of our lives. What's that old saying? What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Eric is an amazing man. We used this opportunity, this incredibly negative moment, as a tool to make our lives better. Communication is they key, love conquers all.

                                                   

High(ish) Speed Happiness

"My mind was like the postal service three days before Christmas." Thomas Lang, The Gun Seller by Hugh Laurie.

What a perfect description of my brain. Only Hugh Laurie wasn't telling a story about a man with ADD. The main character was explaining how jumbled his brain was after receiving a concussion while getting his ass kicked. Same thing, right? Not really, but I reread it several times just for the chuckle. Ask anyone who has ADD/ADHD if they can focus on one thing at a time. The answer will most likely be no, except under certain circumstances, like hyper focusing. We are always thinking about what we did and what we have to do, and rarely are we thinking about what we are doing. The average person is a multi-tasker. An ADHD'er is a multitasker that is really bad at it.

Now, let me tell you about my motorcycle. It's a Yamaha V Star 650, cruiser. Top speed is about 83 miles per hour. Not too terribly exciting unless it's your first bike and you are the one riding. It's step up from the TW 200 that I've been riding for a few years, and it's a great beginners street bike for a woman of my stature. It will satisfy my need for adrenaline and adventure for, oh, another year or two, or until A) I get a bigger, faster bike. Or B) I go down at a high speed and kill myself (someone knock on wood).
I've always considered myself to be an excellent driver. I do it for a living after all. While at work I see a lot of automobile accidents. Friends, every time you get behind the wheel you are risking your life. Right now you are saying "I know, I know", but you don't know the way that I know. I see dead people. Well, I have, not regularly, but enough. Last week I saw a car that had jumped the cement barrier of the freeway. A few weeks before that I saw a motorcycle on State Street that was almost unrecognizable after t-boning an SUV. In both cases the ambulance was in no hurry, indicating that whoever they were there for was already dead.
When I was 18 years old I saw a dead man with no face, the road had removed it for him as he slid across, after rolling his truck. I was the first person on the scene. A police officer had asked me to stay put until he could come back and ask me questions, then went off to help the paramedics with the second man, who was still alive. I stood there on the side of the road and stared at the dead man with no face. I had nightmares for years. I can clearly see it in my mind, still. And when I drive the road between Beaver and Minersville I can still point to the exact spot where it happened. I found out later that he had been drinking and driving.
So what I'm getting at is that the road is a dangerous place.
It's dangerous and I have chosen to drive on two wheels as often as possible.
The risk is so high when you ride on a motorcycle. Objects in the road become much more hazardous. Chunks of tire, a ladder fallen off a truck and left in the lane, even a squirrel running for it's life, all become dangerous objects that can end a riders life in the blink of an eye. Then there is the stupidity of other drivers. On a motorcycle there is no protection. If I go down I fall victim to physics; gravity and inertia.
This past Friday I was cruising through a canyon, leaning into a curve, taking it just a little faster than  my comfort zone would like, just because that's how I get my adrenaline pumping, and I thought to myself, was I happy before this? Could I have possibly been happy before I got this bike? I'm sure I was, but my short-term memory had to argue. The reality of it is, when I am on my bike I am THERE. I am present in the moment. I no longer have a scrambled brain without focus. While riding I am aware of all of the dangers. I put my favorite music in my ears, hit the road, and my mind clears. I am living in the Now, the freedom to just BE. All nerves are alert, reflexes are ready, eyes see everything exactly as it is right now. I am focused on many things all at once that equal one thing as a whole. Life. Survival. It is beautiful and it is rare and I am addicted.

A Different Kind Of Heartache

As parents we will do anything to ease the pain of our children.
Every maternal instinct I have screams to me to make my oldest child's life easier. It's so hard watching him from a distance. Watching  him make his own way in the world. Watching him struggle with his insecurities and trying to find where he belongs. I want to wrap my arms around him and bring him back home where I can feed him and do his laundry and take away all the heartache that he has and will endure.
I am also aware that there are some things I just can't do for him. By helping him I would be doing harm. Every baby bird has to leave the nest. If the mama bird kept letting the baby return to the nest whenever flying became difficult, the baby bird would never learn the skills necessary for survival.
I have absolute confidence in Tristan's ability to survive. He's tough, he's smart with money, he's a hard worker. He's likable and funny. He's got this! He can do it! But when he calls me and I hear sadness in his voice all I can think about is him at 6 years old with his arms wrapped around my waist, telling me he will never leave me. If I allow myself to move through the memories of the years I will also remember Tristan at 15, 16 and 17 years old telling me with regularity that he hates me and can't wait until he can move out. Rough years indeed. Now, at 18, he once again wraps his arms around me and tells me he loves me. The ache in my heart is probably from the loss of the little boy that was.
He's right on the edge of truly discovering the freedom of being an adult. With opportunity and guts he can do anything he sets his mind to. Every day I cross my fingers that he explores the world as a single male before he finds a girlfriend.
Sigh.....this parenting thing is harder than I ever thought it would be. The rewards have been infinite and, if given the option, I would not go back and change the path I took that lead my boys and I to this day.
I remind myself that we all had to do it. We all left the nest and soared. Tristan will soar. I pray every day that he soars high, higher than I ever did.
Tristan will succeed. And every step of the way he will be calling to tell me about it.

Nobody said it was easy 
No one ever said it would be this hard
~ ColdPlay, The Scientist

 Please, don’t worry so much because in the end, none of us have very long on this Earth. Life is fleeting. And if you’re ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky, when the stars are strung across the velvety night. When a shooting star streaks through the blackness, turning night into day, make a wish. Think of me. Make your life spectacular, I know I did.

~ Robin Williams in the movie Jack

Being 38....and other things

I am almost 39.
That is close to 40.
I look in the mirror and see signs of aging. I don't want to age.
I REALLY don't want to age.
Of course the alternative is worse.
As I approach this milestone in my life - four decades, WOW - I have concerns about where its been and where it will go next. What have I done? Will I leave a mark? Are there still things to do that require a young body? If so, I need to do them soon before my joints are arthritic. Grandma B lived to be 81. If I live as long as her then I'm almost halfway done already! That's terrifies me! So I find myself searching for my next adventure, for my next big adrenaline rush. I want to rediscover passion for life. This boring adult same-shit-different-day life is not satisfying me anymore.
Mid-life crisis looming!
I may need therapy.

When I look back at my life there is a particular time that I like to reminisce about the most. High school. The girl that I was from 14 to 18 was so many things; beautiful, stubborn, insecure, confused yet confident. I believed I was everlasting.
At 15 there was big hair, tight pants, black eyeliner and giggling over dirty jokes.
Who am I kidding, I still giggle over dirty jokes.
By the time 18 rolled around I was a senior in high school and the big hair turned into long curls, and the tight pants made way for loose cutoffs and peasant tops. From 80's punk to 90's hippy.
Never mind the appearance though. That is only surface image.
Forget "sugar and spice and everything nice". The illusion of immortality combined with being impulsive and fearless created Amy.
During the teen years many things happened, most of which I was not prepared for nor mature enough to handle.
I lost my virginity. I got a drivers license. I fell in love at least twice; Brett and Brandon, oh! sigh. This is also when my illusion of family was destroyed, when my mother and her sisters announced that they had been sexually abused by their father, my grandfather. What a downward spiral that turned into.
I drank my first beer and smoked my first joint.
Wrecked my first car.
I learned how to swear and played just as rough as the boys.
I car surfed down main street.
I spent more than one night crying for a daddy that didn't acknowledge my existence. Growing up without a dad is harder than you think.
I made new friends, lost old ones, beat up a few and had sex with a few.
I got busted for shoplifting and had to do community service. I beat up a girl in the Top Stop parking lot and had to do community service. I got busted skinny dipping at the city pool at 2am and, again, had to do community service. My criminal behavior ended up being a very positive experience. For my community service I worked for the police department, filing their paperwork and doing odd jobs. This built a lasting bond between one of the officers, Joe L., and myself, that carried into adulthood. He took his own life in 2004 and I still mourn his loss.
Mostly what I remember about being Amy during this time is the emotions. The events matter of course, but the emotions have stayed with  my memory long after the details have faded. The pain of a broken heart. The adrenaline rush of a first kiss. The rage and anger. I had a lot of self-doubt. Some was body image (thanks Mom) and abandonment issues (thanks sperm donor). But mostly I had fear of being ME. I was impulsive and lively, hyper, the life of the party. Until all my energy became annoying to those around me after short amounts of time in my orbit. For years I focused so hard on being cool that I'm sure I came across as being phony. If anyone had been able to read my mind they would have heard me repeating words like "don't wiggle, just sit still" and "don't act so excited". I was especially insecure when it came to boys. I desperately wanted their approval. If only I had realized then just how beautiful I was, that I didn't need to try so hard to find love, that it would happen if I let myself just BE myself. (And who needs love anyways when you have LIFE!)
Well, hindsight is always 20/20.
Life has been interesting, and my experiences have shaped the woman I have become. And that woman, she is AMAZING.
Like Pink in her song Conversations With My 13 Year Old Self, I too have much to say to the girl that I was.
Perhaps another blog for another time.

And It Begins.....

This could be the beginning of a love/hate relationship with myself. On one hand I like to keep my life to myself. On the other hand I feel this desire to share my thoughts with the world.

As an adult woman with ADHD (yes, the H belongs in there. I know they say adults grow out of that, perhaps I have for the most part, but it's still there), I will find blogging to be a particular challenge. Focusing, being consistent with any task, takes enormous amounts of self-discipline and focus.
Most of my life I have pictured a future that included the written word. No, not scripture. MY written word. On paper is where I thought it would be at; in novel form. I have all of these amazing true stories that I could tell, and a lot of ideas for fictional stories as well. First I need to hone my writing skills. I suppose a blog is as good a place as any to start. Then perhaps some creative writing classes at the local college, eventually.

I'm very intimidated by the Amy who wants to share all her words with the world. She is confident and smart and funny and likable. The shy Amy is reserved; terrified that readers will be critical and judgmental. Worried that her words will not be eloquent. Worried that all her chatter will become annoying. But skill comes from practice, and the confident Amy doesn't care who she annoys.
One of my favorite phrases the past two years has been "life begins just outside your comfort zone". It's too easy to stay within the familiar, to stay home, to say no when invited on girls night out, to do the same thing every day. It's safe. But what fun is that? I stepped out of my comfort zone when I joined my book club. I did it again when Eric and I started looking for a new home. Again, when I sat on my first motorcycle, when I started practicing yoga, when I started opening myself up to friends again after years of living my life as if I were one dimensional; mom, wife. The result was a beautiful home in a small town with a motorcycle parked on the front porch and amazing friends that I can say "I love you" to and it doesn't catch in my throat from fear. All of these things were hard and scary. And they improved my life. It's time for me to expand my comfort zone again, just a tiny bit. So I begin a blog.

This quote is from a friend (whom I will not name). You know who you are, and if you read this please forgive me for my plagiarism. It's stored in my mental filing cabinet to be retrieved whenever I'm feeling anxious. Even the most mundane of tasks can seem huge when I am scared (like right now, as I'm considering tapping on the "publish" button above). I think these words are brilliant and I hope that they can help someone else the way they help me:

"Anxiety, you are no friend of mine. Life is too short to live avoiding irrational fears. You're so convincing, A nasty trick. Hijacking my mind, interjecting worry and doubt between what is real and what is perceived to be real.

From now on, your attempts to alter my course will be considered and taken as an emotional response and warning, that what I am about to do is important. That I should pay attention and learn from what is about to take place. You will become a tool that I will use to stay aware of the opportunity that is before me." -B.K.