Russian Roulette

This was not what I had planned to write about today J., but a friend of mine reminded me of this event in my life. It's definitely one of those things I refused to deal with and I just let it go. It's been floating somewhere in the recesses of my mind for years. Maybe now I can deal with it, or at least acknowledge it for what it is and let it go so I can be free from it.

It's funny that it has come to mind several times in the past month or so. I don't speak of it, because it is something I just don't like to acknowledge. Actually, only a couple people know about this incident.

Years ago, around February/March of 1994, I had met a guy at a bar and we started dating. He really wasn't serious dating material and he was probably very dangerous. I should have listened to my instincts but I didn't. He was kind of fun to be around and I was at a time in my life where I was looking for fun. My ex husband had committed adultery and left me when I was 7 months pregnant and with a 3 year old little girl. After I gave birth to my son, and started divorce proceedings and got back on my feet emotionally (if you can call it "back on my feet"), I decided it was time to meet some people and maybe start dating. I love dancing and the only place to really dance is at a bar. Not the most desirable place to be but there are people and there is music and there is dancing. As a matter of fact, that same bar where I met "psycho" is the same bar I would meet my husband in a few months later. But that is another story.

This guy, I'll call him "Psycho" since I don't remember his name, oh yes I do....it just came to me. His name was Dennis. Probably still is unless he's dead. Anyway, we met and started dating. He was in the military reserves so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Taking him home was never an option as I just didn't do that. I wouldn't expose my children to him in any way. He was just a guy I was dating. He made a comment once that he could kill me and hide my body and it wouldn't be found for months. Especially with all the snow we had at that time. I would be lying if I said that little comment didn't get my attention. It did. But it was said in such a way that I doubted he was serious. That was dumb of me. I should have listened and got the heck out of Dodge right then and there.

He told me that he worked for a loan shark. He was the guy they sent to administer consequences when someone didn't pay. He insinuated that he had even killed people in his line of work. I really wrote that off as a macho statement made to impress me or intimidate me. Until one weekend when he said he went to Kentucky to "collect". He painted a picture of a murder. But, he mentioned that a witness had been left alive. He described things in such detail that I became frightened that he actually had been there and murdered someone. I ran to a newspaper stand (internet was not readily available at this time, at least to me or my office) and grabbed up newspapers for the area he said he was in. I scanned everything. Certainly there would be a story. I didn't take an account of if the body was found and I assumed from what he said that the witness (a woman) might actually be dead or maybe might not say a thing. After all I didn't know her role in all this. I found nothing. I quit looking. I didn't think about the possibility that the body might not be found for a while. But I also was afraid to know. I knew that if I found evidence that this story was true, I'd have to report what I knew to the police. I was scared.

He landed in jail for something. I don't remember what. He wanted me to bail him out. I should have said no but I was scared that if I didn't, he would do something to harm me or my children. I did. He said he would repay me. I should have said don't worry about it. But I needed that money. I didn't have alot of money just lying around. I didn't hear from him for a while. I felt relieved. I wanted my money but I didn't want to see him anymore. A few weeks later he says he has it. Well, I met up with him and he didn't. Then he calls one day and wants to see me. He's sick and living at his parents' house in the city. Would I come and see him?

So I took the day off work and drove over to see him. I would regret that decision for the rest of my life but I took away alot of lessons about people that day. And I learned to pay attention to my natural gut instincts. I am grateful to God for getting me through this. He was there that day.

For the most part, we hung out, watched television and I went and got us some food. He wasn't feeling real well. Then he decided he wanted to show me something. I noted that it was getting late in the day. The sitter was waiting for me to come and get the kids. I longed to leave. I told him I had to get going and he said no...he just wanted to show me something really quick. It'd just take a minute. He went into another room and I followed. I don't recall now if it was an office of some type or a bedroom or a spare room but it had a desk. And in that desk, in a drawer was a pistol. He pulled it out. I'm not afraid of guns, and my dad collects them. I was shooting handguns and rifles by the time I was five years old. I knew about gun safety and right away I sensed that he didn't care much for that. At least not when it came to others' safety.

He started talking about stuff about the gun and times he'd used it and told me about a time when played Russian Roulette with a group of guys. I don't remember the story now. It's been a long time and I remember that I was starting to stress. Not only did I wonder where he was going with this, but I needed to leave. My sitter was an awesome sitter and I wanted to make sure I treated her nice. I couldn't afford to lose her.

Then he asked me if I had ever played russian roulette. That was an easy answer. Of course not. And I wasn't about to play. That was a senseless game and it was dangerous. My father had always taught me that I was to assume that EVERY gun was loaded, whether I thought it was or not. I heeded that piece of knowledge as I'd seen an "empty" gun accidentally go off twice in our own house.

About this point, he started playing with the ammo. He put in a bullet and spun the thing (can't think of the name now). Then he clicked the trigger. Good Lord! What is this man, crazy?!?!? At that point, I said, "Gotta go....the sitter's waiting." And I made my way to the door. I was just about there when he pointed the gun at me. I froze. At this point, I was desperately hoping and praying that this crazy lunatic was joking (which, at times, it sounded like he was), but the other half of me screamed that I needed to be careful how I proceeded. There was a bullet in this gun and I didn't know where it was in relation to the firing pin. The next click of the trigger might be the one that hit that bullet. And since the gun was aimed at my head, then I figured that I had better make sure I attempt to make sure that it not get "clicked".

Psycho asked me if I was afraid. How in the would do I answer that? I replied that he had a gun pointed at me and that I didn't like it. I asked him to put it down. I needed to go. (Of course I was afraid....he was holding a gun pointed at MY HEAD--I certainly wasn't thinking this was a GOOD TIME)

I don't remember all he said to me. The fact that the gun pointed at me sort of took priority over making conversation with this psychotic freak. I remember thinking about my kids. The sitter. My kids. My father. My family. Everything passed through me. I wanted desperately to start this day over. I would go to work, and I wouldn't see him at all. Then I would be on my home, safe and sound, to get my kids and none of this would have happened.

I told him I really needed him to stop messing with me because I needed to go. The kids were waiting. It was at this point that he decided he wanted to keep me a little longer and he led me to the phone where he told me to call the sitter and tell her I'd be late (that was a good sign.....that I'd be late....that implied I would remain alive---at the moment anyway).

Somehow we ended up back at the front door. I remember being backed up against the door and he was holding the gun to my heat. I don't remember how it occurred but he was holding me like a hostage. The gun touching my head. I'll never forget that feeling in my entire life. The hard feel of the metal was unlike any feeling in the world. Knowing a bullet could end my life right then and there was surreal. I felt my heart racing. This was insane! How in the world did I get myself into this situation? How would I get out? Would I get out? I screamed at God to help me in my mind. I was petrified. But I had to do something. I had to be calm and use my brains to get out of this.

He held me for what seemed like forever. I don't remember what he said but I remember he talked to me and I answered. I remember thinking carefully about everything I was going to say. I just don't remember what we said. I remember when it finally came to an end. He started asking me if I was mad at him? I acted like I didn't know what he was talking about. Why would I be mad? (thinking to myself, I was saying, Just because you were holding a gun to my head and threatening my life? Why would I be mad?)

I assured him I was not mad. Really. I wasn't. He asked me if I would come back to see him. I told him of course I would. (that was a lie, Sorry Father, but I felt it was necessary) He suggested that I leave. (not a problem there Psycho) I agreed. I told him he needed to get some rest so he felt better the next day. (figured it couldn't hurt to play the concerned "girlfriend")
When we made it outside, I was filled with relief...I felt now that I was safer since there was there potential for many witnesses to see what might happen.

Several times in the next few moments (they seemed like a lifetime), he repeatedly asked me if I was angry and I repeatedly told him I was not. (Sorry Father God, I lied again)

Finally, I was in my car and backing out of the drive. I burst into tears. Both from the release of the stress and thankfulness that I was alive and out of there. I drove to the sitter's house and picked up my babies, grateful to lay eyes on them and feel their arms around my neck. I went home and fed my babies and we just enjoyed our time together. After they were in bed, I relived the nightmare. I was horrified. What should I do?

Well, I can say I did nothing. I was afraid. I felt lucky to have gotten away from him. I decided right then and there that I would never initiate contact with him again and if he called, I wouldn't speak to him. He called. I let the machine pick up. Seems a girl he was dating suddenly upped and dumped him, claiming him to be some sort of psycho. Apparently he thought I fed information to her. I was pretty positive that he did that one on his own. I didn't call back. I just ignored the call. Thankfully, he didn't call back and I've never heard from him again.

I worried about my decisions. What if he really did kill someone in Kentucky? I had a responsibility to say something. But I still felt it was a wild tale. After all I'd been through. I kept quiet. About everything. And today I find myself back there. Back in the nightmare. So relieved he's out of my life and so relieved I'm safe. I'm so thankful to the Lord for keeping me safe that day. I'm so glad that He had plans for me.

There. It's out. It's done. I learned alot that day. I won't ever forget it. That is for sure.

A Losing Battle

Back in 2001 (I think), I was diagnosed with Hypoglycemia. I actually have hypoglycemia which is rare (unless you have Diabetes). I had had it for years and just never knew it. My husband only knew that, when we traveled, if he didn't feed me when I got grouchy, well, it would just go downhill from there. I didn't know I needed to eat to combat that grouchy feeling. At least, not directly. I knew that food would solve the problem. I just didn't know I needed food until I got grouchy. It was a weird battle I fought.

I was not given much help. Just some stupid (and I declared it stupid when it became clear I couldn't make sense of it) diet that involved exchanges etc. I had NO CLUE. To actually be diagnosed with hypoglycemia was just unusual since so few people actually have it and it is so hard to diagnose. I went in for a GTT because I actually thought I had diabetes. I was wrong.

The test itself is simple. I went in for the four hour test. I drink this horribly sugar filled drink (which actually doesn't taste too bad). Then I go through a series of having my blood drew every thirty minutes for the first hour and then every hour. Well, the first half hour test I was fine. The second half, I was starting to droop. By the next hour I was asleep, in a stupor. I set my alarm on my cell phone and slept. Then I would wake up, go have my blood drawn and before long, I'd be asleep. My blood sugar, as I found out later, dropped to about 20-25. That is SUPER LOW. I would spike, then plummet (the sleep part). Then I'd spike a little bit and plummet. SO that explained quite a bit. Sundays were the worst. I'd have a sunday lunch and I'd be awake for maybe 45 minutes, reading or whatever and before I knew it, I would be sleeping and it would be difficult to wake me up. I could easily have slipped into a coma. It was horrible. Finally I had an answer. If I could just figure out the friggin diet. After doing a bit of research, I pretty much deduced pretty quickly that I was just TOO ANAL to understand it and I gave up.

I was also a bit overweight. So I started looking for ways to lose weight. I happened upon Weightwatchers. A friend of mine had started going and was losing weight. I decided to try it online. I lost 12 pounds. And I was finding that the points system worked well. I decided to try my hand at meetings. I needed the accountability. I won't say what I weighed but at my first weigh in at a meeting I was 30 pounds above the highest point in my healthy goal range. That wasn't good. And they didn't count the 12 pounds I lost online. (I count them in my totals though)

I found that I enjoyed the points system. I also found that it alleviated my hypoglycemic symptoms. The healthier I ate (the lower points foods), the better I felt. I was winning the losing battle! A few weeks after starting to attend meetings, I had a pretty hefty knee surgery. I was on crutches for a month. I was watching my points very closely. I was not very active but I managed to not gain one pound during that time. I was impressed. And so was my physical therapist. She said the average weight gain for a surgery like mine was 30 lbs! I felt fantastic!

Over the next year I lost up to 37 pounds. Then I developed problems with my back. After a series of steroid shots etc. I had gained twenty of that back. Finally, after six months of treatment, I was able to start exercising and the weight came back off. Slowly at first. Then I started to enjoy wearing those clothes I had worked so hard to get into. Just as I was getting close to goal, I lost my mother. Her death did something to my metabolism. The stress combined with everything else kicked things into gear and the weight started coming off. I'm now up to 49 pounds (that is including that initial 12lbs). I'm extremely happy.

I have curves! I can fit on my husband's lap easier than I've ever fit. (I've always fit mind you but it was uncomfortable) People are making comments about my weight loss. Someone said last week at church that I looked like a different person! I love it. I feel so much better. I rarely take a nap on Sundays anymore (I'm sticking to my points which wards off those sugar spikes and plummets). If I do it is not because my blood sugar is out of whack. I have gone down 6 sizes in clothing and I pick most of my clothes from the junior department! I'm ecstatic! And I'm so pleased. My husband has noticed more than once and he is starting to get more and more excited with every pound that comes off!

He gets comments from people too! People often tell me they dont think I had 40 pounds to lose. I appreciate it but I did. I'm glad I didn't look bad before. That is a relief. I find myself wanting to dress nicer too.

Anyway, J., I wanted to share this with you. I finally won the Losing battle. Praise the Lord!

Clearing things out

Dear J,

What a weekend! Thank the Lord, it was a long one. I wouldn't have minded another day though. Long weekends just make me wish it were even longer! I managed to get motivated enough to start clearing things out near the tree line and creek that sits along our back yard. What a job! And on top of that, the pastor challenged us (so to speak) to think about where we are, personally with the Lord as well as where we are as a church. So as I worked, I thought about where I am.

Over the past few years, we have been losing ground as the weeds and things have started taking over our yard. Gradually reclaiming it as its own. I have allowed this in simple ways. What I refer to as the tree line has a tremendous amount of poison ivy and, in the summer time, spiders, and snakes that inhabit that area. We also keep a wood pile back there that feeds a supply of termites (this enables our house to remain termite free). Each year, as I would mow or trees would fall, we might not be able to get the limbs/trees to the woodpile or they would stick out from the line. We'd mow around them. Or, a spider might have a web and I would avoid it. Eventually, that allowed nature to take over. Well, I decided that I didn't like that. Not one bit. I grew up in a not so nice house. I want my house and yard to be nice. I'm not looking for perfect (there is something to be said for the "lived in" look), but I do look for nice. Something that I can feel comfortable showing guests.

I decided that I needed to reclaim my yard. Now is perfect. The trees are just beginning to develop buds, the weeds are dead and the bugs are well, doing whatever they do during the winter. Spiders and snakes are not anywhere in sight. At least, not in my sight. Which is....GOOD. So I started pulling up weeds and found that limbs once to heavy and cumbersome were now week and brittle. As I worked, I felt better and better about clearing things out. The more I cleared, the more motivated I became. Much like my relationship with Jesus. At first, there was a lot of muck. It was so heavy and thick that I just didn't know where to begin. I'd put things off. I wouldn't start because it was just too hard to figure out WHERE. Same with the yard. Sometimes I'm too anal for my own good. I mean here are the questions I'd flounder with. Where do I start? Do I pull up weeds, or trim the limbs? Do I just do the limbs and then start something else or just pick a point and work my way through doing everything at once?

That seemed to be (as I have thought back to my relationship with Christ) the same with God. Where in the world did I start? Do I go back in my past and work my way to the future? Or do I deal with everything at one time? Or do I just deal with whatever comes up and work the past in? Or do I leave the past in the past? Well, anyone that knows me well knows I don't like to leave things behind. The past has valuable information for the future. It contains answers that help clear up things I deal with in the here and now. Past behavior governs present day behavior. My husband recently asked me why I am the way I am....that, J., is a loaded question. There isn't a simple answer to that question. There are things I don't even know about myself.

When the pastor challenged us this weekend I kept my mouth shut. One, I had to think about that one. Where am I? How does the church figure into that? Where is the church? How do we want to be there for others? How are we perceived by others?

As parents we have the job to teach our children. That involves a lot of repetition. We can get real tired of having to repeat lessons for the benefit of children that don't seem to be able to retain them. Either because they can't or won't. It doesn't matter. But we, as adults also need repetition. I am well aware of this because God has repeatedly been over and over the same lesson with me. I AM IN CONTROL, NOT YOU. That would be the gist (or jist?) of it. Basic lesson. It's HIS path, not mine.

I didn't want to marry a truck driver (I stereotyped him) and God showed me I was wrong. I married one.

Driving by our church (before we attended there), I declared with a stubborn matter-of-factness that I wouldn't attend church there under ANY circumstances! We've been members there for 7 years.

Somewhere inside, after having been a victim of adultery, I decided I wouldn't trust again (at least not fully). God pressed me relentlessly and showed me I COULD trust again. I did and I do. FULLY.

I could go on and on. God can turn a head. He can sure grab your attention. He sure does grab mine. And I'm sensitive to Him now. Alot more sensitive than I've ever been. I know that if I don't stay close to God and keep Him in my life at all times, the weeds of life can grow up so quick that you feel like you are choking. Even if I am rather close, a weed can sneak in. I have to be diligent in keeping that area under control.

I just decided to dive into the tree line and start. Once I got started, well, as I said before, the higher my motivation became. I trimmed limbs and pulled weeds and hauled tree limbs off to the pile. Just as in my relationship with Christ. I just dove in and started swimming in the river of Christ. I started learning and reading and asking questions. I sought help in dealing with alot of things in my life that I needed guidance on. I didn't have very many healthy relationships and didn't have a clue what they looked like. It's been years of turmoil, in the midst of gladness. I'm tired. Emotionally and physically. Pulling up weeds is hard work. Both the weeds in the yard and the weeds in my life. Inevitably you come across something that is a bit challenging. But you keep working. It takes time. Lots of time. And I have found that when I reach a plateau of easy work, that it isn't long before it gets hard again. I long for rest but it is like I can't stop. I need to finish the job. And it is a big job. But, those periods of easy work (or plateau--for lack of a better word) are becoming longer. Does that mean that I'm finally catching up to the past? That I'm close to a point where I have dumped all the big limbs and debris into the wood pile? That all that is left can be raked away? The wood pile represents (at least to me) my past baggage. It will be there but it doesn't rule my life. It is there to lend understanding and knowledge to help others. It will erode away as I learn more about it and accept it. Over time, the size will diminish. The good will prevail and the bad will be but a memory. The pain of it long gone.

I'll write more on this later, J. But for now, this is a good start.

Under the weather

I absolutely detest when one or even both of my children are under the weather. Since my mom's death, I stress even more. I'm sure that will eventually go away....at least I hope so. I don't worry half as much about my oldest child...she's good at describing what is wrong. And visually, I can tell when she is ill. The youngest, well, he causes me great concern. Usually when he is ill, he goes at it full speed. The two are so very different.

The oldest suffered through ear infections, colds, fevers, etc. The youngest didn't run the gamut of usual stuff. He was alot healthier than his sister. But when he got sick, it was usually bad enough to warrant trips to the hospital. And he tends to "suck it up". He's quiet and he doesn't complain. I'm not quite clear about why he does that but I think it is a combination of not wanting to miss school/church/events and of being afraid of what might happen. He remembers hospital stays and breathing treatments and scary things like that. The unknown really bothers him. He has to know what will happen.

So when he started missing church, complaining about the pain and stiffness in his neck, asking TO GO TO THE DOCTOR, well, I figured I'd better have him checked out. At first, I imagined the worst. Meningitis. It's around, mostly in college students (at least what I have heard about on the news, etc). But it still is a concern. After I put him to bed, I pulled out the encyclopedias and started doing some research. I was relieved to note that severe vomiting was a symptom that seemed to appear before the neck stiffness. Good. At least that doesn't look like a big possibility. So this morning when he couldn't move enough to get dressed and he looked nothing like the cheerful boy I wake up to in the mornings, I was concerned. When I asked him if he thought a doctor visit might be necessary, he wanted to go. Alarm bells sounded inside my head. Hoping that he couldn't hear them, I said, all right. We'll go. Hmmm.......the boy wants to go to the doctor.....doesn't mind missing school.....has missed two days of church.....yup....something isn't right.

Knowing that this visit would cause him undue stress, I told him funny stories about when he was a little baby while we waited for the clinic to open. (the clinic being the fastest option for treatment) We laughed as I shared memories of his infancy. Kids do love to hear about themselves. And I found I love to remember those times.

The doctor did an examination, asked some questions and determined that it was all muscle tension. I did not fail to notice the tears in his eyes. That was the only thing that betrayed his level of pain.

His sleeping habits, video game playing, etc. had only made the stiffness worse. He prescribed several different remedies and we were sent on our way. I dropped him off at school, and we'd take care of him this weekend.

He's something else. I take my lead from him. I remember advice I was given when my daughter was a baby. I was told that when she fell or had an injury, if I didn't act like it was a big deal, she wouldn't either. That's good advice. And it is true. I hide my initial reaction and let them tell me how big a deal things are. It works. It also cuts out theatrics for the most part.
It has served us all well.

Over the years they have had their shots (without a fuss), emergency room visits, surgery, stitches, and broken bones and none of that involved being held down. Compare that to me at any given point in my life and they are wonderfully mature. When I had shots as a child, it took my mother, four nurses and a doctor to administer the shot. If I needed stitches, same thing. I had more than my share of Emergency Room visits that involved needles and stitches, and thankfully, no surgeries as a child. I'm a huge baby when it comes to stuff like that. I was determined that my children would not meet their health issues as I did. It has worked for the most part.

I also don't lie to my children about doctor visits. My mother used to do that to me. Of course, I understand her reasoning for it. I wasn't the best patient. I was pretty difficult to manage. She had her hands full. After the first several incidents, she always took reinforcements with her in order to help calm me down or keep me in place. For instance, doctors scared me. One of my first memories was of being in the hospital with the croup. I was in an oxygen tent and a crib that reminded me of a baby jail. They had to move me to my mother's room (she was in the hospital as well) because I was screaming so much.

Our doctor's office had a restroom that could only be reached through an exam room. So, I would tell her I had to go to the bathroom and then I'd promptly leave the doctor's office. Of course, being only about 4-5 years old, I went to the car. I was relatively easy to find. My brother came looking for me. After that, my mother specifically requested the exam room with the restroom attached so that I could no longer escape. And she always brought reinforcements to watch the door, just in case. Visits to the hospital required my mother pulling out the big guns. "Aunt" Norma Webb. I adored that woman and she could talk me into anything. When I needed to go to the ER, she'd swing by and pick Norma up and off we'd go. She made me laugh and my mom was not so stressed. And every trip to the hospital warranted a treat from McDonald's afterwards. My mom felt that that would help me be more willing to go to the hospital. It didn't help that but it did make me easier to manage afterwards.

But because I was so difficult, she would lie to me about going. She'd say ANYTHING to get me into the car. And that would work until we pulled up outside the office. Or even around the corner. My mother wasn't quite so clever. Her lies only worked a few times and she would have to think up another one. She'd lie about me having to get shots. She'd lie to me about it hurting. Shots always hurt! The only shot I didn't refuse was the shots I received after I was stung by a bee. I was severely allergic. Within 30 minutes I'd be so swollen and I'd be having trouble breathing. A bee sting meant an immediate trip to the hospital/doctor for a shot of Benadryl. And bee stings really hurt if you have an allergy to them. It took me years to figure that one out. They are extremely painful. I was usually stung on the foot. (I ran barefooted all the time) My foot would swell so you could hardly make out my toes. I was more than willing to have the shot that would save me from dying. That was serious stuff. My mother did teach me about the dangers so that I would always know what to do. As soon as I was stung, I was to drop to the ground and not get excited (that is hard to do for a child!). Someone was supposed to go tell someone right away. I was not to run or do anything. I followed her instructions to the letter.

I always knew, too, when I was seriously ill. My mother's face and actions told me EVERYTHING. So did my Dad. But he was always very loving and attentive anyway. He was harder to read when I was sick. But my mother betrayed everything she felt. She was an open book. The time I got blood poisoning, my mother got nice. WARNING BELLS! She was checking the red line that was running up my leg every few minutes. Feeding me information and signs to watch for when she wasn't in the room. Dad was checking me. She was bringing me things. She'd rub my temple. Asking me how I felt. She was loving.....and I'd heard them discussing things and my dad said he didn't want to lose me. Part of me didn't mind being hurt or ill because that was when she'd love me. Once I had a fever of 104.....she sat with me talking and playing cards so she could keep an eye on me and watch how I acted. She'd take my temperature often. Her forehead would be wrinkled with worry. She let me pick the cartoons that I wanted to watch. And I remember wanting to please her, I offered to let her watch her shows. I'd watch anything she wanted if it meant she'd be pleased with me.

As I got older, that set the precedent with us. If I was sick, her love would come out. And she'd love me and hold me and comfort me. Assure me things would be fine. I come to depend on that from her. It is one of the things I miss the most now that she is gone. Even a routine visit to the doctor, she'd want to hear about. Funny isn't it? She didn't care about me having a good life, she hated when good things happened to me, and begrudged me even a shopping trip with her. But the moment I hit the door of a doctor's office, she was there to offer comfort and love and concern. I'd oblige and let her know. When I moved to Oklahoma, I still called her because I found I needed that from her. It helped me find a closeness to her that I had always longed for. And when the kids were sick, she wanted to know. Or I'd call and ask her what a rash might be or ask her what to do for an ear ache (even though I already knew). I find myself still wanting to call her. I probably will always feel that need.

But I don't lie to the kids about the doctor. I also won't lie if something will hurt. I tell them what is going on and why so they understand, rather than fear the unknown. If I know I'll tell. If I don't, then I find out. It is right and fair. Although I had to endure lies, I'm grateful for them. They taught me a better way to parent my own children. God took them and turned them for good. As He does in all cases. Clouds ALWAYS have a silver lining. Something good ALWAYS comes of something bad. I'd rather face the truth than face the darkness of the unknown. I won't lie to protect myself. And my kids know I won't hide the truth. That's important.

First Entry

Figured I would give this blogging thing a try. I'm not here to get on a soapbox, just to offer thoughts and feelings. Ideas and pet peeves (driving-challenged people) and offer a view of my savior, Jesus Christ.

Life has dealt me a number of blows from childhood til now. The most recent being the death of my mother. Our relationship, well, it sucked. I can say that because it was my relationship with her and it is the truth. I probably will write alot about her as well as how her death has affected me(and boy has it ever affected me).

I am well aware that everyone out there deals with dysfunction in their lives. Some have more than others. However, I'm not willing to go on Jerry Springer and majority that do shouldn't.

I'm 36 years old, a mother of two, a wife, owner of two dogs, a federal employee and a child of God.

I am not superior to anyone and am capable of mistakes and often make them! I hold myself accountable and responsible for myself and my actions and believe very strongly that others should do the same.

I believe in disciplining my children (if you don't like it, lump it, or, as the cast of Happy Days would say, SIT ON IT!) and I believe in natural consequences to one's actions. For example, if you get pregnant, guess what, you are going to become a parent and there will be no whining. If you can't do the time, don't do the crime.

I've struggled long and hard through life. Nothing comes easy and nothing in life is free (thank you for that lesson, Dad). But having Jesus as my Savior enables me to make it through anything and everything in my life.

People and their behavior fascinate me. I love forensics but please don't bother me with CSI crap. I'm in it for the real stuff not the stuff Hollywood dumps on us. I don't curse except in extreme situations when one will occasionally slip.

I do not condone nor encourage unfaithfulness in any relationship. If you are committed (legal or not) you are committed and have no business being unfaithful, body, mind, or spirit.

I have a quick tongue and it is dangerous. I work hard to keep it in check. As the Bible states, it is a two edged sword. It is hurtful and believe me when I say mine has caused pain. I am not proud of that fact. I am changing. I am a work in progress. Always. I slip. I fall. I get up. I seek forgiveness and I will do whatever it takes to make things right.

I abhor dishonesty and prefer honesty even if it hurts.

I have alot I want to talk about. This isn't necessarily here for anyone else but me. It's more of a journal than anything. If someone gets something out of it, that is wonderful. That would be an answer to a prayer. I am open to questions, so please ask. I process things in my life by discussing them. I don't mind questions at all. It helps. It brings back memories. It brings understanding and sometimes answers. Sometimes it creates more questions.

Most of all, please remember that I love Jesus. He loves you. I respect Him and I must require that all who post a comment be respectful of Him here in my blog.