The Stylish Bloggger Award

I just received my first-ever blog award; The Stylish Blog Award, from Lindsey at
Just Another MilSpouse.  I'm really grateful.  Thanks Lindsey. I'm new to blogging, so I'm going to try to follow the rules correctly now. 

The way I understand that this works is;

The Rules are as follows:

1. Thank and link back to the person who awarded you this award.
done; again, thanks Lindsey
2. Share 7 things about yourself
3. Award 10 recently discovered great bloggers
So, thank you again, very much Lindsey at "Just Another MilSpouse"


Blogs I discovered:
Summer Night Horizens
These Fragile Flames
Anyway I was Just Thinking
The Kitty Stampede
Waxed Red Threads
Attitude of Gratitude
it's a girl thing
Telling War Stories
Tabitha's Blog
Twelve Beads

And now 7 things about myself--hmmm

1.  When I was working I used to think if I could just stay home like I did when my kids were little I'd be happy again. I've been unemployed over a year and I keep thinking if could just get a job I'd be happy. So, I've realized my happiness isn't determined by my situation, but rather, 'it's an inside job'.

2.  I've been in recovery for 10-1/2 years, but desperately need to get to a meeting. I'm in a new state and need to find them.

3.  I am very insecure, and deep down don't really believe I can be successful at anything.

4.  I have 4 kids, I would do anything in the world for.

5.  My kids  believe I have a favorite, obviously they can't all believe it's the same one, but I don't have a favorite. I'm not sure if it's even possible. I know it's not possible for me.

6.  Now that I have forgiven my mother for the things done to me as a child, I realize it's irrelevant, and arrogant. It's not my job to forgive her. I just understand her better. I'm just supposed to live the best life I can, from now on, I can't change the past.

7.  I desperately want to change the past, because I want to have been a better mother to my kids.

Gratitude. Yeah I know.

I've Heard about gratitude. I've really tried to embrace it. But it wasn't until I read a blog. Oh, I wish I'd copied that link>  Anyway, thing is that once I truly got the meaning of gratitude, that it just made me more grateful, because practicing it, is the same as doing it, so we can always be grateful. Example:  Today were you grateful that grateful that someone brought you a hamburger, or  had heat in the house, or warm slippers, or talked to a family member on the phone.  Now ask yourself; what trouble did I cause someone today;--I kept typing while my son talked to me, or another level, I stepped on an aunt colony when I put a post in the ground, or I cut someone off in traffic, or talked about a person in way that wasn't nice, then ask youself;  what did you contribute; I brought my husband some  medicine. I helped an older person carry some bags to the car, I brought someone a hambuger.  It just all makes sense to me now.  I don't know.  I just new I had to write it somewhere that I knew I wouldn't lose it. Because it's approaching a year since the car fell on me, and looking back at 2010, I can say a lot has happened, but it's happened to the people around me, not me. I haven't really lived this past year. Now I'm going to start living. I want to go back to work as a nurse. This insight, that probably for most people is common sense is a new realization for me. My bones are healing, the pain is much better than a year ago, but it's not about any of that. It's that now I'm grateful for where I am, for all that I have, for the people I love and who love me back. From now I'm going to live everyday. I'm not going to try to do that. I'm going to do that. Everyday I will answer those 3 questions for myself. I will try to increase the 'improving things for others' category, but will look for ways each day, no matter how insignificant they may seem, and I will be grateful for things too, no matter how insignificant they may seem also. Right now I'm so grateful for the two bloggers who wrote about this before I did, and who put it in terms that I could grasp, because I feel like it is changing my life. Thank you, you 2 wonderful, insightful people. If you happen to see this, please add your link. Thanks!
http://thesefragileflames.blogspot.com/

Sick Days-Come to Work or You're Fired!

This is a critical issue!! My son works at a company that does not allow sick time. The thought of the peril that this practice puts people in who have compromised immune systems is scary. It makes it unsafe for some people to work, shop, go out to dinner, or do anything without seriously risking their health. This is not to mention people who have had organ transplants of any kind, and are on medication to prevent rejection, which also compromises the immune system. This puts so many people at risk! My son is a severe ASTHMATIC, as is my grandson. If my grandson's teacher works with a cold, it could result in something much more serious than a simple cold for my grandson. This is so serious and potentially affects almost every family in one way or another! So I’m reposting Momsrising.org’s post, because they said it so much better than I’m able to.

http://www.demeritwalmart.com/BlogThis.html

This is a guest-post by Katie Bethell, a Campaign Director at MomsRising.org.
If you shop at Wal-Mart to finish up that last bit of holiday shopping this week, you may be coming home with more than a good deal–you might be exposed to contagious illnesses like colds and the flu.
Why? As the New York Times recently reported, employees receive demerits, lose pay, and ultimately risk termination for taking sick days. That's exactly what happened to this family: 

"My husband just got fired for missing sick days. He missed 5 1/2 days in 6 months." This member of MomsRising.org, a grassroots organization working on family economic security issues, reports that these were days when her husband had legitimate doctor's notes or when her husband's manager sent him home because of flu symptoms. He received "demerits" when he took this needed sick time, and "The day after Black Friday… they called him in and fired him for missing too many days in 6 months. He did not take off 'weekends, sunny days, or go fishing'…he was sick. This is just wrong."
Wal-Mart's policy is not just unhealthy and unfair for employees, it also could harm customers and the general public. With about 1.4 million employees in the U.S., that's a lot of people who could be coming to work sick, and unwittingly exposing their coworkers and customers to contagious diseases such as the flu--putting us all at risk.

My husband got Hurt at Work

My husband has been working 7 days a week. He leaves when it's still dark out and some days doesn't get home til 7 or 8 at night. Last year work was slow and we worried how we'd make it through the winter (and I wasn't working either), but now, there's more work than he can handle. My youngest son is helping him, but there's more work than the 2 of them can handle, and this is constructing cabinetry. My son is an electrician by trade, not a carpenter or cabinet maker. They really need a 3rd person, but what scares me is seeing that since Sunday, my husband is having trouble moving the right side of his body. He didn't tell me. He never complains. I just noticed something was very wrong. What he really needs is to be able to supervise, but my son doesn't know enough of the "art" of what my husband does for him to be able to stand back and watch my son do his job, and my husband is really good, and a bit of a perfectionist.

What's really scary is that the last time he got hurt, he didn't tell me either, and he began self-medicating with Aleve, resulting in an ulcer which led to a massive GI hemmorrhage, requiring 8 units of blood, over a week in the ICU, also cost me my job, cuz I went to the hospital to be with him. But I'm really scared and feel really helpless.

Katie Makkai - Pretty

Where do I belong...Alfie?

I’ve thought a lot lately about finding happiness, and finding meaning to my life. Recently I read on Oprah Winfrey’s website about the philosophy of the 2 types of happiness. Basically, one is hedonist (pleasure-seeking) the other is Golden; finding your personal purpose, which a phlosopher says every person has, of their own, and setting out to achieve it. Like leaving your personal fingerprint, that made the world a better place for at least one person,and for as many as possible.

The ability to achieve this happens in a lot of different ways. There are people who find something they love to do, and are fortunate enough to also get paid for it, and for some, to be so successful at it they become magnificintely wealthy. Some of these people also find purpose, and use their wealth to make the world a better place for many people. (Look into Jeff Gordon’s Children’s Hospital). Some people have training/education to be able to work in a field where their job gives that fulfillment (these jobs typically don’t pay well, but usually the people getting the most out of what they don’t care as much, though it would be nice if society recognized their contribution). Then, there’s this amazing tiny group who doesn’t get paid for anything, doesn’t have a professional education, and spends their entire life working to make the world a better place, that’s like Mother Teresa, and she left a gigantic handprint on the world.

Lately since I was laid off from work, then injured in a severe accident,being out of work has really depressed me. I enjoyed being a nurse. It was fulfilling. Once in a while I felt like I made a difference in someone’s life.

So what I figured out is, I’m in the second group. I’m fortunate enough to have a useful skill (being an RN) and while nobody is willing to hire me right now, it leaves me the opportunity to look for a place that could use any of my skills for free, in other words, volunteer. A wise friend mentioned it to me this weekend, and I have been thinking about it. Just because I don’t get paid for it, doesn’t mean what I do doesn’t have meaning. I’ve already dispelled that myth.

So, I think the answer for me, is to find out where I could be of use.

The Scarlet Letter, The N-Word, we just have to stop

I’ve gone through different phases thoughout my lifetime. I sound like one of those pharmacetical companies marketing an anti-depressant; “I know what it feels like to be happy, I remember what it felt like to feel happy”.  And their pill will magicaly balance your out of kilter brain chemicals, and you’ll feel the  way you remember feeling. I’m glad science and research funding saw it as an important idea to investigate and study, because for some, it does work that way, that’s all that’s wrong.

Now we’re hearing about teen suicide, suicide among returning vets from Afghanistan and Irag, college campuses, all very different demons created by society, and at this point in time society whoever has been chosen as “the black sheep, whom if we allow them any more rights, or even acceptance, life as we know it will end, Doomesday will follow. What I’m about to say is NOT that kids being tormented for being gay is the same, or worse, than the veteran’s coming home, who have it drilled into their heads that they (ARE) and I believe are, some of the srongest, bravest men in the world. The toughest? We’re human, So when there’s a social stigma in society, if you mention mental illness it’s like mentioning a weakness. We’ve learned intellectually that its not right to say”retard or any of the degrading adverbs that come to mind, but behind closed doors, how many times, when people of different sociologial areas are together, that words like “faggot”, “gay” the N-word I just can’t bring myself to say these, and I’ve trouble with the ones I already typed, are said?. Many years ago boys without fathers were "bastards” – that usually now refers to used-car salesman who has such a great deal for you, because ‘his back was against the wall, and his hands were tied behind his back,so he had to give you this tremendous deal, and the months you’ve had it you’ve spent more for fixing it than the price of it, which nobody can believe you spent that much for it to begin with.

So here’s the thing, we as a society,when we allow any of those groups to be de-ninigfied in private, we give it silent-approval. Silent approval has to stop. It’s hard to legislate emotions. You can only legislate action. In several sociological studies have shown that if you can alter how people bahave, the feelings will follow. An example is when African-Americans were required to sit in the back of the bus. When that was finally denounced, lots of people complained and said ‘what’s gonna be next?’ but gradually emotion about it. Cognitive dissonance, if you’re doing something, if you’re forced to continue doing it, your psyche will have to find a way to sync-up the two. You can’t exist thinking that you are continually doing something wrong and have to a) decide it’s right, b) stop doing it. The people keeping blacks on the back of the bus were foced to change their attitude. They were against, but when it became law, they were forced to follow it.

I always thought about finding my real mother. I stated it that way on purpose. As time goes on we realize different groups of people and how or words can hurt them. The way I should have stated it was ‘looking for my birth-mother'. Lot’s of kids are adopted.Today it’s publicized by celebrities. Not so much in the 50’s. There was Joan Crawford, she was a mild interpretation of the woman I ended up with. She was a raging, abusive, out-of-control alcholic and I wanted to find mine, just to see if maybe she would like, and that she was normal. There’s a lot more to that story but I don’t want to digress to far. The reason Jeanne had to put me up for adoption, was that I was the product of her and my father who was not her husband. Her husband, a violent angry drunk himself had decided to enter the Korean war, and while over there stated he was staying because he got a Japanese woman pregnant. He eventually returned, said he’d make things work, ‘keep the family together’ but NOT raise another man’s child. Think how many guys are doing that today.  Social stigmaaaaa……..If society had accepted these loose, trampy women, what would happen? Doomesday! Now women choose to be single mother’s, in fact single mother’s are often (rightly so) respected and revered.

I did locate my birth mother. I’m grateful for that opportunity.  I was 24 years old. I visited her a couple of times. As luck would have it, shee too was an alcholic, but I never saw her drunk. She told me however, that she had just gotten out of the hospital after a month in a coma, brought on by what she called ‘an aneurysm in the stomach. She said she was told she could never drink again or she would die. She was 52. She also jokingly said “I’m only 5-moths today, and pointed to how swollen her liver was. She said she also felt depressed about her Diabetes II diet, because of her stomach, combined with the diabtic diet, there was nothing left to eat that she enjoyed. She said she particularly missed Bing cherries. I said what are those? She pointed to a huge bowl on  her kitchen table bright red cherries. It wouldn’t occur to me for many years, that was a clue. I visited her again, we were beoming closer. She spoke of taking me to Paris (where she was from). She said she had planned to do it with her best friend, Laurie, but now that we’d found each other, she wanted me to go. I was thrilled.

The next week or so she called me at home. I don’t remember what she said, just that she’d sounded drunk. She said “oh, you’re mad at meee” and I said no, I just have to go”. Same line I always gave my birth mother when she called to tell me what else was my fault. I’d had enough drunken phone calls to last me a lifetime, didn’t need them from someone else. That was the last time I ever spoke to her..I should have hung up and called 9-1-1. The cherries, now the booze. What louder cry for help did she have to make? The next day, or day after , Laurie called. She was angry. She had lost her best friend and it was my fault. Laurie said I brought up all those painful feelings for her and she became depressed and started drinking, knowing it would be fatal. Well, I missed some important cries for help there. And I was self-centered by not wanting to hear her drunk, and oh, how self-righteous I was. And look what I lost by being judgmental, instead of reacing out to someone, clearly asking for it.

There’ve been times in my life I’ve contemplated suicide, (I don’t know how seriously) and in elementary  school I was referred to as the adopted kid, I din’t have any friends, and I was pretty much the short, skinny, freckled, kid, looking in the mirror, to try to see how I could be like everyone else, to be accepted.

The point I’m trying to make, (you didn’t think I had one, did you?) is that social ridicule is painful, and can ruin lives. It always been present, luckily it’s gaining more attention as more people who have been victims of it, for a multitude of reasons, step forward and say STOP NOW. Many have been to the brink of suicide themselves. So, though the subject, i.e., target, of our ridicule/prejudice/joking distastefully, changes with the times, our tolerance to do it has been accepted, at least until now. I'm not going to say that one group is hurting, or did hurt more than another. How could I be so arrogant to suppose to know that unless I were a member of each and every maligned group in society and I don't know if there are degrees of hurt in general. I imagine it's a very individual thing, dependent on many factors, not the least of which would include the amount of support one has from family and friends. Unfortunately, sometimes there is very little, because our differences cause families to shun us.

I wish everyone would think of one thing they’ve felt embarrassed about something, insecure of themselves, been made fun of, and then vow not to take part in anything that would ever make another man, woman or child feel that way. That means NOT laughing when your buddies make fun of a particular group, it means sticking your neck out at first, but if we all change our behavior, and allow others to witness this new behavior, the chances of people living more fulfilling lifes will increase, and our society will be stronger and better for it. Maybe we could all just try, just for a day, I'm betting it will feel good and we'll want to keep living that way, and others will too, just by example. I'm not saying it's going to be easy.  Just a thought...

Who You Gonna Call?

I wanna be a nurse! Well, I am a nurse, technically. I'm licensed in 2 states as a registered nurse. I'm just not employed right now. I really miss working as a RN. Nursing is a second career for me. After high school I went to college and was fortunate to have been adopted by a family who could afford to send me to college. I don't think I truly appreciated the magnitude of my good fortune. My Dad strongly encouraged me to study something practical/useful, but I didn't heed his wise advice, and ended up getting a BA in Psychology, and 3 minors, Philosophy, English and Sociology. NOT marketable, but a really fun 4 years. I did listen to him about taking a typing course at least, and earned extra money typing my classmates term papers, and after graduation was aable to find employment in the computer area, and thanks to Dad's wisdom, having a degree, got promoted to supervisory roles. My Natural ability to like language, the English minor, (and 2 years of required Latin) I was able to build a small home medical transcription business.  After my husband died, and our 4 kids were older, I took out loans, and while working full-time (and overtime) at a hospital doing medical transcription, I put myself through nursing school. As a new grad, I took a position as a nusing supervisor at a large facility that was mostly long term care, with a small sub-acute rehab unit. I really enjoyed that job. It was while working there that I met George. After being single for 13 years, I really didn't think I'd ever meet anyone I could really connect with. I was wrong. All 4 kids liked him. He not only liked NASCAR  as much as I did, he was on a pit crew. He lived in another state, over an hour away from me, and for a while, he drove to my house everyday, and I'd see him after work, and on weekends. The facility I worked at was a chain, and I didn't know how much trouble it was in, but I was feeling the effects of the under-staffing, and being asked to work doubles more & more frequently. This was at the same time that I had started to spend weekends at George's house. It was over an hour from my house, which was 45 minutes from where I worked. I didn't want to leave when Sunday's came, sometimes I'd put it off, and had started leaving spare scrubs at George's house and leave really early Mondays and go straight to work from his house house; reallly long commute. Eventually we decided maybe I should look for a position nearer to him. I applied for a license in his state and once that was taken care of, I was astonished to be offered a position as Assistant Director of Nursing at a psych hospital. It seemed too good to be true. Well, it was, and I started looking for something else. I had never worked in an acute care setting, and really wanted that experience. I applied at hospitals near George's house. They all said the same thing; no acute care experience, no longer a new grad, sorry. I ended up contacting the hospital I had worked at while I was in nursing school. I had almost 5 years with them, as a medical transcriptionist, and had also done many of my clinicals there. They did say the same thing, that I wasn't a new grad, and had no acute care experience, but agreed to let me attend some of the new grad program classes. They did expect me to work independently sooner than they expected a new grad to. My schedule was three 12-hour shifts, and I had a 2-hour commute each way. I started in January, and it was a very snowy, stormy winter. I was driving in some terrible conditions, but I knew what I was getting into when I started, and I felt lucky to be given the opportunity. I was spending about $80.00 daily in fuel (needing 4WD most of the time) but to me it was like free education. Nobody up here would give me a chance, and this hospital was training me! I was on a cardiac telemetry step-down unit -- sort of a 'step-down from the intensive care unit'. These patients were really unstable. In my first job I was responsible for running codes - I had had to do CPR, RN pronouncements (announce time of death and do the associated paperwork), decide when people needed to be sent to acute care hospitals, or psych stays, but even though I'd had a lot of responsbility, the fragility of these cardiac patients was intense. I saw my preceptor get shocked because she wasn't paying attention when the doctor said "clear" before he pressed the button for the paddles on a patient who was crashing. She went about a foot in the air.

She was angry. Not just about that. She was much younger than I am. She had gone straight into nursing from high school, it's all she'd ever done. She was really good at it. Even though she probably had about 3 or 4 years experience, it was all in this setting, and she was clearly impatient with me, which made me nervous, which seemed to make her more annoyed, and I felt like she thought I was stupid, and she would ask me questions in front of lots of people and say things like "why don't you know this? You should know this!" I got very self-conscious and was afraid to speak for fear of saying something wrong. Other nurses would come up to me privately and say that she shouldn't be talking to me like that, or treating me the way she was, but nobody had the nerve to say anything directly to her. It all became a huge viscious circle, and ultimately she complained to the unit manager that I "didn't get it" and I really couldn't defend myself that I did, because I was such a jumble of nerves all the time that I really couldn't think. So even though I did learn a lot, I probably actually lost money working there, and my self-esteem took a huge hit. I didn't feel like a nurse. I felt like a fraud. I felt like I had somehow passed the nursing boards by mistake, and doubted if I could be successful anywhere. I left with my tail between my legs, and started looking for a job.

I did find a job, in a non-traditional setting, again as a supervisor. The job involved a lot of traveling, some out of state. My direct supervisor was 2 states away. I was in training, and driving home one night when my son, who lives with us, called to say George was being taken to the hospital by ambulance. We arranged to meet and go to the hospital. There was supposed to be a meeting the next morning at 9am with the out of state higher ups, so I called one of the other suoervisors to let her know that I was on my way to the hospital, and didn't know what was going on yet, but might be late for the meeting. I continued to the hospital. Apparently George had had a major GI hemorrhage. He was unconscious. I was about to be let in to see him and speak to the MD when my phone rang, and it's "Larry" from work, my superior. He just started in -- 'Let me ask you something. Do you want your job? I don't know what's going on with your boyfriend/husband/fiance or whatever the hell he is, but if you want your F%&*$#@ job, you'll be at that meeting tomorrow, ON TIME!'

He continued yelling at me, and I asked his permission to hang up, if I called him back. He said "see that you do" and I went in to see George. George ended up being in the ICU for over a week and needing 8 units of blood. I almost lost him. I did go to the meeting the next day, and made it on time. They asked me what I was going to do the rest of the day, and I said I was going back to the hospital. The next day was my scheduled day off, when I went into work on Friday, they terminated me.

In a way I was relieved. I didn't want to be there. Once George got home, I wanted to be with him. I wanted to keep an eye him. I didn't want to lose him. I didn't want to miss something.

A few months later we were driving to visit a family member, about 3 hours from home, and as we came around a curve, there was a car overturned and lying on its side in the other lane. George had been with me long enough at this point to know he had to stop and let me out, and I keep a bag in the car with me. I grabbed my bag and got out to go to the woman lying near the overturned car, George continued on up the hill, to try to warn approaching traffic that the lane was blocked. I had to crawl across the highway due to the icy conditions. As he got to the crest of the hill, a speeding van lost control on the ice, bounced off the guardrail, and spun into the car, spinning the car into me, and then righting it, on top of me. George slid down the hill, and all that wasn't under the car was my head and one arm. He said I was screaming to get it off me. With help, he was able to lift the car off me, while under his instruction, another man pulled me free. Life flight was called but couldn't take off due to weather. Ambulances arrived, couldn't get up the hill due to ice, stopped to apply chains, and finally arrived for the first victim and me. The first hospital I was taken to said I needed a trauma center, so I was rerouted to a different hospital, and George was called, and arrived before I did. He called my kids, and they came too. I was there quite a while, had surgery, and a blood transfusion, and may have to have more surgery. It's been painful, but I know I'm really lucky.

I don't remember the accident. They stitched up my head. George said my head wound was so deep he could see my skull. Since all my doctors were in the state where the accident happened, I haven't been able to follow up with them. (insurance issues) I finally saw a really great doctor last week. She told me that the type of injury I had would cause memory problems. I told her that was a relief, because I thought I was suffering from what my kids call "Old-Timers Disease".

My dilemma, one of them, is with my lack of confidence already being so profound, it's really scary to contemplate working with any type of memory impairment, and that's if physically I can do the work, and that's if I can convince anyone to hire me, because I'm still facing the same obstacles that hindered my job search even before George got sick, and before I had the accident; no real acute care experience, and I'm not a new grad, so getting the training, and/or experience is a huge hurdle. I've just further complicated the whole situation now. Now I don't know:

• Can I physically do the job of a nurse?
• Is the rap on the head going to make orienting to a new job too difficult/possible?  
• Would I be better off to just accept that I CAN'T be nurse again?
• Is accepting that I can't work as a nurse again really just giving up? I worked really hard to be a nurse, and I love it. I don't want to give up! I'm not sure where unreasonable begins and acceptance ends.

• I don't know who to talk to about any of this....

Life on Sick-A-More Street

I smoked my first joint when I was 15 in a Burger King bathroom. I have a grandson who's 14. Can I imagine him doing that next year? NO WAY!!  I've been an active drug user at different points in my life. I started at six weeks old. I  found my 'babybook' and in that was the key to Wilbur's bragging about how when they adopted me I slept through the night from six-weeks old, on. Tucked in that book also were some yellowed slips of paper, written instructions from my pediatrician, when I was six weeks old, and at regular intervals thereafter, to adminster my mouth, Paregoric, "h.s" (at bedtime) nightly. Paregoric is like liquid Opium. It's a controlled drug today, it's sometimes prescribed for partcularly persistant diarrhea. There have been deaths associated with improper dispensing. A young woman in Conn. died when the pharmacy incorrectly printed the amount to be taken. It has a very strong taste. Wibur made it very palatable however. She probably didn't bother at six weeks old, but I'm sure once I was able to give her much of a problem, she came upon her recipe. It was genuis; about 1/4 cup Karo syrup, lemon juice, and Paregoric. I remember coming home from kindergarten, Wibur passed out on the couch, usually I'd ask her for some, tell her I had a sore thoat or something. If she was already out though, I could have as many tablespoons as I wanted, and when I asked for it that night before bed, and she saw it was gone, she'd say, "do you want it in cocoa?" and of course I did. That was another treat. No wonder I like those Jamacain coffee drinks. I just had to say I couldn't sleep, or any complaint that could potentially interfere with her own plans, and I got it. And the pediatrician was friends with Dad and Wibur's friends, and my godparents, Aunt Connie and uncle Fred. She, an anorexic nurse, he a talented, wealthy, good-looking physician, if somewhat less than loyal husband, I don't judge that situation, it isn't my place. He was always good to me, I think. It was a close-knit club, secrets were kept in a vault,and secrets then, wouldn't be today.

I was in a great big hurry to move away from Sick-a-More Street. I wanted to be like other people, and I felt so different from everyone else. I didn't know anyone else who was adopted back then, and very few only children. Nobody had a mother like mine. Wilbur would morph into some other kind of strange-acting, slurring, persona, whose southern accent returned despite living in New England for many years. If I got invited to a friends house their mothers were always awake, maybe baking cookies, or doing something with a sibling, (something I desperately wished I had). I would occasionally, be so bold and silly as to ask my mother if I could ever have a sister, and was always met with a variance of the same response; 'Not taking any chances, it might be like you'. Eventually I smartened up and stopped asking. It just seemed like a good idea for my mother to see that another kid might have some faults too, so that she'd stop holding me up to these impossible standards that nobody could meet, but she kept comparing to all the good things she heard people boast about their kids, and told me what a horrible disappointment I was.

I had a couple sleepovers. One in particular caused such embarrassment I locked myself in the bathroom. Wilbur had gotten particularly hammered that night, and Dad was away on business. Wilbur decided my guest and I could have donut for a snack, IF we sat at the dining room table with linen napkins and used a silver knife and fork to eat it. Knowing this would get back to school I potested, to no avail. How does one reason with a drunk who doesn't like you to start with? It was a big deal to me at the time, and started to cry, and embarrassed locked myself in the bathroom. Wilbur just yelled louder. I don't remember how it ended. I remember that a couple of weeks later when I was invited to stay at her house she and her mother had an argument, and her mother said "Stop now. You don't want to be like that Smith girl and her mother do you?" No more sleepovers after that.

There were other incidents and accidents along the way. Mostly resulting in me getting sent to my room by my father, and never any acknowledgment of Wilbur doing any wrong. Some were physical, others emotional, or both. The donut was big though. I don't remember the physical pain so much but I've been told about some of the physical things by neighbors or relatives, but people didn't get into others business back then.
My plan was to join the Army and be an air-traffic controller. In April of my senior year when I was making my final plans with my recruiter, I asked if I should bring my own inhaler, or would the Army provide one. The recruiter, in astonishment asked "Your what?".  My inhaler, for asthma , I explained. That was the end of that plan. Now, apparently there are waivers for asthma, but not then.

Wilbur wanted me to go to a local girls college and live at home. Not gonna happen! My best (and preety much only) friend was going to college 500 miles away on a scholarship. I decided to go there. It was in the Appalachian mountains. I told Dad, and we sent for the application. I was accepted, and he and Wilbur drove me down there. She sat in the car as Dad and I carried my suitcases up to my dorm room. I knew I was starting the best years of my life. Living away from Wilbur, with other people my age. That night an upper classman invited me to her room. I went,and she was using a thin staw to suck white powder up her  nose. She asked me to try it. I had a real thing about getting water up my nose, I didn't think that would feel good at all. I left and went back to my own room.

My jr. high school sweetheart hadn't come down yet. We had met when I was 13 and he was 14. His parents hated me, and mine weren't fond of him. Dad made it clear that if I got married he wasn't paying for school, but when he found out Bob might move down there he threatened to get a restraining order, and Bob's parents were even more livid, in addition to being angry at my parents for trying to tell their son what he could or couldn't do. A few weeks later Bob arrived, got an apartment and a job working in strip mining. And they were 4 of the best years of my life. We got married 2 months after I graduated. By then my parents totally accepted, even loved Bob. His parents and sisters still hated me.

Two and a half years later our daughter was born. Beautiful and wonderful. A miracle. I'd never been so happy. We lived about two miles from my parents, 15 from his. My father came to see me in the hospital when I had her. My mother sat in the car with the dog. The first time she saw my daughter was 3-1/2 months later when Dad brought her over. She was wasted. At Dad's urging that she go down the hall and look in the nursery, she bounced off a couple walls into the bathroom and finally stated "there's no baby in there". My father told her it was farther down on the right, and I guess she wandered in, and then I out. I think Wilbur saw her. Doesn't really matter, I guess. I had three beautiful boys after that, and one miscarriage. Neither of my parents came to the hospital for any. It wasn't their thing. Although Dad did babysit when I was in labor. Nice that he was so close.  Bob's parents were much more involved. His father especially. When I was pregnant with my third he called daily for awhile, telling me to have an abortion. Giving me phone numbers, trying to convince me, or yelling or shame me into it. The tactics varied but the message didn't. Then again, Bob had been continually told since marrying me that his bedroom was waiting for him and all he had to do was say the word and his father would get him the best divorce attorney money could buy. This put a great strain on our relationship. Any couple will disagree, but he was programmed to confide everything to them, and when that happened, they had more ammunition. They'd  just say "see, you should divorce her". At one point the strain was great enough that I moved out and even got an apartment. Much later, after we had 4 kids he moved out, and his father did get him that good attorney. Now we were reduced to sneaking behind our parents backs again to see each other. He said once "I'd ask you to marry me, but that's so hard to do when you're divorcing someone." Then he was diagnosed with leukemia. He was gone 3 weeks later. That was August 25, 1993 (my grandmother's birthday, who I named my daughter after). He had written a letter, it wasn't dated, but in it, he said his one wish was that his two families would get together. I want that for him. I stopped at his father's house once with one of my sons, and that was disastrous. I don't have any illusions that I'll be part of it, but I'd like his father to see his son's kids. Maybe they can have a relationship before its too late. Bob would be so proud of who they are and what they've overcome.