do I suck or what?

Yes, yes, yes, I know it's been forever since I've updated, and I know you 3 homeless guys who hang at the library are pretty mad, but, hey, I'm lazy. You ought to know that by now; it's not like it's a big secret or anything.

Ah, but look what I've been up to...

Me and Patrick

Kenin and Waverly

Hunter (aka Uncle Peanut) and Paul

Kenin, Hunter and Paul

Waverly and Paul

Patrick, Paul and Kenin

Paul and Jena

Jena and Paul

Paul (Isn't he cute? He gets it from me. LOL)

Jena, Paul and Hunter

Sean

mixed feelings

Patrick left home today to move to Texas to live with his biological mother. And to be honest, I'm pretty upset about it. It's hard to see your child leave home when he's been such a huge part of your life for the last 8 years; hell, it's just hard to see them leave home, period. I've fought for Patrick as though he's my own; we've spent thousands of dollars on lawyers, countless hours trying to get him services, and shed more tears over him and laughed more than you can imagine. Kenin and I honestly believe he's best off in a group home (he blossomed in one in Montana), but when faced with the possibility of yet another court appearance, we had to give in as we can't afford to fight his mother again. I hate it, and I feel like total shit over it, but maybe this is God's way of telling us we've earned a break.

Yesterday was a really bad day for Patrick. On Tuesday, he'd managed to get into the fridge and eat 3 half frozen raw chicken breasts before he got caught, so he spent part of the night Tuesday and all day Wednesday paying for it on the potty. Actually, as unhappy as he might have been about the consequences of his actions, it sucked just as much, if not more, for Kenin and me because in the middle of trying to keep Patrick (and the carpet and the furniture and the walls and his clothing) clean, we'd both worked all day and then came home and and began doing laundry and trying to cook dinner and pack and make sure everyone had baths because Kenin, Patrick, and Hunter had to leave for Texas today. Not an easy feat, let me tell you.

And then, in the middle of this horrific day, it occured to us that maybe this was God's way of making Patrick's leaving easier. Maybe if we had a fresh experience of just a few of the things that make life with Patrick so tough challenging, then it might make it easier to see him go. Well, it turned out that it was still hard to see him go, so maybe that wasn't we were being told after all. Kenin and I did talk, though, about some of the things that we won't have to do anymore, like:

~bathe him (me) or shower with him (Kenin)
~brush his teeth
~clean poop off Patrick and the bathroom walls/floor
~lock the fridge/pantry after every use
~repair/replace furniture that's been destroyed
~replace wallpaper that got ripped off
~clean spaghetti sauce off the ceiling
~hide the toilet paper so the whole roll doesn't end up in the potty
~be constantly aware of Patrick being too quiet/too loud and wondering what he's getting into
~alter every pair of pants to fit a 24 inch inseam
~not take vacations/have to refuse invitations because there isn't a sitter
~replace clothing that gets ripped/torn up on purpose
~climb on top of the plant shelf to retrieve what's been thrown up there
~wonder if Patrick's going to throw a fit in public

All I have to say is that you have to take the good with the bad and I sincerely hope that things work out well for Patrick now that he'll be back with Donna because there's no revolving door on my home.

Saturday Night Dinner Theatre

The Setting: Red Lobster, during their Endless Shrimp promotion (irrelevant, but yummy)

The Actors: Hunter, as the Narrator; Kenin, Patrick, and me, as the Audience

The Props: A small, black plastic skeleton and a small neon green spider, given to Hunter by a waiter who is very nice to young boys in an almost-but-not-quite-full-blown creepy kind of way, and the small, red, lobster-topped, sword-shaped fruity drink holder thing that came in Hunter's Shirley Temple

Hunter: Aaarrgghh! The spider bit me on the hip (holds spider to skeleton's hip)! Here, let me thrust the sword into the spider (thrusts sword into the spider (duh))! Aw, crap! I hit my hip! Oh, my hip, my hip! Now I can't walk (makes dying sounds, much to the dismay of Kenin, who's apparently taken Hunter's playing just a little bit too seriously)! Aaarrrggghh!

The Audience (okay, it was only me): Hysterical laughter

To Be or Not To Be... Special

When Kenin and I were in Texas for Jena's wedding, we stayed with some close friends of ours, Larry and Sharon. The night before the wedding, we sat outside, talking. Somehow the conversation rolled around to the idea that we're considered by a fair amount of people to be "special" because of the things that we've gone through as parents or in some cases, simply because we choose to parent. (Sharon (Larry is hubby #2) lost her youngest son, Stuart, to leukemia when he was 8 years old, and we, of course, have Patrick.)

In a way, it's a little offensive to me that people think we're different from any other parents because I don't feel we are. We have the same hopes and dreams for our kids that you have for yours. Our expectations are the same as yours. We expect - and insist on - our children to be polite and respectful and to behave appropriately. It doesn't matter one whit to me if it's Ashlyn or Patrick or Hunter burping at the dinner table - they all know how to say "Excuse me", and they better do it. I absolutely know that one day Patrick will be on his own and will have his own life, just as any 'normal' person would. The only difference is that Patrick will be living in a group home instead of by himself. I saw Patrick dress in a tux and ride off in a limo to his high school prom. I watched him walk across the room, get his diploma, and shake hands with the principal of his high school. So far, Patrick's life is pretty much on par with most people his age. In so many ways he's like everyone else, and as far as I'm concerned, so are we.

The idea that we're somehow special or different because of our children is a bit foreign to me. Yeah, we've dealt with, and in some cases still deal with, things that most typical parents don't, but I don't think that makes us any better than anyone else. I think the comments that I hear the most often are "I don't know if I could do what you're doing", or "I don't know how you do it." Well, guys, you just kind of make due with whatever it is that's thrown your way. If you get stuck in traffic and are late to work, you don't quit your job because of it, do you? You just suck it up and deal with it, right? Now, I'm not saying that there aren't days that it doesn't just plain suck to be the parent of a developmentally disabled child, but there are just as many days that I don't want to be the parent of a "normal" child, either. And Sharon, she's lost her son altogether, so who am I to complain about my kids, aggravating as they can be?

Sharon told me that she'd asked God for a special child, and she'd gotten one, although Stuart's kind of special wasn't what she'd expected. Why did I 'get' Patrick? I don't know for sure. I know that he was part of the package when I married Kenin, but I imagine it was for reasons other than that. I think maybe God thought I should get into the 'family business' (my mom was a speech therapist, my cousin is a speech therapist, one of my mother's cousins is developmentally disabled, my aunt and uncle were foster parents for years and years, etc.) of giving and doing for others. Maybe He thought that I needed to learn patience, or to not be so selfish. Maybe it was because many years ago in The Nuthouse I was told that I was incapable of having empathy for others. Maybe I just drew the short straw. Who knows? And who really cares? This life is just what it is... mine.

What a week it's been!

Yes, I know I haven't posted. And to be honest, I'm sure that bothers me way more than it bothers the 2 other people who read this blog. I swear I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. But I kind of want to.

The last two weeks have been, well, a bit rough. I won't go through what happened last week except to say that I was very tired, what with having an actual job again. That first week is a killer. It's not like I was sleeping in over the summer or anything, unless you count 7 am as 'sleeping in'. But my gawd, it was those damn kids at work! I'd forgotten how exhausting chasing around a group of developmentally disabled can be. Ugh. I'm a bit more acclimated to it now, but I'm really glad that week is over, not that this week has been much better.

So, this week, Monday night to be exact, I drag Ash, Hunter, and Patrick to David's Bridal to have her dress for Jena's wedding altered. The seamstress - do people still use that word? - shortened the straps, pinned the booby cup things in, and began looking at the waistline of the dress with a funny look. Just for the sake of argument, we'll call it a skeptical look. Now, a skeptical look coming from a seamstress as she looks at an already-paid-for-all-sales-are-final-and-don't-you-even-think-about-asking-for-a-refund dress just scares me. I walk over to them just in time to hear her tell Ashy that 'we can't fix that'. Surely I misunderstood her. Totally channelling a very irate black woman from New York City at that moment, I tried to be calm as she tells me that because of the way the fabric is cut (on the bias, as if that means anything at all to me), if they try to correct the fact that seam isn't straight or flat, it will only make it worse. I guess she saw the look on my face because at that point, she hurried off to find her boss. Bosslady comes and after an equally skeptical look at the dress, she informs me that that is, in fact, the case. You could say that it was at that point that I was about this close to being livid. After calmly explaining that we'd been told by the idiot (No, I didn't really use that word. But I wanted to.) sales person that their alterations department could 'fix anything, anything at all', it was suggested to me that I might want to speak with the manager, who might be able to arrange a little somethin' somethin' to correct the situation. Long story short (okay, not really short, but at least shortER), we ended up being able to ORDER A DIFFERENT DRESS. I know they're going to try to stick it to me with a rush alteration fee, but I'd be surprised if they manage to succeed. At any rate, with a little luck, we should have a new dress by September 1st, which leaves just over 2 weeks to have it altered.

Short and sweet: Tuesday night, we had to go pick up Hunter's violin (not an instrument I'm excited about, or ever expected him to want to play), so, once again, I drug Ash and Patrick along, too. It was a huge cattle call thing, and it sucked, to say the least. My salesperson was not only incompetent, but an idiot as well, and not only could he not fill out the rental application, I doubt he could find his own butt without considerable help. Wednesday night I attended orientation at Arapahoe Community College, without, thankfully, children in tow. It once again made for a long day, but was at least interesting and without incident. Well, the lights went out because of a storm, but after the week I've had, that doesn't count.

Songs That Speak to Me

Redneck Woman by hell-yes-I'm-a-redneck-and-damn-proud-of-it-thank-you-very-much, Gretchen Wilson. This is me. I can't help it.

Sammy Kershaw's Queen of My Double Wide Trailer. While I've never lived in a double wide, the first place of my own that I had when I moved out of my parents home when I was 17, was a single wide trailer. I don't think double wides had gotten popular yet, if they were even around way back then.

Sweet Home Alabama by the one and only Lynyrd Skynyrd. And I happily admit to carrying my redneck roots around with me - Sweet Home Alabama is the ringtone on my phone.

Blinded by the Light by Manfred Mann's Earth Band is one of those songs that I can listen to (with the volume ALL THE WAY UP, of course) over and over again and never get tired of. And yes, I know ALL the words, even to the extended version of the song. Watch me pat myself on the back as I ask you how many people you know that can say that.

Lone Star's first hit, Amazed. When we first began dating, this was the first song that Kenin ever said made him think of me.

Bitch by Meredith Brooks is the song that I think of when I think of my daughter, Ashlyn. She was only about 4 when it came out and she'd sing it loud and proud, but would leave out the title of it because it was a bad word. She still loves the song and still sings it without the title (at least when she's around me).

Uncle Kracker's Follow Me is one of the first songs my son, Hunter, really liked. He was about 3 years old and sang it to the best of his ability which, bless his little heart, wasn't very well. I think the next song he learned was Lose Yourself by Eminem.

Kid Rock's Cowboy reminds me of Patrick because it's the only song guaranteed to get a smile.

And one last one... Happy Birthday because, well, it's my birthday today.