For the Love of Dad

My hubby, God love him, has an affinity for old movies.  I used to hate older movies, especially black and white ones.  I just preferred the look of more modern movies and, well, color.  But, I have to say that old movies are beginning to grow on me, a little.

So, Hubs was watching an older movie today and it distracted me with its humor.  So, I started watching it with him.  It was humorous.  Alas, I had to run to the grocery store and didn’t get to finish it with him.  As I sat down to chill while the Pinterest meatloaf recipe baked, I asked about his movie.  He said that he paused it when I left since I seemed to be enjoying it.  I commented that I thought it was funny.  He responded, “It was one of my dad’s favorites.  Boats and nurses.  Can’t go wrong with that.”  I joked that practically every old movie he watches was a favorite of his dad.  “He didn’t talk much.  It was one of the only ways I had to get to know him, through his movies.”

That comment by my hubs was sweet, honest yet sad all at once.  Initially, I used to be a little judgmental about the way that my father-in-law seemed to relate to his sons.  I felt defensive for my husband, that he must have been slighted in some way because they didn’t share long, profound conversations.   My husband speaks fondly of his father, knowing that he worked hard to provide for his family, trying to do what was best for them even at the cost of missing many childhood milestones.

Interesting how life brings about appreciation and understanding.  Today, I thought about my own father and the ways that we bonded.  I can’t complain.  I spent a good many hours doing things with him that often brought us closer, gave me glimpses into who he was and how he thought.  Sometimes, those times didn’t bring us closer, like the hours in the water trying to get my ass up on skis.  I remember more than a couple of curse words during those watery endeavors. 

I have many fond memories of time spent with my dad.  I remember going hunting with him on more than one occasion.  We went turkey hunting and quail hunting.  Turkey hunting was too much of a challenge with me; I had trouble keeping quiet.  I remember fishing on ponds and in the lake.  I hated putting the worm on the hook and eventually was forced to do the deed.  My dad was a talented carpenter and spent many hours in his wood shop making things.  I enjoyed just hanging out with him.  And then, of course, there was time spent at the lake.  He’d pull us around on inner tubes and ski (once I finally learned).  He liked just hanging out with friends around the fire, drinking beer.

I think my fondest memory, the one that I hold the closest to my heart, sometimes shedding a tear or two, was snuggling up next to my dad, first thing in the morning while he drank coffee at the kitchen bar.  He would be all warm, and I remember the smell of his coffee and menthol cigarettes.

Who am I to judge the origin and quality of the root of a bond?  I treasure the bond that my dad and I developed before he died.  I would have elected to share thirty more years to build memories with my dad.  But since I can’t have that, I am so grateful for the bonding we did have.  I hope that I can leave my kids with a bond that brings them fond memories in years to come.  All I can do is try.

Dyson's suck. So does life sometimes.

I have opinions.  I know, real shocker.  I also like to write.  I have two blogs that are painfully neglected and don't see the light of day more than once a year, if that.  I journal, by hand, because I just like to write. And pens.  I have a small addiction.  Never mind that.

So, for whatever reason, I am feeling creative today and thought, I'll blog something.  I have so much insight and wisdom, it's a shame to not share it.

You back there!  Stop snickering!!

.....Before I was so rudely interrupted....I cracked open the laptop and went to Blogger.  I have two blogs that I've started.  I think I intended to make one of them a reflection of my weight loss journey (hence the name Life is a journey) and the other, I wanted to have fun, try to be humorous, be the class clown that I always wanted to be (A Kick in the Pants).

Life happens, you know.  Sometimes when you least expect it, life happens and then shit happens and then shitty life happens.  You see where I'm going there.  So, I did have a couple of things written up and saved as drafts.  I'm reading them this afternoon and, if I say so myself, they are pretty decent.  Without further ado, I am posting one of those.  I think I wrote this in 2016, like February.  I know exactly what was going on at that time and I generally know what motivated the blog.  And funny how, life continued to suck even after such an award winning post.  And then, it didn't suck, as much.  The post really sums up how I felt and have felt over the past couple of years.  I'm not sure I would change a whole lot about the past two years.  What's the point!?  I don't have a time machine.



So here is a forgotten blog dated February, 2016.



Wow.  This has been a rough year.  I know that it's just a little past mid February.  I get that.  But it's been rough already.  Rough like a pot hole riddled street.  Or rough like wooden roller coasters.  Or rough like a canker sore in the corner of your mouth that breaks open every time you talk.  Rough. 

I'm not a religious type who gets much from the old adage that "God never gives you more than you can handle".  I believe that humans are very resilient.  I've seen kids rebound after incredible illness and adversity while working as a bedside nurse.    I don't really believe in Karma either.  You know, "Karma will come back and get ya".  That again suggests some kind of judgmental, superior higher power that monitors our actions and then doles out corresponding consequences.  That suggests that people deserve the adversity that they experience.  

I think rough years, rough months, rough days are a product of life, a product of behavior and decisions, a product of our perception, the sense of entitlement, the environment and sometimes a product of genetics (in some ways).  Having said that, rough days, months and weeks, whatever they are the product of, suck.  Like a Dyson.  They suck.

I think in the end,  our mentality, our personality and our support system is the real teller of how much life can suck.  If you believe that you are a victim, more things will suck and it's not your fault.  If you are stubborn, chances are, lots of things will end up sucking but it's your way or the hi way.  If you're down to earth, even keeled, things suck but you pretty much take it in stride.  If you are upbeat, life sucks but tomorrow WILL be better.  If you're rich, you just buy yourself the Hope Diamond or a baseball team when you're having a sucky day. 

I think we all just try to power through, do what we have to do and move on.  When the situation is over or not over but we have a little break, it is then that we look at the situation, our life and review our options.  Some of us will have a little adult beverage, some are lucky enough to be able to take a break or time out.  Some will find themselves consumed and broken by adversity.  The result really is up to you.

Weight Loss Surgery Is Not a Cure!!

I think that I've said this before but I'm gonna say it again.  Weight loss surgery is not a cure.  It is not a fix.  It is not the end game.  It is not the magic bullet.  It IS a tool.  It is ONLY a tool.  It is only as useful and as helpful as you make it.

Okay, I feel better having said that, AGAIN.

I think that I'm saying it as a reminder myself.  I live it every day, but sometimes, I don't live it like I should be living it.  Um. Like right now.  For about the last 6 months.  There's so much more to bariatric surgery and it isn't the fix it surgery.  I knew this going in.  I knew that it was a tool.  But I'm telling you!  In the very beginning, it can be really persuasive as a cure.  It can really feel like you hit the jackpot, so to speak.  I lost more than 50 lbs in 6 months, like easy.  It was amazing and I felt so good about myself.  It was easy because I was motivated and my new stomach was not so forgiving to errors and overages.  It felt like I had discovered the answer to my life long weight battle. 

Then. Well, the truth is, weight loss surgery isn't a fix.  It is JUST a tool.  So, I'm a little over a year out of my surgery and I have kept off a total of 47lbs.  I have actually gained back about 5-6 lbs.  This same 5 lbs have come and gone a couple of times.  The thing is, I could easily lose interest in paying attention to that scale and say screw it to not watching what I eat and begin to gain back even more weight.  I totally could.  Because the surgery is a tool, not a cure.

Today, I'm feeling motivated by the connection that I made with an old friend.  She and I lost contact for many years but I have recently been back in touch with her.  She underwent bariatric surgery last week.  (I think the same surgery as myself.)  And, after texting with her for a few minutes, I realized that I'm not really committed to the process like I was in the beginning.  And like any other process, it takes effort, committment and persistence.  I've not been giving it any of that lately.  And, I'm struggling.  I'm looking at the scale, wishing it was going down not up and feeling less than happy about what I see. 

But, this, like so many other things in life, require us to renew our committment day in and day out.  I can't just ignore my health.  That sure didn't work for 39 years and sure the hell won't work 39 more.  I have to give myself a break, stop being so critical.  I have to forgive myself for the lapse in committment and get back on that horse.  Get my shit together and do this thing.  It's not easy anymore; it's reality.  I have to make friends with reality.  And that reality is, I have to put forth the effort to be who I want to be and look how I want to look.

So, this glass of Strawberita is a toast to new beginnings and tomorrow is a new day.  I shall renew my committment to myself and get back on that horse.  Giddy up!

Parenting is a Journey

This parenting thing is such a mind boggling, heart ripping, hair pulling kind of journey.  Every other day, I'm taking stock to make sure that I'm still sane and haven't lost all touch with reality because my tween is driving me nuts.  Today is just another one of those days. She drives me absolutely bonkers!!  But, apparently, that's her job.  And she's good at it! I mean GOOD at it.

I like to fantasize of the days when she was much younger.  She drove me crazy then too, but she was so damn cute I couldn't resist.  And, it seemed like I could handle her behaviors and outburst by chalking it up to being little and not having the skills to make all the right decisions.  When I gave consequences then, she complied and might even come to me feeling sorry. 

Imparting consequences when she was younger was easier too, it seemed.  Time out was pretty effective and readily available.  I didn't really have to think about it much.  You throw a fit, time out you go.  You pull the dogs tail, apologize to the dog and time out you go.  Now days, time out is where she wants to be.  She can avoid me and pout or ignore me in the privacy of her time out spot, her room.  Finding meaningful consequences is so hard.  I don't like taking away the electronics every time she does something or breaks a rule because it doesn't always fit the crime.  I want the consequences to be meaningful and relevant but I'm just not always so quick to come up with a good consequence.  And, if I'm really ticked, I don't think logically because I'm pissed.

And some parents follow the ignore it if it's not a big deal parenting tract.  I tried that for about 11 years and I don't think that worked for us.  Not only do I have a strong willed, opinionated tween.  I have a kid who naturally pushes boundaries.  What's hers is hers, what's mine is hers and what's everyone else's might be hers if she can pull it off without you noticing. 

Today, while I took a recovery nap after working a night shift, she elected to wear a pair of my shoes ...to do what I don't have a clue.  (Seemingly, not a big deal, right?  Except, we've been down this road a FEW times now.)  All I know is that they were wet and not where I had them last.  When I asked her about the shoes, she didn't have a clue why they were wet and yes, I wore them, so?!

During the same recovery nap, she also elected to play with my phone.  Now, she has her own smart phone that is just as fast and advanced as mine.  Mine just happens to have a nifty stylus that makes neat pictures, which she doesn't have.  Again, we've been down this road.  That's my phone.  I  don't want you to break it or drop it or put crap apps on it.  It's mine.  Can I have something of my own?  My little boundary pusher....  I finally become awake and privy to what is going on and demand my phone back.  Off on her merry way she goes.  When I examine my phone.  Not only is my battery depleted but there are several apps that I didn't download.  WTF?  Grrrrrrr.

Now, I am torqued.  I need to reestablish boundaries, here.  These boundary violations continue to happen and I don't seem to be making a dent in the fact that you can't just do what you want, when you want to.  Consequences....what to do, what to do??

This is the part of parenting that has always plagued me.  I'm usually responding out of emotion, in the heat of the moment.  Today, I try something a little different.  Now, mind you, she's in her room supposed to be doing a weekly summer review on the computer and I suspect she isn't.  So, I check on her and to my surprise, she IS doing what she is supposed to be doing.  I tell her to come see me when she has completed her 30 minutes of computer time.  Jackpot!  Time to come up with a consequence!  Now the hard part.  I could just take away the electronics.... But that is so easy and obviously ineffective.

I'm gonna go where the violation started.  She wore my shoes with my explicit instructions not to.   You wear my shoes, I take all of yours.  Yep.  Bring me every pair of shoes that you own and you can ask permission for the next 24 hours if you need to wear a pair of shoes.  What about my cleats for softball tonight?  You can ask permission.   Further, you can bring me your phone and it is now my phone until bedtime.  (The real consequence here comes later.)  She's sufficiently mad and storms off to her room.  I hear her rant and rave in her room.  (Usually a trigger of emotion for me.  Instead of reacting, I write this blog post. Humm!)

About 20 minutes goes by and no shoes or phone.  Errrr, what?  Oh my little boundary pusher!!  I go to her room and she is pouting on her bed.  I said bring ALL  of your shoes to me.  When I tell you to do something, you do it!  Door closes, ranting and raving ensue.  Another 10 minutes pass.  Okay, I'm feeling the blood boiling a bit.  I have to coach myself to not react.  Pursue consequence!  I attempt to open the door and tween is sitting there "gathering shoes".  Of course, it is like hunting pygmy ants in the Amazon looking for shoes in  her messy room.  Enters fuming tween with armful of shoes.  Second trip, a few more deposited.  And the phone, I say.  I'M GETTING IT!  Deep breath for me.  Don't react.  She brings the phone and I calmly advise her that the phone is now mine for 24 hours due to her attitude and prolonged execution of the consequences.

I might make it through this episode.  It then occurs to me that taking away her phone for using mine may not thoroughly convey the issue of ownership.  I decide that the phone shall be wiped of it's app content.  Probably needs to happen anyway, with all of the crap apps that she puts on there.  The lesson (as I see it) you use something that doesn't belong to you and add things when it's not yours to add, you get to experience someone disrupting YOUR stuff.  That's the only thing I could come up with to convey the lessons here.

Now, I am versed in "devil's advocate" language and I can already hear the opposing banter.  Aren't I just doing what she did to me by taking the phone and wiping away all of the apps?  Is that part really necessary?  Isn't taking the phone (and her shoes for that matter) enough?  Let's look at this a little closer.  I'm pretty obvious with the rules and kind of a repeat reminder.  She's old enough to "hear" what I tell her; she CHOOSES not to follow the rules.  I have to step up the game and be more consistent as a parent.  Result:  weird but hopefully effect consequences. 

If you happen to know me, you may already know that I have taken away her clothing wardrobe in the past for her repeatedly not putting her CLEAN clothes away and dumping the clean laundry onto her floor to intermingle with dirty laundry.  Sometimes, you gotta be creative.

So, we'll see how these consequences shake out.  I don't know.  All I can hope for is that my thoroughly obstinate, strong willed child learns to use her powers for good and realizes there are boundaries for behavior.  I question my efforts and effectiveness daily, sometimes to tears.  If parenting were easy and these lessons learned readily, there would be a lot less war and crime.  But, it's not easy; it takes effort and some level of insanity and creativity.  I hope that I am doing it at least adequately.  We'll see as this journey called life goes.

What I learned about the journey of being foster parents.

So, the following blog was written over 2 years ago.  I have a bad habit of writing but not publishing what I've written.  I've taken to working on a blog more these days and spent some time reading unpublished blogs.  I liked this one because it is so true.  The intensity of my emotions at that time are evident, if not relavent even now. 

However, life is a huge mystery and has interesting twists and turns, here and there.  And our experience with fostercare is no different.  As far as we were concerned, we were done in June 2013.  Oh, but wait!  Come the following February, we weren't done....I'll leave that story for another blog.  In the meantime, I still find the following blog to be true.

                                                                    *******************************************************

I think the purpose of all journey's in life are to learn; to be educated in things of which we do not know.  Over the past year, we have certainly gotten a crash course education in being foster parents.  We've learned a whole lot about the foster care system, about ourselves and our daughter and about taking care of others.  We decided, while an admirable commitment, being foster parents was not in the long term plan for us.

Long story short, we ended our relationship with the foster system and transitioned our foster child to the home that his sister was already residing.  While I had feelings of guilt and some grief, I knew that the decision was the right one for us and eventually for the child.  

Since the departure of our last foster child, I have had some time to review our journey.  Boy, was it a learning experience!  I thought I had a handle on what the experience was going to be like; I tried to be informed of the process.  But it wasn't until we were knee deep in foster parenting did I recognize that what you learn in the MAPP class and read on the internet scratches only the surface of what this journey can be like, is like.  And I know, KNOW that our experience was short and pretty tame in comparison to many others.  But all the same, it was an eye opener.  And if my musings illuminate the experience of fostering in any way for you, then I am happy to have shared. 

So here is just a drop in the bucket of what we learned about the journey of being foster parents.

What I learned about the foster care system...

1. The foster care system is broken.  It is critically flawed and fatally wounded.  It is inadequately manned and poorly managed.  It is a bureaucracy.  You are probably saying, "Well, duh!  Everyone knows the foster system is messed up."  I'm telling you that the system fails as much as it succeeds and it's successes are costly.  Kids are in the system for years at a time; they wait months upon months for decisions that will impact their entire lives, all the while not knowing what will happen to them.  Case workers and social workers are under paid and over stretched and the turnover is ghastly.  Our first foster child had 3 case managers in a 9 week time frame.  How's that for consistent care.

2. Case workers are used car salespeople.  This isn't a put down as much as a reality check.  Sometimes they don't have the full story or all of the information for you as the oncoming foster parent to make an informed decision, and sometimes they just don't share all of the information that they have on hand.  While they may want to help you meet your needs and goals with foster care, their primary goal is to get that kid placed in your home, ASAP.

3. Not all systems have an advocate for the foster family.  Luckily, Kansas has family service workers for the foster family.  If you get a good one, which we did, you have a support system and an advocate.  You have a sounding board and a team player.  If you don't have an FSC, then you are swimming in the big sea alone. We wouldn't have lasted as long as we did without our FSC (which, we had two in a 11 month period.  Had we stayed in, we were getting a new one.  Ah, consistency.)

4.  We like to believe that the system was built with the child in mind, providing the safest and best care for that child.  The truth is, because the foster system is a bureaucracy, there is corruption and favoritism.  If you are an accused parent and you have a friend who has some political pull, you can get your kid back in no time flat, whether that's best for the child or not.  Seen it.  Don't want to go through the pesky protocols in place to protect and ensure safety, call up your political heavy weight and you get your kid back with a 12 hour notice to the foster family.  Been there, done that.  Real bull shit.

5.  There are families who provide foster care as a career.  There are families providing foster care with the hopes of building their family and providing love to a kiddo in need.  There are families providing foster care trying to make a buck.  If you are in foster care or getting in foster care to build your family, be forewarned!  You can do that through foster care, but you must have a firm grasp on your heart.  See number 2.  Most often, they don't know the whole story for these kids or know all of the players.  Sometimes a family member comes out of the woodwork and wants to provide care if parental rights have been severed when you were told there weren't any family options for the kids.  Heart breaking.  Sometimes, you take a child who's parent seems to not get the big picture and you feel certain that no judge in the land would send that kid back home to that parent; then, they are sent back home.  Sometimes, like I said before, you just aren't told everything and you don't have the full agenda that the system has.  Sad but true.

The Bumpy Part of the Journey

I don't know if it's the persistent rain, "April Showers Bring May Flowers" or if I just am at a low emotional time or what.  I have been plagued with feeling tired and low and my energy level is in the shitter.  I am feeling overwhelmed and grumpy, sad and frustrated.  Joy is hard to find right now. 

There was a time in my life when this episodic depression was inescapable and sometimes too difficult to handle.  Thanks to maturity and wisdom (and the power of medication), congnitively, I know that this will pass.  I know from experience that this down in the dumps feeling will pass, just as the spring showers will subside to bring flowers and greenness.  I will wake up some morning and feel refreshed and energized; I'll be chipper and joyful.  It will come.  I will get there. 

Right now, though, I am on a bumpy part of life's journey.  It's a gravel road with some pot holes and that grated pile of rock that keeps pulling your wheels off the path (only country folk will understand that reference.)  There's a washout crater running along side my road that keeps making the ride bumpy as hell.  I feel guilty for putting "my car" through this rough road, but it's the only path available to get back on the journey.  I must persist and slow the car down to keep safe and stay on track.  I have to focus and be patient, diligently hanging on to the familiar stearing wheel, having faith in my vehicle, myself.

I just have to remind myself that I don't have do this thing called life perfectly.  I'm imperfect in my humanness and mistakes are a given.  I won't always be the attentive parent that I think I should be. I won't always make the best decisions or be on time.  I won't always respond perfectly or say the right words.  I won't always have the patience and I certainly won't always keep on the path.  But, it's a journey.  It's a process.  In that process, things change and evolve.  What I think I know now, what I think I can do now can change.  And I don't always have to be brave about it.  I don't always have to put on a front.  I can be human. 

This is my life and it's a journey.....every single minute of every single day...

Commitment Renewal

It appears that spring has finally found us here in the midwest.  The weather around here is pretty bipolar and we've had unusually late episodes of inches of snow.  It really is pretty....the first 12 inches.  After repeating that on three seperate occasions, snow is just a four letter word.  A potty word.  I don't want to see it any more!  Take a deep breath, Jen.  There's no snow in the forcast....it's okay. 

I think, no, I know the worst part of so much snow is that it really does reek havic on plans for regaining activity after a long winter.  It's been a long winter around here.  I have definitely not done my best to keep active and to keep my metabolism up so that I can continue to lose weight after my surgery.  Actually, I've done a piss poor job of keeping active.  And it shows!!  While I momentously made it to 45 lbs of weight loss after only 5 months post sleeve gastrectomy, I have managed to invite 7 lbs back on.  "Hey there fat cells! Welcome back.  You all are familiar with the territory around here.  You are safe here cuz you know this chick won't be exercising any time soon....".  Um. Yeah.  I'm not real happy to admit that I have gained a little weight back.  I'm horrified, actually. 

But that is okay.  Being horrified is okay.  It's actually a good thing.  It is a checks and balance system.  I'm horrified that I gained 7 lbs back when I imagine myself eating those little meals that my tiny little tummy can only consume.  The horror is really that I may be eating little meals, but I'm also eating little snacks, a little here and a little there.  Chocolate covered pretzel here, crackers and cheese there, Twix bar over here.....  The very bad habits that got me in the place that I pursued weight loss surgery in the first place.

Now let me tell you, seekers of the bariatric surgery.  Bariatric surgery is not a cure.  Let me repeat this to you again.  Bariatric surgery IS NOT A CURE!!  Surgery is not a fix.  It won't make you skinny and it sure as hell won't fix the brain up in your noggin that got you to the place of obesity.  This is a tool.  Surgery is a tool.  It is Weight Watchers, it is the tredmill that poses as your laundry bin, it is the running shoes that lay in the middle of the hall way, it is the tiny plate that you use to eat from, it is the buddy system between you and your co worker.  Surgery is just, and I mean 'only' a part of the process.  Surgery is only a piece of the puzzle. 

I had heard this retoric the first time I was considering bariatric surgery.  "Surgery is simply a tool."  Blah, blah, I thought.  It's going to make me skinny!  I want the surgery! It's gonna fix me!!  But, as time passed and I examined further into the process, I started to see that some of the things that I meant to hold tight to even after surgery were likely not going to be helpful to my success.  And then I started to ask the questions that I didn't want to ask nor wanted to answer.  Am I willing to give up, forever, finally, some things that are not good for me in order to commit to finding health and longevity?  And the real truth is, at the time, a couple of years back, I wasn't ready to give those things up.  I wasn't willing to give those things up.  

Alas, I did a good bit of soul searching and I found that place in my psyche that made more sense than Dr. Pepper.  It said that I really love my life.  I really love my husband and my beautiful daughter.  And I want to be around for as long as I can to see and be with them.  We have a lot of things to do in this old life and if I continue to live the way I am living, I won't be here long enough to do those things.  And while I am here, I'll be miserable and unhealthy.  Damn it, that's not what I want.  So I made that decision to commit to a surgical procedure that reduced the size of my stomach from the size of a deflated football to the size of a yogurt cup.  I made the commitment to my family that I would make changes and do the things that I needed to do to change my risk factors and live a longer, healthier life. And so I did.

You all know about commitment, though.  You all know how tough it is to commit to getting up when the alarm goes off, THE FIRST TIME.  You know how tough the commitment to putting away the pack of cigarettes, getting out of bed early to exercise, taking only one serving, yelling less at the kids, reading more books at bedtime with the kids, spending more quality time with the hubs, saying thank you every time, keeping your middle finger below the level of the dash as you drive...you ALL know the challenges of making commitments, making tough promises.  It's hard stuff.  And I believe it is human nature to not be so great at commitments.  There's so many temptations, so many excuses, so little time.  It's so hard!

So the little piece of wisdom, of insight that I have today is this:  Every day is a new day and every new day is a chance to recommit to what is important to you.  Today, with a little help, I'm renewing my commitment to my health and well being.  And thanks to a good friend in the same boat, I am recommiting to myself.  As long as you draw breath, it is never too late to try again.