I was so Hard to Please

I wonder what you thought when you read this title.  "Is this another self exploration?  A deep revealing portrait of her murky past?"  Or maybe you think it's a spoof because, in reality, I'm really not difficult to please and am easily impressed.  Unless you're married to me....then yes, I'm hard to please.

Pleasure is directly correlated to expectation.  In truth, I expect very little.  I've had a lot of adversity in my life and have learned to never, never, never rely on things to be given or returned or earned easily. Life's a struggle, right?  Usually, I accept that.  However, even with my cynical nature and full acceptance that most people are total a*holes, and that the worst that can happen will happen, I have found this year, this winter, to be so disappointing. And it's only January 14th.  Despite the glorious sunrises we've had these last few days, I look around at a hazy shade of winter.

This winter was so promising.  I had a sleepover for Mason's 6th birthday at our local Hampton Inn.  She invited 2 friends to come along for swimming, celebration and sleeping.  I had hoped it would be the best night of Mason's life since she has no memory of staying in a hotel before and was so excited about it.  It did not turn out to be all I hoped it would be. One girl chewed a hole in her flotation ring which required all of us to get out of the pool, another fell out of bed which was incredibly frightening, and the room was a bit too small for 3 girls to play in.  An event like this really requires a suite with room to move around.  You may think these glitches are not a big deal, but trust me, to 4-6 year old girls, these things are upsetting.

But with the disappointment, there was also a lot of fun.  The girls made crafts, sang along with a karaoke machine one of her guests gave her, ate lots of junk food, told jokes, jumped from one bed to the other (a million times) and laughed.  Little girl laughter is pretty special.  In case you are wondering, I also learned that little girls are just as gross as little boys.  There was a lot of gas passing and talk about gas passing and giggling about gas passing.  The difference is girls outgrow this and boys NEVER do.

Then Christmas came.  My kids had a wonderful Christmas. It was the first Christmas morning that the boys, now 3 years old, really participated in opening presents.  There was so much laughter. My dad spent Christmas morning with us for the first time since 1999.  That year was sad.  My mom had leukemia and wasn't doing well. The hospital allowed her to come home for a couple days.  I still have pictures from that day, but can't bare to look at them.  She looked so sick and my sister was so healthy.  It's heartbreaking now to remember them both that way. A piece of me still lives in Christmas 1999 and the memory haunts me a bit.

Back to 2013....The kids slept in Christmas morning.  We crawled out of bed around 9am. It was great.  The wrapping paper frenzy began shortly after.  Followed by brunch.  And then everyone left.  My dad returned to his town.  My mother went to visit my sister in rehab.  John left for work.  The kids enjoyed playing with their new toys but asked (about a million times) why they weren't going to their paternal grandparents that day.  The technical answer (the one that gets me off the hook): our car had broken down and John had the van.  I physically couldn't get the kids to their home.  The real answer: I'd rather eat glass than spend one minute with my mother in law.  I spent 14 Christmases with those horrible people.  It wasn't happening this year. Not after the hell the mother in law put me through.  I just didn't have it in me.

Christmas passed and we planned to celebrate New Year's Eve at the First Night celebration in our town.  Music, food, children's programming, fireworks...what could go wrong?!  It was the first year since who-knows-when that John did not have to work New Year's Eve.  I was looking forward to hearing a piano and organ concert and taking the kids to a magic show.  However, around 5:30pm, I became so ill I could barely move.  I was in bed by 6pm.  I listened to the fireworks from my bed and my very first New Year's kiss in years was on the top of my head. It's better than nothing, I suppose,  but I had high expectations.  Lesson learned.

Christmas break was extra long.  A cold spell kept the kids home for a few extra days.  I was very excited for them to go back.  They needed a break from each other and I needed some time for myself.  I can't get anything done when I spend my days stopping fights, finding crafts and other forms of entertainment, and kissing boo boos.   Or that could be an excuse.  It's January 14th and my Christmas tree is still up. Apparently,  I don't get much done when they're back at school either.  (Although, I didn't put the tree up OR decorate it this year so maybe it's not my problem.  Get on it, John.)

Fast forward to January 11th.  I got sick again.  Another stomach virus.  This one hit me hard, made me weak, and left me begging for Spring. AND the icing on my sour, rotten cake:  someone I thought would never upset me is breaking my heart.

So here I am, January 14, 2014 and I can't wait for winter to get the hell over with.  High expectations.  That's what I had.  Next winter, I will expect nothing but doom and gloom and feel quite pleased when it's over.  (As it turns out, this post is a 1011 word pity party.)

Here's some pics to make up for that.

On our way to Wildlights!  

The best pic I could get of the 4 of them at the Columbus Zoo.  I don't know how photographers do it!

John and Drea.  She's so easy to have around.

At the hotel sleepover.  The 3 cutest girls I know.  

Christmas morning:  Ringo got trapped in all the new toys and clothes. 

I bought all 3 kids, even the boys, princess shoes for Christmas.  They love them. This is also the ONLY picture I got with all 3 of them.  How sad.

If you leave the kids alone with Grandma, you will end up with slime on the ceiling.  Does anyone know how to get slime off paint? 

Open Up Your Mouth and Feed It

Warning!  Warning!  Obligatory food post!  I'm trying to become a better blogger.  I read blogs.  Lots of blogs.  One thing they all have in common is, from time to time, each author shares a food post.  How do you become better?  Mimic the experts. Writing about dinner is out of character for me.  However, I probably spend more time focused on food, specifically how to stretch my food dollar to feed this family of 5, than I do any other motherly duty.

Being a survival mom means I do what it takes to get through a day.  It doesn't mean that I cater to every want my children have.  One of my strictest rules is that I will not cook multiple entrees at each meal to satisfy everyone.  I've heard of mothers doing this. What? WHAT?!!! Who has time for that?  Like our sweet technological, everything-at-your-fingertips, society isn't making it nearly impossible to raise a bunch of entitled brats already. Therefore, this mama builds (I like that term.  My dear friend, Celia, uses it.) one meal and my kids know they better eat it. 

My favorite holidays are New Year's Day and St. Patrick's Day.  Maybe I like them so much because my favorite meals are traditionally served on those days.  I love pork and sauerkraut.  Love, love, love.  We had to delay our traditional meal this year because I was ill and needed a few days to handle the smell of it.  Most people bake a pork roast and surround it with sauerkraut (often making the mistake of putting brown sugar in their kraut) and let it roast in the oven or slow cooker for hours.  It's delicious, but when every dollar counts,  a pork roast may not be in the budget.  Here is what I do.

I purchase bone-in pork chop and hope to find a super good deal.  Last week, I purchased a 1.3lb package of chops for $2.86 at Aldi.  I found a large can of sauerkraut for $.98 at our local IGA.  I cut the bones out of the chops and cubed the meat.  In a 3 quart casserole dish, I put the cubed meat in a pile in the middle of the dish.  Next, I chopped one apple and 1/3 of a fresh onion and arranged the pieces around the pork.  After rinsing and draining the sauerkraut, I smothered the entire dish in it.  Finally, I poured a 12 oz. can of light beer, I'd been saving to use for cooking, over the entire entree and covered the dish.  I cooked it in a 400 degree oven for about 2 hours.

Meanwhile, I also peeled, chopped and boiled 1/3 of a 10lb bag of potatoes. We enjoy mashed potatoes with our pork&kraut. I purchased the entire 10lb bag at Aldi for $1.49! I paired the meal with green beans, canned from our garden, and fresh fruit we already had in the fridge.

The total cost of our meal was about $4.34.  It made enough to feed the 5 of us AND have enough left over for John to take pack for lunch at work.  I think $4.34 is beyond awesome.

Shopping smart, by using coupons and taking advantage of Aldi prices, and finding cheaper entree alternatives help me meet our weekly $75 budget (which includes paper products, cat food/litter, and toiletries) and I'm often under it.

Here's a pic of my pork and sauerkraut.  It doesn't look particularly special, but it was so, so delicious. Yes, I draped the background with flannel.  Doesn't this seem like a flannel-esq meal?  It's warm, filling, and down-home comforting just like flannel.

How on Earth Did I Get so Jaded?

You may not realize, but I am a little cynical (and a wee-bit sarcastic.) It's genetic and possibly one of my finer qualities. Jaded, even. Merriam-Webster defines jaded as "1) fatigued by overwork; exhausted  or 2) made dull, apathetic, or cynical by experience."  The Urban Dictionary has 4 pages of various definitions for jaded.

Jaded.  I'm certainly exhausted.  And overworked. Or maybe I'm just overly stressed. If you've been following my blog, then you know the second definition is dead on. Either way, I accept that I'm jaded.

Cynical people rarely make resolutions. We believe no one ever keeps them and are acutely aware of our own limitations.  However, in these last few months, I've experimented with stepping out of my comfort zones, trying new things, allowing myself to be vulnerable and risking failure. I feel anxiety creeping in as a reveal not one, but 12 resolutions. TWELVE!!!  A runaway train.

I, April, a survival mom (with some issues) hereby resolve to:

1.   Read a book, for personal entertainment, every week.
2.   Become more involved in the good works of my church.
3.   Rid my house (or at least one room) of all clutter.
4.   Learn how to sew.
5.   Accept compliments more graciously.  (Seriously, it feels weird to me.)
6.   Give more praise to my children.
7.   Have one-on-one days with each of my kids at least twice in the new year.
8.   Find more happy things to blog about. (Although my dark posts are far better read.)
9.   Remember the person I used to be and try to see the world through her "glass-half-full eyes" again.
10. Learn as much as I can about Common Core, and do so with an open mind.  (Because honestly, I feel like, "What's the point.  It's just going to change in a few years.  And that attitude doesn't lead to jobs.)
11. Wake up every morning and thank God for the blessings I have in my life (even when they've kept me up most of the night.)
12.  Do whatever it takes to forgive my sister. (This may be a 2, 3 or 10 year resolution, but I'm going to try.)

Whew, I have a lot of work ahead of me.  I look forward to sharing 2014 with you.  Happy New Year, readers.  May you be blessed throughout the year.

(Psst...what are your resolutions?)

A Sullen Riot Penetrating Through Her Mind

Facebook and other social media outlets are full of surveys and "things you don't know about me" posts and blah, blah, blah.  I recently completed one about 10 books that affected me in some way.  I'm a reader.  Limiting my list to 10 books was nearly impossible.  It took hours to complete.  I kept changing the books on my list.  I starting thinking about all those other lists I've not filled out.  I'm inspired.  Here it is.  My great reveal.  15 random "me" things.  If you currently have a positive opinion of me, you may not want to read this.  If not, well, you may find more reasons to hate me.

Music saved my life.  I was headed toward a future filled with trouble.  I had no guidance.  My parents were a presence in my life, but were lousy parents.  I didn't know God.  I doubted his existence.  In high school, my friend, Tricia, invited me to attend her church.  I was dying to get away from my mother, even if only for an hour, so I went.  The minister was wonderful.  I enjoyed his messages and appreciated the time he devoted to helping me learn who God is. I gave my daughter the middle name "Grace" because it was his last name.  Although I thought he, his wife, and the congregation were wonderful people, it was the music that kept me going back every week.  Hymns spoke to me.  I found words inside hymnals I couldn't find in myself.  Since then, every good thing in my life has come from this love of music.  I met my husband while singing with the All-Ohio State Fair Youth Choir.  He gave me purpose and 3 beautiful children.  I sing in our church choir and feel called to serve the Lord in that capacity.  My greatest pleasure is the 2-3 hours I spend in Community Choir every Sunday. The commitment is difficult to keep now that I have children, but I can't accept not being a part of it.  Music. Saved. Me.

I'm a reformed neat freak. I have obsessive compulsive disorder.  I was a constant organizer.  I kept my compact discs in alphabetical order. I organized my bookshelves by genre and authors' last names.  I had 3 closets in my bedroom.  One was for shirts and dresses, one for pants and jeans, and the other for coats, shoes and miscellaneous.  Inside my shirt closet, I organized the shirts by type: short sleeve, long sleeve, dressy.  And then by color.  I did this with every closet and nearly everything I owned.  Since having children, I have completely abandoned the need for organization. However, ocd is still present.  It manifests as a germ phobia.  I can't touch restaurant menus or condiment bottles. I won't eat ANYTHING a child has made. But, hey, my house is a cluttered shit-hole and I can live with that.

I really dislike weird-ass names people choose for their children.  I understand the desire to be unique. I named my DAUGHTER "Mason" which likely guarantees no other girl in her school will have the same name, but it is normal enough to easily pronounce and find on kid things.  Kids love having their names on shit. Pencils, cups, you-name-it.  We can still provide those for her.  I roll my eyes and think, "your parents are morons" when I see twins named "Heaven" and "Nevaeh."  I detest the creation of new names by putting together letters from each of the parents' names. John and I could have done that.  "Joap" could have really caught on, but we chose not to because it's STUPID.

I find it hard to identify my sexuality.  I don't consider myself straight.  I'm not straight, but I'm not gay, bisexual or asexual either.  When you love someone, when you get lucky enough to have that "magic" moment where you realize you can't live without that person, it doesn't matter what sex s/he happens to be.  I truly believe, had John been a girl, I would have fallen head over heals for her.  He was the most amazing, loving, kind person I had ever encountered.  I feel extremely lucky that he was a boy and we were able to share our love without adversity. (Side note:  I'm not exactly sure what happened to that amazing, loving, kind person.  He's been replaced with someone much grumpier.)

I'm still learning how to love.  Children are not born knowing how to love.  Love is NOT human nature.  We are a ruthless, wild breed capable of extreme selfishness.  I was not taught how to love others.  My father was loving toward us, but he was also very needy.  He craved attention and approval.  My mother grew up with an abusive father and psycho-bitch stepmother.  She had no idea how to love anyone, not even herself. She "loved" me by controlling me and treated me like property.  I find teaching love, empathy and respect to be the most difficult parental duty I have.  I am not equipped with the skills necessary for teaching them, but I'm trying.

I was 28 years old before I realized only my opinion matters.  My father taught me to desire acceptance and praise.  My mother, sure as Hell, never gave either to me.  I began to look for it in other people.  I was a model student in school.  I tried to get perfect grades just to see a "well done" written on the top of my paper.  I followed the advice of my teachers without ever thinking about whether it was right for me.  I became sexually active at a young age. I craved approval. This need cost me 3 years of my life in law school and a student loan debt I will spend nearly an eternity paying back.  It wasn't until I became a mother that I let go of caring about what others thought and started to value my own opinions for my future.  I followed my heart and became a teacher....the career I always wanted but pushed away because an adviser thought I was more suited to be a lawyer.  I was never meant to be a lawyer.

I once dearly loved my mother-in-law;  now, just the thought of her makes my blood boil.  When I met John, I thought he was so lucky to have a mom like her.  She was so nice to him, which was completely foreign to me.  She really made me feel welcomed in their home.  All of John's friends loved her.  After we married and moved away, everything changed.  She has hurt me more than anyone ever has..which I never thought was possible.  And I hate her.  I hate her.   I'm not proud of that, but it's where my heart is.  I'm working toward indifference.

I have never successfully lost more than 40 pounds....I'm very good at regaining weight. Perhaps that's my superpower. Following our parents' divorce, my sister and I gained tons of weight.  I was a fat kid and now a fat adult.  I have dieted, exercised, taken diet pills, joined Curves, joined Weight Watchers and fallen for every televised weight loss program there is.  Sure, things go well at first and I lose weight.  I usually lose around 40 pounds and then plateau.  After months at the same weight, I get discouraged and quit...and regain all I lost plus more.  I'm the heaviest I've ever been as an adult.  This will change in 2014.  I'll blog about that when the time is right.

I am the most perceptive person I know.  I read people.  When friends of ours were having an affair, I knew it before they were caught.  I warned them how ugly their lives were about to become.  I have countless examples of knowing what is happening without being told.  Body language says so much.  And now, with the digital age, I think people are even easier to read.  We're losing the ability to communicate face to face which is having a positive effect on aptitude to lie.  People just aren't as good as it as they once were.

I enjoy other people's drama.  I even have a Facebook friend that I'm not close to and don't really care for, but I keep her because she periodically posts long rants.  There is no soapbox too big for her jump on.  I LOVE THAT! While it's ridiculously annoying, it's equally entertaining.

All my life, I have wished to be more like my cousin, Chad.  As a child, I thought he was freaking amazing. He is still ultra-cool, plays the guitar, sings well and has a the best set of friends a person could wish for. I recently learned that he reads my blog.  He called one of my posts, "good writing."  Oh my.  There is NOT a word in existence that describes what that means to me.

My blog post titles are lyrics from songs I really like.  Some of them have meaning to me.  Some are guilty pleasures. Some, like this , feel almost like they were written for me.

There is a rage inside me that sometimes frightens me.  I harbor anger.  I need time and space to cool off when I've hit my limit.  If at home, I will retreat to my bed for an hour or two.  I'm not violent, but if you piss me off you better be prepared for a pure, unadulterated bitchathon. John's grandma once said that she took everything that upset her to the Lord.  She never discussed it with others or made it public.  She gave it to Him.  That's classy, right.  I sometimes wish I was capable of that, but if I was what the Hell would I blog about?

I love being a substitute teacher.  Seriously, it's a great gig.  I choose when I work.  If my kids are sick, I can stay home.  It's the perfect job for a SAHM returning to the work force. Unfortunately, it doesn't put even a slight dent in that student loan debt I reference above.  Substitute teachers are paid less for a day's work than grill cooks at McD's. If the pay was better, I would sub forever!

I have no idea where I will take this blog.  I started it hoping to use it to show the world how I, a mother of 3 small children, managed to keep it together with little support at home.  It's become something far different.  I use it like therapy.  It's a place where I can put everything that consumes me: a home for those overwhelming feelings I don't have compartments for. Love, rage, sadness, anger, happiness...I leave them all here.  I love that people read my words, but I don't write for an audience.  My blog is a purely self-centered mode of release.  I use it to void myself of things that bring me anxiety.

Wow.  It's nearly 3am as I finish this. I'm a little surprised at the time and thought I put into it.  That wasn't my intention.  It feels good, though. Somehow, once again, I have purged myself of emotion I can't bare to keep. I feel renewed. And tired.

But Maybe I'm Crazy....Probably

My disdain for Time Warner is fairly well known.  There's a planet in my mind where all of Time Warner is housed.  It's wrapped tight with dynamite and I hold the detonator.  It's a beautiful image. I see me standing at the detonator box waiting for the perfect time to push it down and blow that planet straight to Hell.  It all started with a mistaken disconnection that took an entire week to resolve.  Somewhere, in Time Warner's digital recorders, there are telephone conversations evidencing the rage that will keep me from ever running for public office.  When the a-holes tried to raise my rate this year, I called and demanded my old rate. When the CSR lied to me about the best possible rate, I demanded a lower rate.  With each, "I'm sorry ma'am, I can't do that," I requested to speak with someone who could.  This went on for nearly two hours.  But at the end of the marathon, I'm now paying the introductory price offered to new customers. I was THAT persistent.  Crazy?  Possibly.

I wish I could say my anger stops at Time Warner.  It doesn't.  In fact, I harbor feelings of negativity toward all utilities. I'll put it out there.  I'm not ashamed.  I'M CHEAP.  I hate to pay outrageous fees for things that should, in my opinion, cost far less than they do.  I am not loyal to any one company or brand.  If you offer me the same or similar service at a lesser price, I will drag my happy ass up and contract with another company. I have even (unsuccessfully) tried to negotiate gas and electric prices.

Usually, it is worth it.  We recently dropped Verizon and switched to Straight Talk.  Our Verizon bill was $130/month for 2 lines...shared 700 minutes, unlimited texting and NO DATA.  Rip off?  You bet it was.  With Straight Talk, we have smart phones and pay $90 per month for unlimited everything.  John and I love our new phones.  Who knew having Pandora on your phone would be so awesome? (All of you with smart phones knew, right?)

I dropped cable and purchased Netflix, Hulu and Amazon Prime.  We were paying $130/month to Time Warner for Digital Cable and internet.  We now pay less than $40/month for internet and   $236.42 per YEAR for television.  Amazon gave me a 50% discount on Prime.  Yay!  Our total savings is over $80/month.

Our most recent switch is car and homeowner insurance.  The switch from State Farm to Farmers is saving us more than $500 per year.  After a 14 year relationship with State Farm, wherein we had few claims, we grew tired of being gouged monthly for little service in return. (This is the part where I tell you how disgusted I am with our old agent.)

What does it take to sell insurance?  Sure, it requires a test and a licensure and all the responsibility that comes with it.  But it doesn't really require hard work.  So, what do agents do with YOUR hard earned money?  Our previous agent doesn't do anything that I am aware of.  He isn't available early morning or evening.  Forget weekends.  His office completely closes from Noon until 1pm for lunch, even though he has an employee and they could easily alternate lunches to remain open.  If the weather is nice, you'll find him on the golf course.  Hell, he literally lives on the golf course.  His secretary fields all phone calls, and, based on my observations, runs the business. Every change we've ever made happened through her.  Fourteen years of service and I'm sure the "agent" hasn't put in 1 total hour of work for us.  I LOOOOAAAATHHHHE his secretary.  It makes me grumpy to even think of calling their office because I know I will have to talk to her.  However, she deserves some credit because, in my opinion, she's the only one working for his State Farm customers.

I recently spoke with the State Farm agent about life insurance.  We reevaluated our needs and John cancelled a small whole-life policy.  I'm educated and aware of a cash value for the policy. When the policy was cancelled, our State Farm agent did not have the decency to make John aware of the cash value, counsel him regarding it, or send him a check.  Months after it cancelled, I called asking where the money was.  He put me off, told me I was making a mistake, and made every attempt to persuade me to reinstate the policy. Why?  I told him repeatedly that we wanted the money.  I specifically said that I wasn't calling for advice, I just wanted to know where the money was.  He evaded my questions until he could stall no longer and then, with irritation, said, "Yeah.  There's about a thousand there."  Why did he give me the runaround?  Because he earns a commission off our money.  State Farm is not only an insurance company, it's a bank.  As our agent, he was a fiduciary for our money and he purposefully neglected that duty.  After that conversation, I knew it was time to move to another company.

So, I called Farmers.  We were offered more discounts than I expected.  The agents provided us with multiple packages and rates.  They really tried to help us decide our needs. Their advice was excellent and the best part:  THEY MET WITH ME ON SUNDAYS.  Sunday!!! Our old State Farm agent probably hasn't worked on Sunday in 30 years. But my husband, the man who paid the bill the last 14 years, works twice as many Sundays per year than he gets off.

Perhaps I am a little difficult to please.  A bit demanding at times.  Ok, I'm a pain in the ass. I know it.  But there is something incredibly wrong with our class structure.  I point out our insurance agent because he's local and easy to bitch about. I can make presumptions of what he does with his time based on what I've personally witnessed. And, compared to large corporations, the insurance man is small change. The bigger problem happens everywhere.  The guy who physically works the hardest enjoys the least time off and the least pay.  Meanwhile, his check is sliced thin to pay for service from someone else who does very little in comparison.  It's not right.

I'm not saying John doesn't earn enough.  I cannot complain about his pay.  His wage is decent and the benefits are incredibly generous. However, he sacrifices so much time with us just to keep us out of the poor house.  You won't find him on the golf course.  He doesn't get to close up shop halfway through the day for an hour.  He doesn't have 9am to Noon and 1pm to 4pm hours.  He works 8-16 hours per day, alternating afternoon shift with midnight shift, 6 days a week. Every week.  Every holiday.  Every birthday.  Every anniversary.  I can't tell you the last time I kissed him on New Year's Eve.  The only hobby he has is reading, because he can do that on his down time at work.  He no longer hunts, shoots pool, or spends time with his friends. He works harder than anyone I know.  Yet he doesn't live the life our old insurance agent does.  He has never experienced the luxury the CEOs of Time Warner or AEP or Columbia Gas consider normal.  And he never will.

Don't think I feel company heads don't deserve high pay.  I know they handle a lot of pressure and responsibility.  But every single employee beneath them works harder.  For less pay.  All the time.  As I write this, I'm sure you are confused about what I'm feeling.  This isn't an argument for greater pay for John and other workers.  It's a call for fairness.  Dear Cable, Internet, Phone, Electric, Gas, and Insurance provider: CHARGE LESS. Lower your rates.  Don't lower pay for your average employees.  Don't squeeze their benefits.  Cut the salaries of those earning the top 10% of your payroll (including you, CEO) and allow your customers to receive the benefit.  Rates always go up.  How about, for once in our lives, you lower your rates? Try it.

Life is expensive.  Children are expensive.  I've cut out almost every unnecessary thing that I can.  I'm doing all the right things, yet it feels like I'm on a treadmill. Cutting, cutting, cutting. Saving, saving, saving. Not getting anywhere.

Do you understand?  Do you feel a pinch that hurts just a bit too much? How do you stay afloat?

To All the Kids with Heroin Eyes. Don't Do It.

When I started this blog, I thought it would be about how I survive parenting 3 small children.  It's quickly transforming as I get comfortable with revealing things about myself I never thought I would.  Perhaps it's a relationship journal? I'm not sure where I'm going to take it, but writing soothes me.  I love having a place to reveal what's inside me. This is the one thing in my life that's mine. All mine.  And today it's about losing my sister.  (To be honest, I never really had one.)

My sister.  We were only 10.5 months apart in age....and we have DIFFERENT biological fathers.  Think about that. She was older. As a mother of twins, I often tell people I had the twin experience without the closeness. We were in the same grade in school and often in the same classes.  We were both really smart, although she was definitely smarter than me.  I got better grades, but only because I cared and was highly motivated by A's.  Nothing motivated her.

Growing up was rough.  We received welfare, lived in a trailer, and we were fat kids.  Our mother, whom suffered mental illness, was hated by our friends, our teachers, and many members of the community. We were far from popular.  You would think those circumstances would cause us to be close, but we never were.

I harbored a lot of resentment for her.  Some things were not her fault.  Our mother preferred her.  She was given things I wasn't.  She was spared the abuse I took.  She had a much easier life than me.  I was made to do things for her or punished if I didn't.  If it was her turn to do chores, I usually did them.  When there was only enough money to send 1 of us on the 8th grade trip to Washington DC, she went.  In junior high, I made the Power of the Pen writing team.  She did not.  Writing was her dream.  She was selected as first alternate.  Our mother forced me to quit the team so she could be on it.  The majority of the negative feelings I have for her prior to adulthood are really not her fault, but they shaped how I reacted to her adult decisions.

When I was 16, I ran away from home.  It was my last attempt to get away from our mother.  I had to leave.  I couldn't live there anymore. I was suffocating.  The police were called.  I was found at my boyfriend's...telling him goodbye.  I was sent to live with my dad.  And my life changed.

But she remained with Mother.  I never thought about how that may have set up her future.  I loved living with Dad.  We got along well.  We both liked keeping our home clean and organized.  I had always shared rooms with my sister. She was the world's biggest slob.  I loved having my own space at Dad's that was free of her clutter and trash.

I worked really hard in high school and it allowed me to have a full scholarship for college.  My sister went to a tech school and failed out.  She blamed it on having to work and live on her own.  She returned home, but, by then, our mother had moved to a 1 bedroom apartment and there was no room for her.  She moved in with our dad....into my old room.  My bed was moved to the spare room which was the size of a closet.  When I visited from college, I was stuffed in that room and my old room was trashed.

I got married while I was in college.  My sister was my maid of honor and, to her credit, she was wonderful.  I thought we could actually have a sisterly relationship.  It didn't last long.  A couple years after I married, she bought a house. Our dad cosigned.  He had also cosigned for a car loan.

After buying her house, she had bariatric surgery.  She looked great!  It helped her gain confidence (and vanity.)  She became obsessed with shopping.  She spent all her money and maxed out credit cards. When she couldn't afford to make more purchases, she stole my social security number and proceeded to open 17 credit accounts in my name.  She didn't pay for what she charged and, when the credit card companies found me a year later, she owed about $25,000.  I should have turned her in and let her go to prison.  But I was 22 years old.  I couldn't even think about doing that.  She offered a less than heartfelt apology and I paid back as much as I could.  Then I was forced into bankruptcy because I couldn't pay it all.  I FILED BANKRUPTCY WHILE IN LAW SCHOOL BECAUSE MY SISTER RIPPED ME OFF.  Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?  Or how terrifying it was to sit before the Ohio State Bar Association's character and fitness committee?  After stealing from me, she defaulted on her car and her house...which screwed our dad too. I'm not sure he got an apology.  But it worked out for her.  She sold her house and made good on the car.  She moved to a cute apartment.  I think she was happy.

Then there came some good years.  She met her husband.  She got a promotion to a great job (which she lied about having a degree to get.) She became successful and she was good at her job.  She was proud of herself and how far she had come and was financially generous with our mother.  I enjoyed her visits.  We were friends.

When she got engaged, I went wedding dress shopping with her.  Dad and I bought her wedding dress.  As her big day approached, she decided the dress we bought wasn't good enough and she got another.   She bragged about the money her in-laws had.  She loved that they spent it on her.  Her wedding was beautiful; a magnificent celebration.

The 5 years after her wedding were a blend of happiness and tragedy.  Her husband was diagnosed with stage 4 esophageal cancer before their wedding.  He underwent surgery to remove part of his esophagus a few days after their wedding.  Their family suffered a lot of deaths and, in 2007, their infant son died at birth. In hindsight, I truly believe this is when she first turned to drugs. She denies it, but I really think she did.  Her husband had been using since the cancer. To be honest, he used drugs his entire adult life, but it was recreational and never out of control.

I don't know how she rebounded from it.  I gave birth to a healthy, beautiful daughter just 10 days after her son died.  She and her husband were so kind to Mason and me.  They held her, loved her, played with her.  And 14 months later, they were blessed with their own daughter.  I was over-the-moon-happy for them and thrilled to have a niece. But, from the moment she took her daughter home, she started giving her away.  I was at home becoming a supermom (I really was a supermom before the twins were born and I entered survival mode) and it appeared she was becoming an uninvolved parent.  It seemed like my niece spent more time with her fraternal grandparents than she did with her parents.  It made me so angry.  Babies are small for such a short time and you never get it back.

My sister justified the grandparent's involvement with the fact that she was a working mother.  Her husband was at home.  He didn't work because the cancer surgery left him in chronic pain.  Between the two of them, my niece should have been raised by her parents.  Thank God she has wonderful grandparents to love her and give her a sense of normalcy.

Before my niece was 3 years old, she saw more drug abuse than any of us should ever be subjected to. I knew it was happening, but couldn't prove it.  Social media like Myspace and Facebook are excellent tools for monitoring the change in an addict.  My sister was once extremely anti-drug.  She posted facts about drug abuse and chemicals used in dangerous substances.  She was as vocal about her contempt for addicts as I am now.  Until she just stopped.  There was a shift and suddenly she felt sympathy and understanding for users.  I knew then that she gave her life away too.  AND I SHOUTED IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS.

I told everyone she was using drugs. She denied it, and denied it, and denied it. Everyone believed her and our mother invented reasons for why I would lie about my sister.  Charity money went missing from her work. She was accused and her job threatened.  I believed then, and still do, that she took it.  Her mother in law paid the money back so she wouldn't lose her job.  She eventually lost her job anyway because, well, that's what happens when you're an addict.

Around Thanksgiving 2010, my dad called and needed help getting his credit report.  Credit card companies had called him because numerous applications for credit had been submitted using his name and social security number....and my sister's address.  We knew it was her.  She tried to lie her way out of it, but identity theft is her modus operandi. I spent hours of my time tracking down information to close/stop the 15 accounts she tried to open in Dad's name.  I wanted to strangle her and tried to convince my dad that she was using drugs too.  He wasn't ready to accept it.

In the Fall of the 2011, her husband overdosed on bath salts and percocet. My sister was destroyed.  While he laid in a coma, she reaffirmed her commitment to him and promised to help him get sober.  I believed her, and still do.  But he was too far gone and a month later the drugs took his life.  His death put a nail in her coffin as well.  She gave up.  And so did I.  I gave up on her.  She used his death as a reason to willingly give her life away to heroin.  Rather than grieve and help her child adjust to Daddy's absence, she surrounded herself with the scum of the earth and went numb.

The in-laws eventually sued for custody of my niece and she's in a safe place now.  My sister is in rehab for the 2nd time in a year.  She entered her first rehab program on my birthday last year.  She's not the person she used to be.  I don't know her now.  I'm not convinced she's a better person. She's claiming salvation but I'm not ready to believe her.

I have accepted that she's an addict.  Our conversations are stressed and strange.  She's said the craziest things to me, like "You know how it feels when you've just smoked crack?"  I haven't abandoned her, even though my first instinct is always to run.  I visited her over the weekend.  I hate going there.  It's weird and I have no compassion for addicts.  Entering a facility full of people too enabled to deal with their own problems is like walking into Hell.  But I went because it was her daughter's visiting day and I love my niece enough to deal with it.  I've felt every emotion...sadness, fear, disbelief, and shame.  But I'm no longer ashamed.  It's not my pain to bear or my shame to feel.  I'm able to freely talk about it.  I am the sister of a heroin addict.  I am one of many victims of drug abuse.  And I post this with her knowledge and permission.

You may think this is a tale about how I lost my sister by pushing her out of my life.  It's not.  Pushing her out would have been less painful than watching her destroy herself.  It's a real life story about sticking around to see a person lose everything because she gave her life to drugs.  She lost her husband.  Her marriage. Her job.  Her daughter.  But she has a chance to rebuild.  I lost my sister and she's never coming back.

You Make the Sun Shine Brighter than Doris Day

Waking my children up and preparing them to leave the house before 7am is often difficult.  I savor days I don't have to take the twins with me to drop Mason off at school.  Today was one of those days. Except today, the boys awoke on their own and begged to come along.  It's frustrating because they do not help get themselves ready, but they scream their heads off if I leave without them.  So, I dressed them and away we went.

I usually sing while getting ready.  It makes me less grumpy when I'm struggling to get out the door.  Or I yell.  That relieves stress too, it's just not as easy to admit.  But here it is, for the world to read. "APRIL YELLS AT HER KIDS."  It's true.  I confess.  This morning was a rough one.

It was Wacky Wednesday at Mason's school.  All week, students were permitted to pay 25 cents per day to dress according to daily themes.  It's part of the school's fundraising efforts for the United Way.  Mason enjoyed wearing a hat and sunglasses on Monday and camo yesterday.  But today, it's Wacky Wednesday, which is an invitation to get as crazy, silly, and weird as Mason tends to be.  Basically, she gets to dress for school in the wild outfits she assembles for herself at home.  It's a big deal to her.  And she looks awesome. Or perhaps ridiculous.  But you're shooting for ridiculous on Wacky Wednesday.

Speaking of ridiculous, do you remember this?  Maybe the '80s were just one big Wacky Wednesday.  When George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley run into their shorty shorts, I just die. It's hard to believe this is the same band that gave us "Careless Whisper" or that George Michael ditched those shorts (and his bandmate) to become a walking representation of sex.  What were we thinking in the '80s?

Where were we?  Oh yes, my children.  If I take a pic of Mason, the boys get bent.  They demand equal exposure.  Here's what they looked like this morning.

                                       



Aren't they cute?  They're funny in the morning.  Oh, and this was our sunset last night!  Spectacular.

So, did you have a Wacky Wednesday?