Mother's Day tribute ❤️

"Happy Mother's Day" just doesn't say enough. So, here's what I want to say instead to all of the important moms in my life, past, and present.

First and foremost to my mother. She raised me right, even though it may not seem so at times. There aren't enough words to show my genuine appreciation for her! She guided me on the right path, while somehow giving me the ability to become who I am (I'm the kind of person who falls off of paths...) Mom, I love you. Without your undying support, I never would have made it to where I am. And I like where I am!

Second, to my children. Wow. I never knew how much a soul could love or hurt until I had children. BEING a mama is the single most rewarding, terrifying, challenging, bittersweet, awesome, and difficult part of life. 8 of them. 4 by birth, 3 by marriage, and 1 by foreign exchange. (And a whole mess of em by friends of those mentioned!) They have made my life wonderful and miserable, and when push comes to shove, I hope they ALL know I have their back and they are my heart and soul.

To my Grandma Shirley. I am so blessed to still have and regularly see my grandmother. She has been a large part of my life, and I will always be grateful for the time I have had with her.

To my mother-in-law, Pam. I have so many reasons to thank you. For raising a man to love me with all of his being. And for being my rock when I want to strangle that man. You, with open arms, took me in, and all of my children, as if you never knew any different. They love their grandma Pammy, and so do I.

For all of my moms that are no longer with me. Leslie, Diane, and Sandy. My mothers-in-love. I am a better person for having known each of you, and I miss you all every day.

To Delilah. I know you just delivered your first baby, but do not underestimate the mom you've already been to my children. Not even just Jovian. All of my kids love you, and consider you their step-mom, regardless of definition or who married who.

To those who have lost their moms. To those who long to BE moms... I celebrate you on this day. Because your heartache doesn't go unnoticed. Because you are strong. Because we are all in this life together and when you hurt, I hurt.

For ALL of my family and friends... Remember it takes a village. You have all been a part of my village. From being there for my children when they needed you, to baby sitting for me when I needed you. From listening to me vent about the pains in my butt, to listening to me brag about my fabulous offspring. From the parenting advice to the epic mom-fail story sharing... This is for you.

We all fail. We all succeed. Motherhood isn't about giving birth. Motherhood isn't even about raising a child! It's simply about loving a child. Any child.

Happy Mother's Day...

DRD

My Birthday Story

August 13th is the day I chose to present myself to the world.  Eleven days late and full of fire from the get go.  I typically don't get too excited when my birthday rolls around because it's just a reminder that I'm no spring chicken.  This year was no different.  I turned 36.  I spent the days leading up to my birthday reminding myself that I was about to be closer to 40 than 30.  I mean, life might as well be over, right?  So, my "big day" comes, and I start the day off with pushing the kids out the door for their first day of school.  I mean, I'm not overly excited about my birthday, but I may as well enjoy some peace and quiet right?  So, kids are off to school, and I find myself plopped back into bed and just drifting back off to dream land when my phone starts dinging.  That's right, you guessed it.  Today is the day that 248 Facebook friends remember that I exist.  I don't say this to be rude.  Trust me... those of you that I hear from ONE day of the year, simply to remind me that I'm getting old... well, those are also the ones who know they get the same in return from this mutual friendship!  No blame games here!  I ain't mad at ya!  I'm just glad you MUST understand why I'm so horrible at keeping in touch with people.

Anyhow... my phone starts its incessant dinging.  I lie there, talking to myself.  Telling myself to just get up.  Because of course, every one of those dings must be checked this instant.  I must know who is telling me happy birthday.  Besides, if I don't, it'll take much longer to like and comment a thank you to each of them.  Finally, I roll myself out of bed and literally said to myself "Would you rather go back to sleep with your dreams, or get up and chase them?"  No, I did not just come up with this.  Way too early to be that clever.  I had read this on something at one point in my life, and at that moment, realized it was decent motivation to rise and shine.

I found myself out of bed and ready to conquer the world.  Not really.  I barely wanted to take a shower.  But I managed, and then I felt much better.  While in the shower, the thought occurred to me that I had a free Starbucks birthday reward waiting on my card for me.  Why didn't I think of this before?  Hopped in my car and I'll be damned if I didn't make it about 10 yards past my driveway when I saw this tiny little thing moving across my dirt road.  What do I do?  I stop of course and rescue this half dollar size turtle.  I scoop him up in my yesterday's Dr Pepper cup and tell myself "Yes, this was the right thing to do.  The boys will love it."  So, I pull BACK into my drive way to find this fella a home.  As I did, I realized that in my stupor, I left the garage door open.  Hmmm.  Maybe it was meant to be.  I saved this turtle from a tragic dirt road death, and this turtle saved me from leaving my garage open all day.  He has a nice little temporary home in a plastic drawer from my boys closet.  They'll like this turtle way more than they care about a place to put their underwear anyways.  So, off to Starbucks I head again.

Once I had my Venti Skinny Vanilla Iced Latte in hand, I was ready to conquer the world.  Nope.  Still kidding.  I was ready to go to the mall and let someone play with my hair.  I was still fixated on this growing old business.  Time to cover my gray hair and pretend I'm still in my twenties.

I love getting my hair done.  I don't do it nearly often enough because my favorite stylist (AKA my sister) moved away.  But I decide to Hell with it!  I'm getting my hair done.  I sit there for what seams like an eternity (and loving every blissful moment of it) getting colored, cut, eyebrows waxed.  The whole nine yards.  And it was wonderful.  I visited with this new stylist.  She's not my sister, but she's super sweet and will do the trick. She asks about my birthday plans and I tell her I have no idea.

Do I have plans?  Yes.  I know because my husband said I do.  But he didn't mention what.  It's a surprise.  My husband is terrible at surprises.  It's impossible for him to keep one and it's impossible to keep one from him because he's insane trying to find out.  But this is a complete mystery to me.  I honestly have no idea what he has planned.  Earlier in the day when my grandma called me, I told her "I don't know.  We could be going to dinner or we could be going sky diving.  I really have no clue."  She simply said "Well, don't go sky diving.  I read about a guy the other day that died doing that."  And that was that.

New girl finishes with my hair and I am shocked that I absolutely love it.  I don't have to just pretend to love it to avoid hurting the new girl's feelings.  I actually love it.  The cut.  The color.  It's exactly what I wanted.  No gray.  Nothing to remind me I'm almost 60 years old.  Well, except for those little wrinkles spanning from my eyes when I smile at my own hair in the mirror...  Geez.  I can't win.

I hurry home to get ready for my mystery date only to realize I have no idea what to wear.  If we're going to dinner, my attire will probably not be the same as if we are to go sky diving.  I text the hubs.  He says, "Nothing fancy but look nice."  Well hmmmmm. That tells me exactly nothing.  So, jeans and a KU top it is.  My hair is fixed.  My makeup is hiding what it can of my 36 years, and I'm off to meet him for our date.

We pass by a psychiatric hospital and he said "Ok, well surprise!  I'm checking you in!"  Not that funny.  I can't be old AND crazy.  Bastard.

We pull up to this undisclosed location and it's a small airfield.  For just a moment, my heart sank.  I was going to have to call my poor grandmother and tell her I was indeed going sky diving.  But wait!  I don't think I WANT to go sky diving.  One panicked look at my husband and he explains that we are simply there to fly in a little plane.  Either to another town for dinner or just to fly for a while.  Up to me.  I decided I'd rather spend my time in the air, (one take off and one landing was enough for me in that little death trap) and we could do dinner later.  This will be fun!  It's a little scary, but exciting scary!  I'm ready!  So I meet the pilot and he informs me that I will be flying this plane.  Ummm excuse me?  I have exactly zero qualifications for that, and I was already nervous about letting YOU fly me around in this tiny hunk of metal.

So here we are sitting in this plane.  The pilot and I up front, and my husband in the seat behind me, grinning from ear to ear.  I can do this.  We start taxiing around and he starts explaining to me how to take off.  What?  Tell me someone did more than just tell you hey push this and pull that.  We start drifting off the runway, and he says, "You better start pulling now?!"  Well shit.  Here goes nothing.  I tell myself that surely I won't die on my birthday.

I took off.  I flew.  Obviously he was there to help the whole way and could take control if need be.  He wasn't a complete idiot.  I mean, he was sitting in the same plane.  But let me tell you, it was an amazing view.  The fear escaped me as fast as it hit me.  I was soaring above the world.  And my husband was responsible.  Pretty amazing feeling.

My husband finally took me to dinner on our way home.  Our favorite spot is Old Chicago.  It used to be for the extensive beer menu and World Beer Tours.  Now it's for the pizza with broccoli on it. Yes, I eat pizza with broccoli on it.  It's my favorite.  Great.  Another sign of old age.

Driving home, I flipped through my memories of the day.  All of a sudden, I didn't care about 36.  I didn't care about almost 40.  I didn't care about the "ONLY" once a year Facebook friends.  I didn't care about the grays.  Or the wrinkles.  Or the broccoli.  I'm not old!  And even if I'm old, I DON'T CARE!  I had an amazing day.  Every single call, text, and by God, even every Facebook message made me feel loved.  Or at least liked enough to take 15 seconds from your day to wish me a Happy Birthday.  Honestly, that's more than some of you get from me!  I remembered I got my hair done, not to cover up the grays, but to let someone wash and play with my hair for a while!  And it felt great!  I realized that those wrinkles around my eyes are from 36 years of smiles and laughter!  How awesome is that?!  I realized that it was the kid in me that was enjoying the weightless moments of doing tricks in this 1971 single engine scary plane!  And last, but not least, I realized that, at the end of the day... my husband loves me.  (And he'll ALWAYS be OLDER than me!)

Bring on another year...
DRD

Good Grief vs. Bad Grief?

Grief.  For some it hits hard and sudden like a ton of bricks.  For some it hits dull and slow like lying down and having bricks laid on top of you.  One at a time.  Until you're suffocating.

One thing I have learned is that it's different for everyone.  And nobody does it wrong.  Some pick up the pieces and strive for normalcy.  Maybe they save the tears for private.  Maybe they don't have any left to cry.  Maybe they have public break downs.  There is no right way.  And there is no wrong way.

There's a never ending memory that you cannot ever re-live.  There are questions.  There are futures that will never meet reality.  There is an ache.  An empty spot.

There is a physical pain that comes with grief.  Sometimes it feels like hunger.  Sometimes it feels like you're being turned inside out.  Sometimes it literally feels like your heart is being drained of all the blood that keeps you alive.  Sometimes it feels like the air you breathe is being sucked out of you.

The definition of 'missing someone' becomes more clear.  The feeling of missing a person you haven't seen in six months is better than the feeling of missing someone you know you'll never see again.

Never judge the way a person handles their grief, for it is their own.

You grieve your way. I'll grieve mine...

DRD

Daddy issues...

In the spirit of "Father's Day"... I want to give some recognition.  Not to the fathers... but to the daddys.  Whether you have biological children, adopted children, or  step children.  If you're a daddy, this is for you.  If you're "just" a father... shame on you.  If there's anything you can't make up for, it's lost time with a child.  The precious years of childhood are too big a blessing for a daddy to give up.

There is no making up for some mistakes.  If you are not or were not a significant part of your child's upbringing, there is no making up for it. That time is lost. It takes more than money to raise a child.  It takes love and patience and guidance.

Sometimes, it's too late to change your mind. Sometimes a father leaves and a daddy steps in. The bridge is burned. Can it be repaired? Sometimes. But it's always just a repaired bridge with holes where memories should be, that a child will be scared to trust.

Being a child's biological father does not make one a daddy.  Anyone with a functioning penis can do that.  Paying child support does not make one a daddy.  Anyone with a minimum wage job can have their check garnished.  Being married to a child's mother does not make one a daddy.  Living in the same house with a child does not make one a daddy.

Being a daddy requires love.  Not when it's convenient.  But unconditional love.  

A daddy is not the man who "learns" to love a child... but the one who loves a child naturally without explanation, because there is none.

A daddy is not the man who is court ordered to pay child support yet refuses because they have different priorities... but the one who would spend their last penny to provide for a child or make a child smile... Even if it meant skipping their own meal.

A daddy is not the man who got a woman pregnant... but the one who teaches a child the important lessons in life.

A daddy is the one who is not too busy to teach a child to ride a bike.  The one who worries about a child 24/7.  The one who groans when a child needs gas money but forks it over anyways.  It's the one who comes to mind when you remember your childhood.

Who's YOUR daddy?

DRD

Homework...

Sucks. For parents too. Seriously.

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and risk ticking some people off...  But that's what I do!  I heard a news program the other day that really had me irritated. The more I thought about it, the more irritated I became.

It was said that parents are "bad parents" for encouraging all these sports and extra curricular activities. The host went on to say that there should be MORE homework and focus on education and less of the nonsense. What?!  Nonsense?!  Listen here mister... I think your program is NONSENSE!!

My kids spend 8 hours and 20 minutes every day en route to / from, and at school. My 6 year old spends as much time at school each day as I spend at work. I know at the end of my work day I'm ready to go home! And do SOMETHING ELSE!! Anything else! That's a long day for me. But that's an ETERNITY to a first grader!

But wait... I'm a "bad parent" because their homework isn't always my top priority? Because I encourage them to play sports? Or to come home and just go play outside?

After working an 8 hour day, do you want to go home and work on it some more? Doubtful!

Of those 8 hours and 20 minutes they spend away from the house, 7 solid hours is actually school day. And it's not like it was when I was in grade school. There isn't 3 recesses anymore. There's one! Wanna know why so many kids are diagnosed as ADHD? It's because all they do is school work. They are told to focus focus focus... Without enough of a break to be a kid! 

Also, the kids usually need help with their homework. I don't mind this in general but its getting out of hand. We have several children. We spend a LOT of time on homework. They are supposed to all have time to do a ton of homework, shower or bathe, eat dinner and still get a decent night's sleep. Where is the time for play? For family fun?

I am a firm believer in education. But I am also a firm believer in sports and extra curricular activities!  There are things you learn from sports that cannot be taught in a classroom.  At the end of the day, I do make sure that homework is done... usually.  I know they have to learn responsibility, and like I said, I am a firm believer in education.  But nobody will ever make me believe that encouraging my children to be active in things outside of academics is bad parenting.

I am not, in any way, attacking teachers.  I believe the teachers are following a curriculum and requirements given to them.  I adore my kids' teachers. They do it for the love of teaching. They aren't paid enough and they aren't respected enough. But that's a different matter.

So as for me and my family... We are still going to make time for all that "nonsense". Football in the fall. Soccer in the spring. Baseball and Softball in the summer. Drum lessons, guitar lessons, piano lessons. Watching college basketball in the winter. Spending the occasional weekend at grandma and grandpa's house.  As for the homework??

The dog ate it...
DRD

A Bittersweet Christmas

I love Christmas time.  It's my most favoritest time of year.  But this one was unlike any other for us.  I'll walk you through it.

My tree would typically be put up and decorated on Thanksgiving weekend, decked out with a different color coordinated theme every year.  The lights, the ornaments, and even the wrapping paper had to match the color scheme of the year.  This year the tree was up  ten whole days before Christmas I think?  I put lights on it.  I hung nine ornaments on it.  They were a gift this year.  Precious moments ornaments with our names on each one.  I considered that good enough.  Thankfully the kids did too.

My husband and I set our alarms for four o'clock in the morning so we could open gifts before I went to work, and before my husband left to pick up the pager because he does HVAC work and was on call Christmas day.  It didn't take the kids long to get over being dragged out of bed that morning.  Within an hour, we were swimming in torn wrapping paper and boxes.  The kids loved their gifts.  My husband and I exchanged gifts.  By the way, my husband is amazing.  I mean, I got a pistol and a puppy.  It doesn't get better than that.

I got ready and went to work.  People still need nurses on Christmas day.  I was a little sad about having to work, but by an hour into my shift, I was enjoying it.  How could I complain about having to work when the people that I was taking care of were lying in a hospital bed?  My husband spent the day working to ensure that people were warm on Christmas.

We both got home at about the same time, and for just a little while, all eight of us were in the same place at the same time.  I couldn't help but be a little sad.  Where there were eight, there should have been nine.

We had one stocking that didn't get hung this year.  My six year old asked me a few weeks ago if we could throw Christmas presents in the air to give them to Khighla in Heaven.  I responded that the best gift we could throw to her were kisses.  It made me think of all the empty stockings in Connecticut this Christmas too.  All of the Christmas gifts that I imagine were already wrapped and under the tree that will never be opened.  Life is so precious.  One of the little boys that was shot in his first grade classroom had the same name as my first grade son.  It broke my heart.  So many people say that they can't imagine what those parents must be going through.  But we can.  There is no gift on this Earth that I could give my husband to fill the hole of losing his daughter.  At work, I had patients ask me if I have kids.  I get weird when people ask me the simple question: how many kids do we have.  I used to just say seven.  Now, I don't know what I'm supposed to say?  Do I say we had seven and we lost one?  Or do I really want to answer the questions that will follow that?  It wouldn't feel right saying we have six, because that's like erasing her.  These were things I didn't really want running through my mind.  I was sad on Christmas.  It didn't seem right.

So, I put on my happy face and we headed out to my dad's house.  Seeing my sister would certainly help.  She lives ten hours away and I miss her every day.  I miss my nephews, and my kids miss their cousins.  I know how they feel.  When I grew up, my best friends were my cousins and they moved away.  It sucked.  But now they were together and that's what mattered.  The wrapping paper was flying again and the kids were shrieking with excitement.

Then we get a call that my grandmother had been taken by ambulance to the hospital.  All of a sudden, I remembered why exactly nurses don't get the day off.  The visit with my family was short, and my sister and I headed to the hospital.  She was dehydrated and has a respiratory infection, and a stomach bug.  After a few hours, she was released and we took her home.  She was ready to get some rest.  After three trips to the pharmacy because of someone's incompetence, it was eleven o'clock and I was ready to go home.  I got up at four, remember?

My husband and I opened the package my mom sent us. She gave us the most thoughtful gift I could imagine. I have a collection of crosses on my wall. And now I have a new favorite. This one is beautiful AND special. It has wings on it, and she painted Khighla's name on the heart in the middle of it.
At the end of the day, I got to spend time with family.  I got to give life saving medications.  I got to see the joy in the eyes of my children.  And I got to fall asleep in the arms of the man I love.  Maybe it DOES get better than a pistol and a puppy.

That was my Christmas day.  It was a fabulous day with some not-so-fabulous moments.

Merry Christmas...
DRD

Thankful for the Thorns

As Thanksgiving approaches, I am inspired by the swarm of "I am thankful for..." posts throughout social networking.  It's actually a nice break from the regular complaining people share day in and day out.  In true Dirt Road Diva fashion... I am going to put my own spin on it and sum it up in one, probably too lengthy blog.

Why I give thanks...

"Some people are always grumbling because roses have thorns; I am thankful that thorns have roses." -Alphonse Karr.

People take too much for granted.  People complain about the very things they should be thankful for.  I want to talk about some of those things.

Jesus.  He died on a cross to save this sinner's soul.  Enough said.

Police officers.  You cuss them when you should praise them.  This is a generation teaching the next generation to disrespect and dislike the men and women in blue.  You refer to the officer that pulled you over as  a "pig"?  Why?  Because he was doing his job?  That police officer has probably seen far too many injuries and deaths as a result of traffic violations.  He could have just prevented yours.

Jobs.  Work in general is taken for granted.  You complain about your job when there are those who would love to have yours.  Every generation gets lazier by the minute.  Hard work has been replaced by a sense of entitlement.  I went to nursing school only to graduate and have to take a minimum wage job working the front desk at a hotel because nursing jobs were few and far between.  After six months of rejections, I got three offers in two weeks.  I was frustrated, but now that I have landed the job I was meant to land... I realize why it took me six months.  God put some pretty wonderful people in my path by simply putting me behind that front desk.  For that, I am thankful.

Morning.  I am notoriously guilty for taking this one for granted.  I am not a morning person by a long shot.  But every morning I wake up means I get one more day.  And I am thankful for every day that I have been given, good or bad.

Children.  Most parents are thankful for their children, but some aren't thankful enough.  Kids are a pain in the butt.  But there are those who cannot conceive.  They would give anything for a baby to wake them up at night.  There are mothers who drink, smoke, and do drugs while pregnant.  Why are you taking this innocent life for granted?  If you cannot quit smoking, drinking or doing drugs for the sake of a miraculous new life, then you are not ready for the selflessness that is called parenthood.  My children can drive me crazy.  But they are just that... they are what drives me.  God gave me the most precious of all blessings when he gave me parenthood.

Legs.  Quit complaining that there are too many handicap spots in the parking lot.  They are there for a reason.  Use the legs they wish they could, and walk!  I am thankful for my legs.  They are no Carrie Underwood legs, but they can sure take me from the far ends of the Target parking lot to the entrance.

Parents.  We spend so many years trying to rebel against them and trying to get out from under them, but then when we have children, we want their advice.  Or worse... when they are gone, we will wish we could spend one more day with them.  We think they are old fashioned, but there are reasons they call them the "good ol' days".

The check out line.  You know, the one that moves a lot slower than you'd like because the clerk is talking to the customers ahead of you.  I am thankful that there are still friendly people in this world.  You are in too big of a hurry and you're missing out on the beauty of kindness and good customer service.  Instead of being short with him or her when it comes your turn... maybe you should ask how their day has been.

Friends.  I sometimes take them for granted just because I love them so, and I know that when life slows down, they will be there.  But life doesn't slow down.  Make time for them.  I am thankful that my friends have not given up on me when I have taken them for granted.

Siblings.  Your first friend and your first enemy.  But is that rivalry going to matter after it's too late to let it go?  Forgive while you still have the chance.

Trains.  Instead of growling at the next one you have to wait on... count the cars like you did as a child.  Roll your window down for a moment and take in the fresh air.  Marvel in their power.  They frustrate you, but they are a majestic thing to your children in the back seat.  Look at it through their eyes.

In-laws.  They get a bad rap.  You think they're too hard on you?  Maybe it's because you swooped in and stole their child.  I'm a parent and I can only imagine how protective and over-bearing I will be when some outsider comes in and wins over my baby's heart.  Give them the benefit of the doubt.  They just want what's best for their son or daughter.  If I can say anything positive about being married more than once... it's that I've had the pleasure of having more than one set of amazing in-laws.  Stop looking at them like your spouse's family that you have to put up with, and start looking at them like new additions to your family that you get to share life with.  They are your kids' grandparents.  And your children will feel tension where there is tension to be felt.  Embrace them.

Losing.  I am thankful to have grown up in a generation that taught me how to lose... for without losing, winning means nothing.  There is no pride in winning if you have not learned how to lose.

Soldiers.  They have laid down their lives for me.  There could never be enough gratitude for the selflessness and bravery that they show.  They face horrors that civilians couldn't possibly imagine, and those that are lucky enough to wake up to see another day, face the same horrors again without complaint, and without nearly enough reward.

Teachers.  As students, we took advantage of them.  As parents, we place the world on their shoulders and then blame them for all of our childrens' wrong doings.  Teachers work way too hard for way too little.  They are under appreciated and deserve more thanks than they get.

These are only a handful of things that I am thankful for. My life is full of joy.  I endure sorrow, for without it, I would not know happiness.

Thank you...
DRD