Day Of The Wolves

Read more...

Herding Cats

Most of you know I’ve raised 8 kids and have had numerous foster kids. You’d think that having three of my grandkids for several days would be no big deal right? That would be a big fat HA!

I’m here to tell you that it’s like herding cats and at 48 I’m too damn old to herd cats.

Anna-Grace is 2. That means there are a lot of words that don’t mean “yes” she loves to spit out at full volume. The kid is adorable with her halo of dark brown curls and ever present smile. It’s a damn good thing because I would have posted her on Craigslist by now.

Josiah is 4 and that means he likes to ask LOTS of questions, fight with his sister and refuse to take naps.

Jakob is 10 and is usually a lot of help. Without him I would bought a one way ticket to Brazil and said “hasta la vista” to the entire bunch.

Today I must not have taken my anti-psychotics. That’s the only thing I can think of. I had to have been in a full blown psychotic state to even consider taking all three kids to Starbucks and then to the mall.

The morning started off with me trying to find the right car seat for Anna-Grace. It's not as if we only have one car seat like normal families, we have a bazillion. That alone took around 45 minutes to find one and secure the freaking thing into my car. Then I had to look through every car we own to find Josiah’s booster seat. Finally we get packed into my car and it’s “stop kicking the back of my seat, let go of your sister’s hair, quit poking your brother’s eye with Barbies feet!”

We made it to Starbucks and it took 20 minutes to get the kids out of the car. Starbucks was ok, meaning we made it out with minimal damage. Then for the psychotic part, I drove to the mall.

Half way through our escapade Jakob looked at me and said “You’re too old for this aren’t you?” Don’t even ask what the hand-shaped red mark is on his face. It’s a birthmark I tell you!

Now we’re home. Demon-monkey girl is sleeping, howling-hyena boy is playing with his sister’s Barbies and Jake is playing his gameboy.

Me? Well I’m sitting here with a half empty bottle of Tanqueray waiting for their grandfather to get home and take over.

Jake was right. I am too old for this.

Read more...

The Beautiful Boy

Today, as many times before, I'm waiting in the surgical waiting area. My daughter, Karli, is once again having surgery. She's had so many in the past five years that we've all lost count. As I sit here I remembered being here two years and several surgeries ago. My grandson, Jakob, was with me as we waited. I wrote this as I watched him wait for him mom.


She watched intently as the skinny little boy with the curly blonde hair played on the rooftop terrace of the hospital. His mother, her daughter, was in surgery again for the fourth time in a little over a year.

She knew that Beautiful Boy was worried and gazed at him with the concern of a grandmother. He was so handsome with his enchanting smile and quick wit, but she worried about what was hidden behind those smiling brown eyes.

Rays of the soft autumn sunshine that fell on his sweet face made her think that God indeed had special plans for this young child.

He watched with a knowing look as the scarlet and tangerine colored leaves fell from their homes on the stately maple trees that were planted on the manicured grounds of the hospital. They gracefully floated down, gliding with the breeze and coming to rest around the life giving roots of those trees. Soon they would decompose and the cycle of life would begin once more. Beautiful Boy was bright enough to know that all things must come to an end; he just prayed that this wasn't the time that God would call his mother home.

He had endured much loss in his eight years, he deserved a break. The angels took his baby brother, Isaiah, home just 12 weeks after he had been born on the second floor of this very hospital. Two years later his baby brother Josiah was born three months early. Everyone was afraid of angels also coming for this baby, but they didn't. Josiah came home three months later healthy and thriving. During this time Beautiful Boy had to endure the death of his great grandmother, although to him she was more of a grandmother, especially since she was about the age of his friends' grandmothers.

Beautiful Boy had to watch the grief of his mom and her mom, a grief that seemed to never end and left them lost in a hazy fog. He took what he had witnessed and hid it deep in his heart behind barriers of smile and sparkling eyes.

Then came the Baby Diva, also born three months early. Beautiful Boy was frightened once again, more now that he was older. He still wasn't old enough to put into words what he felt, but you could see it in his soft brown eyes.

Several weeks later the family got the terrible news that his mom's Papa Airplane had died of a broken heart from losing his wife the year before. Beautiful Boy's eyes now carried a deeper sadness that was hidden behind the twinkle he always had and the ever present smile on that handsome dimpled face. But a grandmother can see these things and she worried about him.

She continued to watch him take in God's world that perfect fall day. The dormant Mt Hood was to the east. Snow was beginning to cover its picturesque peaks. He watched the birds flying in and out of the scarlet and orange trees. He thought and wondered about not only his mommy, but about life itself and just how fragile it is. Beautiful Boy had learned lessons that many adults take decades to learn and he knew that it wasn't over yet.

Read more...

We Rocked It!

I went out with the girls, their husbands, one of the girl's dad, and Cole last night. I was the "Miss Kitty" type from Gunsmoke. Some of youngins won't have any idea who I'm talking about.

She ran the "saloon" and her "dance hall" girls worked for her, in more ways than one. Well my girls were my "girls" last night. They didn't bring in one single dime! I really should have called up The Queen or the Dutchess for a few pointers on how to get these girls to work.

Not only did they stiff me on whatever they did  make, I have a sneaking suspicion that they were charging to my bar tab. THAT is totally unacceptable! Every time I looked at them they had a fresh drink in their hands, as did my son!

The girls did get the band to play the National Anthem so I shouldn't be too hard on them this time. 

There was almost a little excitement when we pulled into the parking lot. A guy in some little car pulled in right behind us while we were looking for a spot. Someone, that I won't name, that was driving my car began to back up. Dude in the little car was laying on the horn. I screamed "STOP, you're gonna run my Mercedes into that car!" That certain someone slammed on the breaks and an accident was averted. We bought them a round of drinks and all went well.

Ok, since I have a touch of a headache, not sure where that came from, I'll give you a few pics from the night.

Madame and one of the slackers, Michelle

Cole and another slacker, Karli

Karli and Mommy

Ready to rock the night

She just slapped her brother because he licked her face.

Mommy and Cole

Michelle and Mommy

Kramer

Karli and Justin

Michelle and Tyson

Me and my son-in-law, Tyson

Karli holding her Daddy's hand. She's having major surgery Nov. 3rd and is worried.

Mommy and Cole

Baby Kitty, Anna-Grace

Read more...

Ringtones and Mr. Coolpants

I was at the pharmacy waiting for my son's meds. A guy walks up to the counter and spells his name. He then gives his date of birth as 1966. He's standing there counting a wad of hundred dollar bills and his phone goes off. It's at full volume and the ring tone is "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees. He didn't try to silence it, he let it ring. I would have been mortified and muted it immediately had it been  mine, which it NEVER would have been my choice.

Ok Mr. Coolpants, you're counting hundreds, you're in your forties and nicely dressed, clearly people would think that you'd  reached some level of maturity in life. Here's a tip...having "Stayin' Alive" as your ring tone is lame. Having it play at top volume so the entire store can hear it makes you a dumbass.

Read more...

Beagles, Mexicans and Facebook

There’s something that’s been bothering me for quite some time and it’s only getting worse. I generally don’t write about my political or spiritual views on here. My views are very strong and very firm. I don’t write about them because I’m not in the habit of trying to provoke or offend people.

I watch the status updates on Facebook, I read a lot of blogs posts, I have the news on in my house whenever I’m home and the satellite radio in my car is set to my favorite news station. I really don’t get the polarization in America. I’m not speaking only of politics, however that’s a huge part of it. I’m speaking of it all, politics, faith, gender, racism, and just general hatred.

In case you missed it somewhere I’m an American, white (don’t you freaking dare call me European-American), politically conservative and christian. My views are firm, as I said, but they are mine. Yes I’ll debate sometimes, I’ll banter, I’ll share my views if asked and feel that they won’t be attacked. I’m not into attacks. I may state a view of mine but I won’t push it down your throat or call you names if you disagree with me.

I hear “tolerance” being preached from every direction, yet those that vomit it seem unwilling to practice it. Why is it that a lot of people want everyone to be tolerant of their choices, but refuse to be tolerant of those that choose a different way, of those that walk a different path?

Why doesn’t character seem to matter anymore? Character is what draws me to my friends, not their particular points of view. If you have no character and act like a bigoted, intolerant asshole I'll cross you off my list. Believe me there are some that have been crossed off of my list. Do I hate them? No, I just choose not to be subjected to their hatred.

My friends and family are diverse. Most of my children are either black or black and white. No, they don’t want to be called African-American. They feel it only segregates and drives the wedge in further. They all have “un-hyphenated American” t-shirts. My “mixed” kids embrace both of their backgrounds, not just one. They are Americans first.

My extended family is comprised of christian, agnostic, gay, conservative, liberal and races other than “white.” Some of them have some very intolerant views, but they’re family. My friends are diverse as well. My closest friend in the world is Mexican, other very close friends are lesbian, some are agnostic, others atheist. We don’t agree on everything, well maybe The Brat and I do, but I love them all deeply. 

A few years ago my grandson was in a park in downtown Portland. He was about 5 and had on a “Wee-Publican” t-shirt. He saw a man with a Beagle, his favorite dog. He approached the man and asked if he could pet the dog. The man told a five year old that his dog “only likes liberals.” Really? Seriously? Asshole.

One of the most awesome things about being an American is the right to have our own opinions and to be able to express them. Come on though, a little respect goes a long way. If you’re going to make tolerance your thing and want others to listen to and respect your point of view, at least have the guts to respect theirs.

Read more...

Really?

Seeing that my blog has “bipolar” in the title, and I am the Diva of bipolar, it seems I’ve been slacking on my duty to inform the world of bipolar-ness. Who in the world am I kidding? I had nothing else to write and this seemed easy.

So here are a few fun facts:

Bipolar disorder is usually characterized by extreme swings in moods, from highs (mania) to lows. Really? That’s what it is? I thought that was caused by being a mom to a tribe of grubby pawed bipeds.

Bipolar affects about 5.7 million Americans. That's only the diagnosed ones. The actual estimate is twice that. I am one of the lucky ones. I keep wondering what hat my name was chosen from.

People who have relatives with a history of a mood disorder are at a higher risk of developing bipolar disorder. If you knew some of my family, you’d know how accurate this is.

Symptoms of mania include euphoria, increased self-esteem, racing thoughts and reckless behavior. Uh, hello, isn’t that the definition of “Diva?”

Symptoms of depression include sadness, loss of interest in activities, fatigue and thoughts of death. Once again, I think this pretty much sums up being a mom at times.

Although there is no known cure for bipolar disorder, it is among the most treatable of mental disorders. Finally! Some good news!

Next are some myths of bipolar that really piss me off!

“All you need to do is think positively and it’ll go away.” Um, I think that’s called denial.

“People with mood disorders can’t get better.” So not true. Although my bipolar is mild and was undiagnosed for decades I’m significantly better than before. Millions of people with bipolar lead happy, healthy, stable lives.

“People with bipolar are dangerous.” Research shows that people with bipolar are no more violent than the rest of the general population. However, people with bipolar are twice as likely to be victims of violence. The only things I’m dangerous with are my credit cards and bank accounts. Oh, and I can do considerable damage in the shoe department.

“People with bipolar disorder are not stable enough to hold positions of authority like law enforcement or government.” People with this disorder hold positions of authority everywhere. I wonder why no one ever told Churchill or Theodore Roosevelt they shouldn’t have held their positions because of their bipolar. Check out my list of famous people with the disorder.

We all have things to work through, whether we admit it or not. My something just happens to have a name that's been stigmatized by ignorance. Even my own family treats me differently since the diagnosis and it pisses me off. Don't freaking tip-toe around me or make snide remarks. I know the demons you try to hide from the world, I'm up front about mine.

Read more...