The challenges of life here on earth have been abundant the past few months. Family, work, health issues, fun and love have been keeping me very busy. The last few weeks have been particularly challenging. We have been experiencing some of the blessings of living with loved ones with bipolar disorder
The Polar Bears I lovingly refer to in my blog title are my wonderful family members who suffer from this challenge. I have an uncle, a brother, three sons, one grandchild and a chosen sister who suffer from this confusing, frustrating, unpredictable and often times frightening condition. I have learned a great deal from each of them as they try to live a life of normalcy in their world of sleeplessness, sadness, mania and depression. You are probably wondering why I call this a blessing.
The blessing part of this story came to be long before any of my family members were diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I think God had a plan for me right from the start.
You see, a funny thing happened as we moved around the United States during our families military career. Everywhere we moved I was blessed with a friend who was special. My husband came to the conclusion that something deep inside of me had a magnetic attraction to crazy people. He would often remind me of this as I would share with him my most recent experiences with my unique friends. I never hesitated to remind him that HE was the very first one that I had attracted with that magnetism. I am very grateful for the experiences I shared with those friends. They helped me be comfortable with those who are different, they challenged me to educate myself about the symptoms, causes, needs and extraordinary differences that others possess. I learned with them, counselled with them, helped them, stood by them, listened to them, cried with them and learned to love them. I shared their stories with others hoping to help those who did not understand become more accepting.
Then, in 2001 my 14 year old son became suicidal, and after a lengthy stay in a behavior unit was diagnosed with ultra rapid cycle bipolar disorder. Two of his brothers followed with similar diagnoses shortly after. It's funny how normal our lives had seemed when they were little children. I never realized that everyone's children were not like mine. Of course now I know that some had an easier time than we did parenting and even more had a far more difficult time. I am grateful to God for sending me the wonderful children that are mine. Each unique and different but bound together with love and eternal family ties.
My little boys were awesome, they were the best kids ever and they still are now that they are adults. They are my life, my joy and my happiness. Life with a houseful of boys was never dull. They have always been Mama's Boys and it has been so fun and rewarding to have them in my life.
My first son was born in 1974 on a hot June day in Utah. He arrived after a few Pitosin IV's, the doctor breaking my water and his Grandpa (a dairy farmer and my Dad) comparing my most intense labor to that of a dairy cow having her first calf. My beautiful baby boy came into this world 14 days after his due date, it seemed like I had been pregnant forever. My husband was stuck in Illinois being trained for his military career and didn't get to be there for the event. After giving birth to our 7 pound 14 ounce beautiful baby boy I anxiously awaited his long distance call to the hospital so that I could tell him that he had a son. That was a wonderful and tearful moment for both of us. That new father met his son 6 weeks later at the Salt Lake Airport. I was so nervous. The baby had his new born rash, full blown and covering him from head to toe. His Daddy took one look at him and said "What is all over his face?" I burst into tears and the rest is history. This little boy grew to be a beautiful fair skinned, strawberry blonde child with a smile that could melt your heart.
Then two years and twenty eight days later came son number two. He was in a hurry to come into this world. We became pregnant with him about two years before we had planned, then the Braxton Hicks contractions began in the first trimester and continued until the day he was born, ten days after his due date. My family was on their way from Utah to come help with my new baby and my two year old (that will be a story to share at a later date). I decided to bake homemade cookies for my then three and seven year old brothers. The Braxton Hicks contractions had been coming regularly for seven months, I decided that I had had enough. Cookies were finished baking and put away, so I walked into the living room and announced to my husband that it was time to go to the hospital. He looked at me and replied, "Can it wait until this movie is over?" My answer was NO!
We walked into the hospital around midnight and I asked who the person on duty was. They wanted to know why, and I told them if the midwife, (Major Ballif) wasn't on duty I was going to go home to have this baby. They called her in, she came and checked me. I rolled over about to get up and go to the bathroom and yelled, "I have to push!" A few minutes later we were holding our 7 pound 12 1/2 ounce baby boy. He was beautiful, giant dark blue eyes, long dark eyelashes, lots of dark hair and a beautiful olive complexion just like his Daddy! He took his first breath of air and then peed all over Major Ballif. She didn't seem to mind. After he was born she didn't say "It's a boy." She looked at him and tenderly said his name. I just love midwives!
After that wonderful delivery, that hospital stay became one for the record books, we could not wait to get him home. It was an extremely hot 4 days of summer in Texas, at an Air Force Base hospital with a broken air conditioner, a broken ice machine and rules that resembled those my husband had told me about in basic training. I survived the 5 a.m. calls to change my own bed sheets, trying to breast feed having to where a long sleeved heavy weight hospital gown over my own nightgown and robe, not being allowed to hold my baby except at feeding time and not ever being allowed to put the baby down on my bed because he might get germs that will make him sick. I am so glad that I am able to laugh about this experience now, at the time we were in such a hurry to get the hell out of there that we took him home in his hospital T-shirt and receiving blanket and even forgot to get him circumsized. This beautiful little baby cried a lot, was sick a lot, smiled a lot, worried us a lot and gave us great joy! I can honestly say that being born was the only time in his whole life that he has ever been in a hurry.
Son number three came into this world only 6 days after his designated due date. He was born in upstate New York on a cold fall day in late September. He came along four years and two months after our second son, just as we had planned, with two exceptions, he was a boy (we were sure it was going to be a girl) and he was born the size of a three month old. A beautiful 10 pound 2 1/2 ounce dark haired, olive skinned wonderful baby boy with 2 big brothers that absolutely adored him. He was a miracle in the making. He new his colors and shapes and could speak with clarity by the age of 9 months. By 18 months he new and could recognize numbers 1-20 as well as the ABC's. When he was 28 months old he came in the kitchen to show me a drawing he had made of our family, to my surprise I could tell who was who, and that was confirmed by the names he had written above each stick figure. He taught himself to read by age 3.
Once this four year old started school he got in all kinds of mischief. By 2nd grade every weeks worth of homework was always completed the day it was received and before he even arrived home on the school bus. The only problem with this little boy was keeping him from getting bored. In kindergarten and first grade this was very difficult. He had a couple of teachers who were very scheduled. They thought that it was important to keep every student on the same learning schedule. Unfortunately the curriculum they were teaching only included subjects at the level that our son had completed before he was three years old. It was very hard to keep him busy. Once when I was called in to speak with his teacher, I found that she was rather angry. You see, this teacher had prepared worksheets in advance (at least a semesters worth) and set them up in the classroom intending for students to complete them one at a time while she was working with each reading group. She ran out of worksheets far sooner than she had anticipated. It seemed that our bright little 5 year old had gotten bored. Worksheets being his favorite activity, next to playing Atari games, he had completed his work and went to get a worksheet as instructed, however after he finished one he went and got a second, then a third and so on. He had completed them all and there were not any worksheets left for the other students to do. I explained to her that he was bored and that he had been reading since age 3, she didn't seem to know what to do with him. I am not sure she even cared that he was bored. She refused to change her curriculum to accommodate our son in any way, to the point that she still insisted that he could not read until he had completed the reading readiness unit. I could not believe what I was hearing, so the next day I sent chapter books with him to school and told him just to keep them in his desk and pull them out after he had completed his one worksheet a day. It took a few days for his teacher to notice. At parent teacher conference she was not happy, but agreed to disagree. AND I, had always thought that being the parent of two boys with learning disabilities was a challenge. Boy was I wrong.
Number four son took a while to join us. First to convince his dad that Heaven still had a little one that was supposed to join our family, secondly to be conceived. He arrived just 21 days less than 7 years after our third son. He was born in California in 1987. He was most definitely the cutest baby in the whole wide world! Big almond shaped dark blue eyes just like dads, dark hair like two of his older brothers and the most beautiful olive complexion I had ever seen on a baby that was not of color. The one and only time that he was in the hospital nursery for an hour or two, many visitors had commented that he was one of the African American twins that had been born just a minute or two before my son. But he was not, he was all mine. It was my most difficult labor and delivery, my body was older and had been unnoticeably damaged after giving birth to my last baby that should have been delivered by c-section. This 4th baby was born healthy with mom's uterus being delivered shortly after. It took some repair, but I was put back together and the midwife made my husband raise his right hand and solemnly swear to have a vasectomy before my 6 week check up. This beautiful baby boy was spoiled rotten by three big brothers, but like the others grew up to be one of their best friends. To this day I am still proud to say that my boys have and always will be each others best friends.
Son number five did not come from my womb, but became our child through circumstance. You see he was born my nephew. We moved back to Utah when he was 2 years old. His biological parents suffered greatly from mental illness and drug addictions and still do to this day. My parents were doing their best to try to raise him and still allow mom and dad to think they were his parents. His dad went to prison and mom should have. We tried to get custody of him then, at age two, however Child and family services were not cooperative at all. Even though this child was being abused, mentally, physically, sexually as well as neglected and subjected to drug use, shoplifting, crimes and immorality of all kinds, we were not able to get custody of him until his maternal Grandmother and young aunt came forth to testify of the abuse they had personally witnessed. By then he was 8 years old. We were happy to have him join our family permanently and were proud to call him one of our own. I always new that we were supposed to have five children!
These five wonderful boys brought us great joy. Not without challenges of course, but I am proud to call them my sons. Together we have and continue to weather the storms of life that include, learning disabilities, ADHD, fetal drug and alcohol syndrome, depression, bipolar disorder and now physical disabilities. We stand together and support each other through all of life's challenges. With great faith and persistence all Mama's Boys have grown up brave and strong. They are wonderful sons, husbands, fathers and uncles and I will always be proud to have them in this Mama Bears den of Bipolar Bears.
Between myself, my late husband and our 5 sons we are challenged with clinical depression, obsessive compulsive disorder, (possible) Aspergers Syndrome, anxiety disorder, sequential imbalance learning disability, learning disabilities unspecified, ADHD, ADD, bipolar disorder, fetal drug and alcohol syndrome, as well as severe degenerative bone disease. I am aware that we live in a world of parents, doctors and educators who are against putting a label on children's struggles through life and learning. I have found that most of my children, as well as the children that I have worked with seem to have a need to know why they are different than other children and want to know what caused them to be different. When taught that they can become anything they want to be if they work hard enough and long enough, most challenged children, knowing the hows and whys of their personal struggles are able to not only accept their differences, but embrace them regardless of any label.
Being different can be wonderful. Our challenges can become the blessings that touch our lives and the lives of others. Rather than being discouraged because of our struggles we can use them to better our lives. We can educate ourselves and others about our challenges and help to better the acceptance of mental illness and physical disabilities in the world that surrounds us. Through faith, hope, knowledge and prayer all things are possible.
More to come on living happily with life's challenges.
Thanks for reading.
Friday, January 8, 2016
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Prayer?
I was raised in Utah. My family was LDS, as the majority of Utah families were at that time. It was my grandparents who were the most influential in setting the LDS standards for my life. When I attended church, most of the time it was with my grandparents.
My dad gave me a blessing and a name at birth. He baptized me when I was 8 years old. At that time, he lived life as a worthy priesthood member. However, it was only for a short time, in order to get me baptised, but I am grateful that he did this for me. I was very afraid of the water. As an adult I still can't handle having my head under water. He knew that there was no way in hell I would allow anyone but him to put my head and body underwater and trust that they would bring me back up again. The words didn't come out quite right the first time, so just when he went to dunk me the officiator stopped him and he started over again. I still remember how grateful I was. If I was going to have to be dunked twice I probably would have jumped out of the font and made them take me home.
I was a Daddy's Girl right from the start! Shortly after my baptism dad went back to his usual ways. Alcohol was his vice. I still thank God that he was a nice drunk. It made his addiction more tolerable.
Dad could do anything. He was a hard working farmer and Southern Pacific Railroad worker. He was talented, intelligent, handsome and kind. As a young child I would follow him anywhere, through the fields to help him irrigate, to the barn to milk the cows, or to the garage to repair equipment. He was an important example to me and he taught me to do most of what I know how to do today. But the one thing he didn't teach me was how to do was pray.
I can't recall ever hearing Dad pray out loud when I was a child. The only public prayer that I can remember him offering was as an adult. It was the family prayer at his brothers funeral. He was a nervous wreck. But he did it well, and did it only because that was what his brother had asked him to do. I think I did get him to bless the food a time or two on Thanksgiving or Christmas at my home........but I had to ensure him that short and sweet would be fine and let him know that it didn't have to be a Grandpa Andersen Prayer.
Mom probably instructed me in nightly prayer as a small child, but I don't remember for sure. She was a primary teacher and went to church with me sometimes. She did her best to lead me down the straight and narrow path, but at times it was difficult for her to do. Her allegiance was always to her husband first. She was a good mom and a dedicated wife. I'm am afraid that I only followed her wifely example for a short while. One of the biggest mistakes I probably made in my 38 1/2 year marriage was that most of the time my boys came first.
Grandma and Grandpa Andersen were the ones who taught me most about prayer. They prayed at every meal, they had family prayer, they knelt together in prayer each night before they went to sleep.
Some of my fondest memories of them comes from spending the night at their house as a child. Their bedroom was upstairs in their 150 year old farm house. There was no bathroom upstairs, but grandma always kept and empty coffee can nearby in case of a night time bathroom emergency. She would make me a bed near their bed by placing two chairs together seat to seat and adding blankets for padding. I was always invited to kneel with them for night time prayer. They would take turns every other night and they both offered the most beautiful prayers. After prayer they would kiss me good night. Then I would watch as they first said 'I love you' to each other, then 'good night', then a short sweet kiss on the lips. Who wouldn't have sweet dreams every night after that?
I, on the other hand am a little like my dad in the praying department. I am very uncomfortable praying in public. I remember when I was a pre-teen. It seemed that every time I went to Sunday School I would be asked to offer the prayer. They figured that since I hadn't been there for a while that it was my turn. I stopped going to Sunday School because I hated giving the prayer. To me prayer is still something very private, between me and the Lord.
In spite of my uncomfortableness, as an adult I prayed in public when asked (usually short, sweet and to the point). I prayed with my children often and taught them the importance of prayer. On most days my children and I had scripture study and prayer, we prayed before meals, we had family prayer at weekly family meetings and home evenings. I knelt with them as small children as they offered thanksgiving each night for their family, friends and possessions. Oh how I do love to listen to the humble prayers of a little child.
For me the importance of prayer became most evident during times of trial. I remember when we lived in upstate New York. I was in a shallow hole of depression that was growing deeper day by day. I kept getting prompted to pray throughout the nights and days for over a month. Stubborn as I am, I kept refusing.
Things had not been going like Mark and I had planned, I was very bitter, we had not received the orders that we were expecting in order to move to California. Money was very tight at the time and the Bishop kept asking me to go on a week long temple trip to Washington D.C. That, was NOT in our budget. Two of our three children were suffering from learning disabilities and not getting their needs met at school, and our third child was an overly intelligent BRAT. It was just an over all discouraging time in our lives.
One night after Mark and I had went to bed, I layed for what seemed like hours tossing and turning......I kept hearing what seemed like a whisper saying "Pray". Finally I gave in, and loudly said "OK". I knelt alone by our bed and offered a short and silent, very humble prayer asking my Heavenly Father what it was that he wanted me do. Very quickly I heard a soft whispering voice tell me "Go to the temple, the money will be provided for you". I said 'amen'. I climbed back in bed and the moment my head hit the pillow, Mark said, "Well, what did He say?". I repeated what I had heard, Mark told me that I better call the bishop first thing in the morning and tell him that I would be going to D.C. after all. We went right to sleep and we both slept better that night than we had in weeks.
The Bishop was notified, there was one spot left on the temple bus and it was mine. Only 7 days remained before the bus would leave for Washington D.C. In that seven days people called continually asking me to babysit. To cut, perm, or color their hair. To do sewing and mending for them. After each task was finished they would leave a few dollars on my kitchen table. By the time we were to leave for D.C. I had collected $267.00, the exact amount, to the penny, needed for the trip, meals and motel included.
Our friends had volunteered to keep our children for the week as Mark was going to be TDY the same time that I would be gone. The orders for California arrived just before I left, and my oldest son was set up for testing at the University of Vermont so that we could find out just what his learning disabilities were and how to help him. The local college had also contacted me offering to put both the boys in a free reading and testing program for the learning disabled. It would train students who were studying in the field of special education to diagnose and educate students with reading difficulties. This program led to an understanding of my second sons reading issues and helped us learn what needed to be done to help him as well. Talk about blessings!
I went on that temple trip. The miracles that happened while I was in the Washington D.C. temple are just too spiritually incredible to share with you in this post. It was a glorious experience that I will never forget. One noteworthy of a page or two in my blue denim binder.
In the few remaining months that we were able to spend in New York my family had received blessings more numerous than I had ever dreamed possible.
Did I learn a lesson from this experience? Yes I did. I learned that no matter what place I am in during my life and no matter what struggles I am trying to muddle through, even at times when I have totally given up, my Heavenly Father loves me. No matter what I have done to mess up my life He will answer my prayers. If I follow the direct guidance He gives me, my life will be blessed.
I have a testimony of prayer. It need not be out loud, the words do not need to be biblical or fancy, you don't have to be at church or even in a private setting. He listens, rather you are loudly pleading to him from a jail cell, talking to Him while driving down the road, or just thinking thoughts in your mind directed toward Him. He is there. He will give you answers and He will always lead you in the direction you need to go. The answers may not be loud, they may not come to you directly, and they will most likely come when you least expect them.......but I promise you, they will come.
I offer sweet prayers for all of you in hopes of a better tomorrow!
With Love,
Grammy Pammy Grahammy
My dad gave me a blessing and a name at birth. He baptized me when I was 8 years old. At that time, he lived life as a worthy priesthood member. However, it was only for a short time, in order to get me baptised, but I am grateful that he did this for me. I was very afraid of the water. As an adult I still can't handle having my head under water. He knew that there was no way in hell I would allow anyone but him to put my head and body underwater and trust that they would bring me back up again. The words didn't come out quite right the first time, so just when he went to dunk me the officiator stopped him and he started over again. I still remember how grateful I was. If I was going to have to be dunked twice I probably would have jumped out of the font and made them take me home.
I was a Daddy's Girl right from the start! Shortly after my baptism dad went back to his usual ways. Alcohol was his vice. I still thank God that he was a nice drunk. It made his addiction more tolerable.
Dad could do anything. He was a hard working farmer and Southern Pacific Railroad worker. He was talented, intelligent, handsome and kind. As a young child I would follow him anywhere, through the fields to help him irrigate, to the barn to milk the cows, or to the garage to repair equipment. He was an important example to me and he taught me to do most of what I know how to do today. But the one thing he didn't teach me was how to do was pray.
I can't recall ever hearing Dad pray out loud when I was a child. The only public prayer that I can remember him offering was as an adult. It was the family prayer at his brothers funeral. He was a nervous wreck. But he did it well, and did it only because that was what his brother had asked him to do. I think I did get him to bless the food a time or two on Thanksgiving or Christmas at my home........but I had to ensure him that short and sweet would be fine and let him know that it didn't have to be a Grandpa Andersen Prayer.
Mom probably instructed me in nightly prayer as a small child, but I don't remember for sure. She was a primary teacher and went to church with me sometimes. She did her best to lead me down the straight and narrow path, but at times it was difficult for her to do. Her allegiance was always to her husband first. She was a good mom and a dedicated wife. I'm am afraid that I only followed her wifely example for a short while. One of the biggest mistakes I probably made in my 38 1/2 year marriage was that most of the time my boys came first.
Grandma and Grandpa Andersen were the ones who taught me most about prayer. They prayed at every meal, they had family prayer, they knelt together in prayer each night before they went to sleep.
Some of my fondest memories of them comes from spending the night at their house as a child. Their bedroom was upstairs in their 150 year old farm house. There was no bathroom upstairs, but grandma always kept and empty coffee can nearby in case of a night time bathroom emergency. She would make me a bed near their bed by placing two chairs together seat to seat and adding blankets for padding. I was always invited to kneel with them for night time prayer. They would take turns every other night and they both offered the most beautiful prayers. After prayer they would kiss me good night. Then I would watch as they first said 'I love you' to each other, then 'good night', then a short sweet kiss on the lips. Who wouldn't have sweet dreams every night after that?
I, on the other hand am a little like my dad in the praying department. I am very uncomfortable praying in public. I remember when I was a pre-teen. It seemed that every time I went to Sunday School I would be asked to offer the prayer. They figured that since I hadn't been there for a while that it was my turn. I stopped going to Sunday School because I hated giving the prayer. To me prayer is still something very private, between me and the Lord.
In spite of my uncomfortableness, as an adult I prayed in public when asked (usually short, sweet and to the point). I prayed with my children often and taught them the importance of prayer. On most days my children and I had scripture study and prayer, we prayed before meals, we had family prayer at weekly family meetings and home evenings. I knelt with them as small children as they offered thanksgiving each night for their family, friends and possessions. Oh how I do love to listen to the humble prayers of a little child.
For me the importance of prayer became most evident during times of trial. I remember when we lived in upstate New York. I was in a shallow hole of depression that was growing deeper day by day. I kept getting prompted to pray throughout the nights and days for over a month. Stubborn as I am, I kept refusing.
Things had not been going like Mark and I had planned, I was very bitter, we had not received the orders that we were expecting in order to move to California. Money was very tight at the time and the Bishop kept asking me to go on a week long temple trip to Washington D.C. That, was NOT in our budget. Two of our three children were suffering from learning disabilities and not getting their needs met at school, and our third child was an overly intelligent BRAT. It was just an over all discouraging time in our lives.
One night after Mark and I had went to bed, I layed for what seemed like hours tossing and turning......I kept hearing what seemed like a whisper saying "Pray". Finally I gave in, and loudly said "OK". I knelt alone by our bed and offered a short and silent, very humble prayer asking my Heavenly Father what it was that he wanted me do. Very quickly I heard a soft whispering voice tell me "Go to the temple, the money will be provided for you". I said 'amen'. I climbed back in bed and the moment my head hit the pillow, Mark said, "Well, what did He say?". I repeated what I had heard, Mark told me that I better call the bishop first thing in the morning and tell him that I would be going to D.C. after all. We went right to sleep and we both slept better that night than we had in weeks.
The Bishop was notified, there was one spot left on the temple bus and it was mine. Only 7 days remained before the bus would leave for Washington D.C. In that seven days people called continually asking me to babysit. To cut, perm, or color their hair. To do sewing and mending for them. After each task was finished they would leave a few dollars on my kitchen table. By the time we were to leave for D.C. I had collected $267.00, the exact amount, to the penny, needed for the trip, meals and motel included.
Our friends had volunteered to keep our children for the week as Mark was going to be TDY the same time that I would be gone. The orders for California arrived just before I left, and my oldest son was set up for testing at the University of Vermont so that we could find out just what his learning disabilities were and how to help him. The local college had also contacted me offering to put both the boys in a free reading and testing program for the learning disabled. It would train students who were studying in the field of special education to diagnose and educate students with reading difficulties. This program led to an understanding of my second sons reading issues and helped us learn what needed to be done to help him as well. Talk about blessings!
I went on that temple trip. The miracles that happened while I was in the Washington D.C. temple are just too spiritually incredible to share with you in this post. It was a glorious experience that I will never forget. One noteworthy of a page or two in my blue denim binder.
In the few remaining months that we were able to spend in New York my family had received blessings more numerous than I had ever dreamed possible.
Did I learn a lesson from this experience? Yes I did. I learned that no matter what place I am in during my life and no matter what struggles I am trying to muddle through, even at times when I have totally given up, my Heavenly Father loves me. No matter what I have done to mess up my life He will answer my prayers. If I follow the direct guidance He gives me, my life will be blessed.
I have a testimony of prayer. It need not be out loud, the words do not need to be biblical or fancy, you don't have to be at church or even in a private setting. He listens, rather you are loudly pleading to him from a jail cell, talking to Him while driving down the road, or just thinking thoughts in your mind directed toward Him. He is there. He will give you answers and He will always lead you in the direction you need to go. The answers may not be loud, they may not come to you directly, and they will most likely come when you least expect them.......but I promise you, they will come.
I offer sweet prayers for all of you in hopes of a better tomorrow!
With Love,
Grammy Pammy Grahammy
Friday, March 20, 2015
On Patience.
Some say that I am a very patient person. Others say that I have an acute case of Pollyanna syndrome. I am not sure if I agree with either opinion. What is patience anyway?
Pa-tience ˈpāSHəns/ noun
1.the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset.
After looking at the definition, I realize that most of the time I have the capacity to accept delay. I believe that I have been able to tolerate trouble and suffering. But.....that without getting angry or upset? Definitely questionable.
1.the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset.
After looking at the definition, I realize that most of the time I have the capacity to accept delay. I believe that I have been able to tolerate trouble and suffering. But.....that without getting angry or upset? Definitely questionable.
My boys have always taken great pride in being 'Mama's Boys'. Most of them at some time in their lives have referred to me as 'The Meanest Mother in the World'. As they have grow up and become husbands and parents, that phrase has changed to 'I am so glad that I had the meanest mother in the world!'
I married my soul mate and childhood sweetheart 11 days before my 17th birthday, and 3 days after his 18th birthday and with our first baby already on it's way. Against all odds we were married 48 1/2 years. July 19, 2012 he suddenly died from a blood clot lodged in his heart. A shock to our whole family. A time for pondering the wonderful memories of our lives together.
The week before we got married we joined the Air Force in order to provide for our family, yes, I said we. When your spouse joins the military, like it or not, so do you. We had good times and not so good times. He loved his family and was a good provider. However, let me just say.....in our lives there was never a dull moment.
Mark was a Boom Operator on a KC-135 most of his 20 year career. He loved to fly and enjoyed serving his country. He traveled often, He would be gone weeks or months at a time. He would return home, only to pull alert and have to stay at the facility on base for a week at a time. Then, of course, he would travel again. Fortunately for him he was able to see the world. He was able to experience the joy of seeing the American flag flying for the first time in months after an overseas tour of duty. I on the other hand, I win the prize in the being fortunate department. I had the opportunity to stay home and form the minds and bodies of four wonderful and awesome boys!
Being a married single parent was not an easy task. My heart goes out to all single parents. It was raising those boys that taught me most of the lessons I have learned in this life. Especially patience.
The week before we got married we joined the Air Force in order to provide for our family, yes, I said we. When your spouse joins the military, like it or not, so do you. We had good times and not so good times. He loved his family and was a good provider. However, let me just say.....in our lives there was never a dull moment.
Mark was a Boom Operator on a KC-135 most of his 20 year career. He loved to fly and enjoyed serving his country. He traveled often, He would be gone weeks or months at a time. He would return home, only to pull alert and have to stay at the facility on base for a week at a time. Then, of course, he would travel again. Fortunately for him he was able to see the world. He was able to experience the joy of seeing the American flag flying for the first time in months after an overseas tour of duty. I on the other hand, I win the prize in the being fortunate department. I had the opportunity to stay home and form the minds and bodies of four wonderful and awesome boys!
Being a married single parent was not an easy task. My heart goes out to all single parents. It was raising those boys that taught me most of the lessons I have learned in this life. Especially patience.
Remember back when your first child was born. The smell, the softness, not wanting to put them down or let anyone else hold them. I remember believing that my child was absolutely perfect. No baby could ever be loved as much as he was......then I found out I was expecting number two! How would I ever be able to love a second baby as much as I loved the first? Would I have the patience to raise two little ones and be there for their father as well? Could I learn to be patient when both of them, or all three of them needed me at the same time? I was so afraid that I wouldn't be able to give them each what they needed.
As each child came into my life my love grew and grew and grew. There was never a shortage in the love department. The more I gave, the more I received. As for patience? I realized very early on that I was fortunate to have been born with that gift. Each child that came into my life helped me to perfect that God given talent and allowed me to teach by boys and their father the value of patience!
With love and patience all things are possible!
I'm All About That Blog, 'Bout That Blog, No Journal!
Why blog? The idea to start a blog came to me while relaxing in the bathtub after a long three days and nights with my brother at the hospital. You see........life has given me an over abundance in the blessing department. So many blessings that many friends have assured me that I have earned my spot in heaven. Some have told me that I need to write a book so that others can benefit from my experiences.
Over the past 58 years I have started that book too many times to mention. Those notes, paragraphs, phrases, poems and pages are assembled in an old blue canvas binder that I lovingly call "My Journal". Oh, there are a few real journal entries as well, mostly written during early trials of marriage, parenting and military life. Then of course there are carbon copies of a few letters that I managed to find time to write (by hand) and occasionally even mail to friends and loved ones. Let's not forget the "Graham Cracker Chronicles", a compilation of yearly holiday newsletters summarizing the year of each member of my family in a short paragraph.
I have never seemed to be able to find the time to journal.....so there is no way I could ever make a book happen. Not to mention, the fact that English was never my best subject. The book would also have to be in volumes more lengthy than the "Harry Potter" series and not nearly as interesting or exciting to it's readers.
Now that we live in this wonderful time of technology......why not blog?
My hope it to share life experiences that you will enjoy, that will make you think, make you laugh, and maybe even make you cry.
So let the blogs begin!
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