So far so good!

Saturday will be a day for celebrating! It will mark my husband's 30 day mark of sobriety. I think he is pretty excited about it.

He is planning on going to an AA meeting that is supposed to be wonderful. There will be anywhere from 100-150 people there, and the speakers are supposed to be very inspiring. If it is similar to other AA meetings, he will get a 30 day coin. He said something last night that gave me more hope than almost anything he has said so far. "I will get my 30 day coin on Saturday at that meeting. I am going to have to get a piggy bank."

In the past when he has tried to quit drinking or slow down his drinking, he has always looked forward to his next celebration: Football, a raise, a picnic. And very quickly it would turn into a daily thing again. "I like the taste of beer." "I slept horrible last night, I need a 'few' beers to help me sleep tonight." Then he didn't offer excuses anymore. It was just who he was.

I didn't understand at the time that addiction is a disease. I would retreat into myself and wonder what was so bad about the kids and me that made him want to mentally take a vacation from us every night. I would try to make sure the house was spotless each night when he got home from work. Then I went in the other direction; I started to do nothing around the house in hopes that I might get a reaction out of him. That didn't work either. I am excited that he has finally gotten help for his disease.

I read a quote today that I thought was very fitting: "It's not your FAULT that you have developed depression or addiction or whatever else is trying to steal your life away. But it is your RESPONSIBILITY to save yourself. And you CAN!" Blaming him for his addiction or calling him weak because of it is the same as blaming someone for getting cancer. I feel terrible for degrading him and blaming him all of these years. I recently learned that when you get mad, it is really because you are scared. I thought about that for awhile and cannot think of a single example that disproves that. I have been scared that his addiction would take his life, I have been scared that his addiction would scar our children, I have been scared that his addiction would be forever.

We are reading a book called "You Can't Make Me Angry" by Dr. Paul O. I would suggest this book for anyone in recovery, anyone thinking about going into recovery and the spouses of these people. I got it off of Amazon.com for $10. This book will help you to own your feelings and not blame others.

Anyway, while I am excited for my husband to hit his 30 days, I am excited for day 28 and 29 also. I need to stop looking into the future and remember to take it "one day at a time."

Losing a baby

A friend of mine very recently lost her baby girl and it has brought memories flooding back to me of when I lost my baby son Teagan.

I have been thinking of the hours and days spent in bed praying for sleep to give me a few hours to forget. I remember wanting to drown out the pain by stuffing myself full of Xanax but being scared to death that if i did that, I would need the pills forever. I constantly laid there thinking that this whole mess couldn't possibly be real. I said over and over, "I am not even 30 years old and I am planning a funeral for my baby." I sobbed and sobbed until there literally were no more tears. I then lay there cursing God for my loss then the next breath begging for forgiveness fearful that I wouldn't get to heaven to meet up with my baby boy again. How do you face the rest of your life when you can't bear to face the next hour?

I remember feeling guilty because I didn't have the energy to get out of bed to care for my two living children who still needed me. I loved my husband more than anything because he was the only other person in the world who loved that child as much as I did, but hated him if he didn't cry enough or if he cried too much, or if he didn't have the energy to console me.

As my breasts filled with milk that was made especially for Teagan, I got no relief as he lay in the NICU while everyone prayed for a miracle. My stomach no longer protruded with an active baby boy who kept me awake half the night with his kicking and rolling. Instead, my baby boy lay there lifeless while I laid in my hospital bed feeling empty and hollow.

I still feel angry that my husband can't/won't go to the cemetery to visit our son because the pain is still too much for him to bear. I resent that I have to go alone but then am happy to be alone when I am there. It is my special spot to tend to, nurture, decorate and feel peace. I think now that if he decided to go I would feel like he was intruding on my special place with my son. Then I feel selfish for thinking that. After all, Teagan is his son too!

I absolutely loved every single person who sent cards, attended his funeral and was there for my family and me during that time. My son's step-mom sent me the most beautifully worded card that said something to the effect of, "As the phone calls and cards have slowly started to dwindle, know that you are still thought of daily and prayed for." That was music to my ears because as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months, I realized that the world kept turning, people went about their lives and seemed to forget Teagan.

It still bothers me that he is not a part of our families everyday conversation because not an hour goes by that I don't think about him. It warms my heart that the person who talks about him most or brings him up the most is my son Taylor. Children are supposed to be selfish and self-centered and for the most part Taylor is, but he loved that baby that he never got to know. When he counts out or lists all his brothers and sisters, Teagan is never forgotten. Sometimes as he counts them, I count in my head and am confused at his number, until I realize that he didn't forget Teagan.

People never know what to say to people when they lose someone, especially when that someone is their baby. I found myself struggling with that when I heard of my friends loss. A few things stick out to me that people said.

"You can always try again"

"I know what you're going thru."

"You can have another baby"

"He is in a better place."

While all of those things may be true they are the absolute last thing a grieving parent wants to hear. I have had another baby, and she is beautiful and amazing, I wouldn't trade her for the world. But I still yearn for Teagan. As she reaches her milestones I wonder what Teagan would have been like. Would he prefer chocolate or strawberry milk? Would he have stayed chunky like when he was born or would he have gotten skinny? Would he love coloring or hot wheels? What would he have wanted to be when he grew up?

He definitely is in a better place, nothing is better than heaven, but he never got to experience this life! He never sneezed, he will never get butterfiles in his stomach when he kisses his first girlfriend. He will never experience the smell of the ocean, the thrill of a rollercoaster or the joy of watching his babies be born.

What will he be like when I get to heaven? Will he still be a baby? Will I get to hear his toddler giggles? Will he be a little boy full of wonder? Will he be a man full of wisdom? Will he recognize me?

I know that each person deals with loss and grief differently. Me? I love talking about Teagan. I live for people asking me questions about him. Is it painful? YES! But it keeps his memory alive. It helps me heal. Hopefully, my talking about my loss will help someone else in a similar situation.

Thunderstorm

If you have ever spent a summer in Wisconsin, you know that we have some amazing thunderstorms. This particular thunderstorm wasn’t over-the-top; it didn’t make national news. While this thunderstorm was pretty average as far as thunderstorms go, it will be forever etched in my memory; it left a permanent imprint on my heart.

It started out as a typical day. Well, maybe not typical, but as typical as typical could be just a few short months after losing your infant son. I stayed in bed as long as I possibly could. I guilted myself into getting out of bed by telling myself, “Just because you have a dead child doesn’t mean that you can stay in bed all the time. You have two children who are very much alive and need their mom.” I decided that two seven-year-olds fending for themselves for breakfast every morning wasn’t going to earn me any Mother-of-the-Year awards. I got up, got dressed and trudged down the hall to the kitchen and said a semi-cheerful “good morning” to my sons.

The day was hot, as many summer days in Wisconsin are. Even at ten o’clock in the morning, the sun, still fairly low in the eastern sky, made it too unbearable not to run the central air. The dogs, two disobedient beagles named Howard and Stella, lay on the ceramic tile to try to keep cool. The boys were alternating between video games and cartoons for most of the hot, humid day. I spent my day staring out the window watching the field corn grow that surrounded our home, alternating between trying to hide my anguish from my sons and crying freely, my face drenched from my tears. I couldn’t see our neighbor’s homes once the corn got high enough. That feeling of isolation was both welcome and irritating at the same time.

The plethora of emotions I felt over the previous months since losing my son ranged from one end of the spectrum to the other. Early on, I felt empty, hollow. Where my belly used to protrude, stretched to the limit with a healthy baby boy, it now was flat. The only reminder that a baby used to call my stomach home, were the purplish gray stretch marks that marred my skin. A few days after Teagan’s birth and subsequent death, my breasts filled with special milk that was meant specifically for him, to nourish him and help him fight disease for the first few years of his life. While my breasts ached with unshed milk, a deeper ache in my chest took hold. Heartbreak truly is a physical pain.

Some days I would curse God; I would scream at him for putting me thru what I have now labeled as the worst thing that has ever happened to me. “Haven’t I been thru enough in my life? Haven’t I been a good enough Christian? I don’t deserve this! Why me? Lord, I HATE you for doing this to me!” Other days I would beg him for forgiveness, petrified that I wouldn’t get to Heaven and be reunited with my son.

That August day I felt a dull ache somewhere deep inside me that I had grown quite accustomed to. As I sat there, staring out the window, I decided that I would drive out to the cemetery to visit my Teagan. Lower Weston Cemetery is fairly small compared to some cemeteries I have seen. It is located in the lush, green hills of Weston, southwest of Menomonie. The cemetery is surrounded by rolling farm fields, this particular year, soy beans were planted creating a picturesque green landscape. As I turned onto the dead-end road that the cemetery is located on, I noticed the large herd of cows along the fence that are always there to greet the mourners going to visit the graves of their loved ones. It is almost like they can feel your grief as they look at you with their big, sad, black eyes. There are many generations of Teagan’s family buried in the Lower Weston Cemetery dating back as early as the late 1700’s.

I parked along the back side of the cemetery along the road that encircles it. I walked past my husband’s grandfathers grave, blew him a kiss and whispered, “Hello Papa.” Papa passed away one month to the day after Teagan died. He took Teagan’s death very hard and I suspect he died of heartache. As I kneeled down in front of Teagan’s grave, I started my labor of love washing his tombstone, rearranging the many small statues I had previously placed there and pulling the grass that had grown too long.

Just as I started to talk to him, the sky above us opened up into a torrential downpour. The wind started to howl blowing the leaves on the trees in every direction. The tall evergreen bushes that dotted the cemetery were bending in half from the force of the wind. A huge branch from a tall oak tree snapped off the tree and fell to the earth below about 20 feet from where I stood, dumbfounded. I ran to my car as I saw a bright flash of lightening and heard the loud clap of thunder followed by a deep rumble. The sky had a greenish hue to it that I always relate to tornadoes.

Safe in my car, I surveyed the scene as it played out around me. I decided the conditions were not safe enough for me to start the twenty minute drive home. As I sat there soaking wet in my car, a seething anger overtook me. I felt hot and cold at the same time; cold from the cool rain that had soaked my clothes and hair, hot from the anger inside of me. I started sobbing; uncontrollable, deep sobs wracked my body. Large, hot tears rolled down my face dripping onto my shirt that was already drenched from the rain. I started screaming at God, cursing his name for putting me thru so much pain in my life. He knew how it felt to watch his son die, only unlike me, he was able to hold him afterwards, stroke his face and know that they would never be separated again. How could he be so cruel to me, his loving servant who had shared his word with so many?

I was eventually able to get myself under control. At about the same time the storm started to dwindle, turning the rain into a light mist. By this time, I did not have the energy to get back out of the car and return to my son’s grave; I was spent. I turned the key in the ignition, put the car into drive and slowly made my way down the wet, muddy cemetery road. Exhaustion! I could feel it in every muscle of my body. I turned off of the dead-end road onto the farm road that marked the first part of my trek back home. As I crested the first hill, the sight before me took my breath away. I pulled over to the side of the road.

The skies had turned into a beautiful blue; there were white, puffy clouds off in the distance. The most beautiful, vibrant rainbow I had ever seen stretched across the sky, its arc perfectly laid out before me. It looked like I would be driving right thru the center of the rainbow. I thought back to the story of Noah in the Bible. The rainbow signified God’s covenant to Noah that he would never flood the earth again, killing all of mankind. The rainbow took on a different meaning to me that day. I felt as if that particular rainbow signified that God had heard my cries; he both felt and understood my anguish.

I also like to think that Teagan played a special part in putting that rainbow in front of me. It was his way of letting me know that he is happy in heaven, watching over his family back on earth. He knew I went to the cemetery that day to visit him and the rainbow was his way of acknowledging my presence and thanking me for my devotion to him.

I don’t know why my son was taken from me in such a tragic way. Is my purpose in life to help others deal with such a horrendous loss? Is my purpose to become a Midwife to help be an advocate for expectant parents during their prenatal care? Is my purpose in life even related at all to the death of my special baby Teagan? At this point in my life, I don’t know the answers to those questions; I may never know the answers! However, the storm that ranged around me that hot August day reminded me that I am a child of God. He hears our prayers and feels our pain. If I stay a faithful servant to my Lord and Savior, I will be rewarded with the gift of eternal life. I will be reunited with my perfect beautiful son. What more could I possibly ask for?

Dora the Explorer

As a mom to a two year old, unless a television show plays on Nickelodeon or the Disney Channel, there is a pretty good chance I have not seen it. Cartoons have definitely evolved a great deal since I was a child. Toddler geared cartoons have even evolved in the eleven years since my son was a toddler. From what I can remember, cartoons during my time seemed to be for entertainment purposes only; there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of educational value in them. During my son’s toddlerhood, most of the cartoons had a real musical concentration. Today, most of the cartoons streaming across my television are educational, offering excellent curriculum on a wide variety of subjects.

My daughter’s all-time favorite show is Dora the Explorer which plays several times a day on the various Nickelodeon channels. Dora is a bilingual, Mexican girl who goes on many adventures with her various talking animal friends. She is never without her talking, purple backpack, which is always filled with anything she could possibly need during her explorations. Ironically, her backpack’s name is Backpack. When Dora travels from Summer to Winter, Backpack instantaneously supplies snow gear to Dora and all of her friends. Backpack’s bosom buddy is known as Map. Map always knows which way to go; if an item is missing, map even knows the location of the missing item.

Educationally, Dora the Explorer is a great resource for a toddler to learn some basic Spanish words. Even as an adult, I have learned a few words! The process used to teach Spanish words is a repetitive process, asking the child to repeat the word several times to get the intended result. For instance, if there is a treasure in a talking chest that needs opening, Dora will say something to the effect of, “We need to ask the treasure chest to open, but the treasure chest only speaks Spanish. Say ‘abierto’ with me. Let’s say it louder, ‘abierto!’” My daughter has put some of her newfound Spanish words to use in her everyday life. Recently, she was trying to open a snack, and she was asking me to help her open it by alternating between Spanish and English. Also, when her brother is aggravating her, she has taken to screaming, “Parir,” in order to make him stop.

Swiper the Fox is the resident villain on the show. He is always swiping things from the other characters. During one particular Christmas episode, Swiper ended up on Santa’s “naughty” list for his long list of capers. Swiper was doomed to receive no presents for Christmas. The show sought to teach children to show mercy on people who have done wrong; Dora rallies her friends to help her teach Swiper the true meaning of Christmas. They take Swiper on a journey through time, of course using Map for directions, and Backpack for supplies, in hopes of helping him reverse the wrongs of his past. In the end, Swiper learns that it is better to give than to receive, or “swipe” in his case.

As a parent, there are a few aspects of the show that cause me some alarm. Dora and her best friend, Boots the Talking Monkey, are almost always unsupervised by adults. All of their adventures from the mountains to the beach, and the desert to the jungle are always done alone. I hope that no young child would take it upon themselves, to help save a lost puppy or go “exploring” without letting an adult know first. Along those same lines, in almost every episode, Dora takes a ride from her friend, Tico the Squirrel, to get to her destination faster. She will hop into Tico’s car, plane, or submarine without ever taking the time to ask her mom first. However, as soon as she is in the vehicle she always buckles her seatbelt and says, “Seatbelts, so we can be safe!” I have peace of mind knowing that if my daughter ever takes a ride from a stranger, she will definitely be insistent upon wearing her safety belt.

For my daughter, Dora the Explorer has been a great resource for reinforcing many of the things I try to teach her. Sharing, being kind and merciful, and problem solving are some of the key elements the show offers that I like the best. The color recognition, counting, and teaching of the Spanish language are definite bonuses as well. Like most cartoons, as a parent I just take it for what it is. I make sure to talk with my daughter about each episode and remind her that no matter what she does, checking with mom first is always the best choice!

Hi, my name is Danielle and my husband is an alcoholic. He has been drinking heavily for about the last 6 years. By heavy, I mean that he has been drinking 12-18 beers on a daily basis. I have made excushttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifes to make it seem okay: "At least he drinks at home and isn't at the bar." "He gets up and goes to work everyday." "He doesn't get physical with me or the kids." When the kids would ask why he wasn't at one of their functions, I would lie and say he wasn't feeling well.

Over the past year, I stopped making excuses. If the kids asked, I was honest. I was tired of covering up. I still loved him, but I wasn't "in love" anymore. The way he looked when he was passed out drunk made me want to vomit. The thought of having sex with him, disgusted me to the core. We had an incident in our home on Christmas and that was the last straw. I had threatened before, but I never really meant it. This time I did. The next morning when he was sober enough to listen to me I said, "You will check yourself into treatment by Friday or you will find a new place to live by Friday." For once, I didn't yell, I didn't cry, I didn't try to degrade him. I said it in a very calm, controlled voice, and I walked away.

Apparently he knew I meant it! He called me later that day and asked for the phone number to a local business that runs and i-patient program. He was signed up and living there by my deadline. He originally planned on doing a 10-day treatment, but 3 days in he decided to extend to the 21-day plan. At about day 18 he decided he wanted to continue after his in-patient program with day treatment. I don't think I have ever been so proud of him than I am at this moment. He is truly working his program. He is following the twelve step model and is eve interesting in going to church.

He is supposed to graduate from the in-patient portion of his program tomorrow. This event fills me with mixed emotions. I am so super excited that he will be home. I am excited to start our life fresh. I am excited to build our relationship, because we have started to flirt again. I am excited to watch his relationship with the kids bloom. I am scared that once the safety net of his in-patient program is gone, he will drink again. I am worried that his tools to stay sober won't be strong enough when something triggers him.

I have learned that I am not the one who made him drink and I cannot keep him from drinking in the future. I have learned that I need to own my emotions and that nothing he does ca make me mad; I choose that feeling. I will start attending Alanon meetings, and read ay literature I can get my hands on about Codependency and how to break the cycle. His disease has become my disease; we both have lots of healing to do and we will take it one day at a time.

As I sit here thinking about the Republican GOP Primary debates, some things come to mind. I vote based on issues that are close to my heart.

I would never vote for someone who was not against abortion. I don't understand abortion, and I don't want to. I hear arguments that it is a woman's body, it is her choice. That is a load of crap! If it was her body she should be classified as mutated because she would have two heads, two sets of lungs, and two hearts. Not to mention four eyes, four arms and four legs. It is not herself she would be killing, it is somebody else, and in my book that means murder.

America is the land of opportunity. All people should be treated equal. If one person works hard and becomes financially successful, there is no reason whatsoever that he should be held to different tax standards than the next guy. Our rich should not have to pay for our poor!

Speaking of the poor brings me to my next point of the welfare system. Having been in dire straits before, I have been the recipient of WIC, Food Stamps, and state funded health care. That being said, I have worked hard to get out of that situation and be self supportive. I will admit that my family still receive state funded healthcare, but we do pay a premium. My husbands employer does not offer it at his current status. I know a lady who is receiving $682 in W-2 money. In addition to that, she receives food-stamps, WIC, FREE healthcare, her rent is paid by Westcap for a minimum of the next one year, she gets free electricity. Did I mention that she is pregnant with her 3rd child, and I know of at least two abortions that she has had. She is refusing to work because she has a bad ankle; however, I have personally witnessed her running while playing with her children, pushing a heaping cart full of groceries around the grocery store, and biking three miles with her children to take them trick-or-treating to a neighborhood that "gives better candy." In addition, she lives in a 2nd story apartment, and seems to have no issues walking up and down a full flight of stairs. I think that our social service systems are abused in this country and need to be reformed. They need to have checks and balances in place that will protect our children and weed out abusers. First and foremost, drug testing should be mandatory for all recipients of any welfare program! You have enough money for tobacco and booze, but not enough for food, clothing and housing for your kids? You need to take a look at your priorities and the monies you receive from the government should be adjusted accordingly.

I have so many more political issues that I believe in, maybe I shall comment on some of those again soon. Until then, please get to know your political candidates and make the right choices when voting!