The Year That Almost Didn't Happen

So I haven't done a whole lot of blogging this year. I write when the words come to me, and this year they've been elusive but for a few exceptions. This, however, came to me as soon as the chill of impending winter set in.

Usually, if I sit down to write a ‘year in review’ post, I (a) wait until the ENTIRE year is over, and (b) take for granted all the silly and superficial ups and downs of daily life. Usually, my heart aches for the pieces that were torn away three and a half years ago. This year, my heart is full. This year I’ve been blessed beyond my wildest dreams and yet, it almost didn’t happen. 2015 nearly ended for my family before it even began.

The day we came home to the carbon monoxide detector going off, none of us had ever experienced that sort of situation before, and everything seemed fine, so it would have been all too easy to just brush off the warning – take the batteries out of the detector to stop the annoying alerts and go about life as normal. We almost went to sleep that Sunday night no different from any other... except, if we had done that, we’d have never woken up. We’d all have died from an invisible intruder we should have known was lying in wait.

Instead, that night, we carted three people and five cats to a local hotel, literally minutes from our home, but that night it was a safe haven. I remember sitting in the living room waiting for a friend to bring cat carriers, wondering how much gas I was breathing in just sitting there. I remember reaching into the depths of my bank account to pay for the hotel room that was saving our lives. And most of all, I remember the seriousness and the fear on my family’s faces the following day when they  solemnly told me that none of us would have survived if I hadn’t insisted on going to the hotel that night.

Unfortunately this set off a whole cascade of unfortunate events and I couldn’t possibly count the tears I cried in those first couple days. Then – a miracle. Though every call I made to inquire about heating assistance was fruitless, help came to us in our time of need. Through the unimaginable kindness of what most people would consider near-strangers, people with whom I just happened to share a common interest, the malfunctioning appliance was quickly replaced. Because of another stranger who helped fill my car with firewood, we were kept warm through the week we waited to have the repairs done. People I'd never met before cared for my family as though it were their own, and I will never forget that kindness.

In fact, that’s why 2015 happened.

That’s why the first hug I got from A in three years happened.

It’s why AJ, my sweet (borrowed) little 6 year old with autism, crawled up into my lap and told me I was his best friend.

It’s why I fostered and found homes for four more litters of kittens (Prose and Haiku are HOME for the holidays – adopted together last week!)

It’s why I got to celebrate a Sweet Sixteen with M - who was THREE when I met her!

It’s why I got to help make Christmas magic for a friend who was also struggling.

It’s why I got to go on my first date (yes, at 25 years old, and no, he wasn’t the one, but I enjoyed the rite of passage!)

It’s why I got to take my best friend to Washington DC for her 30^th birthday, fulfilling a lifelong wish for both of us.

It’s why I got to bake Christmas cookies with my friend’s little girl last week.

It’s why every minute of these 365 days happened.

The kindness of near-strangers; that's why those things happened.

And it's why the next 365 days will happen.

Why I will train at the Dojo once again, recapturing the self-confidence karate gave me years ago.

Why we will be there to celebrate a 17^th, 13^th, and 7^th birthday.

Why we will foster several more litters of kittens on their way to forever homes.

Why we will all be here to continue paying it forward.

The ugly, evil parts of the world are all-too-visible and can easily trick us into thinking that the entire world, and everyone in it, are cruel and unforgiving. I, however, have proof that this is not the case. An outpouring of human kindness is the reason I'm here, and this time of year, I can recall all too clearly how things could have been different, so once again, I owe my thanks to people who were there for us last winter. Yes - there are still good ones out there - and to them, I say: Thank you... for 2015.

The Year With No Hugs

I want to preface this by saying that I do recognize and appreciate and love the friends and family who are still in my life.  I give thanks for every one of you, because without you, this would all be so much harder.  My Year With No Hugs wasn't truly hug-free because of you.

It's January 1 again.  Another year passed.  Last year, I had so much to say about the previous year, because 2012 was so eventful for us (and no, not in good ways, for the most part).  This year... there's not much to say.  2013 was not eventful but for that I struggled with my health some more... three more surgeries and a birthday in the hospital, among other things.  But there's one thing that does stand out about 2013.

Since I met A in 2004, as well as since AJ was born in 2009,  there have been a few times when I went weeks, or even months, without seeing them.  Pawns in the cruel games adults played against each other, there were times when I couldn't see them... but they were always temporary, because I was needed.

2012 was the year that all changed.  When I made the phone call that changed our lives, I knew that this could be the case.  I also knew I had to do it anyways.  2012 was the year I said goodbye to my babies.  Gave my last hugs... if only I'd known they had to last this long, I would've hugged a little tighter, held on a little longer...

After exhausting all possibilities of bringing them home, I rang in 2013 with a heavy heart... hurting, because I knew I wouldn't be spending the new year with my babies, but still a little hopeful that things might change, and still glad to say goodbye to 2012.

We didn't get a miracle in 2013.  Things didn't change... not in the way I wanted, anyways.  I suspect they haven't changed at all... but there's no way to know for sure... because 2013 was the first year since I met A and since AJ was born that I didn't see them at all.

Not a glimpse.

Not even in passing.

Many times I thought of them, how I used to hug them close and thank God for putting them in my life... and I wished I could hug them again.  I dreamed about one day when I might get the opportunity to get just one more hug.  But it didn't come.  2013 was The Year With No Hugs.  Not once did I get to hold my babies close, smell the way their hair smelled after bath time, snuggle up and read a book, embrace them because I was so happy to see them again.  Not once.  I didn't even see their little faces.  Not.  One.  Time.

A whole year without hugging someone you love more than life itself is a long time.  It's a hard time.  It's a hurting time.

Maybe that's why I have so little to say about 2013.  When someone you love is missing... not much else matters.

I'm healing.  There will be two squares missing from my little patchwork family until A and AJ are in my life again (however long it takes)... but I'm learning, slowly, how to get by until then.

Who knows?  Maybe this will be our year.  I'm not giving up hope so long as there is breath left in me.  I'm still praying, every day, for our miracle.

Babies, wherever you are... prepare to be hugged, because when I see you again, I owe you a whole year's worth.

Auto Manufacturers Must Not Have Kids

This is the conclusion I have come to this week.

Why?

Well... remember riding in, say, your grandma's car in the 1990's?  And how she didn't have a nifty button to push to roll the windows down, you had to use that horrible crank thing?  Yeah, that was no fun, right?  Worse, if you've ever had the misfortune of driving your grandma's car, and happened to want fast food, or cold beer (whichever is your choice intoxicant), you know those things require MEGA muscles!  And if the person in front of you at the drive thru is smoking in their car and you want to roll the window up whenever its being down is not vital to your mission, it's doubly rotten.

Boy, it sure is a good thing they developed those nice little switches that make the windows go up and down BY THEMSELVES!  No longer will we have tired arms at every drive thru, no longer will you bump a window crank getting something heavy out of the car, no, now there's a BUTTON!  And better yet, in the driver's door, there's a button that LOCKS all the other windows, so your kids CAN'T even play with them!  One of the best features, by far, about Clyde, the 1990 Honda Accord I inherited (funny enough, it did used to be my grandma's car) when I was sixteen, was those automatic windows... which honestly I didn't even expect in a car that old.

Surely, when I bought a NEW car... when I was lucky enough to get my hands on a 2010 vehicle IN 2011... it would have the same ingenious invention...

But wait...

...........

....................................

......................................................................

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NOT THE CRANK WINDOWS!!!!




So at first I was like... "Eh, okay.  I got this.  I'm a big girl, strong arm muscles from carrying babies.  I can do this."

Then I was like "Man, this is really irritating when the guy in front of me at McDonald's is smoking... but oh well, more exercise."

Then I met Ophlf, who you may remember from a previous post.  Despite being "completely fictional"... Ophlf picked up RIGHT AWAY on those crank windows and what they meant.

The first time I was driving down the highway before I heard the faint whistling sound from the back seat.  'What is that?!' I thought.  'Was one of those creepy abandoned places I visited *actually* haunted, and the ghost decided to hitch a ride??'  I glance in the back seat.  Nope.  Crank is suspciously out of place.  Hmm.  Maybe I bumped it.  Surely Ophlf couldn't have figured that out AND reached it from his 5 point harness car seat!

The second time I was barely down the street because the window was WAY open and I was catching an icy breeze.  Stop to close it.  Notice that it's open just enough that, if he could reach the handle, Ophlf couldn't possibly have pushed it any further.  Hmm.  Maybe it's not the ghost.

Then a couple days ago... Ophlf did not want to get into the car.  No, that's an understatement.  Getting Ophlf in the car was like getting a cat into a bathtub full of water.  Finally wrestling the little goober into his car seat, restraining his upper body at very least, Ophlf commenced kicking.  Kicking everything in reach of his (long!) legs.  I sat and observed.  My first assumption had been right.  Ophlf could not reach the window crank... with his hands... but the feet... right to the window crank.

The normal warning him not to do it again, applying consequences, etc, was completely ineffective.  Ophlf was hell-bent on rolling that window down as far as he could.  Usually when I wasn't looking, so that later, when I was driving alone and could not easily stop and roll the window back up (which requires a yoga-like reach into the back seat, because car manufacturers are dumb), I was stuck with a whistling and/or cold gap in my car's keep-the-outside-out-and-the-inside-in armor.

THIS DRIVES ME CRAZY.

I'll illustrate, because I feel like it, and so you can see how hilariously bad I am at MS paint.

Yeah.  So here I am thinking I'm safe with a nice new car, and THEY'VE PUT THOSE INFURIATING CRANK WINDOWS ON IT!  Combined with Ophlf, I'm doomed to an eternity of bad hair days and frantically fleeing said window.  WHY, car manufacturers, WHY would you do this??

And then it dawns on me.  They must not have children.  To someone with no children, a crank window is merely a mild inconvenience.  To someone with children, crank windows can be irritating.  To someone driving around a child like Ophlf, these sort of windows MAKE YOU WANT TO GO EVEN MORE INSANE THAN YOU ALREADY ARE!

Ever determined, as I am, I was going to put an end to this window problem.  I scoured the internet for some sort of device to child proof this type of window - because if they were still making cars with that feature, some smart parent had come up with a device to child-proof them.

Nope.

Nada.

Nothing.

The best I could come up with was a bunch of guys with beards explaining how to remove the window crank.

'That could work...' I thought.  I didn't want to have to remove it, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

One video featured a fancy little tool, which the bearded man (I assume he has a beard, I'm not sure I ever actually saw his face, that's just how I picture him) assured you could be made at home or bought at a store.  This almost made me laugh audibly.  Broke as I am, and mechanically inept, there would be no tool for me... regardless of how seamlessly easy it made the process look.  Take a look for yourself:

Lacking the fancy tool, I looked for another method.  And I found one, a method using things I already had!  This website advertised that all you needed was a flathead screwdriver and a rag!

I set to work immediately, even enlisting the help of best friend, best friend's roommate, and best friend's ex husband (don't ask).  Not a one of us could get the stupid thing off with a rag.  All we learned is how to break the window crank... which was not exactly what I was going for.  Ophlf could've (and probably would've eventually) done that himself!

Ever determined, I showed the tool video to my brother, who, though he doesn't get enough respect from me (well, I'm his older sister, what do you expect?) is actually kind of a whiz with tools and various other science stuff.

He made me the tool.

I'll wait while you go back and read that sentence again.

HE MADE ME THE TOOL!

Not only that, he went out to my car in the freezing cold, and, though scraping up the door panel a little bit (although our previous attempts had done quite a bit of that, so it's hard to tell what's what), GOT THE STUPID THING OFF!

I almost hugged him.

Now the door panel by Ophlf's car seat looks like this instead:

HAH!  Take THAT, three-year-old!

And now, despite the fact that *I* didn't actually do anything other than look up a video and tear a rag up, I'm feeling incredibly accomplished.  The nap time saga may still rage on, but I WIN the crank window battle.

I think I deserve chocolate.

Confessions

I have to confess something.



I hate this time of year.



The holidays are hard for me.



I don't care for the Halloween costumes, candy, buckets and decorations.



I hide out alone on Trick or Treat night.



I get sick of seeing and hearing "I'm thankful" everywhere.



I even hurt, seeing stores stock up with Christmas trees, twinkly lights, colored papers and toys for every child's wish list.



I hurt going to the mall and seeing the line of squirming children waiting to see Santa.



I dread going to events, get-togethers, and even just family dinners... and putting on a plastic smile, because I'm not really happy.



I wasn't always that way.



I used to love going to the pumpkin patch.

I used to wait anxiously for Trick-or-Treat night.

I used to have so much to be thankful for.

So much that words weren't even enough to describe it.

I used to love setting cookies and letters out for 'Santa' (even when it wasn't for me anymore).

I relished in creating the perfect scene for 'Christmas morning'.

I even loved the post-Christmas mess left in our living room every year.

But now it's all a painful reminder.


I don't have anyone to take Trick-or-Treating.



There's no one to watch playing at the pumpkin patch.



I lost those for whom I was once most thankful.



There's no one to write letters to Santa or pose for photo ops.



No one to appreciate the culmination of my efforts on Christmas morning.



Not much point in really making an effort at all.



When everyone else talks about their kids' costumes, handprint turkeys and mile-long wish lists...



I think about my wish list.



And there's only one thing on it.



I just want to see them again.  It's killing me to miss them growing up.



So I'm sorry, in advance, for my plastic smile.



I'm sorry for the times I'll excuse myself to go cry in the bathroom.



I'm sorry I can't be excited with you when you tell me your holiday plans.



This time of year is just too painful right now.



Maybe someday it won't be.



Maybe.

Endometriosis sucks.

That's it.  It just does.  There's no other way to put it, it just flat out SUCKS.

Imagine being in pain... ALL THE TIME.

After FIVE surgeries in as many years, intended to reduce the pain.

Pain so great that sometimes, all you can do is curl up into a ball and cry.

Pain so great that sometimes, you *choose* to spend a beautiful evening in the Emergency waiting room rather than outside, because you just can't stand it anymore.

Imagine living all, or almost all of your days, in that pain.

Going to work in that pain... trying to be productive... trying to forget how much it hurts.

Spending time with friends in that pain... unable to fully enjoy yourself because it hurts every.single.minute.

Attending special occasions in that pain... trying to smile and chat when all you can think about is curling up with a heating pad.

Harder still, attending things like baby showers, births, children's parties, mother's day lunches... in that pain.

That pain that constantly reminds you that you may never have the privilege of giving birth.

Praying you can still be glad for others who don't have to struggle in the same way you do.

Praying that the pain doesn't make you bitter.

Imagine thinking you were doing so well, having a good day... and then breaking down crying at the smallest thing, realizing you were really just holding it in all that time.

Imagine heading into another surgery... and looking forward to it, because it just might make the pain better.

Imagine being dependent on doctors and medications - often ones stigmatized by one group or another (birth control, pain medications, anti-depressants)... just to live a semi-normal life.

Imagine not knowing if you'll *ever* feel better...

Or knowing that you may have to have a premature hysterectomy just to gain some relief.

And that in doing so, you open yourself up to a whole host of other possible issues.

Imagine realizing you're lucky in so many ways... this disease is not usually fatal...

But the pain makes it so easy to forget... or not to care.

Imagine that this whole time, it seems like no one understands.

They label you:  Whiner.  Addict.  Downer.  Liar.  And so many more.

Sometimes, they even abandon you.  Your struggles are too much for them.

This is not a disease for which people can easily have sympathy.  There simply isn't enough understanding yet.

Google doesn't even recognize it as a word.

Imagine knowing that THIS... is your life.

There is no escaping it.

That's where I am, right now.  And I'm trying hard to push on, to be okay...

But sometimes, I just need people to understand... that they don't understand.

And that that's okay.

But be patient with me.

I'm fighting a battle you do not know.

Anniversaries

This summer has been full of anniversaries for me.  Not so much joyous ones as painful ones, unfortunately.  I'm doing pretty well staying in the present despite these strong memories, but I also think it's healthy to respect the past and the feelings these anniversaries bring out in me.  For that reason, I'd like to take a moment to reflect on them tonight.

The first anniversary I faced this summer was an old one, a wound that has healed over and instead become a scar - one that has changed me and that I will have with me always, but no longer so fresh.  June 13, 2001, was the day my parents split up.  It always falls within a week or two of another day in June that causes me distress over the things my family has been through in the past 12 years as well.  But in the past few years I've been okay.  This year, that just so happened to also be the anniversary of the day A and I left for the best vacation of our lives.  So yes, I looked back on and felt the depth of how my life changed on that day 12 years ago, but I no longer thought only of how it changed for the worse - I looked at how it shaped me as a person and even changed for the better.  Would I have ever become the person I did and left for that vacation a year ago if it weren't for the events of my adolescence?  Would I have the empathy I do for teens who are going through similar things to what I did?  Probably not... and for that I wouldn't change a thing.

The next set of anniversaries was harder.  June 20 was the day our lives changed forever... the day my sweet A told me the one secret I couldn't keep... the day I set out trying to make things right for her... and ultimately failed.  The following day, the 21st, was the day we flew home and disaster struck.  They didn't believe us.  I couldn't keep my promise... the one I made to A that I would help her.  I couldn't keep it because the system wouldn't let me.  We parted ways in the most painful way possible... we said our goodbyes in sign language through a plate glass window... I... love... you...

June 20, 2012... the day the storm brewed up.

June 21, 2012... the last happy picture before everything changed.

June 27 was the hardest anniversary of all.  That was the day it had been one year since I saw my princess A.  That was the last time I laid eyes on her, our final goodbye.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  She was in the back of her grandpa's truck, no booster seat.  Somehow I bought myself time.  I spoke as quickly as I could.  I told her I loved her, that I had tried to help her, and that I was sorry for the things that were happening to us.  I told her I would miss her and that I would always be here for her.  I asked her if she remembered my phone number.  She said she did.  I told her to remember to tell the truth all the time, and to try not to get in trouble, to make good choices at school and to take care of her little brother.  Then I told her I loved her again.  When they drove away with her, we both waved until we were out of sight.  That was the last time I ever saw the little girl I raised for seven years... the little girl I love like she were my own flesh and blood... who I would give my life for.  Now it's been a year.  The longest I have ever been away from her by far.  Not a day, or even a moment goes by that I don't miss her... that I don't regret what happened a year ago... but I do believe she's coming home, one way or another, and that God will protect her until then.
This year the pain of that anniversary was eased by the joy of a coming birth.  I spent the night at my best friend's house helping her prepare to be induced the following day with her 4th little girl.  After a couple of crazy days with hospital policy, Rylee was born on Sunday, June 30.

Congrats, Shannon & Mike, and thanks for the new memories of snuggling your little ones!

Those days last year set in motion a battle we fought for the better part of a year... one that didn't end the way we hoped it would.  It makes the anniversaries sting all the more that we tried so hard to make things okay, and we just couldn't.  Those painful anniversaries shouldn't exist.  They just shouldn't.  We should be enjoying another summer together... but instead, we're both going it more or less alone.  I live for the day we have a happy anniversary to celebrate... a homecoming.

July holds a different set of anniversaries.  Tomorrow, July 15, will mark two years since my best friend Angie went to Heaven after a five and a half year battle with cancer.  She was only 20 years old.  It was a year ago, almost to the minute, that I last saw her... that we said, not "Goodbye", but "See you later".  We never said goodbye... we even talked about how we never would... because we knew it wouldn't be goodbye, not really.  We knew we'd see each other again in another life.  Instead, the last words I said to her were "I love you."

This may be the only two days of the year that I spend much time thinking about those particular hours two years ago that came at the end of Angie's life.  That's not the person she was and that's not how I like to remember her.  That's not how she would want to be remembered.  I spend most of my time focusing on who she was before that - the funny, silly, compassionate, beautiful, strong and amazing person who was my best friend for so long.  I remember how scared she was of 'losing herself'.  She didn't want a time to come when she didn't feel like herself, because she was so sick.  I thank God that she was able to maintain her sense of self right up until the very last week.  I thank God that when that time came, He brought her home quickly.  I thank God that He gave us time to say that one last "I love you".  And even in those last difficult days... I know she could hear us.  I know she knew we were there.  She became agitated when someone started to cry.  She calmed when we reassured her that we would be okay.  She heard us when we told her it was okay to let go.  Her pain ended two years ago.  In that way, it's a happy anniversary.  But it's a terrible one for the rest of the world, for we lost a beautiful, amazing person... one who I was privileged to call one of my best friends.

Angie and I, goofing off a little over two years ago.

At the end of the month, a day will come that marks one year since the passing of my precious one-year-old kitten, Boo.  A couple weeks later will come the happier anniversary that marks the homecoming of his younger brother, Marbles.  My kitty-babies.  This August will mark one year since a very dark time in my life.  But I'm better already and I'm going nowhere but up.

My Boo, when he was a tiny kitten.

My Marbles... this is about as tiny as he ever was!

As painfully full of anniversaries as this summer has been, I am proud of the way I have handled them.  I am glad for the happy new memories I've made, and for all the ones I'll make in the future.  And I know one day, just like the anniversary of the day my parents split up, the wound that those days have given me will be nothing but a scar - one that has changed me, and one that has made me who I am.

They Told Me I Couldn't

They told me I couldn't...

Go to school full time...

...or sometimes overtime, and graduate in four years

...or graduate with both a major and a minor

AND

Work part time...

...20 hours a week at a daycare center, making little more than minimum wage

...while still being good at my job

AND

Raise a Kindergartener...

...and give her all the things and experiences she deserved

AND

Take care of a baby...

...get up for midnight feedings

AND

"Live my life"...

ALL

In this...

...teeny tiny...

...room.


They told me I couldn't do it.



But I did.



And we all turned out...

 just...

fine.

(More or less eyebrows)

Never let anyone tell you what you "can't" do.

The Story of Us, Part 3

It's been a while since I've written.  After the first two posts two days in a row, I kind of felt I needed a break - especially since I dreamed about A every night after that, for a long time, and then woke up wanting to cry.  I want to share our story, but I have to make sure I don't become consumed by the past, or by what ifs, or by could've, should've, would've.  So I took a little break.  Not from thinking about our story, but from writing it - because in truth, I'm always thinking about my A.

Last time, I posted about some of the fun things A and I used to do together, all the things I had experienced as a child that I wanted to share with her.  I actually remember shortly after the day we went sledding, telling her grandma about it, and her grandma said "Oh, wow, Katie, you're doing all these firsts with her!"  I started to apologize, thinking perhaps I'd stepped on toes, but she interrupted me and said "No, we just can't always do those things with her, we're glad she has you to do new things with her."  I was glad too.  Last time, I talked about introducing her to my friends, family, classmates, teachers... and their amusing misconceptions... and how even over time she was still a mystery to me.  A tough little egg that couldn't be cracked.  I wrote about both the good times and the tough times, because that's what life is - a mix of some of each.

Today I want to talk a little about the improvements I saw in A over the first several months.  If you recall, I said that the first day I watched her at her grandparents' house, she was completely nonverbal.  Two months later, she proudly announced "Uno, Dos, Tres!" to my Spanish teacher - only she smushed it all together (more like "Unodostres"), because Dora ALWAYS says those three words together!  I think she thought it was one word.  For a long time when I'd talk to her in the car about what we were seeing, etc, she'd just be sitting back there in her car seat replying "Uno dos tres!  Uno dos tres!"  Funny, funny girl... always a mystery... lived her whole life in Ohio with family members who spoke only English, and her first words were in Spanish.  I suppose we can thank Dora for that.

When her vocabulary started to grow (by leaps and bounds!) I started to wonder why she'd ever been so quiet to begin with.  It was just another piece of the mystery.  By Christmas she was saying all kinds of words, albeit in a rudimentary way.  One of her favorites was "Kee-kee" (Kitty).  She mastered "Tee-Whoas" (Cheerios), "Baaw" (Ball), "Pay" (Play), "Skoo" (School), and many more.  I remember talking to my mom about why she'd been so quiet for so long, but was suddenly learning at a rapid pace.  I'd researched and I knew that there had been cases of kids who seemingly chose not to speak for years and then started spouting full sentences... but that wasn't A.  I knew there were cases where children had developmental disabilities, hearing or sensory input problems, and simply couldn't verbalize their thoughts, but I didn't think A was one of those kids either, because of how quickly she seemed to pick up new language after a while, and how well her perceptive hearing functioned.  She could hear me and follow directions and understand what was going on, she just couldn't talk about it herself.  So why... why no words until she was nearly three, and why on earth were her first words in Spanish?

My mom told me that what I had been doing with A was good for her - narrating what we were doing, naming items as we saw them, talking to her as much as possible.  She said that when I was a baby, they encouraged parents to talk to their babies all the time even if they knew they didn't understand, because that was how they would learn to talk.  She said that our first words are often the words we hear most often.  (I believe mine was 'hot'.  I had an affinity for playing in the kitchen, I guess).  This made me think back to the conversation I'd had with A's grandmother about the 'situation' that led to A and her mother moving in with them... and to all A's other mysterious behaviors - and suddenly it clicked.  A didn't speak because A hadn't been spoken to.

When she did finally start to speak, she mimicked the words she heard often from people who did speak to her... or, as the case may be, cartoon characters like Dora the Explorer.  Well, I supposed, that closed the case of why A's speech was so delayed, and also gave me a prescription for exactly what to do about it (the same thing I'd already been doing - talk to her, narrate everything, name everything).  It also made me sad, imagining times when there hadn't been someone to speak to her.  Because I knew little about A's life before I met her, the only thing I could be sure of was that her grandparents had done their best when she was with them - but clearly, somewhere along the line, this aspect of her development had been neglected.  A family member even acknowledged this to me at a later time.  A had never been nonverbal because of a developmental disability or a choice not to talk as I first thought.  All she needed was someone - no, a few someones, who took the time to talk to her.

After Christmas, A's vocabulary took off even more.  She could finally convey to me what she wanted with little help from pointing and grunting.  We spent a lot of time around other kids, in the nursery at church especially... at the playground... other children started to talk to her more too, as she became more aware of and interacted with her surroundings.

That January was also when I started watching M.  M was six, going on seven, and I'd known her for years - she was the little girl that A reminded me of, that caused me to feel so drawn to A, that first day in the nursery.  Her family called me, in dire need of a sitter, and I said yes.  I took M on in addition to A on an ongoing basis.  It became easier for me to watch both the girls at my home, so that's what I did.  I restructured my bedroom so that it was childproof, there was a place for A to nap, if not with me, a toy box, children's DVDs... I bought a booster chair for the dinner table, a few other things, and after a slightly doubtful reception from several people (can you really handle this?  Shouldn't you focus on school?  What about your own life, your own future?), my friends and family grew to love the girls like I did.  M and A were like sisters - people always asked me if they were.  No, I'd tell them, but don't they look like it?

Over the next year, A pretty much knocked my socks off with her ability to learn.  Some things, she still wasn't grasping.  When I tried to introduce the concept of colors to her (in the spring, while we were planting flowers), I would point them all out, tell her the colors, day after day, tell her what color everything was, until finally I said one day on a walk around the neighborhood "A, look at the tree!  What color is the tree?"

A's response?  "BOO."  ie. "blue".  It was the only color she said consistantly.  Yup.  Trees were blue.  They stayed blue for a long time, too.  Even after she learned 'pik' and 'geen'.  Until she went to head start.  I'll have to do a whole seperate post on how far she came in head start!

It was also sometime shortly after she turned three that she started picking up more and more language - putting together simple, two word requests.  But she shocked me completely one day, by saying a word she'd never said before (at least in my presence).


The first time she said it, we were in the car, taking her mom (who I had started seeing more often) to work. I don't remember exactly what context she said it in, but she said "Mommy!"... and it was clear that she was talking to me.  I tried to brush it off for her mom's sake - kids often do that - all adult females are Mommy - but I can imagine it's still hard when you really are Mommy.  So I said something like "No, silly girl, Mommy's not driving, Katie's driving!  Mommy's over there."  And her mom relaxed.  Then we dropped her off, drove away, and she said it again.  "Mommy, Moo-sik!"  Ah.  She wanted 'her songs' (Silly Songs from Veggie Tales) on.  So she asked me to turn it on.

I started off patiently redirecting her - because, like I said, lots of kids do the 'all adult females are Mommy' thing.  "No, sweetie, I'm not Mommy, I'm Katie!  Mommy's back there, at work!"  And she'd get mad.  "MOMMY," she'd insist.  I didn't argue with her after that - you didn't win a battle with this kid.  I figured the behavior would fade like all other childhood behaviors do.

But as time went on, something became apparent.  All adult females were not Mommy.  Not my mom, not my friends, not other kids' moms, she even knew that her grandmother, another primary caregiver, was "MaMAW".  Only me and her actual mother ever consistently got that designation.  I still don't understand what exactly led her to associate the word with me... sure, I took care of her, but so did lots of other people.  Her grandma, her grandpa, my mom, nursery workers at church... but no matter how hard I tried to convince her "No, silly, I'm Katie!"... it stuck.

Which left me in a couple of embarrassing situations.  At school, at the grocery store, at the park, everywhere we went, I was a seventeen year old toting around a three year old who called me Mommy.  I'm sure you can imagine the dirty looks that earned me.  I didn't care though, I just laughed, because those people didn't know us or our lives, and I didn't feel I owed them an explanation.

Unfortunately, A didn't have much of a filter, and she used that word for me many more times in her mother's presence, until I started to feel like my explanations weren't really holding water for her anymore.  I felt bad.  It wasn't until she was four, after over a year of answering "No, I'm *Katie*!" that she amended her verbage to "Mommy Kai."  Oh well.  It was a step.

Since she was making so much progress, and she was already three, when I got out of school for the Summer I discussed potty training with her grandmother, and we agreed that we'd start working on it.

Haha.  Hahahaha.  Hahahahahahahahaha.

Easier said than done.

My mom always used to say "Just wait until they're three.  It'll make potty training much easier and less stressful."  I thought I was doing that.  But A was delayed in all other areas - why didn't I expect her to be delayed in this too?  It took me nearly the whole summer of sitting in the bathroom, in front of cartoons, reading books, doing whatever it took to get her to sit on the potty, until she actually peed on it.  And then, of course, she didn't do it again for weeks.  I read everything on potty training, asked everyone for advice... I got her books and videos from the library... one of which featured a song called "She is a Super Duper Pooper" which I will never, ever be able to un-hear... anyways, needless to say, it was not the 'summer project' I'd intended... more like a year and a half long commitment, and then some.  Things just didn't come easily to A.

But through it all, that whole year... we played.  Just played, had fun... tried to learn at the same time, but mostly we just played.  As my senior year of high school approached, I was excited to take Spanish IV, until the school district threatened to remove it from the curriculum.  A friend and I went to the school board to ask them to reconsider.  I was quoted in the paper.

Then the news came out, that yes, there would be a Spanish IV, because of us.  But it came on the heels of the news that students who had met graduation requirements only needed to take five classes, and could be dismissed as early as noon, so long as they didn't have a class 6th, 7th, or 8th period.  You could get out earlier if you were looking into post-secondary options, which I was.  The way my schedule had come together, I'd be dismissed at 11:40 each day.  I was so excited to be able to spend those extra hours with A.

Then we found out that the only period Spanish IV would be offered was 8th period.  I'd have to take three study halls in a row to take that class, get out at 3:20, and not have near as much time with A.

Most people would've told me that I still needed to put myself first - I was young, after all, and she wasn't my daughter... and that might've been what I did, if not for one experience I'd just had that broke my heart for A all over again.

I'd gone to her third birthday party... arms full of presents, smile on my face... excited to see her enjoy herself with all her favorite people.  It was close to her mom's birthday so her friends were there too, even the ones without kids, which was fine... except that there was no one else with kids.  It was a birthday party for a three year old, and there were no other children there.  A cried more than once, after being scolded for touching the cake, opening presents too fast, not saying thank you, and then was scolded for crying.  Family members argued.  Myself and a couple other family members tried to distract A, intervene before she could get upset, but I left in tears.  I could see, and I know a few others could see, that it hadn't gone the way it should.  Some people in A's life, with whom I hadn't seen her interact much, didn't seem to know how to just let her be a kid... and it made me sad for her... so as I drove home crying, I vowed to do everything I could to just let A enjoy being a kid.

COSI Columbus!

Mowing my lawn

I love this one - like she's sure she can climb it if she tries hard enough.

And I didn't sign up for Spanish IV.  I decided I'd look into other options, because four hours of time with her every day just wasn't something I was willing to sacrifice.

I never regretted that decision.  I still don't.

So Fall came...

Halloween came...

That Halloween sweatshirt used to be mine!

Winter came...

And Christmas came...

And we just kept on having fun - from the moment her mom would drop her off to me, outside my last class at the art complex at 11:40, until we were all exhausted...

And it was the best year of my life.

Something You May or May Not Know

...about me...

I'm a fixer.

OK, so what does that mean?

It means when something is wrong, when the world is unjust and someone is suffering or struggling, when anyone is sad, sick, or hurting in whatever way... I want to fix it.

And I know I can't, not usually.  Life has been slapping me in the face with that fact over and over and over. But somehow I've never been able to change.  My first impulse when someone tells me something is wrong is 'how do I fix it?'

'Fixing' things isn't always possible, or even the appropriate thing to do.  I know that sometimes all someone needs is a listening ear, a hug, someone to commiserate with.  I know they don't usually expect or even want me to 'fix it'.  But no matter how many times I remind myself of this, it's still my first impulse, and it still drives me absolutely crazy when I can't fix it.

And I'm not like this because I have a misplaced sense of my own importance, or a savior complex, or anything like that, I'm like this just because I hate to see anyone hurting.  Especially people I love - but truly anyone.  Ask a friend or family member who's been around my whole life... I'm that person who finds a 9/11 memorial to go to every single year, that person who holds her own personal candlelight vigil every time tragedy hits too close to home.  I do those things because whatever has happened... I can't fix it... but in some way, I feel like recognizing it... remembering... is the least I can do.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" people have asked me on occasion.  My answer:  Because it hurts more not to.  It tears me up for something bad to happen and me to just go on like nothing did.

But sometimes I mess up.  Royally.  Sometimes, when a friend or acquaintance really just needs a listening ear, someone to simply hear what they're saying and how they're feeling, I still find myself trying to fix it, without realizing that no one asked me to.  This was actually the impetus that set off the biggest fight I ever had with a friend in high school.  There were other things going on, but that particular day, someone she loved was in the hospital, and there I was again, offering to do this or that, trying to "fix" things, when she finally told me that no, there was nothing I could do, and to please stop asking.  At sixteen, with much less self-awareness than I have now, I didn't take it well and it set off a whole chain of events that led to me not speaking to someone who was very important to me for a number of years.  I thank God today that this person is back in my life and we understand these things about each other; she understands that it's my kneejerk reaction to try to fix things, and I understand how to read the subtle cues that she doesn't expect me to.

I still do this.  All the time.  Usually I realize it later, but probably not until I've totally annoyed someone.  If that person has ever been you, I want to apologize.  Sometimes I'm just no good at social situations, and this is one of my biggest issues.  Heck - even when someone outright says they just need me to listen, I mess it up, because in my mind I'm trying to figure out if they really mean it, or if they're just saying that... and then I end up driving people crazy because I'm still trying to fix something they already told me I didn't need to fix!  Just please know that it is never my intention to offend - I'm just dealing with things the only way I know how.  And I don't know how to feel helpless.  I'm no good at it.  I hate seeing anyone hurting, and so even if there's nothing I can do, I'll sit around racking my brain for ways to make things just a little bit easier.

If you think about it, you can see the evidence yourself.  If you've been reading this blog a while, or my other one, you might remember how I commented that after discovering the plight of orphans with special needs around the world in December 2011, I barely slept for two months.  Why?  Simple - I was up, day and night, torturing myself, trying to figure out how on earth I could help... fix... something going on halfway across the world!  It was only when I found an outlet for that need (advocacy) that I was able to rest easy again.  At least I was doing something.  Unfortunately, I find myself in a similar state of disequilibrium anytime something is wrong for anyone I even know... which leads to that whole foot-in-mouth chain of events I mentioned earlier.

I'm only sharing this because it's been on my mind a lot lately - I've noticed myself doing it, and I've wanted to apologize, and to help those around me understand why I tend to make idiotic social blunders, but I didn't know how... so this is both my apology and my explanation.

And there's something you may or may not have known about me... but you do now!

The Strongest People I Ever Knew

My best friend Angie was the strongest person I ever knew.

Yes, that's me hiding from the picture.  So long ago.

She fought cancer for five and a half years.  Over and over.  Surgeries.  Chemo.  Experimental treatments.  She went through more than I could ever even describe to you.  And she wasn't alone.

Angie had a type of bone cancer called osteosarcoma.  It's a childhood cancer, it tends to occur in growing bones, especially arms and legs.  It can present in elementary age through adolescence, but it can come back for years into adulthood, despite still being considered a 'childhood' cancer.  Angie was 20 when she died, of a childhood cancer.  She lived that long - to be an adult - because she had some of the best doctors in the world, and because she was a fighter.  She had a strong spirit that, whether she literally or figuratively fell, just got back up and kept on smiling.  Sure, she had her down days.  Everyone does.  But she taught me a lot about what it means to be strong... that sometimes it's just... well, I almost said 'putting one foot in front of the other', and then I laughed, because I realized that would have cracked her up - Angie only had one leg.  Foot jokes were her favorite.  I remember her telling random people that her right foot itched, and they'd look at her, and lack of a right foot, and get this confused look on their face and not know what to say... because they just didn't know her well enough to know how often she made that joke (or that sometimes, it really did itch).  In any case... that sometimes your only choice is to keep going, keep trying, keep breathing... and strength is not the ability to do that, because we don't have a choice, but how you do it.  She did it laughing.  With her friends.

No picture is complete without a goofy face or bunny ears.

Angie met a lot of people in her fight.  She went to camp, went on ski trips, with other kids who had the same or similar types of cancer.  She told me all about them.  Their strength.  Their surgeries.  Their relapses.  The fun, silly, hilarious things they did together.  They were such a huge part of her story.  They understood what she was going through in a way that no one else did, and gave her somebody to talk to about it until the very end.  She took their setbacks harder than her own.  They made endless trips to the hospital less miserable.  Seeing a friend made her day.  And there were those of us like myself who were with her through it all, but we didn't understand what she was going through, not even close.  She needed those friends who did... even though she hated, so much, that they had to suffer through what she did.  She'd have taken every one of their burdens from them if she could have.

I found out tonight that Angie is seeing one of those friends again... he lost his battle to osteosarcoma this week.  I remember her talking about this friend often... that he made her laugh, that she'd run into him at the hospital and it made her day, how much fun they had together, how much they had in common, how much she respected his perspective.  My thoughts and prayers are with the family and friends of that young man tonight.  I've walked the road of losing someone I love to cancer, and it's a dark, hard road.  Would you please offer up a prayer tonight as well, for all the people this young man left behind?

There are other friends of Angie's who are still fighting.  Friends she admired for their strength, who she saw as stronger than herself (even though they - all the 'cancer kids' - had a kind of strength the rest of us can't even imagine).  Friends who were her first and foremost concern even to the very last moment.  I remember one of them came over the day before she died.  I can't imagine how hard that must have been... I know how hard it was for me.  I also know that neither of us would've been anywhere else.

Angie 'introduced' me... in person or just through her words and stories (which were vivid as she was a writer, and a very good one at that) to some of the strongest people I ever knew.  People who are fighting a battle I can't imagine.  Children, families who are staring cancer in the face and pushing forward.  People like her.  And there are thousands of them.  34 children were diagnosed with cancer today.  34 families will never be the same.  34 more kids will have to learn to be a whole new kind of strong.  And this happens every day.  Every one of those kids is someone's best friend, someone's daughter or son, someone's brother or sister.  They matter.  Their fight matters.

I'm just typing as I think tonight - I'm not sure exactly what point I'm trying to make... but I just want people to see them.  To see their struggle.  To remember their strength.  With every pink ribbon you see, imagine a gold one for childhood cancer.  Support an organization that helps kids with cancer, or funds research for childhood cancer.  Give a hug (or better yet, some chocolate) to the mom of a little one you know who is fighting.  Offer your ear as one to listen, your shoulder as one to cry on.  They are strong, but they are not strong alone.  They learn to lean on the people they love.  It's a battle we don't have to let them fight alone.  It's a battle that I hope and pray to see the day no one else has to fight.  Just... learn from their strength.  And love your kids.  Life is too short not to live it the way Angie did, the way her friends who were also fighting did... with strength and joy and love.

Looking Back on 2012

I did this last year, and this year has been another... eventful... life-changing... year... so I'm doing it again.  And praying that this time next year, when I look back on 2013, happy memories, not sad ones, are what come to mind first.

January
2012 actually started on the best note possible.  I hadn't seen my two youngest DBKs, A and AJ, in over four months.  I missed them terribly and I hadn't been feeling in the holiday spirit at all.  On January 1, 2012, I saw them again.  Watched them open their Christmas presents.  Held them in my arms, hugged them tight, told them I loved them.  It was a perfect day.

AJ, 2 years old

A, 8.5 years old

After that we had to slowly get back to reality.  It was tough.  I had my heart broken for orphans around the world with special needs.  I wasn't sleeping well at night, staying up late to pray for children according to events in their time zones.  I was having no success finding a job to aid in paying the bills, and anxiously awaiting tax refunds.  Even though it started so perfectly, January was a rough month... a month of wait and see.

February
In February things got a little better.  Taxes came through to pay the bills.  I started working on getting licensed to do childcare for my friend's kids.  It seemed like there was a light at the end of the tunnel.  I was also gearing up for two exciting trips - a statewide conference on Child Passenger Safety which would be held in April, and a national conference in Orlando, Florida on national highway safety priorities which would be held in June.  I had been granted a scholarship to attend both by our local Safe Kids Coalition.  I felt like things were going to be looking up soon - and they did, for a while.  Good news started coming down about the orphans I was advocating for.  More were making their way home.  Changes were being made in their home countries.  Families were committing to children.  I found myself more engrossed in the Reece's Rainbow community by the minute.

March
In March, the first thing that jumps to mind is something that happened one day when I was literally as far as could be from expecting it.  There was snow and ice on the roads, a rare occurrence here last winter.  It was late - 11 pm or so.  I was in my warm bed, under my electric blanket, writing about orphans, when my phone started to buzz.  Bill collectors, I was sure, but when I looked at the caller ID... it was the mom of my DBKs, whom I hadn't heard from since January 1.  I answered to find her distraught and needing me to come take the kids.  All I can say is that it was a miracle I made it the short distance to where they were living without incident on the icy roads, because I wasn't exactly taking it slow.  I was going to see my babies.  I picked them up.  They were excited to see me.  My heart was full to finally bring them home again, put them to sleep in their cozy, warm beds where they knew they were safe.

I had them for two days that time, and I never knew exactly why, except that it's likely tied up in what turned into a very large amount of police reports.  In any case, I was thankful to have them in my arms once more, even if I didn't know when the next time I would see them would be.

In March, I also began to share with my oldest DBK, M, who is not related to the other two, about the orphan crisis.  Poor sweet soul, it broke her heart to see all those children in such terrible conditions.  I found that we both needed to *do* something, and we also needed a respite from the pain we were discovering.  While my mind worked on what M and I could do together to make a difference for these kids, I planned a girls' night for us - we painted our nails, played games, stayed up late, and then went to a late showing of The Hunger Games, which was amazing and really played right into my determination to do something to make a difference.  M loved it and we began reading the books together, a couple of chapters at a time aloud, every night.  I'd already read them all - in three days, no less, because I'm one of those people who has to read books before seeing movies, but M, not much of a reader, wanted to read them and I thought it would be a nice way for us to bond.  And she only laughed at me a little when I couldn't pronounce 'muttations' correctly throughout all three books.  How do you pronounce it anyways?

As the month ended, I was feeling more at peace than ever... even if the future was unknown.

April
April is my birth month, and M's, and my mom's, so it was a big month around our house.  My birthday is April 6.  It was a Friday, and two days before Easter.  I'd been home all day, cleaning up so my friend's kids could come over while she went to work later.  It was when I noticed my 17 year old brother cleaning that I knew something was up.  I didn't dare to guess what.  I went on with my day.  My friend brought her girls over.  We all took a nap.  When I woke up, I went upstairs, where my mom was just getting home from work..... and had my babies with her!  My birthday presents were two big hugs from A and AJ - the thing I'd wanted most but hadn't even dared to hope for.  And we had another perfect day.  We played together, we braided hair, we ate cake and ice cream, and I was happy.  At the end of the day though, it became apparent that crisis had struck in their lives once again.  They had nowhere to go and would be staying with us, at least overnight, we'd discuss it more the following day.  Little did I know that when my mom asked for a couple hours with the kids for my birthday - she'd ended up getting me a couple months with them!  April found the kids moving back in most of the time, and many more happy memories being made.

M had her birthday party at Skate America - her mom went all out to make sure it was perfect.  I attended with A while my mom watched AJ, and both my girls had a blast, and I had a blast watching them.

At the end of the month I went to my statewide child passenger safety conference, which was great, but I definitely missed those goofy kids even if I was only gone for two days!

May
May was, most importantly, A's birthday.  Nine years old this year!  She didn't have a party with us this year (I don't know that I'm up to anything like her 7th birthday party... ever again) because she was getting something WAY better.  I was going to Orlando the following month for my national highway safety conference, and with my costs paid for, it cost me only a little more to bring her with me - and how could I not, with Disney World right down the road?  Pretty much everyone I know brought their families.  But since A's birthday was in May, it was a surprise super awesome present.  I wrapped up this big box full of balloons, travel supplies, and this sign:

She went to gymnastics that night so excited to tell all her friends and teachers that she got to meet the princesses.

The other thing in May that stands out in my mind is Mother's Day.  I honestly don't even remember what I got my mom, but I will never forget my very first Mother's Day gift.

Sweet A, when I picked her up from school that day, handed me this little sprout in a plastic dixie cup, and a carefully crafted card.  She handed them to me and said "Happy Mother's Day.  I just do love you SO MUCH, Katie!"

I nearly cried.  Later, after she was in bed, I did cry.  Because I'm not her mother, but I did a whole lot of raising her.  This was her way of telling me that she knew that, that she loved me like a mother just like I love her like a daughter.  The picture of the flower above was taken in the fall - it grew so far beyond that little dixie cup, we cared for it so well because that little flower meant so much to us.

June
Oh boy... talk about hot and cold.  June started out amazing.  Home with my babies.  Getting ready to go to Florida.  So much excitement.  On June 13 (a day which was formerly dark to me with history), I boarded the plane with my girl to go on our dream vacation.

We had a blast.  We met the princesses.  We played on the beach, swam in the ocean, saw family, went shopping, ate ice cream like there was no tomorrow, and took a million pictures.

Cinderella's Castle!

Beach for the first time!

Fort at St. Augustine

Then, on our last full day there, the world stopped spinning.  Crisis began.  As we were sitting there packing up our bags, A told me a secret... a deep, dark one that she probably never told anyone else.  I fully believe that it is only because of how far from home we were, how relaxed our days had been, that she felt comfortable sharing it with me.

It wasn't a secret I could keep.

I didn't want to make the call.  I didn't want to set the cascade of events I knew would follow into motion... but I thought I had to.  Honestly if I could go back in time, I would change that decision.

A tropical storm, hurricane, something, was brewing off the coast.  The sky had darkened significantly.  The waves were huge.  Red flags were raised on the beach.  The last time we played on the beach, it was almost deserted.

A storm was also brewing within me.  I fought to hold back the torrent of emotions I was dealing with that day and give my princess the final vacation day she deserved.  I tried to enjoy every single little moment, push the dark thoughts out of my mind and just enjoy her... but my stomach was in knots.

I will tell this story in greater detail later, although I won't share everything because it isn't all mine to share, but to make a long story short, we flew home the next day... I kept the smile on my face... it'll all be okay....

and then it wasn't.

That was the day I didn't even get to say goodbye to A before she was taken from me.  The day I didn't know I'd never see her baby brother AJ again.  I only saw A one time after that... and I hope she heard me when I told her I'd always love her.

After June 21, I spent the rest of the month in misery.  I felt sick all the time.  Nothing could make it better.  I can truly say the week that followed our return was the worst one in my entire life.  June ended darkly.

July
July was the month I tried to put myself back together... put one foot in front of the other... keep breathing... try just to survive each moment when each day was too much.  We hired an attorney to try to help A after social services let us down.  It was a road I never thought I'd be traveling.  The 4th of July came and went.  It's my favorite holiday.  I went to four fireworks shows, went swimming, spent time with my friends, family and M.  I enjoyed those things, I always do, but this year they felt empty.  Something was missing.  Something really important.  Where was A?  Did she get to see the fireworks?  Was she happy?  Was she even safe?

I was starting to mend.  Just a little bit.  There was still a big piece of my heart missing, but I was learning my new normal.  Then the week from hell struck.  It only started in July, but the worst of it fell there.  On Monday, July 30, I woke up to find my 17 month old kitten, Boo, dead on the floor of my apartment.  I almost didn't make it through the day.  I held him until we buried him.  I couldn't cry a single tear for a long time, and then one day they just all broke free.  I'm crying again writing this.  Another of the worst days of my life.  He was just a baby.  My baby.  I couldn't even sleep alone for days.  And July ended as darkly as June.

The day before he died

August
The week that ended July and began August was horrible.  It was supposed to be a good week.  Olympics, the State Fair, friends, but starting with the cloud of my pet's death hanging over us, it was just bad.  I can't recall the details, but I missed my best friend Angie (who had passed just over a year prior) dearly, something had gone amiss with A's case, I got into a fight with a friend, I was discharged from my doctor's office over a $20 bill, and probably some other stuff I don't even remember... I just remember that it was a very bad, bad week.  I buried myself in mindless television shows, sleep, and orphan blogs.

After some time had passed, I adopted another cat - mostly black, just a tiny bit of white on his chest.  I called him 'Soft Kitty' or 'S.K' for a week, until I named him Marbles because when he purrs (which he does almost constantly), it sounds like someone's shaking a bag of marbles.  I love him!  He's six months old now. I spent some time in the hospital with a kidney infection (two ER visits in one week is never any fun) and had a bad medication reaction, so I was feeling a little worse for the wear even by the end of August, not to mention having to find a new doctor because I have any number of medical needs that have to be attended to regularly.  All I could do was hope it would get better when the school year started and routine set in more firmly.

Marbles, AKA 'Soft Kitty'

September
Finally, a month that started out well.  At the very beginning of September, my friend Faith got home from Eastern Europe with her two newly adopted children, both of whom have down syndrome.  Another friend and I went to see them that weekend and bring some clothes for the baby (she was around 18 months when she came home, but the size of a 3-6 month old).  We talked a while, played with the kids, and I got to hold her sweet and precious baby girl, who thankfully will never remember having been an orphan.

I look dumb in this picture.  But she's cute enough for both of us

I don't remember much about the rest of the month.  It must've been relatively unremarkable.  I did go to the Buddy Walk with Shannon and Faith's family, which was a blast, it was my first year and it definitely won't be my last.

October
October was a month I didn't look forward to... at all.  Halloween, pumpkins, hay rides, costumes... did you know I took A trick or treating every year between 2-7?  It wasn't a holiday I was used to 'celebrating' without her.  I remember being rather depressed.  I also faced a good bit of financial difficulty that I was working to resolve, and we had finally been given a court date, which was looming frighteningly on the horizon.  It felt like limbo - there's not really any other way I can put it.  Like I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I was probably irritable and short with people I know and love, and for that I'm sorry.  I was under a lot of stress and I apparently didn't cope well.  As the month ended, my mind was occupied by nothing but what November would bring.

November
Not long passed before the tone for the month of November was set.  Our court date was early in the month.  We were in court for over two hours - which was nearly if not completely unprecedented for a case like ours.  And it was a rough two hours.  I will admit that I cried on the stand - to the point where my 'smudge-proof' (apparently not waterproof) mascara was running down my face in a raccoon-like fashion.  It was rough, and the other team didn't play fair, but I regretted nothing.  After social services let us down, it was the only thing we could do, the thing we had to do.

After court that day, I slept for two hours, spent some time with some good friends, and then slept for sixteen hours, straight and solid.  I woke up at 7:00, and thought it was morning (it was not.  It was the following night.)  But then I felt a sense of relief.  Not complete relief - we were still waiting on a decision, which could have said anything - but court was over and that in itself was a relief.

The decision, which, from my perspective was not favorable (although I will admit there are unknowns involved that could change my opinion) came just before Thanksgiving.  So much for being thankful.  I had my wisdom teeth out the day before Thanksgiving (we had our turkey early) and after 7 abdominal surgeries I thought it would be a cinch - I didn't even have to be in a hospital - but I'm definitely counting that as one of my worst surgeries.  I have serious dental fear and I do NOT like anyone messing around with my mouth.  It's actually still healing.

At the end of the month I picked up some extra work with a friend (I had already worked for one friend for the better part of the year) and things seemed to be looking up, teeth (or lack thereof) aside.

December
Through December I continued to work for friends and fundraise heavily for Reece's Rainbow's Project Angel Tree.  It was a tough month, mostly because of financial difficulties, but we made it work.  At the end of the month, I came upon the opportunity to work for a friend who I met through Reece's Rainbow close to a year ago and has three adopted children with down syndrome.  Her family was in need of a home health aide, I was in need of a job, and a wonderful organization locally agreed to employ me to work for her.  I've been doing that job just about a week now (officially - this is one of the friends I was working for unofficially previously) and I just absolutely love it!

I missed A and AJ a lot this month.  It was truly my first Christmas without them since A came into my life all those years ago.  I walked through stores, by the sections of little girls' clothes, touched the ruffled skirts and commented to whomever I was with how I would most certainly be buying this if I still had A.  Girly girl if there ever was one.  But I appreciated the time I had with M, we celebrated Christmas in the usual manner, just unfortunately less two kids.

I look weird because of the lack of eyebrows.

On the very last day of December, the little boy whose Christmas Warrior I was through Reece's Rainbow met his goal - meaning I had to make good on a promise I made at the beginning of Angel Tree - that if both Brett #19 and Elden 14G met their goals, I would shave my head - and that is how I would start out 2013... and I smiled on the last day of 2012 - not only because I was glad to see it go, like last year (and I was, considering some of the year's happenings) but because I was thankful, too, to see another year and have hopes for more good and even better things.

Because that's the kind of perspective spending a year advocating with Reece's Rainbow gives you.