My name...

K-A-E-L-E-N-E

At a young age, I had come to terms that my life would be full of people mispronouncing and misspelling my name. In school, when the teacher finally said my name right, I knew it was going to be a while longer for them spell it correctly. I can't remember a time when I wasn't patient with people trying to learn my name, and I usually gave grace when I had to repeat it for the ump-teenth time. I remember one time in Junior High, the school secretary went as far as to tell me that my mother had spelled my name wrong, and that my name IS Karlene. That didn't fly very well with my mother, I think the secretary got a phone call the next morning.

Coming out of high school and into the real world, it didn't prove to be any different. I continued with my patience and having grace, it was just inevitable.

Fast forwarding to yesterday: I called my biological father to wish him a Happy Father's Day. I've made mention before that I don't really have a relationship with him due to his drug usage in the past. I don't hold it against him, I have forgave him, but the critical parts in my life when I needed a father, he wasn't there. And due to the drugs, this demeanor is almost child like anymore. Repeating what I just said, or having to dumb down a good part of the conversation just so he can understand what I'm saying.

Our conversation was very basic:

How are you?.. Good. How are you?

How are the kids.. Getting big.. Good

Nothing very intimate, but somehow in the midst of our conversation it turned to email addresses. He and my step-mom want to say in better contact with us kids. Fine, I'll give you mine, you give me yours. I tell him my email address is my name, first letter of my last name, at sign and inland cellular dot com. He slowly starts to spell my name.. K-A-L-E-E-N-E. I interrupt him, laughing a little thinking that he was joking.

Dad, that's not how I spell my name. ( I have never altered my name)

Well, I just named you, your mom did the spelling... K-A-L-E-N-E.

No, dad. I have another "E" in there.. K-A-E-L-E-N-E. Then an "R" , at inland cellular dot com.

After going another 3 rounds, I think he finally got it. At that point, I was highly frustrated. I just wanted to get off the phone. We said our good-byes and he made a handful of promises that I know won't ever happen. Unfortunately, I've learned that my dad's words never carried much water. My sister saw me hang up the phone with great haste. She asked how our talk went. (She has a much stronger relationship with him than I do since she had to go live with him in her wilder days) I told her as good as to be expected. I explain how he went about not spelling my name correctly. I know she was trying to justify his memory loss, why he is the way he is... I know, I know.. drugs. I guess I just don't understand, I never did them.

Later that night, I talked with Eric about the way I was feeling...mixed. Should I be upset?..Let it go?...Should I even care?

Eric told me that I had patience and grace with everyone, even complete strangers, why not give some to my dad. He deserves it too. So, I woke up this morning, still a little torn. As the day goes on, I'm slowly letting it go. I have a feeling it's going to be a few more days for it to be out of my system... I just needed to get it out in writing.

Grass!!

I guess it's silly to be excited about a little foliage. But you have no idea what we have endured to get thus far..... We bought our house from a little old Jamaican lady who was a HOARDER. Our back yard literally had five sheds and our carport was boxed in for more storage. I think we took 4 loads to the dump before we actually got to move in. At some point in the backyard's life time, there were beautiful trees, we never got to see them. We inherited stumps that were made in to shrines. There were all sorts of rock gardens every which direction. Our first attempt to have a back yard was to remove all but one shed. We then burned out the stumps and removed wheel barrows upon wheel barrows of rock.

Around the second year, we thought we'd be able to till under and reseed. Our tiller hit more rock and GARBAGE. She buried her garbage in the back yard. But first she was so kind as to lay the black plastic down, throw her garbage on then bury it with dirt. That took us all summer to dig up and remove. In the mean time, the kids had hay days with shovels, dug trenches, holes and race tracks.

Last summer, Eric was on the road with DeAtley and I had three kids to keep busy. I had no time for back yard duties. Unfortunately it was over ran with puncture weeds. When Eric came home in October, he did his best at getting them out. We figured we'd have to wait another full year until we got all the goat heads.
This spring we diligently worked at pulling all the weeds and puncture weed starts. Eric then got the bug to till. It went smoothly and he laid seed. After a week and a half of impatiently waiting, we have out first starts. It's funny how Eric and I lean on the fence and just stare. I FINALLY get a back yard and with grass that the kids get to play in.....

Cooties

Yesterday, when I got home from work and Caitrin came running up to me hugging my leg.

Caiti: Mommy, Mommy! What do you do when a boy kisses you?
Me: (taken back a little) You slap that boy and tell him to keep his mouth to himself. Wait, did some one kiss you today?
Caiti: Yes, Killian did...twice.
Me: Well, how about we don't do that anymore. You don't need to be kissing, you're too young. Eric, what did you tell her.
Eric: I told her that if she was kissed, she had Cooties.
Me: (looking at Caitrin) Sorry, kiddo. Looks like you have Cooties.

Not thinking anything of what I said, I turned my attention to Eric and we started talking about our day. Eric stopped and asked if what he was hearing was Caitrin crying in the back ground. I stopped and listened.. sure enough she was in her room bawling.
As I rushed down the hall to see what the matter was, I saw her taking her coat and scrubbing her face and her tongue.

Me: Caiti! What are you doing? What's wrong?
Caiti: I don't want Cooties, Mom!

CRAP! Can you say "Heartbreaking"?

Me: Oh, Caiti, you're alright. You want to know what gets rid of Cooties? Go-Gurts. Let's go eat a Go-Gurt.

She seemed content with the remedy. I had to call the school and let them know that some kissing has been going on, and that if she ends up smacking a boy, I apologize in advance. I guess I better pay better attention as to what I tell her from now on.

Conversations

Setting: Caitrin and I are in the bathroom, and she's using the potty. (I've mentioned before that we have an open door policy at our house.. really no privacy.) I noticed that she had a perplexed look on her face.

Mom: Caitrin? Are you ok?

Caiti: Yeah... (sighing).. I don't think I'm going to eat anymore.

Mom: What? Why?

Caiti: Because. If I eat, I have to poop, and I'm tired of pooping.


So many times the child has left me speechless....
This also coming from Caitrin who told me a couple months ago that peeing was a "complete waste of her time."
Sorry, babe, it's unavoidable.

Windstorm 2010

By the good graces of God, my house was spared. The only damage to the house was the front section of the gutter.

When I called Eric to let him know that our tree had fallen, I told him that I was blocked in the carport. I was unable to go anywhere. His reply "Where did you need to go?" THAT"S NOT THE POINT!!!

My car only had mud on it from the leaves being wet and dirty. No scratches!

This is the bull pine that stands between our house and our neighbors. The bricks we raised during the windstorm. I'm contemplating calling a tree faller and getting that bad boy down. I really don't want it falling on the neighbors house, since it's on our property.

Of course Caitrin had to have her picture taken next to the root ball. We aren't sure what we are going to put in place of the ornamental cherry tree. Eric's thinking another tree, I'm thinking a front porch. I said many prayers last night as the wind storm continued. I woke up to find that God heard me.

Skinny Jeans

I have mentioned before that at work, we hand-me-down clothes from all of our kids. I'm not above free clothes. So when a gal came to me and asked what size Trent was and that she had a bag of pants out in her car, I jumped all over it. She had told me that there was a pair of jeans in that bag that were "skinny jeans". I cringed at the though. My reservations on those kinds of pants go in the same category as spandex, they should be outlawed. But... if Trent liked them, I'd bite my tongue.

When I brought them home, I told Trent to try them on, not mentioning that they were skinny jeans. He seemed excited that he got new clothes. When he came into my view, he had a look of disgust on his face.

Mom: What's wrong, they look like they fit you. (I thought they looked horrid, but it's what he thinks, right?)

Trent: UUmm.. NO!! Theses are skinny jeans. I look like the Jonas Brothers, and I am not gay!!

I snapped my head to Eric. He just had a smile on his face as if to say "that's my boy."

Those pants got quickly passed off to the next unsuspecting victim... my sister's house to my nephew.

Sick day

Today I stayed home with Caitrin and Eric. They both weren't feeling very well. Learning from 2 and a half kids ago, you don't leave a sick kid home with a sick dad. The equation just doesn't add up. Caitrin wanted to take a nap in her Cottage... I didn't have a problem with that. We inherited this Cottage from some friend of ours, their girls our grew it so they passed it down to us.
We got her all snuggled in with pillows and blankets. She didn't ask to have any of her dolly's, teddy's, of stuffed animals with her. Oh no.... she had to have the real deal......

What's a cottage without a trusty guard? Adella would be so lost without her kids.