Building Together

Whirlwind... That's our lives recently.

We're settling in, adjusting to a new family dynamic. My kids have gained a sibling and a stepfather. Beloved and Doolittle have gained two more kids and siblings. We're just getting past the "stepping lightly" polite stage of people getting to know one another and afraid to offend, and hurling into the sibling-arguments stage of "I know we haven't lived together long, but I'm not putting up with your crap" stage of security, knowing that this is here to stay. 

We're doing our best to build a lasting foundation.

Some days, I get tired of the bickering and nonsense, but most days, I'm warmed by it- knowing that the kids are secure enough in their relationships to start being jerks to one another. They know that they can fight, knowing that the relationship can take the abuse. That they'll make up later. That it'll be ok- that this family isn't going anywhere, and we're in this for the long haul. 

In the midst of all this, we're planning a wedding. And doing life... We just replaced our beater van with another pair of beaters- a rusty, banger of a Cherokee, and an F150 that was thrown into the deal upon agreement to let the seller have our old van (he'll scrap it out.) And life goes on. 

Among all this is a sense of contentment. A sense of settling in. A sense of security in the future that we're building together. Of foundations being laid. 

I don't know where this will all go. I'd love to say that I see a rosy future with his kids and mine walking linked arm in arm off into the sunset of our elder years, and us secure in the knowledge that they'll always have each other. 

I hope they'll always be together. Even if they do drive one another nuts.

As the children of mixed families, Beloved and I both know that may not happen. When step parents pass away, many times the children drift apart. The family created by marriage splinters in the absence of the glue that held them together. I pray that will not be the case with our children, but I know there are no guarantees. So, I welcome these days, the bickering and making up, the laughing and the goofing off and the going off together to do who-knows-what without Mom and Dad, because they are knitting their own foundations. I just pray it will hold for the long haul... that what we are building together as a family will become a shelter for our children, and our grandchildren. 

Life, love, and family are precious. 

Thinking Out Loud

When your legs don't work like they used to before

And I can't sweep you off of your feet

Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?

Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?

Just a couple of crazy kids. :) 

Dear readers... So much has changed in these past few weeks. So much has changed, and yet so much remains the same. I feel as if I've walked through the door, into Narnia, and the world is so much bigger and brighter and more real than I ever could have imagined. 

How did Lucy feel, I wonder, when she passed back through the wardrobe after her tea with Mr. Tumnus, trying to convey to her sister and brothers all that she had seen and experienced? It might be something close to what I'm feeling now, trying to find words to tell you how weird and wonderful, scary and joyous it is to be falling in love again at my age. 

I can tell you the facts- His name is Mike. He has a daughter, Heather. They both love animals and babies and are fanatics for an author I never heard of before, Christine Freehan. I am learning so much in a short time... how to live with severe food allergies (Heather's,) and how he likes his coffee. I'm learning to live with the fact that he's a Green Bay fan. It's not easy, dear readers, for a diehard Giants fan, but I'm learning. 

He's a brave man...

There is one more thing, something that seems like a small obstacle to me, but one that does present its own unique challenges, and something I have had to consider as I fall, headlong, into a relationship I never dreamed I'd find.

Mike was born with cerebral palsy. 

I didn't know much about CP before I met him. I vaguely knew it existed but not much beyond that. I've learned a lot since then. After the first date, a coffee meeting that started at 10:30AM and ended up stretching until 9 at night, I came home and hit up Google, because that's what I do. When I'm feeling overwhelmed and as if my life is spinning out of my control, I anchor myself with facts. I learn. I search out the information I need to make decisions. I tried to grab on to what I'd need to know- because I already knew that it was hopeless. Even if CP turned out to be an insurmountable challenge, it was too late. I was already in love with Mike and there was no turning back from the course life has set us upon. I was reading, not to discover whether I could handle loving a man who lives with CP, but how I would live with a man who lives with CP. 

I am still learning, my friends. The process is exhilarating and terrifying and joyous. It is like learning to ride a bike again- wobbly, and with some bumps and falls along the way, but that glorious feeling of flying... there's nothing like it. 

I'm thinking how people fall in love in mysterious waysMaybe just the touch of a handWell, me I fall in love with you every single dayAnd I just wanna tell you I am 

There is so much to learn. So much to know. So much to discover. If you'd have told me a few months ago that I'd be planning a wedding for sometime next summer, I'd have laughed. Today, we picked out rings and talked about dates. 

Could this be any more perfect?
Life. Peace. Love. <3

When two hearts that have been wounded by past losses come together, the fireworks are spectacular. 

So honey now
Take me into your loving arms
Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars
Place your head on my beating heart
I'm thinking out loud
That maybe we found love right where we are

I will keep you informed, dear readers. For those of you who have been with me from the beginning, and for those who have joined later in the journey, thank you, so much. Your support and kindness has meant so much, and I want to share this joy with you all.

God bless!

~*~*~*~*~

Lyrics quoted are from "Thinking Out Loud," by Ed Sheeran, courtesy of MetroLyrics.

Second Chance Living

So, I've been thinking about writing this post for a long time.

I've been thinking about the events that led to my dealing with PTSD. I've been thinking about how much I would share, and what I would not say. I'm still thinking.

There are stories, friends, that are better left untold. There are things that happen in real life that make the scenes from books that keep you awake at night seem like shadows under the bed, easily dismissed by a flashlight and a mother's kiss. There are real-life monsters, and they walk around in human skin. I don't like horror stories. I don't read them, and I don't write them.
I have decided that I do not want to talk about the past. I don't live there anymore, though my mind occasionally conspires to drag me back. I live in today, in the present, with my kids and my friends and my family. This is where I choose to take my stand. This is where I will stay, and this is what I want to write about.

Sometimes the only way to move forward is to take a stand.

Life is weird sometimes, when you're living on your second chance. Some of us made bad choices as teens and young adults. For some, those bad choices led to endings, of freedom, or of life itself. I have mourned friends whose choices led them away, along paths where I could not follow. I have learned from their mistakes, but have, to my continual amazement, been spared. I am a living second chance. I often feel that I owe it to those who were not given that gift, to make the most of it.

Living on a second chance means that I don't take anything for granted. It also means that I don't have the same perspective as many of my friends and family. I don't see opportunities in the same ways they do, and sometimes that causes frustration. Why wouldn't I want to go for the management position in the company I work for? I could do the work easily enough, and the pay is reasonable. But it would mean giving up too much of the precious time I have remaining with my kids- while they're still young and living at home. I can't make that sacrifice- the money's just not worth it.

My heart. My loves. My life. 

Why do I "waste" my time on writing fan fiction and making silly Youtube videos, playing a children's game and hanging out with people who do the same things with their spare time?
Because, friends, there simply is not enough joy in this sometimes-dark world. There aren't enough smiles to go around. There are shadowy places in minds that are too often left unexplored and unlit. If my goofing around in a Minecraft world, or my writing stories that bring heroes to life brings even one person a bit of joy, a glimmer of hope, and gives them the nudge they need to feed their own creative spark, I will gladly labor for as many hours as it takes to make that happen.

The further I get into Youtube, the more fun I have.

I am one of the lucky ones. I fell into a pit, and was trapped there, by the subsequent depression and anxiety related to trauma. But I have a pretty amazing family. We're not perfect- who is? And parents who, while they made mistakes, loved me and wanted the best for me, always. Those are powerful weapons in the fight against depression, and I consider myself most fortunate.

The purpose of this entry, and of this blog, is to light candles. To reach out to those who are living in that dark place. To let you know, you are not alone. You can fight back. You can find joy. You are worthy. You are loved. You are wanted. I've been where you are, and I've found my way out again. You can do it. I believe in you.

"What if I fall??"
"Yes, but what if you FLY?"

Remember that life is an adventure. Live it. Learn from it. Never stop believing. There is power in faith, and in hope, and in love. Light always wins over darkness. Always.

Safe travels, friends.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Attack of the WHAT???

Dear readers, I am, at this very moment, having an emotional meltdown. Over a video game. With real tears trickling. It's not pretty. It's an ugly cry, and it comes from down deep, because this is more than "just a game." This is the full circle. This is the infinity snake catching up with itself. The mobius strip making the connection... It's just a game, to be sure, but to me... it's more.

Some of you, if you know me in real life, have heard me talk about Minecraft. About the connection forged between myself and my troubled tween. My son has been playing Minecraft almost from the beginning. He played the truly early stages- the first releases of the game. He would get SO excited when updates were released. He, quite frankly, drove me half mad with his chatter about creepers and endermen and zombies and mobs and mods and downloads.

Redstone was a complete mystery to me. It still is to some extent. I didn't understand the appeal of this blocky, weird game, until one day, seeing the disappointment in his face when he caught me rolling my eyes at just one more rendition of "Me and Brody got cornered by these zombies but his wolf was fighting for us and then this creeper came along and..."

For an instant, I caught sight of just how deeply my little boy, whose father had just walked out of all our lives, was hurting. I decided to appease him in the only way I knew how- I asked him to teach me Minecraft.

It was the beginning of an era. With a lot of frustration and some swearing (mostly me) and some "Geez, Mom, you're REALLY bad at this!" eyerolling comments, he introduced me to the game. And then, in an effort to understand it better, I did what I do best - research. Research took  me to Youtube, to explore the gaming channels... and that's when I discovered a whole other dimension of minecraft- Mods.

The very first modded Minecraft "lets play" Youtubers I watched were Generik B, Chimney Swift, and BDoubleOO, playing "Attack of the B-Team." Their commentary was engaging. The gameplay was intriguing. Chimney, in particular, caught my attention with his infectious enthusiasm and his mischievous approach to multiplayer gameplay. Soon, my son started playing B-Team, too, and got me to play it. I eventually upgraded my computer to better handle the modpack. Together, my son and I discovered this world. We explored it. We built things together. We laughed. We shouted. We got frustrated. We created and destroyed. We argued and collaborated. We learned... and we grew.

These days, my son doesn't really play with me. For a while, we played servers together and built incredible things. He showed me his creative world in which he built some insane redstone projects. Even now, when he has a girlfriend and a life that is slowly carrying him away from the childish pursuits of Minecraft and further toward the interests of an older teen, he can still be drawn back in. We still watch Etho, another Let's Player, together. We discuss his builds and talk about how crazy his "sand worm" project is, and how cool. Even as my son is growing away from his early interest in Minecraft, I am building a small hobby channel and immersing myself in the community that nurtured that early interest.

And now, a new era is opening up. Attack of the C-Team will be a sequel to the early Attack of the B-Team series. Many of the same Youtubers who participated the first time around will be involved in this remake. To call my reaction "excited" is like comparing Mt. Vesuvius to a sparkler.

This new game is about more than Minecraft. It's just a game, after all. There may be mods in this pack that I don't care for. The changes with the update may not appeal to me. I might not be as excited to play once I see what's been added and what's been taken away. Knowing all of that doesn't dim my excitement one bit.

These past few years have been... difficult.
My kids and I have navigated some rough waters. Not only has the divorce caused enormous emotional upheaval, we subsequently lost my best friend and my sister. Both deaths were sudden and unexpected. The devastation was deep and is lasting. For the past year or more, I've been knocked off my feet with grief, just keeping my head above water. It's only been in recent weeks that I've begun to feel as if life might have a chance of returning to some semblance of normalcy, and that the gaps left by the losses might close enough so that the feeling of continuously falling into them will end and our feet might once again touch the ground.

While no game, no exciting news, and no new adventure can possibly begin to touch the depth of the losses we've suffered, there is a moment, after one has been walking through darkness for so long, that a flicker of light can be seen. There is a moment when you realize that the tunnel you've been walking through isn't endless after all, that you will step out of it. The sun will once again warm your face, and you will feel the breeze against your fingertips. Spring will come, even after the longest winter. What is lost to the past can never be recovered, but there will be new experiences and new joys and new chances to laugh and live and breathe together. There is healing, and that, my friends, is something worth celebrating.

My kids have both expressed interest in exploring this new modpack together. The idea of playing together again, and discovering the ways in which we've changed, as players and in our relationships, is exciting beyond words. The fact that they still want to play with me... It's a balm to the soul.
So, forgive me if I dance just a little too exuberantly at this announcement. If I get a little carried away, and get just a little too excited. It's been a long, cold, dark night. I'm ready for the sun.

Bring it on.

Today was a day

Today was a day.

Today, the sun rose. It shone through the window and lay on my face, insistent. It pushed through my eyelids. It wouldn't let me go back to sleep. Today my cat lay on the blanket, anchored as firmly as a boulder, unwilling to relinquish her soft and her warm. Today the two, the sun and the cat, battled silently. The sun won.

Today I showered and dressed and went out with my dogs. Today they frolicked in the grass and wrestled and sniffed and rolled. Like every day.

Today I came in and worked, reaching out to the world and creating, through a little screen and a keyboard.

Today I was restless and sad. Today I remembered. Today the memories spilled over and leaked down my cheeks. Today I felt tired of feeling tired, and the road and the memory of happier times called me. We walked together, the memories and I. The breeze whispered over my skin and the sun shone smugly warm, victorious over the cat, who was still curled on the bed, sulking in her soft and warm.

Today I found a tiny plastic cow on the road, and wondered about the child who lost it and the story of how it came to be there. Today I found a smooth, white stone and remembered gathering them as a child, treasures that exasperated my mother when she had to empty them from pockets in the wash.

Today, I walked as far as I could before I had to turn back. The grass was lush and green and soft under my feet. The sun smiled on and on, and the breeze whispered and hushed through the trees.

Today I didn't get a letter from a friend in the mail, but a book came, and that was almost as good.

Today was a day. A day I decided to go for a walk. To look for the beautiful things. To feel the sun and the breeze and the grass.

Today was a day I decided to go on.


~*~*~*~*~

For those of us who live with the symptoms of PTSD like anxiety and depression, every day is a choice. We get up. We move through our days. We choose, every single day, whether and how to continue living.

If you are dealing with anxiety and depression, remember, you are not alone.
It gets better. Every day you have a choice to make. Today, I've chosen hope. I hope you will, too.
Safe travels, friends.
Mary

Life is Wild. Try to Keep Up

So, this morning I got into a minor commenting skirmish. Shots were fired, but it was more along the lines of children exchanging taunts on the playground than snipers slipping through the brush. A minor scuffle, with both parties leaving the field intact, the only injuries being to pride and tempers, and even those were slight. Embedded in the snarkfest (which I fully admit to engaging in- not trying to sling the blame elsewhere here!), was a jab at my blog's name.

Hmm... doesn't seem to capture my better side, does it?

"Life with Teens & Other Wild Things" apparently implies that my children are "wild". Out of control. Undisciplined. Disrespectful. Bad Kids. Therefore, by default, I must be a prime example of that internet pariah; a Bad Parent. I should totally think about changing my blog's name, so people don't get the impression that my kids are wild. Wouldn't want anyone thinking I'm a Bad Parent, now would I?

Well, the truth is, I am a Bad Parent. My kids are Wild. And you know what? I wouldn't change it, even if I could.

My kids are two of the most empathetic, kindest hearted people I've ever met. Despite being mercilessly harassed for several years by her own bullies, the one and only time Babygirl fought another kid in school was when she belted a boy because he punched her friend, Sarah, in the arm. Babygirl returned the favor, and bopped him a good one. Normally, I discourage fighting. I've told my kids that the only acceptable time to hit someone is if they hit you first. No exceptions. Except... Sarah has autism. She's high enough functioning that she's in regular classes, but limited in her ability to understand and take part in social interactions. So yeah.

Thing1 isn't always as quick as his sister to see the softer side of things, but go ahead and attack someone's religious, political, or personal beliefs in front of him. Not necessarily beliefs he agrees with, or holds himself, mind you, but anyone's right to believe and worship as they see fit. I dare you. This dog will fight if you rattle his cage, and he will defend your right to disagree with him as strongly as he'll defend his own opinions.

Are my kids perfect? HA!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
When I stop laughing... I'll have to say... no. But then, how could they be? They sprang forth from imperfect parents, after all. (And, I will add that any parent who believes their little  princess-angel-cupcakes-sparkle-glitter-cannons are perfect is either delusional or lying through their professionally-whitened, impossibly-straight teeth.)

Oh, you have a perfect kid?
Let me introduce you to my unicorn. Watch out. He farts. 

I have good kids. Imperfect kids. Yes, they are wild. And that's ok with me, because their wild sides come out in good ways.

My parenting style has been haphazard at best. I've read so many books on parenting I could start a library... and I have a hash-mixture of different philosophies, advice, styles, and techniques. A few of them worked for us. A few were complete disasters. None were a perfect fit, but from the patchwork, I've pieced together a garment that at least covers the worst of our indecencies. Together, my kids and I have survived thus far. Not just survived. We've thrived.

We've been strong enough to face diagnoses of depression and anxiety. Rebuilding after a tornado that dropped a tree on our home and caused extensive destruction to our property. An expulsion from a school that was not prepared to deal with unique needs associated with the diagnoses. Homeschooling. The breakdown of a marriage and the loss associated with divorce. The loss of close friends and family members through death. Losses when friends moved away. A return to public school. Graduation from high school. The beginning of college.

"All the adversity I've had in my life, all my troubles and obstacles, have strengthened me... You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you."
~Walt Disney

We've been on this Wild Ride together, and as long as we cling tight to one another, we've made it through everything life has thrown at us. Together, we ARE Wild Things, and I am proud to carry that title, along with all the scars that go along with it.

I wouldn't change a thing about this Life with Teens, and other Wild Things. Our story might not be white picket fences and June Cleaver aprons, but nobody watches those outdated, white-washed shows anymore, anyway. Long live the Wild Things. We're here to stay.

And, if you'd like to check out another Wild Parent, swing on over to KzooDad's blog, where he shares his adventures with his own Wild Things, and I occasionally trade snipes with other commenters. :)
http://www.kzoodad.com/

Resolved

As hard as it is to believe, 2015 is almost here. The year is drawing to a close, and ready or not, a new one is upon us.

2014, undeniably, was rough. I lost a sister, very unexpectedly in August. Dropped out of college in the Spring semester. Had kids flounder in school.

Theresa never missed a moment of life. She was always
up for new adventures. She was my hero. 

There were also flashes of sun from between the clouds. I restarted college this fall. Thing1 finished middle school successfully in June and started high school in September. Babygirl entered a program that will let her graduate from high school early and she's looking forward to starting college in January 2015.

I'm not a big fan of resolutions, because they seem like a flash in the pan, something you declare with a lot of bravado in January, and fizzle out by March.

This year, however, I'm making one for myself: This year, I resolve to be more positive. To appreciate the incredible blessings we enjoy and to stay focused on the goals for the future. Since my marriage fell apart, I've been determined not to become "that person"; the woman who obsesses over her ex and his new life and hates him, using him as a scapegoat for everything bad that happens to her post-divorce.

In ancient times, a goat was symbolically burdened with the sins of the people,
and driven off into the wilderness, to cleanse the tribe of its guilt. 

I don't want to carry this anger anymore. I'm tired of being angry. Tired of his name bringing a flare of pain and disgust. I am angry, and have every right to be, about the way he handled our ending. His deception made the parting much more painful than it needed to be. His behavior since leaving hasn't helped. He's hurt my kids, and for a Mama Bear, that can be an unforgivable sin.

There comes a time, though, when you have to let go of old disappointments. Holding a grudge is like holding a hot coal and expecting it to burn the other person... you're only hurting yourself. What harm does my anger do him? None, of course. He's off living his life. Staying angry is only letting him still have a say in my feelings, whether he even knows it or not. I'm SO ready to cut those strings. My ex is no saint, but I've moved on and my life is no longer bound to his choices. It's time to embrace freedom, and like Elsa, "let it go". 

Do you have any resolutions for 2015?

I am so ready to see what a new year will bring.