the time i paid a lot of money to be pampered, but was tortured, instead

I can remember August 3, 1994 as if it was yesterday.

We lived in Omaha, Nebraska and my mom and grandmother came from California the night before to help take care of Tessa, who was 2 1/2.  They took their post immediately, and I was sent to bed for a night of uninterrupted sleep.  Something I hadn't had in weeks.  I slept soundly through a thunder storm so severe, it shook the walls of our little apartment.  Neither my mom nor my grandmother slept well.

The next morning, we were up bright and early.  I was due for a day of pampering, and we had to get there early, so that I could make the most of my day.  We arrived, I was given a soft gown to change into, and invited to rest comfortably in my own luxury suite.  With my own TV.  I got the remote.

It was room service all day, with my every whim at the command of the staff.  All the while, my little Tessa was cared for and loved by two grandmas.

I got to thinking about Tessa.  Started missing her.  I remembered walking with her the day before, and seeing her excitement as rabbits scurried about in the grassy areas of our Omaha apartment complex.  I loved living in Omaha.  We dreamed of buying a house within the year, but since Nebraska was still new to us, we decided to check things out for a bit while we rented an apartment.  It was clean, and nice, and complete with those little rabbits.  My Tessa would chase after them, her blond curls bouncing in the sun.

This was the first time I had spent a full day without her.  And my day of pampering was scheduled to extend into the next day.  It would be my first night without her.  Yes, I was tired, and in desperate need of rest.  Yes, I was being pampered.  Another night of uninterrupted sleep in the plush bed in my suite should have lulled me to a more serene mindset, but instead, I found myself missing my home, and my own bed, and my little girl so terribly, that tears started flowing.

And a little bit of agitation, surprisingly enough.  Though the staff were doing a great job of tending to my every whim, and were well worth the thousands of dollars we were paying them, I couldn't help but be a little grumbly at times.  Maybe it was the lack of sleep over so many weeks.  Yes, I had slept well the night before, but maybe it wasn't enough.

I had a gnawing ache, and I kept asking whether they had a little something to make it go away.  They believed that I would feel better if I just let it ride a bit.  That we shouldn't be so quick to medicate, when we can find alternative ways to work through aches and pains.  I was a little shocked.  After all, this was my day of pampering, and I wasn't feeling well.  Surely, they wouldn't let a growing discomfort dampen my day.

And the little gnawing ache kept getting worse.  And my longing for Tessa kept growing.  I must have seemed distressed, or distraught, because before I knew it, I had several staff members in my suite talking to me, and telling me that I'll feel better soon.  Really soon.  How could they know that?  As they'd laugh, yes, laugh, when I'd complain about the pain, I felt betrayed because the pain was growing rapidly with an intensity unlike anything I'd ever felt before.  Why would they just let me be so miserable?  This isn't what I was paying so much money for.

Then, a scream escaped me when the pain reached a pinnacle so great I was sure death had joined me in my suite.  I started to black out, but was brought back to consciousness when another wave of pain came to me.  And another.  At least the staff weren't laughing anymore.  At least they looked serious, finally.  Do they feel embarrassed?  Do they believe me now?  But, then there was more pain, and then I found myself reacting within my body without the express permission of my brain, and I actually tried to climb outside of myself.  Physically.  I tried to escape the pain, and the torment, as the staff scrambled around me to keep me from falling to the hard floor beneath me.

More pain.  More screams.  I strained, breathing, or holding my breath.  I couldn't know.  And then a cry.  And silence.

Catching my breath, my vision blurred, in that moment of serenity, I watched the staff standing away from me now, huddled together on the other side of the room.  I broke the silence and abruptly blurted, "I screamed.  Loudly.  I'm sorry I screamed.  Is he OK?"

They turned back to me, and handed me a bundle wrapped in blue.  Adam.  Adam Lloyd.  Ten pounds, one ounce.  No drugs.

Eighteen years later, I'm still a little mad at the nurses for not giving me at least a little cocktail.  "You can do this," they told me.  "You'll be so happy you did it without drugs," they reasoned.  Humph.  I'm of the opinion that God made people who made pain killers.  Why not enjoy the birth of your child, without having to feel like we're in a Medieval torture chamber?

I suppose there is a little bit of a thing I find myself going to when I think about delivering a 10 pound, 1 ounce baby naturally, and it makes me smile a little.  Kind of like a super hero, or at least a super woman.

But, if I was going to strike a tick mark in the air for being a super woman, I suppose I would do it when I think about my sweet son, Adam.  He is one of my greatest accomplishments, and of of my greatest joys.  I know I didn't make him.  God did.  But, I was blessed with the title, "Adam's Mom," so I will take that title and run with it, taking every bit of satisfaction I can enjoy.  And believe me, there is a whole lotta joy.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Adam.  You make me proud.  On many levels.

Adam's Story -- Part 3

Adam had just turned 16 when he moved back in with Hugo and me.  His charter school has multiple locations, and we were able to transfer him from his previous location to a different one closer to our new house.

His life was pretty simple for him.  School two days a week, and that was about it.  Concerned that his leisure time was far more heavily weighted than his productive time, I urged him to seek balance by involving himself in volunteer work.  He volunteered weekly in Lee's Kindergarten class listening to kids read out loud, testing their comprehension, and helping Lee's teacher grade assignments.  It was so much fun seeing him in there, completely adored by the kids.  Mr. Adam.  He smiled deeply, beneath his smile.

Transitioning into life with Hugo was not nearly as difficult as other transitions I've heard about, when a step-parent comes into the mix.  Adam was never threatened by Hugo's command of authority, simply because Hugo didn't demand it.  Sure, he is a strong leader, but he never wanted to come in and push his way into the family as the new sheriff in town.  In a way he was, because he is disciplined in the ways in which we have lacked discipline, and he maintains that discipline himself, expecting us all to follow suit.  But, in matters of the heart, he didn't want to throw himself to the kids, making them love their new dad.  He knew they already have a dad they love.

My ex-husband has continued to maintain a distance between himself and his kids that has been painful for them.  Adam had a lot of conflict when he lived with his dad.  But, as he compared his natural dad's behavior and responses to the behavior and responses of Hugo, he saw big differences.

The kids have been blessed, because it seems as though all of the ways in which their natural dad struggles, Hugo is strong.  And I could be wrong, but I really think that my ex-husband sees that, and rather than be threatened by it, to his credit, he is comforted by it.  Like, he knows that there are aspects of what the kids need in his personality and character that he just can't produce, and when he sees Hugo fill those needs, he is relieved.  He loves his children very much.  And so does Hugo.

Adam sees this.  Of all of the kids, he was the first one to accept his dad for who he is, and how he is.  Knowing that he doesn't behave the way he does because he is evil, or bad, or doesn't love his kids, but that he responds to life, the kids included, because of the hurts and pain he suffers deeply from his own childhood.  It doesn't excuse it, or make it OK for him to berate or neglect his kids, but it helps those of us who are subjected to his behavior understand him.

Adam was able to see his dad for who he is, forgive his dad for who he is, and love his dad for who he is.  And when he did that, the anger, lifted.  It was gone.  No more lashing out at me.  No more yelling matches with his dad.

Adam was also able to seek the things he needs in a dad from Hugo.  Hugo's love for him is intense, and he marvels at the depth of their relationship.  Hugo willingly gives Adam the time and attention  Adam was so starved for, his entire childhood.  Trips to the batting cages, games of catch, jam sessions in the garage, incessant nagging about Adam's need to pick up his dirty clothes and empty clothes hangers from his bedroom floor.  Adam has needed it all, and he drinks it in.

Hugo joined me in keeping Adam on the straight and narrow academically.  He was in an independent study program, which means he could work extra hard to make up his freshman year, and graduate on time.  But, it could also mean that he could slack off.

We push for academic excellence in our family.  It doesn't necessarily have to be straight-A's.  If a child is working their hardest, and they get a C, they will get our applause.  But, if they are slacking off, and they get a C, well, not so much.

Adam was definitely improving his Straight-F GPA from his freshman year.  He was getting B's, and C's.  But, we really believed he could do better, because we just didn't see him working that hard on his schooling. He needed to study more, and try harder.  To not be so happy to settle for mediocrity.  He challenged us on this, holding fast to the fact that he wasn't failing like before.  That he had improved.  But, we stood firm too.  We wanted to build in him a character that wouldn't so easily settle for less.  It caused some tension, especially between Adam and Hugo, because Hugo was able to sift through the smelly stuff, and cut to the chase, where I was always a little fearful that Adam would snap again, and give up altogether.

I have a rule of no gaming on school days.  Adam asked to have that rule softened, since he was older.  I had to really think about it, but I agreed, under the condition that he only game when his grades were good.  He had to spend more time studying, and applying himself to his education.  If he brought home the grades, he could game.  It was a great incentive, and an opportunity for him to take more responsibility, seeing firsthand and immediate benefits to working hard in school.

And he did it.  Adam made up his freshman year, as well as completed his other requirements, so that he could graduate the same year he would have, had he stayed in traditional high school.  He did 4 years in 3.  And through the completion of every subject, we saw him stand a little taller.

Adam has gotten very involved in his youth group of about 500 teens at church.  He is close with a group of guys his age, who meet together with a leader/mentor every week.  He has grown tremendously.  Spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and physically!  My 10 pound, 1 ounce baby boy stands at 6'2", and wears a size 13 shoe.

The sweet, witty little boy I raised all those years ago has grown to be a sweet, witty, intelligent, and beautiful young man, wise beyond his years.  His heart for others, and compassion for people who are hurting is a driving force within him.  His love and commitment to God is the driving force that gives purpose to all of his other driving forces.

Sure that he has been called by God, Adam has chosen to pursue a life of full-time Christian service.  He wants to take the pains of his past, and help others who suffer as he has suffered.

He graduates next Tuesday.  He will start college in the fall.  We celebrate, not only the success of his completion of high school, but we celebrate the success of his life.  Courage.  Facing his heartache, working through it, rising above it.

He laughs.  A lot.  And he makes us laugh.  A lot.  Oh, and he plays the piano again.  The beautiful piano music of my son fills our home, and my heart.  Beauty from ashes, indeed.

Adam's Story -- Part 2

This is my least-favorite of this three part series.  It was our darkest years, and the years in which I actually contemplated suicide.  I never planned how I wanted to die, not really.  But I begged God to please take me.  To maybe steer my van into the concrete median on the freeway?  Maybe if I was driving fast enough, the impact would be great enough to end it all...I obsessed about it.  I felt like I had failed my children--I couldn't fix their pain, and I couldn't fix our situation.  I believed that they would all be better off without me.  

When Adam first started junior high, he had tremendous support.  I met the principal the day I registered him for school--a total honey badger.  Perfect lady to have on Adam's side.  Smart.  Tough.  Sharp.  Soon, the teaching staff fell in love with him, which was comforting.  He has always been comfortable around adults, and he felt safe with their presence and attention.

He joined the school band and developed friendships.  He was a Woodcrest Wolverine.  Trying so hard to create a normal experience for him, I got involved in the Band Booster Club, a parents' group that helps raise funds for the band, helps the band instructor as needed, etc.  I wanted him to see my support.  That I was interested in the things he was interested in.  But, being involved allowed me to really notice some things as his 7th grade year ticked away.  I observed that Adam gravitated toward the rougher kids.  It seemed they were the ones he identified with the most.  The kids in Crisis, just like him.  Single parent kids.  Kids with disappointments and broken hearts.  With little to no love and support from home, and with pretty bad attitudes.  Adam stood out amongst them at first, because he had love and support, but it was only a matter of time before their influence would graft to his own broken heart, and grow something in Adam I never saw coming.

His stress level increased.  He had days when he didn't want to go to school.  I would take him to school, and he would refuse to leave the van.  He would cry bitter, and defiant tears.  Sometimes he won.  Sometimes I won.  Sometimes, from the curb of his school, I had to call the school office for reinforcement.

I had gotten a job as as a server at a country club halfway through Adam's 7th grade year.  My life in Nebraska had me at home full time, raising the kids, and homeschooling them.  This was a life we chose, and it was a life we loved.  But, my choice to move to California left me on my own, with no resume.  Working as a server was all I could find to do, but it was great, because it increased my hourly income when I factored in my tips.  The downside was that I had to work a lot in order to  survive.  Which meant less time at home.  Less time to care for my family.  For the kids who were used to my availability, it was a huge stress.  

After the children and I lived in California for a year, my husband moved from Nebraska to join us.  He had stayed behind in Nebraska when we moved.  He spent the year in counseling.  We moved into a townhouse, and not sure that he was fully recovered from his anger issues and control, I could only have us live as roommates.  It was a practical decision.  The kids were suffering with me having to work and be away so much, and with the separation of their parents and life changes.  He could help out, and give himself to their needs.  My deepest hopes and dreams were that he would be available to them for the first time, ever.  That we could heal.  We worked on rebuilding our life together.

But, as Adam's 8th grade year moved on, Adam's stress only seemed to increase.  He is a beautiful piano player, and played all the time when we lived in Nebraska.  But, I noticed he never played the piano once we moved to California, in spite of the fact that we had a piano, and even though we had a piano teacher come to our house weekly so that we could continue the piano lessons the kids started in Nebraska.  Normalcy.  Trying so hard for that sense of normalcy, and to recapture the things important to my kids.  But, his aversion to playing piano was so intense, that it got to the point where he would have panic attacks when the piano teacher would come.  He begged me to have the piano teacher leave, and never return.  And he never touched the piano.

His grades fell.  His episodes of not wanting to go to school increased.  He was always kind and respectful to the staff, but they could still see signs of stress.  We made the decision to have a counselor from a local counseling center come to the school weekly to meet with him.  And in addition to the counseling through the city, we got both him into private counseling, as well as encouraging his involvement in the youth group at church.

Never, when I separated the children and myself from my husband, did I want the end result to be divorce.  It was a separation, for the sake of reconciliation.  Beauty from ashes.  With great hope that our nightmare would be behind us, and that we would emerge a stronger, more healthy family.

But, after a year of living together, it was evident that my husband hadn't changed in the ways that we needed him to.  Things started out so good.  He was available to the kids.  Responsive to their needs.  Patient.  Joyful.  He wanted us to move back to Nebraska, and since that was where we had spent the majority of our life together, where all but Tessa had been born, the kids and I wanted to move back too.  But he didn't want to move back to Gothenburg, where our life had been before.  He wanted us to live in a community completely new to the kids and me.  The one he had moved to a few months after we separated, before the kids and I came to California.  It was a 5 hour drive from Gothenburg.

I had too many people advising against it, concerned about him relocating us to a new community.  Fearing that our lack of an established support system would too easily enable us to revert back to our former roles.  That the kids and I would too easily be left with a life of control and abuse.  I presented these concerns of so many of our friends and family to my husband.  Not that any of them thought that there was no hope; they just thought that it was too soon.  He responded negatively.  He was mad that I listened to them.  Mad that I needed, or even wanted more time.  Over the days and weeks following, his anger increased.  He acted out more against the kids.  He resented me.  Despondent, I made the decision to file for divorce.  Tessa, Abi, Lee, and I moved to a less expensive house closer to my parents' house, and my husband moved into an apartment.  With Adam.  Our family was divided.

Although he had moved out of my house, I stayed involved in Adam's life.  High school was a nightmare for him.  The rougher kids he had gravitated toward before were now into bigger things.  Gang activity was prevalent in his school.  He joined a group of kids that had gang ties, and were very gang-like in their behavior.  Brotherhood.  Violence.  Bad attitude.  Defiance.

We kept him in counseling.  Still, he was slipping away.  He failed every class in the first semester of his freshman year.  I was at his school a lot, meeting with his guidance counselor, and teachers.  They observed that Adam was deliberately failing.  Two teachers told me he was the smartest kid in their classes.  The other kids would go to him for help, he would give it, but yet, he himself would fail.  Next, he failed his second semester.  He had to leave the school and go to a charter school that had an independent study program.  As bad as this was, I was relieved, as it got him away from the daily influence of the gang he was involved in.

I worked a second job at a restaurant near his charter school.  He had to go to school twice a week to turn in work and test.  He would walk to the restaurant to see me sometimes.  I loved seeing him, and drank in the opportunity to connect with my son.  But, when he would come to my house, he would end up having loud, verbal outbursts, when we'd disagree over anything.  Highly emotional, even attempting to intimidate me by towering over me, with clenched fists.  I had to tell him that as long as he behaved that way, he couldn't come to my house.  I would not subject our family to that kind of environment.  Our family.  Where was our family?  How had this happened?

The divorce took a year and a half, mostly because I dragged my feet.  I desperately wanted my husband to snap out of his state, work hard on his character, attitude, and role, and want his family and marriage back.  Make me stop the divorce.  But, he never did.

I was dying, or thinking about it, at least, and trying so hard to heal.  I was in Celebrate Recovery, and I was seeing all of the wrong ways in which our family had functioned.  The wrong ways in which I had functioned.  I started making changes.   In everything.  No more undisciplined disregard for keeping up our house, though this part was hard, with me working 6-7 days a week.  No more accepting laziness as normal.  No more eating whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted.  And for me, no more wrapping the essence of my entire being into doing whatever I needed to do, to make and keep my children happy.  They had to take responsibility for that, accepting my guidance and example, but doing the work to achieve it, themselves.  If they weren't happy, they could no longer project their disappointments onto me, expecting me to make happiness happen for them.  We all had to accept the things that had happened in our family, and then do what we needed to do, to make our family healthy, and good.  A lot of changing had to take place.  The combination of the way I approached them and life itself so differently from how they were used to me being their entire life before, and having our life be so different, was very threatening and uncomfortable for them.

But, yet life with their dad was as it had always been before.  It was normal for them.  The way they were used to life being, even if it was dysfunctional and unhealthy.  Gaming as much as they wanted, not having to do house chores, or pick up after themselves.  Living under the rule and control of their dad, complete with verbal insults, and loud outbursts.  Hating the new feel of home with me, and craving a feeling of normalcy, Tessa eventually moved out and lived with her dad and Adam.  Our family was truly divided.

It was around the time that I was really thinking about that concrete median on the freeway, that Hugo, a high school mate and friend of my sister's husband, came into our life.  When Tessa and Adam came over for visits, and Hugo was at my house, they were comfortable with him, and enjoyed being around.  Our times together were more pleasant.  Less stressful.

The divorce was final in early December, 2009.   Hugo proposed Christmas Day, at my parents' house.  Adam was happy with the engagement.  Feeling urgency to get on with our life and create a healthy and new normal for the kids, we married two months later.  He lived with me after we married, until we bought our current house in Glendora.  I quit my job, and we moved.  This was nearly two years ago.

Just before we moved, when I told Adam that I was quitting my job, and that we were going to be moving to Glendora, he shocked me when he said, "Mom, I can't tell you how long I've been  waiting for you to say that."  And then a few weeks later, he said something else that shocked me even more.  He said that he wanted to move out of his dad's house, and move in with Hugo and me.

Hope.  But, there were obstacles in his future that would challenge whether or not he was really ready to take life seriously, put away old habits, and pursue a better path.  He still had a rough road ahead of him.

Adam's Story -- Part 1

Adam.  He is my second-born child, and first son.  He was born when Tessa was 2 1/2, right after we moved from our home state of California, to our adopted home state of Nebraska.

When he was born, he weighed 10 pounds, 1 ounce.  I remember looking at him in the hospital, and thinking, "Who are you?"  I had been so intimately acquainted with Tessa, that all of my mommy-energy had been injected into her from the time I found out I was expecting her, up until I became the mother or two.  I thought it odd, that I had another child who wasn't Tessa.  It's hard to explain, but I somehow wrapped motherhood into being her mom.  Now, I had a new baby, and I had to redefine myself as a mom.

This was kind of hard.  Not the bonding part, as my "Who are you," question was answered during that first night in the hospital when I held him, and nursed him, and fell in love with him.  No, the hard part was being a codependent who had defined herself as the one who cared for the needs of Tessa for 2 1/2 years.  I couldn't devote 100% of me into her anymore, as that percentage had to be shared with her brother.  She never once had an issue with it.  Never a moment of jealousy.  But, I struggled with tending to a newborn who needed me now, when Tessa would need me too.  Maybe she fell and was crying.  Maybe she was hungry.  Maybe she needed me to reach a toy for her.

Adam did eventually settle into our family, I got my rhythm, and within seconds, it seemed, he was up and playing with Tessa.  It was at about this time that we started noticing that something wasn't right with Tessa's development.  Where she had been WAY ahead developmentally, she began lagging behind.  And then regressing.  She had known all of her colors by the time she was 1, but at 3, she couldn't tell blue from yellow, or at least she couldn't tell me that she knew.  She lost her English language, and she developed her own language.  A language I was able to understand, because I was with her every day.  It was also a language Adam understood.

With her development regressing, Tessa and Adam soon became the same age.  My twins.  Inseparable.  Each others' best friend.  Into the same toys, into the same Disney movies, into the same games and activities.  Adam was a tremendous comfort to me in those difficult days, because he just simply loved Tessa, and he reminded me with his actions that he never saw a thing wrong with her.  To him, she was a typical child, and although we had a team of experts diagnosing and treating her then diagnosed Pervasive Developmental Disorder -- Not Otherwise Specified, Adam allowed a perspective for me that proved that Tessa was OK.  That there wasn't a thing that she couldn't do that would stop her from being OK, and that even though PDD is within the Autistic Spectrum, Tessa could indeed bond with others, and when it's all said and done, she'll be fine, once we figure out the ways into her brain.

Adam has a very strong leadership personality.  My dad used to call him The Little General.  He'd take him to the park when Tessa was at school, and laugh at how Adam would just round up the kids and engage them with his ideas of what they could play.  He'd give everyone a part, set out a plan, and attack the playground.

Soon, I started to see Adam as my firstborn, with the combination of Tessa's more withdrawn and shy personality, and his more outgoing, problem-solving charge.  This continued on, throughout their childhood.

When Adam was 5, we moved from Gretna, Nebraska, which is a suburb of Omaha, to rural Gothenburg, Nebraska, which is in the very center of Nebraska, just south of the Nebraska Sandhills.  We lived in a very old ranch house on 640-acres.   We were a half hour from the nearest grocery store, and a mile from our nearest neighbor.

These two photos are courtesy of my dear friend, Mardel Manary.  A true Ranch Woman.

We had dogs, cats, and eventually a strawberry roan American Quarter Horse mare, and a black grade pony.  The mare was Tessa's, and the pony was Abi's.  Lee was a baby still.  Adam was 11 at this time, and he needed a horse.

He had gone the dirt bike route, but found that to be disappointing.  It needed to be a father-son project, and despite his requests, and even pleadings with his dad to work on it with him, he was left disappointed.  Tragically disappointed, even.  He would cry to me regularly, for nearly 2 years, begging me to do something to persuade his dad to spend time with him, working on the dirt bike.

The dirt bike was important to him, and so was baseball.  His coaches would tell him that he needed to be worked with at home.  I would work with him, but he wanted his dad, and he would seldom to never go outside to throw the ball.  This would upset Adam.  Clearly, the common pattern was that Adam desperately needed his dad to be there for him, and over and again, his dad wasn't.

We owned a house in Broken Bow, Nebraska, another rural Nebraska town, and our house needed its lawn mowed in the growing season.  We had tried to hire local people to mow for us, but decided it best for us to do the lawn ourselves.  This was a very good opportunity for Adam to spend time with his dad.  Weekly, they would drive the 40 minutes it took to get to Broken Bow, mow the lawn there, and then drive home.  Starved for his dad's attention, Adam looked forward to his every week.  But, he could never get his dad to do the things he was interested in, like work on his dirt bike, or throw a ball.  I started noticing anger welling up within Adam as he neared puberty.  He would never display that anger toward his dad.  It was always to me, at bedtime, when I'd tuck him in.  He would cry, and articulate his disappointment, and ask the questions.  Questions like, "Why won't Dad spend time with me?"

This broke my heart.  And his anger was strange to see, as he had always been the easy going, jovial kid.  Always happy, always funny, always sweet, and tender.  He had an intense love for his family, and Tessa in particular.  Hearing him convey disappointment to the point of showing anger toward his dad was difficult for me, and I didn't know what to do about it.  I would talk with his dad, but he would only get angry with me for nagging him about it.  I saw that my then husband was withdrawing from his family, wanting to spend less and less time with us.  Instead, he would sun himself in the bed of his pick-up truck, or exercise for hours at a time, every afternoon and evening after work, having little to nothing to do with us.

I made the most of my time with the kids, partly because I wanted to, and partly because I was trying to make up for what their dad wouldn't do with them.  We so enjoyed the horses, that I suggested to Adam that we sell his dirt bike and get a horse of his own.  He loved the idea.  And once the dirt bike was gone, we set out looking for the right horse for him.  He was 11 years old.

My husband had a friend from work who had horses, and she had a colt she thought would be perfect for Adam.  We went to her house one Saturday morning.  In her mid-twenties, she lived with her mom.  The colt she had was still a baby.  Adam wouldn't even be able to ride him for at least 3 years.  Adam needed a horse now, and he needed a horse that was trained.  But, my husband and his friend worked hard to convince Adam and me that this was the horse for him, and if we didn't geld him, he could be a stud to Tessa's registered mare.  Their lines were compatible.  We could raise horses, and even sell them.  But, I wondered, what about Adam?

Never was Adam considered by either his dad, or his dad's friend.  Sure, they said that down the line Adam would benefit, because he'd have an amazing potentially money-making horse with a very good disposition.  But, would it be safe for Adam to have a stud for a horse?  He was so young.  Would this be safe?

The friend with the horse, and her mother, both agreed that he would be completely safe with this animal.  But, not content with their confidence, I started asking around to people who have raised, trained, and cared for horses all their lives.  I had a long list of about 20 people, including my husband's friend and her mother.  With the exception of those two, it was unanimous that the stud horse idea for a little boy was a dangerous, and very bad idea.  And when I presented Adam's dad with my conclusion that we not get the horse for Adam, he became angry.  Because as it turned out, he had been having an intimate affair with that young woman, and he really wanted to help her out financially, by buying the horse.  With Adam's dirt bike money.

Of course, I didn't know that at the time, but I eventually found out.  Which led to me secretly taking all four of my babies away from Nebraska, and away from the life we knew and loved.  We moved to Ontario, California to live with my parents, and be closer to my family.

At this point, Adam was 12 and ready for 7th grade.  He had been home schooled his entire life, and would experience public school for the first time, in Southern California, in a junior high school.  I dropped him off at school that first day, only a few days after we rolled into California.  He was scared, disoriented, disillusioned, and holding in an intense, deep anger fueled by disappointment and disbelief that this thing he now called his life wasn't just a very bad dream.

Day #2 A Son Who is 6'2"

Reason to be Thankful #2:  Having a Son Who is 6'2".

But first, the back story.

So, there is this little disability I have that is usually nothing more than a nuisance most of the time, but once in a while, it becomes a real problem.  I don't even have a name for it.  I guess we can call it...Carpal Tunnel-Like Symptoms and After-Effects of Pregnancies With Said Un-Named Ailment.

When I was pregnant, I would develop this problem where my hands and forearms thought I had full-fledged Carpal Tunnel.  I'd wake up to aching arms and hands, numb finger tips, and pain and immobility of my fingers.  I had to wear braces on my hands while sleeping, otherwise the pain would wake me.

Once the baby would be born, my condition would improve.  But, even still, I've been left with a few residual left overs.  Puffy fingers.  Limited dexterity.  Occasional pain.

If I find myself doing anything that requires prolonged use of my hands such as painting a room, or writing party invitations, or cutting out, say, craft pieces, I see my symptoms flare up.  Last week I made 2 price signs for Lee's Halloween Carnival at school.  I also prepped a craft for the 24 students in his class.  This involved cutting.  Lots of cutting.  Never once did I think about what would happen to my hands, or remember that such activities can be later regretted.

Sadly, my hands didn't forget.  I woke up Friday morning with terrible pain in both hands, radiating all the way up to my elbows.  I couldn't close my hands, and even holding a toothbrush posed a challenge.  Saturday morning was worse.  It's Wednesday now, and though symptoms have improved slightly, I still can't depend on my hands for much of anything.  Thank GOD I can type!

Oh!  It's a Twofer, isn't it?  I'm thankful for Adam being 6'2", and I am thankful that I can still type!!  Which brings me to my need to explain why it is that Adam's elevation has anything at all to do with my complaints of aches and pains.

We had a large family Halloween party over the weekend, and I had 4 crystal bowls that still needed to be put away yesterday.  Stacking bowls, and climbing up so that I can reach the top shelf is a dangerous task when I can not only properly hold the bowls, but neither could I depend on my hands to support my weight, if I were to lose my balance and attempt to catch myself from falling.  So, HATING to ask for help, I've put it off in hopes that I'd improve.  But, my hands aren't cooperating, and I needed those bowls put away.

Enter my Adam.  And his altitude.

He didn't even have to stand on his tippy-toes, and asking him for help didn't kill me after all, so it was all good.

It comes in handy to have tall people in my life.  Heck, it comes in handy to have Adam in my life.

I'm so thankful for my son.  He's as good, or better, than he is tall.

A young man who has a heart that exceeds his height.  A young man who is head and shoulders above other young men his age.  A young man who blesses his mother daily with his spiritual, emotional, mental, and yes...physical growth.  Because at 17 years of age, I do believe there could very well be some more growing going on there.  Which means that as long as he is around, the top of my fridge will always be cleaned, Christmas lights will get hung, and nobody will try to mug his mama.  He's a built-in body guard.

As much as I hate to ask for help, if I'm going to ask, I feel like I can ask my Adam.  His sweet spirit, and willingness to help, always, makes me feel so much less inhibited about asking, if I really, really have to.

So am I thankful that I have a son who is 6'2", or am I thankful that I have Adam?  The one who wears his height well?  It's Adam, obviously.  I'm thankful for Adam.  For who he is.

And that I can type.

My Adam Turned 17!!!

Today was my Adam's 17th birthday.

It was a usual crazy day in our house--lots of comings and goings from lots of people, and then we added in a birthday celebration for fun.  The family party will be Sunday, when we meet at Ruby's on the Seal Beach Pier.  But for tonight, we just had a quiet dinner at home with his favorite Chicken Biscuit Casserole (my own invention, and Adam's favorite), and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Cheesecake (recipe from Natalie Cool...a birthday tradition for years!!).

Seventeen years ago I lived in Omaha, Nebraska, and had a 2 1/2 year-old little girl at home. Within a week of my due date with Adam, my doctor feared another big baby, since Tessa weighed 10 pounds when she was born.  He had me working hard to naturally bring the birth of my second child on.  My mother-in-law came from California and worked right with me.  Walked the neighborhood, walked the mall, strolled the zoo, ate lasagna...anything that might make a baby be born.  No baby.  Her time to be with us had been extended a few days, and still, with no baby, she had to fly back home to California without being able to see her newest grandson (until the next Christmas).

My doctor decided to induce labor.  My mom and grandmother came the night before.  As soon as we got back home from the airport, I took the sleeping pill my doctor insisted I take, and was out COLD until morning.  My mom and grandma completely took over Tessa, and even weathered a severe thunderstorm while I enjoyed my first night of sleep in weeks, oblivious to anything but my drug-induced sleep.

We were at the hospital early the morning of August 3.  Adam was born at 1:41pm.  His was the only delivery where I didn't have drugs to ease the pain.

It wasn't because I didn't ask for them.  I did.  But the nurses, bless their hearts, believed I'd get a better experience out of natural childbirth.  I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE.  I swear, I have never been so out of my mind in my life.  I remember pushing my body up, toward the ceiling, with my feet in the stir-ups.  The poor nurses kept having to rope me back to the bed.  I wanted out, and fast.  Finally, the baby was born.  A boy.  Adam Lloyd.  As the staff cleaned him and counted fingers and toes, I noticed how quiet and peaceful it was in the room, in comparison to all the screaming I had done.  Oh yes, I screamed.  Really screamed.  My ears were ringing.  At that quiet moment, for whatever reason, I said, "I screamed."  The nurses just looked at me.  My comment was abrupt and it broke the silence.  It was an odd moment.  Kind of awkward.  They just looked at me, and then they went back to work on Adam.  

The most notable memory of his birth, however, was in the middle of the night, when it was just Adam and me.  I looked at him in his little bed, and a curious thought, even a feeling, came over me.  I realized I didn't know him.  Not the way I knew Tessa, who was back at home.  I was stunned.  How could I feel this way--this disconnected from my own child?  With Tessa, I knew every expression, every voice inflection, every need before she even communicated it.  It was like we had a psychic connection.  I longed for her--it was the first time I had spent a night away from her.  With my brand new Adam, he was a baby laying in my room with my name on his wrist.  But I didn't know him.  This stressed me.  A lot.

His eyes were different than hers.  His hairline was different from hers.  His noises were so different from the noises I remembered her making.  I never expected this feeling.  With Tessa, I seemed to remember having this connection immediately.  I almost felt panicky. 

But then he cried.  And I reached for him.  And I held him.  And I nursed him.  And then, just like that, I knew him.  It was that immediate.  He was a different person from Tessa, yes.  But I did know him.  And I was smitten.

He has grown into quite the young man.  I am deeply proud of him.  His spirit.  His nature.  His humor.  His vision for the future.

This year is the Year of the Bike in our family.  Everyone needed a new bike, so we declared at the beginning of 2011 that this would be the birthday gift everyone could expect.  Adam wanted a mountain bike, but when I asked the bike shop personnel for advice, they believed that his 6'1" frame was a little much for the type of bike he wanted.  We had to regroup.

After some serious reconsideration, and tons of advice-seeking (thank you Chris, Olivia, and Christina!!) we came upon the perfect bike for Adam.  A beach cruiser.  It's badass.  He loves it, and we love that he is so happy with it.

Oh...one more thing.  Remember all that work to get him out before he got too big to deliver?  The crazed mama pushing up in the stir-ups because of the drugless pain?  Adam weighed in at a whopping 10 pounds, 1 ounce.  He surpassed his sister's birth weight, even.  Must have been the lasagna.  Or the Whoppers I craved during my pregnancy.  Whatever.  I have bragging rights...I pushed out a 10 pound, 1 ounce child without drugs.  And he holds the baby-weight record in our family, thank you very much.  Although we do have another Tisor Baby due at the beginning of next year.  Will he or she be a contender, Gregg and Jorden?!