My Wish

Monday, 29 June, 2009

My WS1 graduated from high school on June 7, 2009.  My emotions were in a whirlwind.  Like the majority of parents, I’m extremely proud of my son’s accomplishment.  I’m excited for him and his future endeavors.  At the very SAME time, I’m feeling extremely saddened.  About two months before the ceremony, I sent him a private message on Facebook.  As you know, he doesn’t want to have a relationship with me. He doesn’t answer my calls or texts, and he returns my mail.  I thought FB would be the perfect avenue-he would have no choice but to see my note.  I didn’t have any high expectations of him answering because ‘if you don’t have expectations, you don’t get disappointed’, right??   Well, somehow I still managed to be deeply disappointed.  I still managed to have my heart break into a million more pieces.   Here is my note and WS1’s response (names were changed to protect the estranged):


Subject: graduation

Between WS1 and You


 April 3 at 11:27am


i’d really like to come to your graduation ceremony. if you don’t want to see me or talk to me there, i’ll respect your decision, but i’d still love to watch you get your diploma. would that be ok with you? i’m so proud of you and all that you’ve accomplished. you’re a great guy and i know that you’ll be very successful in anything you do. i love you and miss you with all my heart AND ALWAYS WILL, no matter what.





Add as Friend

April 15 at 4:12pm

No it’s not ok. If you respect me then stay out of my life like I asked you to.


So, there you go. I was hoping that time had started to heal his pain and that maybe, just MAYBE, he’d start letting me ‘in’, little baby steps at a time. But in reality, not much has changed.  Circumstances are still what they were before the FB message.  The only thing that is different is that I now have confirmation that he still feels the same.  He still doesn’t want me in his life. And I still don’t know WHY.  He won’t give me the opportunity to share my ‘side’.  But I’ll be here when he’s ready.  Until then, I’ll share my wishes with him here.  The country music group Rascal Flatts has a song called My Wish.  It says it ALL.  Here is an exerpt:


My Wish by Rascal Flatts


I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow,

And each road leads you where you want to go,

And if you’re faced with a choice, and you have to choose,

I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.

And if one door opens to another door closed,

I hope you keep on walkin’ till you find the window,

If it’s cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile,


But more than anything, more than anything,

My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,

Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,

You never need to carry more than you can hold,

And while you’re out there getting where you’re getting to,

I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too,

Yeah, this, is my wish.


I hope you never look back, but ya never forget,

All the ones who love you, in the place you left,

I hope you always forgive, and you never regret,

And you help somebody every chance you get,

Oh, you find God’s grace, in every mistake,

And you always give more than you take.


These are my wishes for you, WS1. I only want what’s best for you. I want you to be happy in life. I hope that one day we’ll be together again.  I love you and miss you with all my heart!



Fun Foto Friday-fun with Barbie

Friday, 26 June, 2009



One night my then 18 yr old nephew and I were playing around with my younger neice’s Barbie and Ken.  This is what we came up with.  It is HILARIOUS!! OK, so the picture of Barbie and her wild-haired, cross-dressing friend Ken may not be that funny to you, but I literally LAUGH OUT LOUD when I see this picture. Yes, even now, 8 years later.  Because really, it’s THAT funny.  Alright, so I guess it’s one of those you-had-to-be-there moments. But for me, it was one of those times where I laughed so hard that I cried and I couldn’t breathe because my stomach hurt so bad.  My stomach still hurts from that night-maybe it’s from the scarring.  I love this picture because anytime I need a laugh, it delivers.  I also love this picture because it reminds me of my nephew.  I’ve always felt a special bond with him since the day he was born.  I was 16 when he came into my life.  The first time I held him he became mine. Not my baby, not my son, but just MINE. He belonged to ME and MY HEART forever.  And yes Lois, I realize I’ve put him on a pedestal.  But that’s where he’ll stay.  In my eyes, he can do no wrong.  (BTW nephew, that doesn’t give you a free pass! ha!)

just an observation

Thursday, 25 June, 2009

Obviously, there are many things that are different between north and south.  Most noticeably is the geographical difference.  Along with that comes the weather, where you’re either shoveling snow all winter or you’re wearing shorts year ‘round.  Then there are general manners-we’ve all heard of southern hospitality, and also how ‘reserved’ northerners can be. (See, I still have my southern tact intact! ha!)  And as for food, northerners eat lots of philly cheesesteaks, clam chowder, pierogies, and steamed clams.  Southerners loo-oove their BBQ, mexican food, and peach cobbler.  But here’s another difference that I’m not so sure about.  Northern homes have plain, non-textured, flat walls. Southern walls are textured.  But WHY?  Why is there a distinction like that between north and south?  And just where do the two meet?  Is there an imaginary ‘texture line’ that I don’t know about?  I finally googled (one of my favorite verbs) textured walls vs. non-textured walls.   What I’ve learned is that non-textured walls are more of a traditional style, while textured walls are for a more dynamic and dramatic look.  You can go with an orange peel, popcorn, splatter, or knockdown look.  And you can have light to heavy texturing.  So many choices, so many decisions.  Our summer rental has, in my opinion, very heavily textured walls. 

 shredded TP


Seriously??!?  How textured is too textured?  When your TOILET PAPER IS TORN TO SHREDS, that’s too textured!  Just an observation.



if i’d only known…

Wednesday, 24 June, 2009

“Once the world is pulled out from beneath your feet, do you ever get to stand on firm ground again?”-Jodi Picoult, 19 Minutes


After WS1 went to live with his father in 2005, my relationship with him seemed hunky-dory.  At first.  We called each other, we sent texts back and forth, and he’d come to see me on ‘my’ weekends and holidays.  We celebrated his birthdays together.  He helped at WS2’s baseball practices and games.  He went deer hunting with my brother, we played umpteen million board games, he attended WS2’s first communion, I took him driving for practice, he would call me on my birthday and Mother’s Day, he came to my dad’s funeral-even had a speaking part in the service, we played baseball in the backyard, we went swimming, he came for my mom’s surprise 75th birthday party.  WS2 and I sometimes drove to spend weekends with him.  We’d stay in a hotel, WS1 would have a friend stay a night with us, and we’d play pool, cards, and the world’s funniest game, Cranium.  Sounds great, huh?  We were having ourselves a ‘grand ol’ time’!  Making memories to last a lifetime.  I kept (foolishly) thinking to myself “him living with his dad isn’t the end of the world after all”.   Spring Break of 2007, WS1 asked if he could stay at home to hang out with his friends and play in a baseball tournament.  His friends are his LIFE.  If the mountain won’t come to Mahomet, Mahomet will have to go to the mountain.”   This Mahomet and WS2 went to see his baseball games. When summer came, I realized that we were going to start spending less and less time together.  WS1 had summer select baseball, so again he asked if he could stay home and play with his team, and hang out with his friends.  This Mahomet and WS2 hit the road again to watch some of his games.  Before one particular game, WS1 and I had our picture taken together.  He had his arm around my shoulders and had a great smile.  Little did I know at the time that this picture with him would sadly, be our last.  We saw each other in June.  WS1 had just turned 16 yrs old a month earlier.  He was showing me his new driver’s license-he was so proud!  He had his arm around my shoulder while we talked and walked through the kitchen.  He gave me a hug and a kiss when we said our ‘I love you’s’ and goodbyes.  Little did I know that this would be the last time that I would see him.  If I’d only known this, I probably wouldn’t have let go so easily of that last hug.  I would have really felt it and cherished it more than I did. I would’ve memorized every single word he said. I would’ve told him again how proud I am of him, and that he was growing up to be a fine young man.  WS1 calls began to be farther and fewer in between.  I would call him every so often.  Sometimes he answered, most of the time he didn’t for whatever reason.  I would send text messages, and sometimes he replied, others he didn’t. With him it was hit or miss.  He was the box of chocolates Forest kept talking about.  You just never knew what you were gonna get.  Then in October I kept trying to call him but had no luck reaching him.  My bad-vibe-radar was kickin’ in to high gear. I left him messages and sent texts. No replies. At the beginning of November I mailed his father a letter stating that I wanted to exercise my Thanksgiving visitation with the boys. I got a phone call a few days later.  The boy’s father called and said that WS1 didn’t want to come visit me for Thanksgiving. My heart went on orange-alert.  I told him I wasn’t going to accept it from him, I wanted to hear it straight from WS1’s mouth.  We hung up.  The phone rang again.  It was WS1 this time.  I knew this couldn’t be good. He started telling me that he didn’t want to come visit me for Thanksgiving.  I asked him why and all he could say was “I just don’t”.  I asked him what was wrong.  He said “nothing. I just don’t want to talk to you”.  My troubled heart was trembling and gasping for air.  Again I asked him why.  He would only say “I don’t know, but I won’t be coming to see you for Thanksgiving… (then a background female stepmother type voice was saying “or Christmas”) …. and not for Christmas either”.   My heart fell in my stomach and took up residence.  I tried to get an answer out of him as to why; he said he had to go, then hung up.  How could we go from laughing and chattin’ it up one day to him not wanting to have a relationship with me??!?  In slow motion, my heart fell to the depths of the earth while my world was being pulled out from beneath me.  I went totally numb.  I didn’t know what to say. Or do. Or think.  All I could do was cry uncontrollably, and then cry some more.  I eventually stopped crying, on the outside.  Inside, my heart is still crying for him every day.  I don’t know why he doesn’t want to talk to me, but I do know this:  I love him for always. I love him unconditionally.  I miss him with all my heart and soul.  I will always be here for him with open arms.  I’ll be here, ready and waiting, for the happy ending to our story. 





My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult

Tuesday, 23 June, 2009


This is one of my most favorite books of all time.  It made me a Jodi Picoult fan for life.  I can’t WAIT until the movie comes out this Friday!


A Short Synopsis from

Anna is not sick, but she might as well be. By age thirteen, she has undergone countless surgeries, transfusions, and shots so that her older sister, Kate, can somehow fight the leukemia that has plagued her since childhood. The product of preimplantation genetic diagnosis, Anna was conceived as a bone marrow match for Kate – a life and a role that she has never questioned… until now. Like most teenagers, Anna is beginning to question who she truly is. But unlike most teenagers, she has always been defined in terms of her sister – and so Anna makes a decision that for most would be unthinkable… a decision that will tear her family apart and have perhaps fatal consequences for the sister she loves. My Sister’s Keeper examines what it means to be a good parent, a good sister, a good person. Is it morally correct to do whatever it takes to save a child’s life… even if that means infringing upon the rights of another? Is it worth trying to discover who you really are, if that quest makes you like yourself less?

I hope you enjoy this book as much as I have.


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