The 13th Apostol

Gustav

(we're pullin' for ya Nawleens)

So Far I've Spent $50.00 on School Supplies...Answers Anyone?

How pissed am I that I just spent $30.00 at Staples (in addition to the $20.00 I gave when school started for supplies), because our Educators aren't being given enough money to EDUCATE WITH?!

My Greek's up, as my father used to say...of course the man was Irish, but that's beside the point. I am livid, not with myself for spending the money, I wish I had more to spend. Livid, with what's happening in, what my father used to call "God's Country".

I will place my son's education before anything, for without it one has nothing.

Answers not forthcoming, a registrant approached me after school last week, in an attempt to obtain my signature to get a bill heard in November.
A bill, which will allow for an additional $40.00 per child enrolled within the Oklahoma Public School System.

Just to get the Bill on the ballot. 200,000 signatures.
And we all know what will happen once the bill gets on the ballot...
like amnesiacs, we'll go "Oh, yeah...that sounds like a good idea, more money for kids. Cool"

Seeing as how I voted in 2004 for The Oklahoma Education Act...
Someone owes me some money.
Dudes.

LIVID.

Oklahoma Education Act

In the Oklahoma City Public Schools, our children are eating garbage.

They are eating off un-recyclable Styrofoam trays, not the hard compiled plastic ones we ate off, and 75% of the food is being thrown in the trash.

(They have four choices when it comes to milk: vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, and plain)

We DO have other options, such as Farm-to-School.
The problem is getting anyone to listen.

One of our last great Legislators Bernest Cain fought hard to keep vending machines out of Elementary Schools, but you'll find them in all the higher education institutions.

Oklahoma is ranked 8th in the nation in childhood obesity, falling behind other Southern states of the same ilk.

Our Mayor wanted a major league team, but he also wanted everyone to shed a million pounds last Spring (he certainly shed it in currency)

In November of 2004, Oklahoman's voted in The Oklahoma Lottery. To which all net proceeds were to be allocated for Educational purposes...

(From The Oklahoma Lottery Beneficiary)

"On November 2, 2004, Oklahomans overwhelmingly voted to pass the "Oklahoma Education Act". Net proceeds of all lottery games will be used to support improvements and enhancements for education purposes and programs; furthermore, net proceeds will be used to SUPPLEMENT rather than replace existing funds for education. Proceeds will benefit all levels of education from Pre-K to higher education.

   

How   will Oklahoma Education receive the promised funds?    

All proceeds from ticket sales will be deposited in a separate bank account, on or before the 15th day of each quarter, the Oklahoma Lottery Commission will transfer 30% of the proceeds to the Oklahoma Education Lottery Trust Fund. This Trust Fund will be administered by the Office of State Treasury."

We've yet to see a dime of this money at our school, I'm interested if anyone else has? You see, if we don't stand up and say something, we continue to be the cattle lowing in the field.

Oklahoma has some of the top ranked, and lowest paid educators in the nation. They are attempting to teach children who's little brains are being nourished on crap. Who are being medicated for an overwhelming amount of incorrect ADHD diagnosis's, when all they need in more exercise, and better nutrition.

If you can afford to send your child to school with lunch, bullocks to you.

However for many Oklahoma children, the lunch, and sometimes breakfast (Donuts?) they receive in school, will be the only decent meal they get during the day.

In Elementary school, the older children will sometimes eat lunch as early as 10:30 a.m., this meal has to last them until 3:00p.m.?

How are educators supposed to teach hungry, angry, frustrated, undernourished children?

Our children and educators deserve better than this.
I want to know where all the money from the lottery is going, because I can't walk into a gas station without having to stand there and wait, while the clerk either sells or cashes out those stupid lotto cards.

I had no idea until recently what my child was being offered as far as nourishment during the day at school. None.

Some days all Mer will eat is one thing off his plate. They don't offer any fresh and or frozen fruits/veggies, everything is cheap, fast and processed.

Everything but the marketing that went into The Oklahoma Education Act.

Walking Through the Pain...in Stripper Shoes

Waiting.
Waiting to hear the report from the Neurologist,
who will send it to my Primary, who will refer me to Neurosurgeon.
Waiting, as I wet my lovely britches at the most inopportune moments.
Waiting now for almost seven months for a solution to the crippling effects of a Shwannoma Tumor, Spinal Stenosis, and multiple Degenerative disks.

There are moments when, rare in themselves, I sit still.
This is one of those moments.

To do what I do, to function on a daily basis with a constant pain scale of 8...is unbelievable to me. This is prayer in action, this is constant contact in flow.

This is not me. If it were I'd crawl into bed and have some man taking care of me. I have no other option than to get up and go, but my choices effect my daily living. Right down to the shoes I wore to the memorial service (like I was 18 with a healthy spine) and I've been paying for it ever since...

Mer calls them my "Stripper Shoes". Apparently I haven't taught him as well as I thought. To confuse $375.00 BCBG Max Azria's with "Stripper Shoes"...we have some work ahead.

As we were watching "Family Guy" last night, he turns to me in the middle of the show, the part where the daughter (whatever her name is) comes in the living room crying and says "I'm pregnant", and says:

"Mom, I love you"

We had a moment, right there in the middle of his Obstetricians favorite show ten years ago, Mer and I had a moment.

"I love you too Buddy" (...and it's so worth walking through the pain)

Team Fowler

I woke up to a man looking in the living room window at 4:30 this morning.

He was standing on the porch looking right at me as I walked to the kitchen to get coffee.
He turned around and calmly walked off, as I jumped plum through the roof.

Tonight I sleep with "Sally" under my pillow.

I wonder what's going on in this world.
We live in a good area, surrounded by a not-so-good area.

I'm wondering, with "Sally" by my side, if the man bathed in my porch light, looking in my window this morning was a criminal, or a desperate father pushed to the hilt?

"Sally" tells me that split second of wondering could be the difference between here or there.

We are isolated in our boxes, worrying about our children, fearful they will have the "Wrong" friends...isn't it good they just have friends?

My text size keeps enlarging on my toolbar, my now ten-year-old worries what will happen to him if I slip from this breaking down machine?

Mer and I will attend the Memorial service of one irreplaceable Educator today, on hallowed ground.
One of his, and every other child who ever had her, favorite teachers Ms. Marty Fowler.

Because sometimes the machine just breaks and cannot be fixed. It's sad for those the spirit leaves behind.

How to discuss death & dying, when raised in a "John Wayne school of parenting" home, is not an easy task.

Because death is a part of life.
You pull yourself up by your boot straps and get on with the living part.

I so want to do it better, but can't really think of anything? Mer cried, got his feelings out, I held him...but we also had the gift of preparation having seen Ms. Fowler in the hospital.

I am not God, nor do I pretend to be (that's a lie) but I've seen enough death in my life to know, have enough knowledge of medicine to comprehend the inevitable.

She was gone when we saw her, but enough time was allowed for family to see her, say goodbye. Funny how that works when necessary.

I don't know why Mer insisted we go see Ms. Fowler on Sunday morning, he just did.
He demanded we stop and get a card, demanded we buy her a new ball...
Neither one of us knew the severity of the situation until we arrived.

On the way home Mer asked "if we pray hard enough will Ms.Fowler get better?"

(Deep breath)

"No Mer, she will not. This isn't about God making decisions, it's about the decisions we make on a daily basis. It's OK to pray for Ms. Fowler if it makes YOU feel better, but do not have expectations of this Universe...it's too big and mysterious"

"Mom, is Ms. Fowler going to die?"

(another deep breath)

"This is what I know about what has happened to Ms. Fowlers machine called the body, it's broken in a way that cannot be fixed, usually. When we get home I'll show you what's happened so you can understand better"

"OK Mom"

...and so we did.

Now, I don't know if that was the right or wrong thing to do, but it sure as hell beats the unknown. Which children spend too much of their time living in as a direct result of our inability to accept their capacity to learn at the speed of light.

They are like brand new super charged hard drives...and we (the old windows versions called adults) treat them like morons half the time.

We treat them like fragile, breakable, priceless china, when truth be known...
it's we who are the above.

Communication is imperative with young people, through direct, honest, sometimes humorous, always respectful, dialog.

Dialog Ms. Fowler had down to an art.

In two years she took Mer from being this timid, fearful, little thing to, (in her words) "Not afraid to run with the big dogs anymore."

Marty Fowler was a core member of a team of educators unsurpassed by none.
Hard core, soft soul, and 100% real.

How the hell do you replace her?
You can't...
you just pull yourself up by your boot straps and get on with the living part.

Clara Luper And Foreman Scotty Shooting Craps

My father believed all children should be seen and heard, hence me.

On August 19, 1958 with "The Foreman Scotty Show" in full swing, Clara Luper took thirteen young people to Katz drug store in downtown Oklahoma City. Ms. Luper accompanied these young people with the idea of being seen. An idea, and or opinion, my father shared to the core of his soul.

Thus began the Civil Rights Movement in Oklahoma...

My father, being my father, went to the owner of WKY-TV to inform him "Effective immediately all children would be seen, or no children would be seen." then turning on his black-on-black cockroach killers, walked away.

The power my father held was the power to change. I can say with assurance he felt no fear, for a white man in 1958 who had grown up without a father, been to Korea and back, learned to see with his heart, not his mind, had no fear...except the unknown, which he finally faced in 1994 with grace, dignity, and a $20 bill in the brim of his cowboy hat.

Let it be known I was raised as race-less as a half breed Greek can be, as my father married my mother it was said "Oh, but your children will be so dark!" Why yes, Merci!

I was five-years-old when I stumbled down stairs late one night...the sounds of ice tinkling in thick crystal high-balls, laughter like bells dancing up to my pink-on-pink canopied room. Peeking through the stairwell railing to see the fun I'd been excluded from in lieu of sleep.

There on the avocado shag carpet, laying flat on their bellies, elbows propping up the angel riding shoulders...were my parents, and three unidentified individuals having equally a good time shooting the game of craps...for real money no less.

The one pink slipper still on my foot chose this precise moment to slip directly though the railing, spoiling my sleuth work. As if in slow mo, tumbling down to near landing in the unidentified ones laps wearing a white golf cap.

All eyes now upon my scarlet child's face, and utterly bare feet...I hear the bell laughter lady say these words:

"Oh Miss Scotty, is that pretty young thing yours? Honey get down here and let Miss Clara get a better look at you!"

So the bell laughter ladies name was Miss Clara. She gushed & gooed over me, wrapping me in a crocheted throw from the Divan and hum-rocked me to sleep, till I awoke the next morning in my pink canopied room. Sunshine bathing away last evenings dreams.

Do not ask me the color of peoples skin as a way of identifying who they are, I will not tell you.

I will tell you their names, what they do, and most importantly, what they've done in their lives to make a difference for others. I will tell you I was raised to judge others by their actions, not their words.

The world has changed in 50 years. A great deal, and not nearly enough...

Keys Locked in Car...Priceless!

It's 6:41 on a Sunday morning...
A moment of clarity came last night,
as I stood looking through the window of my locked car at my keys.

It had been a good day of hard work,
cleaning, moving, preparing...
an email brought dark news of Ms. Fowler,
the Rhythm & Movement teacher we all adore so much.
Lawn mowing, Stroke, Cigarettes, St. Anthony's Hospital...

Jerry was here putting together the computer desk I'd bought Mer for his room, a place to do homework this year, no distractions, research, (yea! Parental controls!!)

I'm shook, but I helped Mer get dressed for his Cub Scout outing at Mesta Park...he saw all his friends, saw all his friends dads, kept handing me pieces of his uniform to hold, each time taking them back to the car so they didn't get lost. (It was also a good excuse to avoid the odd duck feeling rising up in me)

Can I really do this by myself one more year?

It was when he handed me his new shoes & socks that I finally said "Enough!" (Big-old-boundary-setting-me) and turned to grab my keys one last time...

$35.00, and half-an-hour later my car was unlocked, and Mer, his uniform, shoes & socks and very broke mother, were going home. I'll make up for it later, I was tired, sad, and wanted to crawl into bed and cry.

My Epiphany:

I can spend $35.00 and not be held hostage ever again.
Just because his sperm fertilized my eggs, doesn't mean he's going to be a father to his children. My son has to live with the shame of his father not being there or here.
I've tried to fix Sigmund the way I tried to fix my mother. You've listened to me whine and bitch about the man for HOW long now?

I cannot save him. I could not save her.

Un-fixable.

If it weren't for the fear of going to jail he'd most likely still be doing nothing...

I am trying against all odds to raise a child, create, live in this box and make it a home, so many things lost and yet we keep trying. We stand tall, Mer and I...and Sigmund dares to tell me "I'm done." (When was it you started?)

Tell the Judge you're done Sigmund.
We do not abandon our children.
We raise them no matter who's they turn out to be.
We love them.
We nurture them.
We teach what we know.
We allow them to teach us.
We do not walk away...one can only imagine the thoughts racing through a mind which can...

Un-fixable.

The man I loved left because of my stupidity.

We had a beautiful home, we had a child, he worked hard, and all he asked of me was to keep Mer away from you. You were dangerous, irresponsible, and a risk to our child's life. (changing Mer's diaper on the side of the highway with the doors open at night, picking up hitch-hikers with Mer in the car, leaving Mer unattended on the kitchen counter in a car seat, or when you went into a store...it goes on)

My guilt wouldn't allow me to do as he requested. I thought you would change and grow, but you did not...and so he eventually left us. Left Mer and I in a home in foreclosure. So I did what I knew to survive at the time...

Bringing my infant son right back into your home, full of so much pain and loss I could barely look at you...you had taken so much for granted in him, done nothing to contribute then, so you are paying for it now.

"Allowing" Mer and I to live in a room at your house while I lost my mind over your abject neglect of Mer, and underlying hostility towards me, (hostility Mer sensed continuously) now you wonder why he wants nothing to do with you?

Seeking solace, comfort, warmth and support is not a crime...yet you made it so. Punishing me, shaming me, belittling me into nothingness, taking every bit of self worth and self esteem I had and crushing it to finer than fine powder.

I have owned my part with you, made every possible attempt at amending the past. Even as my belongings rotted in a pile outside your home, all meaningless now.

I cost Mer the only father he ever had, and it's time to let go and move on, believing somehow, someway Mer either has a father out there waiting for him...or I'll be able to do both.

I am taking back the one thing I gave you so long ago,
the one thing distinguishable by the condition of my life today.

My Power.

It's mine, and I am taking it back as I type the period on the end of this word.

Frida Kahlo Plays the Wii with The Pink Elephant

...because just when things begin to get better, Sigmund has to sabotage.

Sigmund will always be Sigmund...
Having known this man since Kindergarten I can say with an air of confidence confusion, I know him well.

Sigmund is not stupid by any means. Common sense aside, he's quite brilliant.
The problem is not Sigmund, the problem is me.
Therein lies one of the main reasons for returning to counseling...I was exhausted trying to make him be a father (you can stop laughing now)

Accepting I cannot change Sigmund, or the past, is a huge challenge for me. I am still hurt, bitter and angry...while being proud off him at the same time = confusion/conflict/emotional turbulence.

Last night he showed up unannounced (he has no phone and has apparently forgotten how to use the ones money are deposited in)  walks into my office and says "Where are your keys?"

Because I am programmed to "React" I screeched "WHY DO YOU WANT MY KEYS, WHERE ARE YOU TAKING MY CAR, GO GET ME SOME CIGARETTES FIRST I'M ALMOST OUT!!!!"

Sigmund picked up my cigarette pack (I make Frida Kahlo look like she's trying to quit) and calmly, methodically, Sigmundly, says "you have five cigarettes, I'll be back before you're out"...then he turned around, picked up my keys off the shelf by the door, AND TOOK MY CAR...

He took my car with a live warrant, he took my car as if he OWNED the damn thing, as if he owned me. He took my car and didn't even consider leaving the keys to his in case of an emergency.

Where the breakdown in communication took place is as of yet unestablished, but I'm positive Sigmund made no effort to explain matters any farther than he did, and even more positive my screeching of demands for cigarettes would never have occurred with ANY OTHER LIVING HUMAN BEING.

Mer had not eaten, I needed to go to the store, something I do daily for the last year sans refrigerator. (Because I'm supermom, that's how)

Two hours later, after walking to the ghetto gas station around the corner, Sigmund shows up in my car, (the car Mer and I spent 3 hours detailing out all afternoon by the way) and I was so angry at myself for allowing him to hold me hostage...I did EXACTLY what he wanted me to do...I got angry.

Don't get me wrong, I've grown to some extent. Raising my voice in public is an unacceptable form of communication. Setting boundaries however IS, which I attempted to do while out of ear-shot of Mer (he was across the street "playing" with our neighbor, since there are no children on this street)

I set my boundary the best I could, "Do not ever take off in my car and hold me hostage again", to which Sigmund replied and Mer overheard "That's it, I'm done"...

...and left.
Left without saying goodbye to Mer, left without an explanation (not that I expected one) just flipping left...again.

My boundary, my anger, my screeching demand, merely justifies his disappearing act for the next however long it is.

Mer came crawling into bed with me last night wanting to know if dad was done with him also?

So for the first time in his life, I stopped making excuses, rationalizing the behavior, pretending the pink elephant wasn't playing the wii, I just stopped, and suggested he ask his father directly. So he called him, then curled up in my arms and said:

"Mom, why doesn't dad or Uncle Vic ever WANT to see me? They never call me, never take me anywhere, it's like they don't want to see me. They didn't even hardly talk to me at dinner...they wanted to google the roof of The Cheesecake factory...what did I do wrong Mom?"

So I told Mer the story about the pink elephant playing the wii...

Mer-Boy's 10th Birthday

Ten-years-ago today my life changed forever.
I didn't know it at the time, none of us do in the beginning.
Mer was in the NICU for a week, unable to breathe.
What occurred that first week of Mer's life, wasn't how it was "supposed" to be.

Nor was his arrival home afterwards...not one single book I read spoke of losing ones mind as a direct result of becoming a mother...yet I did.

Eleven months later I lost the tiny bit I was regaining, when a kidney stone in the emergency room hailed the arrival of Mer's sister.

Being a single mother has been the hardest job I've ever done. Has taken a spoiled rotten brat and made her grow into a "Good Enough" mother...and that's all any of us can be.

I write about Mer ceaselessly, because he is my heart.
My heart as Canadian Geese begin their flight...
My heart as wolf spiders find refuge inside...
My heart as 4th graders are so BIG...
My heart as memories flood my mind, the "What if's" consume ...

I will enroll Mer in school this morning, cradling the Birth Certificate that reeks of broken dreams and broken promises...

We are a team, this child and I...until he says otherwise.

Otherwise I sense, is barreling fast towards us...

So I loosen my death grip of love, and watch him fly.

Happy Birthday Son.
I love you, Mom

Phelps-boy...

Of Melting Neapolitan and Dusty Childhoods

I'd been planning Mer's 10th Birthday Pool Party for about a month.
Which explains why Saturday morning I finally cracked about cleaning around the pool, poor kid...

Honestly between work, dealing with this house, getting ready for school to start...I  just looked back over the last two years and wanted everyone to have some fun.

Wanted to give back while the car was over-heating and I had two bags of ice plus four boxes of Neapolitan on the floor board...

So by the time I'd hit the 3rd store looking for dry ice for the punch I was losin' it fast "What do you MEAN you don't have dry ice?"

Dry ice was obtained, I turned on the heater in the car and the temperature gage dropped (as did the consistency of the ice cream) and peace fell over the land!

It wasn't just about Mer, like it's not just about me...soooo, I think (steady girl) I invited everyone in the Universe, at least.

At one point there were 30 kids in the pool at once (I heard) because I was too busy running from incident, to incident...my lord, had it not been for the key helpers we'd have been eaten alive by 9-10 year-olds! (You know who you are, THANK YOU!)

I literally took pictures until the disk was full, and they all show kids being kids, having so much fun they didn't realize how close to dangerous the adult-to-child ratio came. A hair's width, no less.

I so wanted to be a kid at Mer's party.
That's not true. If I'd been a kid at Mer's party I'd have hid inside.
I'd have hid inside and felt sorry for myself, some adult would have tried to cajole me from my corner (which of course would have made matters worse) and my body guard would've taken me home, saying I didn't feel well.

I'm so grateful Mer is outgoing.
So grateful he's able to conquer his fears.
So grateful he's strong and determined.
So grateful for the people who have been strategically placed in our lives.
Who have given Mer and myself the opportunities to succeed.

I am trying so hard to raise a good man.

This year, Mer wanted me to spend money on a party for everyone else instead of presents, things that end up gathering dust.
So we specifically asked people not to bring gifts, it was about giving back, not getting.

That's not my Mer, does anyone remember the wii from last year?

OK, point.

However some people did, and he received some very nice gifts he was extremely appreciative of.

I'd set aside a little money and ordered Mer a refurbed ipod shuffle for his actual birthday on he 14th (because I'm a mom y'all)

It now it appears I will be the owner of a green refurbed ipod shuffle when it arrives, as his father & Uncle be-gifted Mer with an 8G ipod Touch.

(sigh)

Being the bigger person I've so striven to become, I was able to share in Mer's joy and excitement, help him set it up (until it came to the stupid password Sigmund wrote on the Trendnet card...IN LATIN) so of course Mer had to WAIT ALL DAY for Sigmund to arrive...but he did arrive, which counts...

(Oh why does he wear the serial killer boots God? Why?)

What I am know from my experience:

There are givers in this world, and there are takers.
Climbers, and ones who have no need to climb.

My childhood was spent in the shadows of a giant.

Private school education, formally educated parents who expected the same, Nichols Hills homes, house keeper/nanny, I learned to detest money and the people who wanted it. What I wanted I never had, so I'm making sure I give some to Mer.

Striving for balance between love and too much love...and remembering all those things which gather dust.

Frontier City 'aint no Spring Lake

Sevy, Mer, Syd, and yes, that's the Governor's daughter in the back so I wont mention her by name. I know what she feels like growing up in the shadows of a father everyone wants to talk to her about. She's a great kid, and they all had a blast being so.

Sigmund Returns...

The black cloud arrived en force...
No one on the face of this earth can bring me down like this man.

Mer is his flesh and blood, yet I have raised him.

Trying to hold this house and family together, while he lives with no concept of what it takes to raise a child not to be poor white trash.
To go to a good school, get good grades, be clean and neat in appearance.
Courtesy, manners, respect for others, healing through losses of sisters and pets.
Homes and friends I couldn't keep on my own.

He would say I wasn't frugal...he has no clue.
he would say I wasn't lovable...not to him.
He cost me so very much, then goes home to a house that will always be there.
No worries.
Bills paid.
Mortgage on time.

This was nothing like I expected, post-partum depression, from back to backs only certain to be my demise. I wanted to die and that little boy saved me...not the man.

I was a monster with no one to trust.

I am raising a fine young man, and perhaps when Mer is older he'll want that father he never had, but it's not for lack of trying on my part.

Almost ten years ago, a tiny blue creature slipped from my body into this world.
It was his family who rallied, since I hear they are supposed to be pink.

He missed his sons birth getting a $20 check cashed...
His family, is now your family I tell Mer...and no matter what your dad does and doesn't do, they love you...
Just the way you are.

He thinks I'm a liar, dear God I hope not.
It is tax free weekend at the mall,
and the light of my life has one pair of socks left.

I wish I'd been the kind of woman who got my son a dad (with built-in family) on ebay. It could happen you know? You can get anything on ebay.

I'm just not that woman anymore.