May Day

Twitter was afire this evening, as I'm sure you're well aware.

Many significant things occurred on the date of May 1 over just the last 80 years of history:

May 1, 1930 the ninth planet of our solar system was named, Pluto.
May 1, 1931 the Empire State Building was dedicated in New York City.
May 1, 1945 Adolf Hitler was confirmed as dead.
May 1, 1948 North Korea is established with Kim Il-sung as leader.
May 1, 1956 the Polio vaccine is made available to the public.
May 1, 1961 Castro declares Cuba to be a socialist nation and does away with elections.
May 1, 1970 President Nixon announces that Armed forces in Vietnam would be entering a neutral county, Cambodia, in pursuit of enemy troops.
May 1, 1978 Naomi Uemura becomes the first person to reach the North Pole alone, via dog sled.
May 1, 1982 The World Fair opens in Knoxville, TN.
May 1, 2003 President George W. Bush announced to the world "Mission Accomplished" in regards to major combat operations in Iraq, declaring that the operations have ended.
May 1, 2009 Sweden legalizes same-sex marriage country-wide.
May 1, 2011 President Obama announces that Osama bin Laden has been confirmed dead, at the hands of United States Armed Forces.


Yes, the terrorist leader that was in charge of the attacks that occurred on American soil, by using American jets, has been proclaimed and confirmed as being dead.

There is much cheering, Hoorah-ing, and shared patriotism across this country...Democrats & Republicans alike standing side by side, each supporting the team they're on, but shoulder to shoulder, with the same chants. Both Democrats & Republicans are not sad to hear of the death of Osama bin Laden. This manhunt & issuing war started almost 10 years ago, under the direction of a Republican President and now the manhunt has ended under the direction of a Democratic President. This is not a victory for Bush, nor is a victory for Obama. BUT it IS a victory for both of them. As Commander in Chief they are in charge of directing the Armed Forces and it is under that direction that they are in the Middle Eastern deserts to begin with.

Now, I do not agree with all or even many aspects of this particular war. It has, in my non-essential opinion, been a war that was started not only in a country hundreds of miles away from the supposed target, but had the feel of just being a grudge fuck to finish the job started by a man's daddy nearly two decades before. This war has left us shamefully in debt, the country deeply divided along party & racist lines, and THOUSANDS of young men & women lying in graves.

Of course, I'm not discounting the role self-entitled assholes played in this country going into severe debt by their scandals, billions in bailouts to companies that never deserved such in the first place, who have no intentions of repaying their debts, whether outright paying their debts or by paying taxes. Tax cuts for companies and individuals who net millions of dollars every year so that they can own luxury items en masse and do nothing really for anyone else.

All that aside, the news of Osama's death did bring a feeling of closure to my being. See, I remember the morning of September 11, 2001. Ironic as it may sound I actually wrote this poem before going to sleep around 3am that morning, before the attacks...and it would seem that I have not actually typed it up into this blog, so I'll have to find my written copy and type it up for you, unless I can find it on Poetry.com...and it would turn out to be that poetry.com is shutting down on May 4th...ironically my 29th birthday...and searching for myself turns up tens of thousands of poems, either by a Stephanie or that mention Stephanie in it. I also tried other search variations to no avail. So, I guess for the purpose of this paragraph I'll include a typed version of the poem at the end of this post, so to keep myself on track with this post, and then I'll also create a completely separate post for that poem. I keep telling myself I'll get these all typed up and stuck in my blog, and I keep slacking on that.

As I was saying, though, I very distinctly remember September 11, 2001. I was just barely 19 years old, living in Decatur, Arkansas, in my cousin's grandmother's attic. I had met my (now) ex-husband just a few months beforehand, he was away at truck driving school - heh, what a waste of time & money - in fact he graduated with his CDL on September 11, 2001. I was working at Ruby Tuesday as a server during the evenings and worked at Sonic during the day as an assistant manager. When I got home from work it was well after midnight of 9/11. I called a dear friend of mine to see how he was doing, etc...he told me of his nuptial exchange earlier that evening and pending deployment to Iraq, scheduled for the next morning. Keep in mind this is before the fateful attacks.

My parents were both sitting in a county jail roughly 100 miles away, one of these days I promise to tell that story, it's been almost 10 years and I still am boiling angry over it all. My brother, Daniel, was also sitting in the jail for being a punk. Samantha and Duke were living with my dad's oldest sister & her husband.

My head & heart were both quite heavy with everything going on in my personal life, I reflected back on my life, and started deeply missing my late husband...he'd been killed in a car wreck roughly 18 months before. He inspired the poem I wrote that early morning.

After a few hours of tears I passed out and slumbered, I didn't have to be at work until 4pm at Ruby Tuesday, I was off work from Sonic the next morning. I had plans of sleeping until well after noon.

My plans were shattered with a phone call. Since I shared the house phone line with Grandma Wanda I generally allowed it to ring several times before I answered it early in the mornings. This particular morning I answered the phone around the 5th ring. It was my Aunt Renae, Wanda is her mother, Renae is also married to my dad's older brother. ((another tidbit, Renae's older brother is married to my dad's older sister)) That's how tight my family was - folks marrying their in-laws(heh heh).

Renae was in a panic, told me to turn on Good Morning America, something about a plane, and asked where her momma was...I looked out my window, saw that her car was gone, it turns out she was taking a friend of hers to a doctor's appointment that morning.

I sat there in a sleep deprived state and turned on my TV, flipped to the appropriate channel, and then sat there confused by what I was seeing. The reporter (and her name escapes me at this moment) was reporting about a plane hitting one of the Twin Towers directly behind her open window studio, you could see the smoke pouring out of the building. My heart stopped cold. My late husband's father had just received a job position that put him on the 103rd floor of the North tower. The first one hit. As I sat there watching the coverage I no longer was tired from being up until well after 3am. I sat there in shock attempting to absorb what was going on, not really hearing what was being reported. I just remember holding the phone to my ear in stunned silence.

It was as I was watching the coverage of the first building being hit that I saw, as I'm sure hundreds of thousands others saw, the second plane fly into view and hit the second of the Twin Towers. For the next several hours I sat there in the middle of my bed in stunned silence as I watched the events play out, live. Later in the afternoon I gathered up the courage to call my late-husband's father's cell phone...to no avail. I only received a recorded message telling me that service was unavailable at this time. I called his wife, who was still in Decatur, Georgia, having given birth to twin girls not but a few weeks before, she stayed in their home there until he was able to find a place for them to all move into. She had no news of him either. We grieved for him and so many other victims together, hundreds of miles apart. We kept the phone conversation short in case by some miracle he survived and tried to call.

I went to work as scheduled. The restaurant was empty all day sans a few customers here and there. We went down to a minimum staff and I stayed there in an effort to keep busy. Parts of me later wish I had not been the one to volunteer to stay. I spent part of that evening being interrogated by 'important officials'. See, I worked at the Ruby Tuesday that was just down the street from the Wal-Mart Home Offices, in Bentonville, Arkansas. There's not too many decent eating establishments nearby, at least not then, so it was an ideal easy place to get to. Traffic was also a bitch because there were lines for miles of persons attempting to get gas for their vehicles...and of course price gauging was rampant! Everyone was in fear of there being no gas by morning, so everyone was willing to pay $5-8 per gallon - I count myself fortunate that I was too broke to even attempt nonsense and I still had enough gas in my car to make it home & back to work, I'd wait until the lines weren't atrocious, at least. The gas prices went back down to the low $1.20 range again by morning, so I missed that expense. Back to my interrogation...It really wasn't more than a 20 minute conversation that left me feeling like a small pile of rubble. See, you have to understand, I really don't notice things like a person's skin color, private conversations, accents, the like...I'm not lying, I really don't, or didn't, since that day I've done a wee bit better about paying closer attention to folks, but nothing significant. My job was to serve food, refill drinks, and then clean-up afterward. If my customers engaged me in conversation I was polite, conversed, and went on my way. Over time I'd recognize regular customers, but most folks were only there for 30-45 minutes and I'd never see them again, to the tune of a hundred folks or more a day.

There was a particular table of two men that I waited on, they sat in a small booth, in the next booth sat another man who, from there side he was sitting on, was able to see these two men converse. According to the single man, the two men in the other booth spoke a foreign language, but their gestures & overall body language suggested to him that they were happy about the attacks of the morning. I know I waited on the two men, as I was the only server on duty for the non-smoking side of the establishment, but I honestly have no recollection of anything regarding them, not a few hours later, not now. I found out, just prior to being questioned by the officials, from my manager that the gentleman I'd complained about as being a crappy tipper & squatter, actually waited until the other men left, then followed them out. Apparently they were driving a white, unmarked van, with Canada tags.

I also found out the next day that the van was full of explosives, much like the ones used in the Oklahoma City Bombing, and the intended plan was to take out the Wal-Mart Home Office building...or maybe the elaborate satellite system that Wal-Mart has in that area...hearsay is a wonderful thing, isn't it? I was questioned because I had served these men and they'd been in the establishment, talking, for quite sometime. Again, I reiterate, I pay no attention, whatsoever, to someone else's private conversation, unless a word or phrase catches my attention. On Sept 11, 2001, nothing really caught my attention. I went through the motions of doing my job, I smiled, I was friendly, I did everything under the roof of that building to attempt to keep myself from watching any of the numerous televisions in the building.

I was interrogated nonetheless, I remember my manager making a huge deal out of it, telling me I needed to pay attention when such things were going on, or something to that general effect. Of course I told him the same things I told the officials, or told the officials the same things I'd told him. I had absolutely no clue, I didn't exactly remember serving them until I lined up the table number with the approximate time and went through my sales record. They ate some salads and drank tea...I recalled them because there had been some sort of issue with one of the salads, they were both polite, and had left me a fair tip - outside of that I had/have no clue.

Later that evening, as I was sitting in my bed, glued to the television, willing the phone to ring with news of my late-husband's father, I got a call from my (now) ex-husband, telling me that the bus schedule was completely out of whack, and he'd like for me to make the 8-hour drive out to Springfield, Missouri, to pick him up from the truck driving school. To which I obliged, after taking a very short nap. I made the drive out there, then made the drive back because he was drunk when I picked him up and slept the whole way back. I slept for a few hours at his place before driving the hour back to my place so I could get ready for work again the next morning.

My hopes of hearing anything about my late-husband's father dwindled down to near nothing as the hours ticked slowly by. Every hour I wasn't asleep from exhaustion I spent glued to a television set or going through the motions of doing my job.

At 8:49pm, September 15th I received the phone call. Hearing the voice of what should have been my (step)mother-in-law on the other end of the phone stopped my heart. She was hysterically crying and incoherently speaking. I was finally able to register the words she was trying to say. He was alive. Later I learned that he had come down with a stomach virus or food poisoning of some sort that rendered him unable to leave a bathroom for any length of time, so had missed work that particular morning. He also said it wasn't until the next morning that he even knew what had all transpired while he was sick & in bed, or the bathroom, as he was 'getting ready for work'. He'd flipped on the news, per his normal morning routine, and saw that he had no where to go to work. He'd relentlessly tried calling, but he was getting many of the same error messages we were getting.

I left out on the morning of the 18th to join the clean-up effort. I still cannot even think into words the impact that experience left me with. The images in my head haunt me to this day.

That is why it saddened and angered me as I was reading posts on Facebook upon the announcement that Osama bin Laden was confirmed dead, at the hands of United States Armed Forces.

Statuses such as :
"hopefully there won't be as much coverage about Osama as there was on Michael Jackson..." With a follow-up comment of "I watched it when I was about 11 but don't remember it hardly at all. "

Then others who, are older than myself even, so they definitely remember the day, posting that they won't believe it until they see his dead body, suggesting that President Obama and such are just lying about Osama's death. Of course they're the same persons who don't have enough faith in this country to verify that the President is actually legal to be President...Trump & Palin supporters to put it mildly.

Then of course you have the persons who are angry with President Obama for him being proud of this accomplishment...because it's, in their eyes, President W. Bush's victory, even though he was at the helm of the search for 7 years, but he was searching in caves & deserts, instead of the country, two countries away, where Osama was actually staying, in a mansion.

THOUSANDS of lives have been lost during this war that has been going on for nearly a decade now. More than half of that time we've been at war in the wrong country to even begin to search for Osama. Yes, we got Saddam Hussein, 20 years after the original war to find & destroy him had started, and almost 15 years since that particular war 'came to an end'.

This isn't an accomplishment to be taken lightly or for persons to fuss petty bullshit about. Real women, men, daughters, sons, wives, husbands, mothers, and fathers all lost their lives in the efforts for this day to be seen. Others are now afflicted with lifelong handicaps - mental & physical - as a result of working towards seeing this day come about.

My own baby brother, although only 14 or so at the time of the attacks in this country, proudly worked his tail off to be able to serve as a Marine. He's had surgery on both his feet and a knee as a result of a roadside bomb that went off near his convoy while he was in Afghanistan. He was in the desert and mountains working to accomplish this goal, as his wife, another great Marine, was pregnant with their first child, on base, in Japan, and then North Carolina. He was only of the luckiest ones of his convoy to escape with only a few scars now to show for it and a second baby now on the way, just a year later.

But, as the world, and more specifically, citizens of the United States, rejoice and squabble at the news of Osama's death, Duke's job has not been declared done. At any given moment he could be called upon to make another trek into the deserts and mountains on the other side of the planet. He could potentially, again, miss the birth of one of his children, this time a daughter, as he fights to ensure that we are each able to safely see our own children come safely into this world.

I remember being completely overjoyed when my parents brought him home from the hospital, days after he was born. I was barely 5 years old but there was nothing so exciting as having a new baby brother to look after. When I became pregnant with my own children I was given great birthing stories from my mother, who endured four pregnancies and labors, without the aid of pain meds. The story of her pregnancy & delivery of Duke is nothing short of a miracle. By all rights he cheated death at birth. The placenta detached and pieces were being delivered prior to Duke making his appearance. By sheer luck or a miracle Duke was born without any other issues. The odds of him surviving were slim to none, if you go by the 'rules' of child birth, but he did it.

Mikeal completely idolizes his Uncle Duke. He'd do anything for or with Duke, happily. The part that makes me a 'bad' mommy or big sister is when the two of them are together I often confuse their names. I'll call Mikeal Duke and Duke Mikeal and I would fight to the death for either one of them. Truth be told, when I found out Duke was considering a military career I threw my hat in to join the military as well, I was denied though because I was a single mom at the time...I think the recruiter also wasn't terribly fond of me telling him I wanted to join because I wanted to be President and I thought that it'd only be fitting if I had some service experience on my resume. He's one of those hard-assed uptight Republicans that thinks a woman in office would be the worse thing to ever happen to this country, period, end of story.

I digress though. I'm at peace knowing that the mission to capture & kill Osama is now accomplished - only 8 years after someone claimed some mission in this pursuit to have been accomplished. However, it is with a heavy heart that I continue to move forward. My prayers and thoughts are with all the dedicated service men and women, both those still caught in this mess, and the families of those who have died as a result of this mess. May each of them be greeted with the respect and honor they each rightfully deserve and have earned.

♥ I love you Duker!!! ♥
((and Amanda))

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On the First Day Of Christmas....

In 2006...

Mikeal, my eldest son, had a visit with Santa. Not just any visit, but his first 'real' visit. He was four years old at the time. Young enough to believe and old enough to respect the power of the office of "Santa".

It was innocent enough. I'd taken him to the family Christmas Party where I worked. He played in the bounce house outside with my supervisor's grandkids, he snatched cookies and candy canes from anyone who offered him one. Then when the big man finally arrived he waited his turn to share his Christmas wish.


It happened to be a moment of truth. A moment for believing again. The very moment that changed my life forever....even if at the time I didn't realize it.

See, I didn't grow-up with Christmas trees or Santa...at least not in the sense that kids are accustomed to growing up with them. My family was dirt poor. Our house, although built brand new, when I was 5, did not have plumbing. My parents did not have the money to have a well dug on the property and city water stopped at the top of the hill. So every Saturday my mom hauled all of our laundry to the laundromat to wash it. On every Sunday we filled 50 some-odd 5-gallon buckets, with lids, full of water from my either of my grandparents' houses. We cut down trees all year long off our property so that we could have firewood to stay warm all winter. We raised our own hogs, goats, chickens, and rabbits that we would collect milk and eggs from and butchered the rest as they grew large enough. Every Spring we'd sell the new babies. My parents weren't disabled, in fact they both had decently paying jobs. They just weren't terribly responsible. They hadn't really been taught how to properly manage their money. Then, having four children, within the first 5 years of their marriage, did not help a great deal either...my dad was 25 when my baby brother was born, my mom only 23.

Back to my Christmas point...

I can solidly remember only ever having two Christmas trees, ever, growing up....I know we had one the year my sister was born, I was 2.5, but I only know that because of the pictures of the three of us standing in front of the tree...myself, my younger brother, and my sister. I don't remember that tree. The first tree I do remember us having I was 10. My parents had dug it up out of the woods of our property and placed it in a 5-gallon bucket. I remember decorating it with a crocheted string that I had made - I'd learned how to crochet a little bit a few months before. We'd also made the few ornaments that were put on the tree that year. Charlie Brown would have been proud. We had a variety of gifts that year. My parents had signed us up for Angel Tree gifts that year. I already knew about the truth behind Santa...many years of disappointment of going back to school without my own grandiose stories to tell had already jaded me. That year though my faith in my parents rekindled a bit.

The next year we also had a Christmas tree. It caught fire a few days before Christmas. 'Fortunately' the only substantial damage was to the tree and gifts that were under the tree. It was a bit disappointing, but I don't remember it really being a bad experience.

The following year we moved to Oklahoma, in with my paternal grandparents. My Papa was an over the road truck driver and he always managed to be able to be home around Christmastime, so all of the family seemed to be around for that. That was also the first year my Granny stopped doing Christmas and Christmas trees. She'd renewed her faith and was starting to live her life back according to the beliefs of Jehovah's Witnesses. It didn't bother me. I actually welcomed the lifestyle. Learning the 'real' truth behind the various secular holidays and customs was liberating in a way. I no longer felt like I was burdened by knowing God, but being financially incapable of serving him 'correctly' by not having lavish Christmas celebrations and the like. I do harbor a guilty conscious about not still practicing, but this isn't the time or place for that, not right now.

I didn't have another Christmas tree until Mikeal was 2. I was 22. That Christmas absolutely sucked. I'd finally started getting my life back in some sort of order after leaving my ex and going through a massive bout of depression. I worked my tail off to buy a fake pre-lit 6ft tall tree, complete with a skirt, garland, silver and red balls, as well as some silver bows. The tree was simple, but it was beautiful. The reason it sucked, you ask? I had left Oklahoma and moved to Texas. No big deal in itself, but my ex-in-laws made a huge stink over it when I'd left in August, taking me to court in September, then again in October. At the October hearing I agreed to let them have Mikeal every other month, for a month. I was still trying to play that game 'nice'. In November, when I should have been back up there to pick him up the clutch in my '96 Galant went out...it took the transmission shop from the 2nd of November until the 23rd of November to 'find' the part - a fly wheel. The only reason I they 'found' the part was that Friday, before Thanksgiving, I got rather pissy about their jacking me around. The repair bill was already well over $900 that I didn't have, then add in the $30 a day, one way, for cab rides back and forth to work...thankfully different friends did lend a hand in that department, as they could. I started calling various parts shops in the area. It was after 5pm, on a Friday. Within 15 minutes I had placed only 3 phone calls and all three places that I had called had the part, in stock, for $75. I threw quite the 'bitch fit' on Monday morning, before Thanksgiving, to the transmission shop. My car was ready for me to drive off in by the close of business on Wednesday, at noon. I paid the 50% of the bill that they required that I pay before I could drive my car off...and over the next few months ran that company through the ringer for their shady business practice with me. I ended up getting that original 50% back from them, without having to pay a dime. However, because of the extreme expense involved with just trying to get my car fixed I was unable to pick Mikeal up that week. So arranged for him to spend a few days over Thanksgiving with my mom and sister, then they 'returned' him back to my ex-in-laws. I was going to pick him up around Christmas. My depression started reeling me back in.

The night before I had planned to make the 10 hr drive up to pick up Mikeal - I had half a shift to work the next morning, then was leaving immediately from work - my sister sends me a message over YIM. My ex-mother-in-law had called her and told her that she was planning on taking Mikeal up to Kansas City to visit his child raping father, in the halfway house and that they were leaving in the morning. I immediately called the work voicemail line and left a message that I wasn't going to be into work the next morning because of this. I made that 10 hour drive in less than 6. I was told, by the ex-mother-in-law, that they were flying out at 8am. I drove straight to the airport in Tulsa. NO ONE at the airport had seen either of them, my mom, step-dad, sister, her fianceé, and myself all scoured every inch of that airport and grilled every security officer there. Not one sign of them, anywhere. I called up my ex-mother-in-law again, it was now 9am. She gave me the story that they'd decided to take a bus instead to Kansas City. I flew across town to the bus station. No one there had seen either of them either, not that they were all that convincing. I was in full dead pissed off panic at this point. I did not want to wait another few weeks to see my son! I had already jeopardized my livelihood at this point by not being at work that morning - it was mandatory - show-up or be fired. I was not going back empty handed without my son! I went out to where my ex-mother-in-law had been living. Her car was there...parked right there in the street, complete with its forged paper tag. Her sister answered the door, but claimed to not know where Drucilla was, nor Mikeal. I called the police again at this point. An officer came out, talked privately with the ex-aunt-in-law, came back and told me that because there were no custody papers then there was nothing he could do. Said that because my ex-who was, if you'll remember, in a halfway house, another 8 hours away, gave his mother permission to keep Mikeal then there was nothing I could do about it. The ONLY way I'd be able to do anything at all about it is if Mikeal was there physically and he wasn't going to go in and search the house for Mikeal.

I was utterly defeated. Shy of doing something that would land me in jail my hands were tied...and going to jail would not serve my purpose either.

I slept for a few hours at my mother's house before heading back home, completely drained and defeated. Fortunately my employer was sympathetic and I did not lose my job or holiday bonus.

The friends I had left in the Tulsa area were awesome over the next few weeks. They'd take turns staking out the place my ex-mother-in-law was staying. On January 6th I got the call around 9am that one of them had seen Mikeal there and that he was in fact staying there again and that it did not look like they were going to be leaving anytime soon, but if he did happen to leave that they'd follow him and keep tabs until I was able to be there, in person. The timing had sucked because I wouldn't be getting my paycheck until later that evening, at the end of my shift. A friend of mine, at the time, offered to pay for the trip, and off we went...with both her and her own 2 year old in tow. The trip took almost 8 hours this time...still a few hours shy of the 10 hour 'normal' drive, but she had a 'short' cut that had me going all over the freaking state. I showed up where Mikeal was at though, so that was a moot point in the end. I showed up close to 10pm. They were all there waiting on me. My ex-MIL, her sister, and a friend. Now, I'm not a small woman by any means. I stand 6ft tall and even when I'm sporting a loose size 10 pair of jeans still weigh over 200lbs. These three women were each individually three times my size, despite being a foot shorter than myself...not to fail to mention the fact that two of them (ex-MIL & her friend) were multiple times over violent offenders - the things you learn about people during court hearings.

I walked out of there with my son. I had to hear multiple questions for the next week or two asking me who I'd been in a cat fight with, but I had my son. The law backed me up this time, fortunately. I think I actually shocked a number of my co-workers when they'd half-heartedly would ask me who I'd been in a cat fight with and I answered promptly, and proudly, my ex-mother-in-law, her friend, and sister. You don't mess with the momma bear. You just don't. I had a few bruises and scratches. Not a single one of them walked away without stitches or a cast.


Again...back to Christmas.

It sucked that year. But the new year started off with a bang.

The next year didn't suck in the same sense, but I did end up having to move back to Oklahoma, from Texas, so that I could establish residency there, while living with my mother, so that I could completely pay for my divorce and avoid another such situation. Brian and I also quit talking at this point in time. My ex was back out of the halfway house for the time being, and living back in Oklahoma, so the divorce proceedings weren't going to cost me my year's wages. I actually lucked out in a way this time around. My ex ended up purposely neglecting to show up for any of the court hearings. I walked away with everything I wanted, including him only being allowed two hours a month of supervised visits. Visits he's not taken advantage of since, neither has his mother.

By the end of summer in 2006 I was back in Texas and Brian and I had started talking again, he was going to be moving back in with us in December, after I got set up in my own apartment.

December 13th that year was the Christmas Party. Brian made his way down to Austin, from Dallas, on the 14th.

Mikeal asked Santa for only two things.

1- That his mommy and 'uncle' Brian would get married so that he could have a good daddy.
and
2- That Santa would bring him a baby brother or sister.

Now remember, he was only 4.

After I got home with Mikeal that evening and he divulged to me what he'd asked Santa for I had to do a bit of 'damage' control. See, Brian is sterile for one. He'd been told by a few doctors that unless there was some sort of medically divine intervention there was no way he was going to be able to have children of his own. Then on the other point - Brian and I still had several things to work through before we actually committed to getting married, and at that point it seemed to be quite the slim chance. The bit about us living together was more of a mutual need fulfillment - he needed a safe place to stay and I needed child care that was available at all hours, for the price of free room and board and food. The 'benefits' part was only available during the times that we were actually 'dating' each other. Otherwise we slept separately...which was most of the time.

That year Mikeal got a few small cheap kiddie games and a remote control car. Our tree was one I was able to 'salvage' from the Big Lots clearance, already pre-decorated, fiber optic, 3ft tall, with a cracked base. Mikeal LOVED it. I was so happy. It was an AWESOME Christmas.

In March my father passed away of a heart attack. He was 44 years old.

Brian made the drive with Mikeal and I up to Oklahoma for the 'memorial'. It was just a quaint service of sorts. My siblings were there, my mom, stepdad, and some family friends. We had the dinner at my mom's house, and spent the afternoon and evening together - playing horseshoes, grilling, and enjoying one another's company. My dad would have been proud. It was exactly what I knew he would have wanted.

Brian proposed to me that evening. The surprise of that came at me like a pitch from left field. We'd already decided a few months before that we were best off 'just friends'...a stipulation I agreed to, even if it did utterly break my heart.

We spent that night at my grandmother's house, on her pull-out couch bed. We wouldn't find out for a few more weeks, but Mikaila was also conceived that night.

Mid-April my co-workers started harassing me about being pregnant. I took the pregnancy test, not because I thought there was a chance that I was pregnant, but to prove to them in pink and white that I was NOT pregnant, just sick and exhausted from pulling double shifts for the last few weeks.

Much to my utter disbelief, I was pregnant.

My due date 'week': December 22-26th.

Against the odds Mikeal's Christmas wishes came true. Brian and I married on Halloween, in front of the judge that had finalized my divorce the year before.


Mikaila was born on December 13th, the first Day of Christmas. She weighed in at a healthy 8lbs 4.6 ounces and was 19 inches long. She was so incredibly tiny compared to Mikeal, who at birth, was 9lbs, 5oz, and 22 inches long.


Every year since Mikeal has gotten exactly what he has wished for for Christmas.


In 2007 he asked for a bike and guitar. We were able to get both for him.


In 2008 he asked to see his Uncle Duke (who'd been away at boot camp) he got his wish, just in time.

In 2009 he asked for snow. It started snowing Christmas Eve, right after he went to bed. By the time he woke up Christmas morning there was 15 inches on the ground. A record breaking white Christmas. White Christmases are a RARITY in Oklahoma, much less in significant quantities.

This year he's really only asked for a (real) Transformer and a Wii. He's already received both of these gifts as 'early' Christmas presents....even if the real Transformer was just a $50 toy that actually transforms from robot to car, complete with sound effects, and myself or Brian have to do the actual full transforming part for him because of the 9000 movable pieces you have to get positioned 'just so'.

He also asked a few months ago for us to not have to worry about being broke...that mostly came true as well. I sold my van the weekend after Thanksgiving, thereby ensuring that we'd have an (expensive) Christmas and that bills and such weren't quite as tight as we had expected them to be for this month. Other things have transpired this month as well that have helped make it a VERY nice month in the finance department of our pocketbook.

So, where I am well past the age of believing in the fairy tale about Santa and his reindeer I am no where near the age past believing in dreams coming true. Even 'far-fetched' dreams have a way of coming true. I have to remember to remember this. Things may not work out exactly as I think they should, when I think they should, but they do have a way of always working out. I just have to believe enough to ask for it then take the necessary steps to help them come true.

Its either that or I have one hell of a 'good luck' charm of a little boy.

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