What Does Your Garden Grow?

Picture Courtesy of Lynn Greyling at Public Domain Pictures

http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=71091&picture=botanical-gardens-moscow

For years and years now I have gardened. I’ve always enjoyed the feeling of dirt on my feet and hands. I love watching a magnificent plant grow out of a tiny seed. I think it’s miraculous. My favorite things to garden are the vegetables. It gives me great pleasure to tend to the plants, watch them grow, and then reap the rewards of deliciousness.

When we lived in the Fort Wayne area we rented a house and couldn’t have a garden there. I managed to find a couple of community gardens where I planted and maintained a nice little crop. It wasn’t the best of circumstances, for sure, since I had to drive to get to them. It’s not like being able to step out your door and gather up some fresh herbs and veggies for the day’s meals. Things had to be planned, the weather had to cooperate, and that general sense of contentment wasn’t quite as strong. It did, however, deliver and I enjoyed it none-the-less.

Now that I have a home I can call my own, again I long to grow a new garden. There’s just one thing standing in the way, a serious lack of sunshine. If you’re a gardener then you know that vegetables require six to eight hours of direct sunlight each day. That means there needs to be a place in my small yard where the sun always shines. Alas, there is no such space. It’s unfortunate, yes, but not the end of all ends.

I plan to get a few five gallon buckets and, at the very least, plant a couple of tomato plants and perhaps a pepper plant. Certainly this is not comparable to the mounds of succulent summer squash, green beans, and cucumbers that I adore but it’s better than none at all. I figure I’ll be able to move the three plants easily enough and re-positioning them throughout the day should give them adequate sunlight. I shall wait and see.

There are other alternatives. Where there’s a will there’s a way. I know that I can certainly still garden. There are an abundance of shade and partial shade loving plants out there. Many of them are quite beautiful, and I don’t just mean hostas and ferns, although those are nice. I can think of Begonias, Coleus, Geraniums, and Impatiens off the top of my head. All of those will provide gorgeous color and texture. I’m certain there are tons more, so I will need to change the focus of my garden. That’s a very familiar life scenario for me and probably for you too. We need to learn to adapt to change; we need to be able to make something good out of a less than perfect situation. Personally, I know of no other way to live. How else can life remain good? I think that if your life isn’t good, then maybe you should be asking yourself if it’s time to change the way you garden. A person needs to work with what they have and be able to find satisfaction in it or else they’ll wither and die, much like a plant without its proper sun requirement. It’s seriously not a good thing. Life happens, we don’t always get our patch of sunshine but that shouldn’t keep us from blooming.

For now, my garden will be one of shade loving annuals and perennials. I will till the earth, plant the seed, and tend to it while it grows and becomes the beautiful plant it was meant to be. I may be able to squeeze out a tomato or two, I’ll keep my fingers crossed, but either way I’ll still be gardening and I’ll put my brain to work and set myself up a challenge to devise a way to harness that much craved sunshine. How about you? What will you grow?

Soul Searching

Picture courtesy of Joy Shrader at Public Domain Pictures

I was sorting through some papers the other day and came across a piece that I wrote several years back. It was a paper that examined ideas regarding the existence, or non-existence, of the human soul and the juxtaposition of oppositional characteristics of human actions and emotions. In addition, it presented the prospect of a collective soul existing within humanity itself. As I read over it I felt a particular relevance that reminded me of my own advice. Recently I have written about my alcohol and drug addiction which relies on a higher power. This piece calls me on that and gives food for thought. But, there’s something more in it. I found a deeper meaning when I read it. It related to me here and now as if, years ago, when I wrote it I had some link into my future. Maybe I knew that I would need a boost maybe that is why I kept it. I’m referring to the loss of my daughter in 2011 and how that deep soul pain is a part of what makes us who we are now and that there may be hope yet. So, today’s post is that article and maybe it can be the boost you need, too.

What’s the Big About a Soul Anyway?

We make it seem like it’s everything, we search for it. It’s what makes us human isn’t it? The rapid pulsing of life itself, the understanding that draws us into a world that touches other beings. It keeps us going, it cleanses the blood that flows within us. This blood that courses like hot molten steel, forcing us to be more than instinctual.

It drives some people over the brink of sanity and into a world where reality will never be the same. It causes us to love and hate, to bestow charity and to steal, to build and to destroy. It leads us by the nose wherever it thinks we should go. We die for its preservation. We kill for its purification. We justify a hundred thousand reasons of madness just to keep it from burning us to death from the inside out. Our actions are all based on what the soul desires, what it believes to be true. Yet, it leaves so many with an empty bottomless pit feeling in their bellies that their hearts swell like starving African children. It screams out for its own annihilation then begs forgiveness and respite. It knows us all too well.

It gives the ability to move forward while stopping us dead in our tracks. It holds us immovable in space and time when it’s injured and then suddenly flings us into a distant solar system when we least expect it. You know what I’m saying...we have all felt it. You know exactly what I’m talking about, it’s as if we share it, like maybe there’s only one soul to go around; one, which every person on the face of the earth has some part of. How else could we feel, experience, and even know the joys and sorrows of others as we do? How else could we be so cold and hateful in its absence, as if sometimes there just isn’t enough of it to go around? Like a bombed out building that is still hanging on, parts are missing but the structure remains. Some of us struggle to rebuild the monument of humanity, while those that linger in the empty space cling to an invisible thread of hope and desperation that maybe, one day, they’ll again experience what it’s like to be in the remaining I-Beams.

Soul sickness, it comes with the territory. It breaks us down into compost material and leaves us waiting to be fed to those who would thrive on our molecules. The soul spreads like this, into each one of us. Sometimes we’re consumed; sometimes we’re the consumer. Each time we put our soul into something, no matter what it is, we leave ourselves open, vulnerable to the compost heap. Our flowers and fruit spent, then tilled up and thrown out to await our rebirth through the tender sprout of another obsession. We blanket the winter months of our absence with depression, or anger, sometimes hate or just plain empty longing.

Broken and battered we pick up its pieces and attempt to put them back into our work, our thoughts, our feelings, and our lives. We try and try to rebuild the ornament of beauty that links us to life. We fear its loss more than anything but we rarely ever think about it. It delivers us from evil and allows us to think of bigger and better places for it to be than right here where we are. The call of humanity is our own pleading for a sense of connection. The very connection which we dismiss, without a second thought, as soon as the crazy guy in the corner of the restaurant makes eye contact with us. It’s that spark which ignites either yearning or repulsion. It’s what the Gods themselves have longed for. What it means to be human only a human can understand.

So what’s the big? It’s only humanity, our humanity, both individual and communal. It brings a sensation of existence into our world, the link in the missing chain. Still, we can’t even agree that it exists, or if it does, how? In what form? Where is it going to lead us? Does it even know or are we just spinning in a continuum of non-linear existence? Do we expand the collective soul when we become “enlightened”? Can the circular effect grow without end and send humanity beyond the imagination? How can we ignore so blatantly the driving force of our being?

I think, and this thought is coming from my very soul, that a conscious effort to recognize, relate to, and feel one’s soul will send out a vibration that causes the remaining soul to hear music. It’s the song that will echo into the void spaces of the collective and create the necessary expansion into the vacancies of humanity. People can feed their empty swollen hearts. The soul can grow. Somehow, there can be enough to go around. I think the secret lies in the consciousness of each individual. I don’t know how many people it will take to achieve a collective humanity, but I am sure that the more people who are willing to make the effort, the more successful we’ll be. The soul is unique. It is a big deal. We need to acknowledge this or we will all end up in the void, just as it is capable of expansion it is also capable of collapse. The structure of human kind could fold under the weight of emptiness, and vanish into a cloud of dust. It is a big deal. It’s our deal. Nourish the soul, feel it, don’t forget about it. Let it hurt, let it love, let it grow. Deliver us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So there you have it. My wake up call to myself. I’m going to try to let it hurt, to let it love and hopefully to watch it grow. Thanks for being here. Our journey may be long but I have hope because you’re here....so yeah, thanks.

Alcoholism and Drug Addiction - How Did I Get Here? - Part II

Before I begin telling my tale again, I’d just like to say thank you to those of you who have come back this week to hear the rest of my story.

To sum things up simply, I began drinking alcohol at age eight. By the time I was seventeen I was an addict to both drugs and alcohol. I had suffered an accidental overdose which didn’t deter me and so I continued on slowly drowning and never even realizing it.

At twenty eight I had been actively using for twenty years. I honestly don’t think that I knew any other way to live. Even though I knew other people didn’t live like me, I had no idea how to escape from what my life had become. I was involved with a man who was very abusive and thanks to my addictions his violence towards me was met with equal violence directed at him. When I was unable to hurt him (physically or emotionally) the way he had hurt me, I began turning that violence onto myself. It’s difficult to describe the depth of pain that is present when you get to a point in life and think that it would be better if you were dead. My entire being felt as though I were suffocating and being allowed to gasp for air just long enough to keep the agonizing torture ongoing. I had convinced myself that I was completely useless and that I was doing more harm than good to my kids. I was sick of being beat on and I was sick of beating on others, so I took a very large amount of valium and washed it down with the beer and whiskey I had already been drinking.

The only reason that I didn’t die that night was because of a friend, my best friend, who had spent the previous ten years constantly by my side. She knew what I had done and she called the EMS. I was out before they got there and, eventually, told that if she wouldn’t have called when she did I would certainly have died in a matter of minutes. When I regained consciousness in the ER I stormed out of the hospital, embarrassed with what I had done, angry with myself for failing, and still trapped in the endless insanity. I refused to go home to face anyone and since I knew of no other way to deal with such an epic failure I began partying harder than ever. I spent the next two weeks hanging out with some people who didn’t care that I was in such bad condition. I decided to go back home thinking that it had been long enough and that I would be welcomed with open arms, people should just be glad that I’m back. It hit me pretty darn hard when instead I was told to get out. My best friend, the only person I had left, the only one who had put up with all my crap over the years, had enough and today I thank God that she did.

So, I finally began to realize that there was a problem. Even after all of this I still wasn’t convinced that I was the problem, but I started to see that one really was there. I agreed to check myself into detox but I still had a long road ahead. The next few months are pretty fuzzy to me. I knew that I needed to get sober but I was still unsure just how to do that. I tried to control my drinking after I got out but my first trip to the bar ended up with me being in a functioning blackout for at least five or six hours. When I came to I was with a person I didn’t know and I had no idea how I had gotten there. The people I had been staying with told me to get out because I, “Really can’t handle drinking and [I] seriously needed some help.”

This is where I finally got to the turning point. As I walked out of that house with no where to go and no one to turn to, that suffocating feeling was pulled into my gut as if in a vacuum. The pain wrenched and twisted inside me until, in the middle of the street I looked up into the glowing lights of the night, and literally screamed out, releasing the agony, and putrid pain that I had kept tight inside me all these years, “I give up! What the fuck do you want from me?! I don’t know how to stop!” I sobbed aloud as I walked hunched holding my stomach and knowing that for some reason I was gong to be given a second chance.

I walked to a friend’s house, and I guess she must have seen something in me because she agreed to let me stay there. That week I began going to rehab and shortly after I also went to my first AA meeting. I worked the program the way it was meant to be worked and even though my idea of a higher power didn’t match up with the conventional ideas, I had come to believe that there was something in the unknown universe, out there somewhere, that had decided to pass a bit of grace onto me that night and give to me a new life.

I know that sobriety has been, and remains, the only path for my life. Without it I have no doubt that I would not be here today. I know that no matter what life hands me I remain only one drink away from a drunk and that I cannot, under any circumstances, entertain the thought, even for a minute, of having a drink. I thank the powers that be for my second chance and I hope that it is never regretted. I know the program works if you work the program. When my daughter died a couple of years ago, I knew that was a huge trigger, and even though I didn’t want a drink I knew I needed the program to be there for me...and it was.

I had recently moved so I didn’t know the area or anyone who lived there. I recall thinking that I need to go to a meeting that I can’t go through this alone, but I didn’t know where any were. As these thoughts were racing through my head along with the details of my daughter’s death, I was walking through the motions of every day life by going to pay the rent. I walked up to the front doors of the church, to whom we rented from, and I saw a sign on the door, “Tonight’s AA meeting has been moved to room XXX and will begin at 7:00PM” No, I am not making that up. I went to the meeting and found a small intimate group having a closed 12 Step meeting. I introduced myself and explained why I was there. The group chose to delay their discussion so that they could spend the hour talking to me and helping me to get through the worst pain I have ever experienced. Not a one of these people knew me from Adam and not a one of these people treated me any different that you would treat a loved one. That is what AA is about. And finding that meeting is what “The Grace of God” is about, and so it is that without them both I know beyond all doubt, I would not be here today writing this. Please, if you are struggling with alcohol or drug addiction let go of that pain. Cry out to the powers that be and let them know that you can’t do this anymore and maybe, if you sincerely work to get sober that grace and those AAs will be there for you too. Thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this.

Alcoholism and Drug Addiction - How Did I Get Here?

This March will mark my 21st year of sobriety. As a recovering alcoholic and drug addict it’s a pretty significant moment, so it seems fitting that it be the topic of today’s post. It could be real easy to pat myself on the back with a, “Look at what you’ve accomplished” attitude but truth be told it’s not me who deserves the credit. Yes, I’m referring to my higher power but also to all the people who have struggled with me along the way. Alone, I was not able to control my addictions, “But for the Grace of God, There Go I” Understanding a power greater than myself is an essential part of what keeps me sober and perhaps in a following post I’ll discuss that. Today, however, I’d like to share my story with you and tell you how I came to find sobriety and a new life.

When I was very young my family enjoyed a lot of time together. My aunts and uncles and cousins would come in from out of town for holidays, football games, races, and just to get together. These were always very joyous occasions for me and I looked forward to each visit. Once everyone was there the celebrating would begin, the adults would have a few drinks, there would laughing and dancing, sometimes games. The kids would get Shirley Temples or virgin Boilermakers and we all stayed happy. Then my dad passed away; I was eight.

The good times seemed to come to a screeching halt. There were no more parties for football games, no races, no dancing. I believe this is where my alcohol and drug dependence began. With no one coming over for any get-togethers there was a fairly large supply of beer and liquor stored away in the basement. I think I started drinking it as an attempt to hold onto those “good ‘ol days”. I didn’t drink a lot, just a beer or two every now and again. In fact, it wasn’t until 3 years later that my mom began to notice that the stock was being depleted. My older brother got the blame for that, he was five years my senior and already in high school by that time - sorry bout that P” After I realized that it had been noticed I decided that I needed to be stealthier when it came to having a drink. By this time it had become a fairly common occurrence. Any time that I was at a friend’s house, and the parents weren’t paying attention, I would snatch alcohol from their bars. When I couldn’t get that, I’d risk taking some of my mom’s stock, mostly vodka or gin. As the bottle began to get emptier I replaced the booze with water. Eventually my mom noticed this too, and again, my brother got the blame. My point here is that even at eleven or twelve if I wanted a drink, I found a way to do it.

This progressive illness continued on throughout my teenage years. It caused some severe problems between me and my family. I was no longer hiding my alcohol use and drugs had also made their way into the picture. Basically, I took advantage of every opportunity I could to get wasted. It didn’t matter to me what the drink or the drug was. I was out for a “good time” and nothing else really mattered. I lied, I stole, and I was party to many other illegal activities during this time because it provided me with what I wanted. And while my biggest “downer” during this period was my mom and family always riding my case the consequences slowly grew bigger and bigger. I eventually ended up in a correctional home, but even that didn’t stop me from using. There are many creative ways that teens come up with in order to get high, believe me.

By the time I turned seventeen I was living for nothing other than to get high. My mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer, and while I loved her, my thoughts centered on ways I could get my hands on her prescriptions. She didn’t want to take the pain medicines the doctors gave her and I found numerous ways to take advantage of that. After she passed my life, as I saw it, was nothing but a party. I think my vain attempts to find solace in the loss of my parents became my obsession. I managed to keep a job for a little while but even that became too much of a hassle for me. It seemed easier to just scam my way through life and do whatever I felt like doing. Somewhere between six months and a year after my mom had died. I accidently overdosed and ended up in the ER. You would think that would be a wake up call and it almost was. It did scare me a bit and I tried to get straight but the disease had its grip on me and it wasn’t long at all before I had started right back up where I had left off.

From here on out between the ages of eighteen and twenty six or so I managed to live what I thought was a normal life. I had real jobs, all be it, none lasted very long, except my bartending. I had my children and my share of relationships, infidelities, and breakups. During all these events there was one constant, I remained wasted.

So, wow...this post has certainly turned out longer than I thought it would. I think that it is going to have to be a, Part I. I guess that next week I’ll begin with my attempted suicide and the beginning of the end of my drinking and drugging days. Thank you for reading and I hope that you come back to hear the rest of this tale.

How Can the Grass be Green?

Photo by George Hodan

The last couple of days I’ve been dealing with a small flare up. I’ve noticed that changes in the weather often bring on flare ups and we’ve certainly been having some weather ups and downs lately. A flare up can make it quite difficult for me to move easily and it also drains the energy right out of me. On a day to day basis, I’d say that living with pain on the scale of 6 or 7 is normal for me. During a flare up the pain escalates up to an easy 8, depending on the severity of the flare up. I’ve experienced pain in the 10 range where I’m completely unable to stand, walk, or simply turn over in bed without crying. Luckily, flare ups on that scale have become much less common since I was diagnosed with the Ankylosing Spondylitis and began receiving treatment for it. Days like today basically leave me hunched over and unable to stand up beyond a 30 degree angle. I feel some pretty intense pain where my spine meets my pelvis, and my legs and hips tend to ache badly. Every step or move that I make is painful enough to be a constant reminder of my condition and that one day I’ll be that old woman that is always bent over using her cane to help her along. What a great picture I’ve just painted, huh? Seriously, though, that’s what I face on a day to day basis. So how in the world can I stay optimistic?

Here’s the short answer. I look at the world around me and understand that my issues pale in comparison to the things that other people in this world have to deal with. Honestly, it amazes me how the human animal has, and continues to, overcome some of the most horrific trials. I may have a rough time but let’s put things in perspective. I have a home to live in. I’m not starving. I have clothes on my back. I’m able to enjoy the love of my family. I’m educated and I have opportunities that give me a chance to improve the conditions of my life. In comparison to the majority of human beings I’m ahead of the curve.

The other night I was watching an episode of “Chopped” and one of the contestants was a woman who emigrated from the Republic of Georgia. She lived through two wars and lost both friends and family. Now, here she is making a life for herself, pushing onward and overcoming the struggles that she had been handed. BTW - she ended up winning. As I watched this show and listened to her I couldn’t help but to think how lucky I am to have never experienced such difficulties. Her ability to persevere gives me hope, it reminds me that things could always be worse. Out there in this big wide world are people who are struggling daily to stay alive, my inability to stand up straight seems a pretty small order in the bigger picture.

I think that if each of us can put things into such a perspective then we give ourselves a fighting chance in this world. Sure, I have other struggles too, but I only need to deal with one at a time and when I put each individual event in this perspective it doesn’t seem so overwhelming. I feel like I can deal with it and that life, as I know it, is pretty darn good considering. Stay positive, keep a smile on your face, and let the love that flows be itself. *hugs*

Honoring the Promise of Playtime

It can be too easy sometimes to tell your child that you’ll play with them later only to have later disappear into tomorrow. I think most parents have found themselves in this situation at one time or another. Of course there are those unique situations when your promise to play ends up being sidetracked by unavoidable happenings, but as rule I think honoring your commitment to play with your child needs to be a priority. I’m not saying this to scold anyone or to guilt you into taking time out for your kids. I’m saying this because I have found that playtime with my grandson has actually increased my productivity, as well as, strengthened our relationship.

I write at home and I run my Etsy shop from home. I know there are a multitude of parents out there who also work from home. Even if you’re a full time “stay at home parent” there are adult tasks that need to be accomplished throughout the day. This can become an issue when your children are looking to you for some serious entertainment and attention. The idea of staying at home to work so you can spend more time with the kids, still needs to be balanced with your work. I think the following scenario has played out in many homes. There you are trying to work but your child is constantly interrupting you because they want your attention. You tell them, “Not right now. I’m busy, we’ll play later” only to have them come back up to you 5 minutes later asking again. Soon you feel that you’re never going to get anything finished at this rate. You get frustrated and the child gets in trouble or pushed aside so you can make up time and get this done, leaving both of you feeling bad.

This is why playtime with your kids can be so very beneficial to you and to them. Before going to your work space next time, try this. Explain to your child that you need time to work. You may be surprised how well your child understands this. My grandson just turned 4 and he gets it. So, tell them. Then, tell them that when you are done working you will have play time together. Give them an idea of how long they will need to wait. A 4 year old may not understand, “We’ll play at four o’clock” but he will understand, “When the big hand is here and the little hand is here.” First step accomplished....make the promise and make it clear to the child

Next, give the child some options, “While I’m working you can do some coloring, or have some video/tv time, or play with your toys....” Get it? Give them some ideas of what they are allowed to do while you work. If it’s appropriate, give them a break time when the two of you will have lunch or a snack but make it clear that it will be a break, not play time.

Finally, and most importantly, when that playtime rolls around, STOP WORKING! Seriously, if you expect the child to honor your work time, then lead by example and honor playtime. Don’t give them the, “I’ll be done in just a few minutes” routine. Plan your time and manage it effectively so that you can keep your word. Then play. Don’t play while you check your email or your Twitter account. I mean seriously play with them. Give them an opportunity to select how they want to play, board games, tossing a ball, action figures, what have you. Enjoy your time with them so that they will come to trust and respect you. If you do this for them they will learn that they are just as important to you as your work, perhaps even more important. They will learn that they can trust you and that you’ll be there for them. They’ll learn that what is important to them is also important to you. When they see this they will in turn begin to respect your work time. They will understand that you really will be there when you say, so it’s ok for them to be on their own for a while.

There may be days when your energy levels are down and maybe you just don’t feel like actively playing. That doesn’t mean neglect the play time. You just need to redirect it and explain that you’re tired. With my AS it can be difficult to do some of the physical activities that my grandson would like to do but he gets that. When I’m having a “slow” day I’ll tell him and then I’ll suggest our play time be used doing gentle things like reading or coloring, crafting, or maybe a board game that he selects. I think the main point of all this, is that there’s really no good reason why you shouldn't take time out with your kids. Enjoy them and they’ll grow up loving and trusting you and knowing how to love and play with their own children someday.  

Step Parenting 101 - Should the Kids Call You Mom/Dad?

A blended family is pretty common now a days. Just about anywhere you go you’re likely to find step-children and step-parents. Being a step-parent obviously has a lot of challenges so here’s the word on one such challenge. Hopefully, after reading this you’ll have one less thing to deal with.

As a woman who raised 7 step-children I learned a thing or two. One of the first things that you may find yourself asking, was one of the first things I dealt with. Should the step-children call you mom or dad, which ever the case may be? There’s a simple rule to guide you. According to many child development experts and psychologists, if the child is under 5 years old and resides primarily with you, then it’s appropriate to have them call you mom, or dad. If the child is over 5 years old, let them choose what to call you. Simple right? That’s all there is to it. Well, at least on the surface. You will also have your spouse’s ex to consider in this as well as the children’s hidden feelings.

When I first met my 7 step-children they ranged in age from 1 to 15. The three youngest were 1, 2, and 3 years old. They lived with us on a full time basis. They have always referred to me as mom and continue to call me mom 13 years later and after the recent break up between me and their father. The four of us grew up together. We shared our lives with one another as I did with my biological children. For every practical purpose, I was their mom. If you’re wondering whether or not it’s ok to have a young child call you mom or dad, think about this: Will you be involved in this child’s life as if the child were your own? Will you be the one expected to care for them when they’re sick? Will you be the one who is there when they meet some of their first milestones? Even if your spouse’s ex is still around, if you are the one who is taking on the primary care of the child, then, yes, have them call you mom or dad. As a side note, in my own case, in order to minimize confusion when the kids talked about me to their biological mother they called me Terrimommy, and in the same manner when they spoke to me or their father their biological mother was XXXXXmommy. It was a solution that fit our needs very well.

As for the older children, there are 4 of them. All were over 5 when our lives came together. One of the children ended up living with us full time, while two of them lived with us off and on. The fourth child visited, but never lived with us. All four were always given the choice of whether or not to call me by my name or call me mom. I was fine with whichever they chose to do, and you should be too. Let them make the decision. It will allow your relationship to develop without force. I think that if you are able to love a step child the same way you love your own child, then that parent/child bond will grow no matter what name they assign to you. As it turned out, ironically, the child who lived with us still calls me by my name. The other three call me mom. None of the older kids started out calling me mom; that came with time. I think that each child needed to be able to reach a point in our relationship where they knew that I was there for them and that I loved them. It didn't happen overnight and it didn't happen all at the same time. Each child came into their own, tested the waters by going back and forth. Some times I was mom, other times I was Terri, now I’m mom.

In the end I think it comes down to this. If you love your step-children and you’re there for them as they grow, they will come to love you regardless of what they call you. In their hearts you will be their parent and they will be your child, and that’s a bond that is pretty darn impossible to break.