I wish I could find something I read recently, how the author endured 2020, survived 2021 and started healing in 2022. It resonated with me. Perhaps that is why I’ve been thinking about simpler times. Maybe because I’ve been scanning slides from decades ago as well. Whichever, I feel like I’m making forward steps to a calmer me. Most days anyway.
I do feel like 2022 was a healing year – emotionally and physically. We have been able to work through our ragged emotional scars from the debacle of previous years. Sometimes we get reminders and struggle, but jump off that bus as soon as we can. I found it necessary to remove the photographs of grandchildren we aren’t allowed to see. It might seem harsh but it’s part of our moving on. We trust that one day, when they are able, they will seek us out.
We’ve been blessed with visits from extended family. We’ve added grandchildren to our family tree. We’ve shared time with our kids and grandchildren. We have a home that feels like home. We walk in and know it’s where we should be.
I had several opportunities to hang out at my favorite place – Culver, Indiana – with my sister and family. We’ve had girl’s weekends (for scrapbooking & memory book making), took the grandsons, celebrated the 4th of July, went to the Blueberry Festival, watched movies outside and just had fun. I even joined my sister, niece and her boyfriend in “the happiest place in the world” (Disney World).
The primary reason for returning to the Midwest was to help my parents. They live approximately 17 miles from us. This has made it possible for visits during the week when we are in their town. We’ve met up for meals. We responded to the calls for flooding in the basement, snow on the deck, putting out and removing seasonal furniture and decorations. After all, that’s why we are here.
Mom & Dad
In 2022 I was grateful to be near. If not for the close proximity my sister would have been primary caregiver and I would have been flying back and forth often. My mom had a reverse total shoulder replacement in February and again, the other side in July. It was a lot of hands-on caregiving for my sister and myself. My sister is a nurse. She’s designed for this sort of thing. Three days into my caregiving I was asked when my sister would return “because she was nicer”. That’s code for “she puts up with the nonsense”. Originally it would have been just the one surgery, but on her first night home, she fell into a closet door face first and jammed up the “good” shoulder. We were grateful that’s all that happened. EMT’s were called to help her up, and a trip to the ED for verification nothing more was wrong. The staff told her she might have tore her other rotator cuff.
The healing was difficult for my mom. We struggled to get her off narcotics. We encouraged her to get dressed. I even called one of the surgeon’s nurses to seek advice. They had us bring her in to be accessed, basically helping her to get out of her own head. She wasn’t using the “good” shoulder at all and in the end it froze up (thus the second surgery). We ended up having our own little intervention which finally got her onboard with helping herself.
By the time she had surgery in July she was determined to avoid the narcotics and work hard in PT. She got dressed every morning and after just a few days, she wanted us to move on. I was back for daytime visits to help with laundry, meals and some light cleaning.
Our healing days weren’t over. In 2019 I injured my left shoulder shoveling snow. I knew right away what I’d done since I had already had rotator cuff surgery on the right shoulder in 2015. I was able to get some physical therapy scheduled despite 2020 being in my way. With all the drama of my stepson’s divorce and our insertion, seeking further help for my shoulder didn’t happen. In 2021 we moved to the Midwest. After we got settled in I found a doctor. Then my insurance was asking me to find another doctor. Finally in the summer of 2022 I was settled with my healthcare. Good thing because sleeping was becoming impossible. I got an MRI, confirming what I’d already guessed. I needed surgery.
I finally had surgery in the end of October. Yaya (me) was able to get Halloween costumes made before going out of commission. I had my rotator cuff repaired, my bicep tendon reattached and bone spurs shaved off my clavicle. I had little or no pain and was cared for by our daughter, the first few days, and the Mister.
Bringing back the 80’s shoulder pads in a big way.
We can say 2022 was a good year despite the hospital visits. When our daughter-in-law, in Idaho, fell down the stairs at 8 months pregnant, I was a able to move up my travel dates to help with the older kids while she and our son tended to the newborn in the NICU. I spent five weeks with them. I had the opportunity to see our oldest granddaughter’s dance recital while in town. I was also able to help our son and family pack up their home and move everything into storage in preparation for their year long full-time living in their 40′ 5th wheel.
We made a few trips north to watch grandsons play hockey and celebrate the oldest’s birthday. We also met up at Wisconsin Dells to celebrate the youngest’s birthday. When our daughter and son-in-law purchased their first home in Northern Minnesota, we kept their youngest son while they moved. The older son was with his other grandparents in Alaska! We also looked after both boys for a week when their parents went to Alaska for a friend’s wedding. I had a lot of fun with Halloween costumes this year. We’ve been able to meet up with daughter and family for a weekend in Minneapolis.
I checked off an item on my bucket list by taking a stain glass class this year. I wasn’t disappointed. The Mister built me a big workbench and I’ve been able to make a few things, although I feel rusty after much time away.
We hosted family Christmas this year for my parents, sister and her family, our brother, daughter and family. It was a bitter cold day and we had a great time trying out a new tradition – a white elephant gift exchange. I think it was a success.
Another benefit to our location…we’ve been able to see my husband’s daughters. Renee’s in-laws are in Upper Michigan and Wisconsin. We’ve enjoyed several visits and have been able to help them with their travel here as well. His other daughter Tonya works in Chicago area occasionally and has reached out when in town. Her and her husband even stayed a weekend with the Mister while I was helping out west.
So all in all we have no complaints. We’ve made major inroads to reclaiming our life and how we choose to live it. We manage to keep up with doctor appointments, physical therapy and do our best to remain as healthy as possible. We look forward to 2023 and all it has to offer.
During the holidays, I shared making the Venezuelan quesillo. Another Venezuelan holiday favorite was Pan de Jamon (Venezuelan Ham Bread). Pan de Jamon is a traditional Venezuelan Christmas bread filled with ham and olives. The unique flavors are a special tribute to Venezuelan culture. The warm bread filled with the salty green olives, savory ham and sweet raisins lends a flavor combination that you either love or cringe over. This rolled bread filled the local panaderias in Caracas during December. We arrived to Caracas in late November, and still living in a resident hotel, someone shared the bread, still warm, with us. Oh.Em.Gee. You definitely wanted to be in line at the bakery when they were brought out for sale.
According to the website Curious Cuisiniere, Pan de Jamon is thought to have originated in 1905 at Gustavo Ramella’s Bakery. “Gustavo was looking for a way to use up leftover pieces of holiday ham, so he rolled them in a soft and fluffy dough and baked it! The result was a savory, rolled bread that exploded in popularity.” People later started adding the olives and raisins.
I was no stranger to the local panaderia, which I walked past to go to and from the American Embassy while we lived in the hotel. They also had a delicious sweet bread filled with ham and cheese, which often accompanied my morning espresso.
The first year in our home, my husband and I hosted a Christmas Open House for other Embassy diplomats, dignitaries, military attaches and their spouses. The wife of Venezuela’s Chief of Naval Operations brought a Pan de Jamon which she made, and shared her recipe with me.
This year we were going to host my family for Christmas this year, and were hopeful the weather cooperated so that our daughter and family would be able to travel from Northern Minnesota. It’s been years since we had any of our own children “home” for Christmas. We were hopeful.
I made several batches of our favorite Christmas cookies. I made quesillo. Why not Pan de Jamon? So I did. Actually the bread dough was so much larger than I remembered, we had THREE loaves of Pan de Jamon. It tasted exactly as we remembered. The only difference being, Venezuelans used whole olives (with pits) and our dental work encouraged us to use pitted green olives with pimentos.
We were invited to a neighbor’s “ThanksMas” party recently. Typical Midwest venture. I asked what I could bring and Kelly said “do you have a signature dish?”. Huh… do I? My husband quickly said “make black bean salsa.” One – I hate how time consuming it is to make it because I chop everything by hand; and two – Black bean salsa doesn’t scream Christmas season to me.
I put the question out to our grown children. The oldest and youngest both came back relatively quick. Our daughter said “Quesillo”. Our youngest said “make that Venezuelan Christmas rum custardy thing”. Although it may not sound like it, they were both speaking of the same dessert. While we didn’t hear from our middle child, quesillo was always a favorite so we counted the vote unanimous.
Years ago we lived in Caracas, Venezuela. It was a beautiful country with lovely people. For our life there, it was necessary to have someone to live with us, to help care for the kids, because I was required to travel with my husband on his diplomatic trips.
We had Rosa. A 60ish “Grandma” or “auntie” type from Granada. Although she spoke English, truth be told with her accent it was easier to use Spanish to communicate. One of Rosa’s specialties was a Venezuelan dessert called quesillo. It is a custard (flan) type dessert, baked with whiskey. It’s delicious. Rosa use to make it for us when we entertained, and when she wanted something sweet. Thank goodness she had a sweet tooth as much as the rest of us!
I am fortunate to have Rosa’s recipe written down. Mind you, when I asked her response was, “there are no measurements, senora”. I wrote while she added the ingredients. And you know what? It tasted as good as it looked/smelled. What a treat!
In Caracas, we added Black Label Scotch. Here I added Jameson and, oh boy it was fabulous. I mixed the liquids together. When that was done I added spoonfuls of sugar and water into the baking vessel, and cooked it over a low flame until it was browning. This works as a coating to keep the batter from sticking to the sides and when baked, adds a delicious coating to the top.
The quesillo vessel is put in a water bath to prevent cracking and bake throughout. It baked nearly an hour. I started watching it after 45 minutes or so. Insert a knife or toothpick to check it’s firm inside. Allow it to cool, and place a platter over top, grap hold tightly and flip. It’s absolutely delicious!
Rosa Courtney loved her babies. She took such good care of them all. We arrived with two and came home with three. She never complained. She was our family. She had her own children in Granada and we met a daughter when she came to visit. When we left Caracas for our next duty station in Puerto Rico, it was heartbreaking. Sadly over the years, we lost touch. It’s been 35 years now. I hope she’s at peace in a Godly place.
Do you ever wish you’d listen harder to your gut? Or not let your heart lead you from where you really want to be? How long does it take to stop feeling angry, hurt, betrayed?
I know in my heart I’m not supposed to still feel this way. I feel my confidants are long weary of my feelings. I try to avoid talking about the anger even though talking has always been my “healing” method. I’ve been trying to manage my feelings for over a year now. Maybe I should have found a therapist…
What happened? I’ll share with you if you allow me the opportunity to back up to 2014.
After literally years of hurtful, even hateful or no communication from my stepson, out of the blue my hubby and I both got a “letter of amends” from him. He’d finally recognized his addiction to alcohol and in his Twelve Step process he was writing us. The letters were written from the AA template verbatim. No personalization other than our names. Fortunately for him, it covers past hurts and after much consideration his father and I both responded separately. I told him exactly what I felt in my heart. I would proceed cautiously in hope he truly wanted to be a part of our family. I’d already spent way too many years being his scapegoat. Whenever things went wrong in his life, my stepson would fire off a scathing letter to us, lashing out at his dad and blaming me. After nearly a decade we moved on.
Now I tried to believe what I was saying, giving him the benefit of the doubt because when I married my hubby and we had children, I wanted a united family. I wasn’t looking to replace a parent. Just be considered family. That’s why our own children grew up knowing their “step siblings” are just siblings.
My stepson continued to reach out, came to town for a work trip in August 2014 and met family members in our home. Prior to 2014 we had not physically seen nor spoken with him since the summer of 2005 after he left a family campsite with his wife, checked out with the rangers and accepted a refund for a campsite for which he never paid – leaving some family members abandoned and forced to find another location for their tents. It was a crappy thing to do and he refused to take responsibility for his behavior so we were done.
However, his work visit left us feeling optimistic. He went to lunch with his dad and met his now-grown siblings and their spouses, even his nephews. It was awkward as #^$&.
In 2015 we built a new home, one to accommodate our growing immediate family and moved into it in the Spring. (Back story… later in 2015 stepson and his wife adopted siblings from foster care while they lived in Alaska. He wanted his children to know their extended family and when he lost his job (again) they decided it was a good opportunity to move to Northern Idaho and build a home on the property they already owned.) In August we headed north with our motorhome and invited everyone to come to Clarkston, WA. We set up all of the Grands up with fishing poles to use in the Columbia River and get to know one another. It was an opportunity to get everyone together.
In September 2016 my stepson brought his children down for an extended weekend. His wife wasn’t available so he came alone with the kids. Later we learned his wife drove away, leaving him with the kids, not sharing her whereabouts, refusing to spend time with his siblings and us. His sisters were coming to visit from Tennessee and Jamaica, wanted to see him and meet his children. We had a great visit with everyone under one roof. The grandkids all played together. The adult siblings seemed to catch up and actually spend time getting to know and appreciate one another. (There are fourteen years between my youngest step daughter and our oldest daughter. )
We made a few road trip to Northern Idaho to visit them on their property. Our oldest son spent a great deal of time helping them on weekends with their build because he worked relatively near and couldn’t always drive home to his family. We were fortunate that our oldest daughter and her family lived just an hour south of them so it was a two-fer. We had a huge family Christmas together in our home in 2016.
In April 2017 we celebrated our family’s April/May birthdays in our home. Everyone in Idaho under one roof again. Eventually the chatter started… “You should move up north”… “You should find property up here”… It was a fast ‘no’ for me. I was still working on my Bachelor’s degree at Boise State University. I was working at St. Luke’s, ten years so far. I wanted to get my certification to be a Spanish medical interpreter and continue working at St. Luke’s. And yet just before the end of my second to last semester I agreed to put our new built three year old home up for sale and move to Northern Idaho.
The first trip north to look at houses was very disappointing. After our drive around, viewing single wide trailers, tarp covered roofs, Tyvek sided shanties, I was already regretting the decision I made. But while we were looking, we got an offer and agreed to sell our home. It was going to happen whether I was ready or not. We looked at a one house with a large cracked foundation, half remodeled and a creative sequence of shoving the dishwasher door over to open the oven. The next option was a 3 bedroom house under construction. The caveat was it had been under construction for ten years. The man started building, the city had a moratorium to stop building until the city water district could handle additional homes, and finally he could finish. We knew if we moved in we would be selling a lot of our furniture, but it was “brand new” and on two city lots. Granted it was Plummer, Idaho city lots but still gave us a feeling of space.
It was this house or agree to take an acre of land from my stepson and his wife, and build the requested home suitable for them (her request) to retire in one day. They spoke openly with us about their desire to repay us for the two years we paid for my stepson’s property (where they were living), while he was in the Coast Guard. They acknowledged what we had done for them and wanted somehow to reimburse us.
They took us to the spot where they wanted our home – or rather their retirement home. My hubby and I talked about what we “saw in our mind”. His wife had her own ideas and felt since they were GIFTING us the land we should be willing to build what they wanted – sort of taking away from the reimbursement offer.
We knew it took them over a year to get a road up to the barn, power and and a proper well. They had gravel around the barn apartment they lived in. AND we would be within a stone’s throw of all of them. Those feelings of hesitation were overpowering and we declined their offer, buying the smaller house in town. Our home in the Boise area closed the first part of December 2017 and we moved into our 35′ motorhome, parked at the local KOA. In February 2018 we closed on the home in Plummer (population 1000) and Mike moved in. I remained in Thor (the motorhome) in Boise to finish my last semester at BSU.
We moved north permanently in May after I graduated. We worked on planting shrubs, perennials and trees. We built raised beds, built a deer fence to protect our gardening. We brought in a 20′ workshop. Eventually we enclosed the single car garage (too small to park even my small car any way) and created an office space for us. Truthfully we did more in the first year on our property, along with helping on my stepson’s property.
We also got to know the three children. They are loving, big hearted and craved attention. They were missing the emotional attachment from their adopted mom (IMO). She was closed off, harsh tongued and very strict. We love those kids and tried to spend time with them – to show them what it’s like to have fun, laugh at yourself and not be afraid to be who you want to be. We made it clear, when the kids came to our home they were able to follow our rules. They gradually became comfortable, listened and responded with minimal discipline from us and actually seemed to behave like children, not like the little droids they were expected to be at home. We had no use for the threats or use of “enforcers” (a board my stepson used for spankings).
Once our daughter-in-law asked me how I managed when our daughter was 13 years old, I told her to “choose your battles”. Let the mess in the bedroom be until the weekend and THEN focus on cleaning it up before she does other activities. Spend some time to get to know her and her interests. A lot of focus was given to the two younger children and their younger interests. I suggested if she wanted respect, she should show respect. None of it happened. Her relationship with the oldest showed no improvement. Our relationship with the oldest was one of comfort, confidence and joy.
Friends and family who saw the interaction between mom and the oldest daughter commented on how mom kept her daughter at a distance. There was no feeling of a bond happening. Several even commented on whether or not the oldest was only there because she was part of the sibling package. She has disabilities and when you saw them together it seemed like she was only tolerated.
The first year we were in Northern Idaho, they enrolled the children in 4H. The girls were going to show their chickens and sew. They often missed the monthly meetings when they were considered to have misbehaved. They gave up on the chicken project because they hadn’t kept records. The sewing project became difficult because mom took a thrifted skirt and had them cut the fabric and resew it, missing out on the 4H program sewing guidelines. No fabric or pattern purchases. Needless to say 4H was less than successful. My question was, how do you expect someone who is “legally blind” to be able to make the fine details necessary for sewing, especially without the guidance of the project leader? However, their mom was always the one who knew it all so the fact that I had been in 4H for many years, AND sewed was irrelevant. The following year I was asked to help the oldest daughter with photography. I was thrilled. The 4H club was small (all homeschooled and very “Christian” families). Our granddaughter was my only participant. We had fun. We did photography trips. We met every month and talked about her project. We worked on her record books. When the fair rolled around she received a Grand Champion for her project and blue ribbon on her record book. So naturally our daughter-in-law now wanted me to work with both girls the next year.
No surprise but my stepson’s marriage of 18 years fell apart. He asked her to seek counseling. She was so hard on their oldest (now a teenager) daughter. Although neither party was without fault. Neither took responsibility for the problems. It was a very narcissistic relationship.
So anyway, his wife “didn’t need counseling”. She had no problems. She was served with divorce papers. The very next day we found ourselves already in the middle, as he called and she showed up on our doorstep. We told them both we don’t care what you two adults do. We want nothing to do with your divorce. We only care what happens to the children and what’s in their best interests. If the children need anything we are here for them. The adults could sort out things as adults should. But as divorce goes, this didn’t happen. They continued to live together in the home (yes read that again – IN THE SAME HOUSE). There was a lot of he said she said, so much animosity. It was not a healthy situation for adults NOR children.
Things escalated early with a confrontation between the oldest daughter and mom. Mom locked her out out of the house on a second story deck, finally allowing her inside when Dad was on scene, but not without some pushing from both and mom calling 911 to demand the daughter be taken to juvenile detention. We saw the body cam video of the interview with the deputy. It was shameful. Mom lied through her teeth. She accused her daughter of harming her siblings. Mom took zero responsibility and insisted the daughter go to juvenile detention. The deputy allowed my stepson to bring our granddaughter to us, where she stayed for six weeks. Her daughter had been away several days when my stepson asked his wife if she even cared where her oldest was and her response was – in juvenile detention where she belongs. She had no clue. In her mind, she was rid of her problem.
The drama continued when his wife accused him of domestic violence and he was forced off the property (lived in our motorhome for a month). More lies. She told the deputy he was aggressive. She even convinced their Pastor to sign an affidavit as a witness to his actions (but he wasn’t even present at the time).
Meanwhile she lived on the 80 acres, allowing it to be taken over by weeds, and dry grass, during fire season. When he was finally able to return, the barn portion was filled with trashed pizza boxes, empty toy/game boxes (stuff they were never allowed) and he learned she was in hiding, living in a friend’s trailer, with the two youngest kids and their two farm dogs, refusing to allow him any access. She carried the “I’m afraid for my life” thing all over the community to gain sympathy.
Her behavior was irrational. When we finally saw the two younger children again, they behaved like feral animals. The seven year old son had put on nearly 20 pounds in the six weeks he was hiding with his mom. He couldn’t bend over to the grass to retrieve a ball. The younger daughter was always good at adapting to her surroundings (a foster care survival trait) but now her head was so full of lies she had been told, it was impossible to reach her. They had spent the summer doing whatever they wanted because their mom wanted to be the “good parent”. They had new expensive toys, but their respect for our belongings was gone. They’d been told we were not their family and it was inappropriate to be with us, nor did they have to do what we asked. It was heartbreaking.
Our future ex-daughter-in-law also put the kibosh on working with both girls for 4H. While she secluded herself at her friend’s farm pretending to be a victim, she hid the oldest daughter’s camera and project book, refusing to tell her where it was located, as well as blocking my access to the other granddaughter. Delightful daughter-in-law went so far as to go to the 4-H Agent’s office and tell her I was legally banned from being around her children. The photography project was put aside and later cancelled for non-participation. Thankfully the 4-H Agent was very reasonable, suspected she was being bamboozled and realized I wasn’t some pedifile or the aggressor.
Because of the mom’s behavior, my husband reached out to her military command at the behest of his son/my stepson. My stepson’s only concern was getting a portion of her military pension when she finally retired which drove his inactivity and permission to allow his dad to do his dirty work. I haven’t mentioned she is in Navy Reserves as a CHAPLAIN (of all things). My husband, a retired Navy Captain and a superior officer to her) was under an obligation to share the odd behavior, the lies and deceit. “Behavior Unbecoming”. We were concerned for the welfare of our grandchildren. My stepson refused to reach out to Social Services nor the Navy because he wanted that money. In addition, there was a constant battle over the monthly stipend they received from the state of Alaska for adopting the children. We learned later from another Alaska friend, that her interest in adoption started only after she learned there was a payment.
We lived this drama, were included and lied about in our own small circles, for a year. It took it’s emotional toll on our marriage as well. I felt my stepson should do more for the children. His interests seem to remain in doing only what would benefit him the most. My husband was conflicted because it was his son – and yet he didn’t like what he was doing. Their divorce was so reminiscent of what my husband endured from his ex-wife and I watched him suffer. My stepson wouldn’t listen to anything he or I shared. At one point, his mother (my husband’s ex-wife) and sisters wanted to come visit during COVID. My stepson and oldest granddaughter were still living with us. We opened our small home to all of them, during the Pandemic. When we helped them visit with the “hidden” grandchildren, not one of them stood up for me when the soon.to.be ex-daughter-in-law forcibly pushed me out of the church where we met, denying me the opportunity to see the children as well.
We finally convinced my stepson to get the children into counseling. It made such a difference for the oldest. She shared her sessions with us. She was finding her voice as well as her self-confidence. She loved her counselor. With her permission, the counselor even reached out to us to share some details so that we could help. The oldest wrote faithfully in journals – whatever teenagers write in journals.
She was homeschooled by her mom initially until mom’s lack of instruction led to failure. Dad got her in an online high school where, in addition to the personal cell phone she now used with minimal supervision, suddenly she had access to other teens her age, and maybe not the cream of the crop. They were in this program after being removed from other schools. She had no social experience and was emotionally immature. She shared with me that one boy was on probation for hurting a family member, another for burglary. These were her new friends, convinced one was even a long distance boyfriend. Dad’s attention was less on her interactions with her newly accessible internet friends and more on how to get more out of the divorce.
Her grandfather and I tried to intervene. When she was at our home we tried to set internet limits, monitored her school work, limited her cell phone usage. Her dad let her reach out to her bio mom. His wife refused their daughter access to her so this was a dig back on his part. Our oldest granddaughter was ten when she was adopted and had a relationship with her bio mom. She wanted to have something there again. So with weekly phone visits, weekly counseling sessions and journaling our girl seemed to be coming around. Until she started shutting down as the divorce drama deepened.
Our oldest granddaughter was forced to spend time with her adopted mom – although neither wanted to be together. Her visits there were unwelcome and often she was shamed. If she called her grandfather and asked for help with school work her mom would shut down the wifi to prevent contact. At a Christmas party, her mom refused her entrance and made her sit outside, then called my stepson to pick her up because she was being disrespectful. Later we learned that her disrespect was when her little brother had forced himself into her bedroom when she was dressing and when she yelled for him to leave, her mom told her to pack her bag because she wasn’t welcome there any longer.
It was the end of December 2020. Our granddaughter wanted to come talk to me. Dad dropped her off and we went to town shopping, chatting casually on the 35 minute drive back and forth. She told me she wrote her dad a letter but was afraid to give it to him because she knew he wouldn’t react well. Writing was how she best expressed herself – something I get very well. She shared the letter with me, and honestly I knew right away, everything she was trying to share would be misconstrued and taken as an affront. He wouldn’t hear her because he was a horrible listener – with EVERYONE. I recommended she ask her counselor to read the letter, ask her dad to join and have the counselor mediate the conversation.
He came to dinner and asked what was going on. He knew she wanted to share something and wanted to know what we talked about. I just told him she had written a letter but she was worried he would not be open to listen and I agreed with her because listening was not his strongest asset. I told him I’d suggested the conversation take place with the counselor.
Later he left, taking her home. He called before he went to bed and said she wasn’t talking yet. Then in the morning he called at first light. He was raging on the phone. He’d stayed up reading her journals and was using the things she’d written against her rather than as a tool to try and understand from where she was coming. He kept saying she was playing us for a fool. She was planning to run away to her old foster family in Alaska. She didn’t feel loved by either adopted parent. She wanted to go back to her bio mom, also in Alaska. Worse thing was she was boy crazy and talked about being binary. We scolded him for reading her journals. Told him he broke her trust and confidence, her privacy and now using it against her was very disappointing. He hung up on us. He texted later to say he was taking her to counseling and would talk to us later.
That afternoon the counselor called us to say that our oldest granddaughter didn’t want to go home to her dad and could she come stay with us for a couple nights. The session didn’t go well. My stepson refused to listen, accused the counselor of poisoning his daughter against him and said he would no longer be bringing her back. Of course we took her in. He dropped her off at the street, didn’t even bother to come to the door with her. He was upset with all of us.
New Year’s Day 2021 he texted to say he would be in to pick up his daughter in 20 minutes. He showed up at our door and immediately upon entering started yelling at his father about how we were going to be the reason he lost custody of his children. We had no idea what transpired to have him go off like this. We honestly were concerned he might have been drinking. His dad was telling him to calm down and explain. My stepson just kept yelling and I finally stepped between the two men and asked my stepson to wait outside. He debated loudly for several minutes, still yelling, demanding his daughter come now but finally stepped back outdoors.
I had to coax our granddaughter out of the bedroom where she sat on the floor crying. I walked her to the door and he grabbed her by the coat hood dragging her to his truck at the street. At one point she tried to break his grasp and he shoved her into my husband’s parked vehicle. We saved the video from our security cameras in case he ever denied it. Our concern for her well-being was overwhelming.
It was this point we called and told him in the future, we would ask that his divorce drama remain out of our home and life. We needed a break from it all. It was encompassing our lives, breaking our spirit. There was no justification for his behavior in our home and we’d had enough. If you come to our home, respect our wishes. We were reclaiming our peace. Our emotional well-being was too taxed by the continued inclusion. Every conversation, every visit, every day. The daily ups and downs was exhausting. We needed some separation. And with this declaration, the moment we stood up for ourselves, we became persona non-grata. He no longer called or stopped and no longer allowed us to see the children.
In the next three weeks, we realized, with our daughter and family no longer living in Northern Idaho and the divorce/grandchildren situation, we had no purpose to remain in Northern Idaho. Returning to the Boise area was out of our reach financially thanks to the crazy real estate market.
We always said we would return to the Midwest to help with my aging parents. So we reached out to our favorite realtor to discuss our options. We originally thought we would wait until the end of the summer but were encouraged to take advantage of the current seller’s market. So we did. The house went on the market the last week of January, stating we’d accept offers for four days only. We took 14 offers ranging from asking price to $310K. We knew our property was unique in the Plummer area. Stick and brick homes are a rarity in town. We settled on a cash offer, accepted their offer to let us live 60 days rent free and started packing up.
Even though we were being “shut out”, my stepson wasn’t done with us completely. He still wanted to control our choices. For the three years we lived in Plummer we had been storing his snowblower. He has no pavement on his property and brought the machine to town for our use. I think we used it once but it only confirmed what we knew, and had tried to tell him, before he insisted we keep it at our home. It was too heavy and awkward for either of us to maneuver so it sat in our garage and later the shop.
The week the house went on the market he sent an email informing us he knew we were moving (he stalks properties on real estate websites) and wanted his snowblower. He informed us he would be down at a set time to pick it up and we were to have it ready. We wrote back and said we had showings, and asked him to delay the pick up two days. His response was “since we were refusing him his property” he was going to the Courthouse to file a lien on our home and prevent us from moving. (very telling right there…)
He then wrote our oldest son and asked him to drive two hours up to our home, from his place of work, pick up the snowblower and bring it to him. Mind you, my stepson lived 7 miles away from us. My stepson told our son he knew that he needed to apologize for his behavior but just needed more time. However his attitude towards us was not at all repentant. This is his typical modus operandi – tell people what will make him look best even when it’s a lie.
My stepson wrote us back and said he expected us to bring the snowblower to him since we had borrowed it and how his mom always taught him that a real man returns what he borrows – but his own dad wouldn’t understand because he was never around. (29 years in the Navy still getting thrown in his face.) Again he gave us a deadline and threatened to file a lien.
This time we reached out to our realtor to share, as well as seek legal counsel. Our realtor Tom laughed and said my stepson didn’t have a leg to stand on. Both Tom’s attorney and a lawyer advised us that since he left it at our home long ago, we can file for storage fees. We expressed this to my stepson, including his own attorney to the email (in hopes he would advise his client), told him the snowblower was parked at the end of our driveway and the keys were in the deck box on the porch. We asked him to pick it up in 48 hours. His response was only to express his outrage that we would bring his attorney into a “family” matter. Guess he forgot he threatened us with legal actions first.
Naturally my stepson wanted to show he was in control so he came three days later, stomped around in the driveway until he remembered where we told him the keys were. He pushed our grandson back into the truck when the little guy started to run for our front door, and loaded the snowblower. When he left, we noticed (we stayed inside) that he waved at someone parked up the street. Looking out our front window, we saw the local Plummer squad car and my stepson’s buddy doing a police stand-by. Apparently my stepson wanted to add drama by getting the police to believe he felt threatened by his 78 year old disabled father.
I already had a trip back to Wisconsin for my dad’s birthday so I added house hunting to the visit. My sister and I looked at many houses, way overpriced, and many levels of “move in ready”. Finally my realtor suggested I look “south of the border” in Illinois (which for a Cheesehead takes a lot of consideration) because we’d get more home for our dollar and there were several good benefits for disabled veterans. In the middle of a snowpocalypse we checked out the home we ended up buying – no regrets!
I returned to Idaho to finish packing up the house. My hubby told me we should move whatever fits in a 29′ Penske truck. I sold lots of our belongings. We had the best group of friends come help load and on March 30th we headed east with no further contact from my stepson nor our grandchildren. We arrived Good Friday, spent Easter with my family and offloaded our belongings into two storage pods before heading to my sister’s place near Lake Maxinkuckee in Culver, Indiana for the next three weeks.
The bio mom wrote me and said she learned the parents had put our oldest granddaughter in a psychiatric hospital. It was so difficult to believe they allowed her to reach the point where she needed this type of treatment. Having been there and knowing what we knew, I also suspected it was an overstep on their part to scare her into submission.
We were missing our grandchildren and worried about their well-being. I decided, even though I knew he would be monitoring her email and cell phone messages, I was going to email her and wish her a Happy Easter. Surprisingly she responded almost immediately. We had several emails that went back and forth. Photos were exchanged. My heart was so happy. Until the next morning when her dad sent a vicious email, carrying out his bitterness and hatred of years ago, accusing me of adultery and being a homewrecker and his father a hypocrite, setting aside the last few years we thought were building a relationship..
We’ve been married nearly 40 years. He accused me of breaking up his parent’s marriage and ruining his happy childhood home. He stated he was forced to explain to his children (15, 11 and 6) what kind of person I really was – an adultress, how I ran away from home because of daddy issues, escaped an unhappy life and latched on to the first meal ticket I could trick into marrying me. Nice huh?
He continued by calling his dad absent (Navy career), abandoning his children (even though it was his ex-wife who actually left the state after asking us to buy her half of the home and didn’t share where their children were living). His accusations and lies closely resembled the same hateful letters he sent as a 13 year old teenage boy – and continued to send in his 20’s until we had said enough already. It was a slap in the face.
I felt like the last three years, living close to them, helping with their children, opening our hearts and home, helping with their home and even his garlic business were just a lie. He used us. His letter of amends was a lie. He never had any intention of wanting to be a part of our family. It was only about getting something for himself. I understood his interest in his dad’s Will and insurance policies. His words and actions were very clear. He had no intention of ever moving on.
It helped to understand all of the non-actions when we lived close. He never offered to help with our projects. If I was home I shoveled. If I was away, Mike and a neighbor shoveled. We did our own landscaping. We helped with homeschooling. We helped to plant garlic for his business. We looked after the kids. Even when my hubby had surgery while I had to be away, my stepson didn’t offer to help. Our oldest son was off work and came to stay with his dad while I was in the Midwest. This relationship has always been one sided, one way, and nothing ever changed. Well, not true. One thing changed. We stood up for ourselves and walked away.
My stepson has blocked our grandchildren from us. No email. No phone calls. We send gifts by way of Amazon so they arrive anonymously. He declared we were no longer to be in his children’s lives. He wanted nothing more to do with us. He stated that he spoke for his two sisters and we were not welcome in their lives.
This didn’t apply to him though. He has tried to contact our oldest son, who was close enough to know what has gone on and ignore him. Then my stepson started reaching out to our daughter – which is funny because he never approved of her “life style”. They weren’t Christian enough and they drink (gasp). She played nice for awhile but got tired of his games and stopped answering regularly. Now he is talking and sharing with our youngest son. The irony being, my stepson use to make fun of our youngest and his wife all the time – thinking they were “too millennial”, criticizing them for wanting a nice house. I have no idea how long this “relationship” will continue but guess once our youngest no longer serves to benefit my stepson, it too will end.
My stepson never thought any of them lived an “appropriate” life so why reach out now? We know he logs on to social media and checks to see what we are doing before logging off and disabling his accounts. He has referred to posts from one format. Instead of manning up, staying on, he’d rather sneak around anonymously.
I sat on his email for a day and wrote an unsent response just to make myself feel better. I’ve always been one to write and share, then sit on it or rewrite it. I finally shared it with my husband and he said “send it”. So I did.
It was 40 years of me biting my tongue, all turned loose. I shared exactly what I thought of his attitude, his treatment of his children, his self-importance, his inability to listen. I updated him on his lack of facts about my personal life before I joined the Navy, and during the Navy; my employment for over 26 years contributing to our family life; the multiple moves where I’ve followed my husband around the world, raising our children with and without his presence.
I pointed out the behavior of his soon.to.be ex-wife and what he despised as pathetic and hypocritical was exactly the way his mom treated his dad during their divorce and yet my stepson has never accepted his mother’s contribution to the demise of their marriage. I asked him to look at his own failed marriage and how it came to be, and think seriously about his parent’s marriage. Do strong marriages fail?
I shared if he was going to speak of adultery, would he also include his mom and the affair she had while her husband was at sea, defending our country. I told him the saddest thing about his divorce was that he and his wife would one day remarry and make two more people miserable.
I shared an observation. He has spent most of his adult life trying to emulate his father, his career choices, his likes and dislikes. Yet my stepson has been fired/removed/let go from nearly every employment opportunity. The problems have always been “someone else’s fault”. My stepson continues to take any responsibility in his professional AND personal failures. Maybe it was bitchy but I am so over his behavior, his lies, his hatred – 40 years of it. I stood up for myself!
Lastly I pointed out his total lack of understanding for what family really is to one another. I’m okay with not being a part of his life. It’s a relief to know he will finally leave us alone once and for all. He overstepped. His behavior is the final straw. In my heart I know one day his children will seek us out and we will have truth on our side.
I’ve always been a “God’s will” sort of person… things happen for a reason. I have to believe that we were brought to Plummer to be in our grandchildren’s lives, to help show them what a family does for one another, to demonstrate how they should be treated, to show our oldest granddaughter how she can be loved and help her build self confidence and self esteem.
We were there to treat those children as they needed to be treated, not like a possession or pawns in a tumultuous relationship. I know our time there also gave us a great opportunity to spend time with our daughter and her family before they moved to Minnesota. However, I’m angry. I’m frustrated. I don’t know how to address these feelings. We were there. We opened our hearts. We included their children in our lives. And now some control freak has deemed we are not appropriate and taken them away just because he can.
In my head I say it’s been over a year. I should get over it. In my heart I’m just so damn mad. We opened our hearts, welcoming him into our family again. Don’t tell me to get a hobby. I have plenty to do. I have lots more grandchildren to love. I enjoy our life. I stay busy. We visit our kids and our Grands. We visit friends. But deep down the ache and bitterness is still there. I am mad.
Other family members, who know my stepson, have acknowledged all we did and shared they felt we’ve gone above and beyond. We’ve been told how happy they are we were there for my stepson and the children through it all. They have recognized how we gave up our own emotional and physical space for them. “Good on you… Way to go… You did so well… but we don’t want to talk about it any more so change the subject.” (Insert “We don’t talk about Bruno, no no…)
I gave up three years being in Boise area, close to our own children and grandchildren; and a job in a place I loved, as well as friends I loved to spend time with – to respond to my stepson’s desire to be “back in our family”.
So back to my original question… How do you stop all the feelings?
After seeing the pictures of his cousin’s green dinosaur costume, our other three year old McBobber asked me to make him a blue and orange dinosaur after Christmas. Knowing how much our grandsons all like to dress up and play (much like my own kids did in their day) and always wanting to make my boys happy, I set out to find the exact requested blue and orange shade of fleece. Making the costumes is something that makes my heart happy and I enjoyed making the dinosaur for McBobber as much as I did making it for Bashosaurusrex.
Bashosaurex
McBobber’s Dinosaur
In addition, our oldest son sent a note saying he too wanted a dinosaur costume, in maroon and orange (Va Tech colors). He forwarded a photo to show me what he thought he needed.
What? Isn’t this a dragon?
Anyway, when I finished laughing at his request, I told him I’d see if I could find a onesie pattern to fit a giant.
I did a little creative thinking and searched online for sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt in the perfect burgundy and ordered them. I found matching fleece in burgundy and orange. I added the nose, spikes and a tail to the sweats. I’m excited to see what McBobber’s dad will think of his gift. Fortunately he is working over on this side of Washington for a couple more weeks and I will get to deliver it soon enough.
(I had to try it on for my own amusement!)
FEBRUARY UPDATE:
McBobber, Mr. T and Mom drove over from Western Washington early February. Dad was working in Pullman so we got to have them stay with us as well. McBobber loves his ‘surprise’ and I think Dad was speechless! #thatdoesnthappenoften
As the turkey leftovers disappeared, we settled in for our first Christmas in our new home. Much of our efforts for downsizing continued in our decorations. I thought I would feel less about the season or sad about the changes in our life. Instead I found it was comforting, to bring out the favorite decorations (which made the downsizing cut) and place them around the house. Instead of multiple trees we had one to decorate. I slowly went through our ornaments, many are special gifts from family and friends, or souvenirs from places we have lived or visited. The tree was genuinely filled with memories. Our fireplace was lined with eight very special stockings – one for each of our “littles”.
Our special old world Santas had a special place (out of reach of curious hands and clumsy feet). We even had a special place for the artwork by our good friend Helen Morlock de Gil. We met Helen in Caracas, Venezuela. She was once the art teacher at the school Erin attended. She was also married to a Venezuelan Navy Commander.
We managed to see each of our families to celebrate. We drove to Boise for a weekend with Krieg, Karissa and Princess Lu. It’s been a long while since we have actually gone down Hwy 55 through Long Valley, and McCall. We were not disappointed.
We spent some time Saturday at a Craft Show where I got to see my good friend Vonda and her hubby “Stogie Joe” and his woodworking. We wandered around the Meridian Village, enjoying the decorations and feeling the Christmas spirit.
I wanted to make Princess Lu something special for Christmas. I spent a couple of weeks at the kitchen table with my sewing machine making a felt activity book just for her. It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be. Or maybe it was just exciting to find that creative side of me again. I ended up with 14 pages and my mind has already come up with several more. Time to start some more pages for some future projects.
We shared Christmas Eve dinner with the Country Shaw’s. Second Christmas was in Plummer with Erin, Chris, Cheeks, Bash, Michael, Andi, Miss G, A and E-man on Christmas day.
I confess… I tried to compete with our daughter by wearing a Christmas sweater to surprise her. She has the biggest collection of Ugly Christmas sweaters!
Please disregard the TV it only looks like the Stripper Santa competition scene from “Bad Mom’s Christmas”. (snicker)
Even wore ornament earrings.
Sadly I didn’t take many pictures through gift opening or our delicious meal. We all gathered in the living room to watch Polar Express together, huddled in our blankets piled on the floor.
Erin, Chris and boys stayed the night. Our first sleepover with their mom and dad. It was so fun to have them all around.
Third Christmas was with the Bremerton Shaws for New Years Weekend. The trip over was beautiful until we got to the west side – situation normal. Nonetheless we enjoyed hanging out our family.
We had the bonus of sharing a meal with Burt’s family, who were visiting them as well. Burt has a sister in the area too. We treated ourselves to the new Mary Poppins Returns. I adore Mary Poppins and I was NOT disappointed. The best part was being able to look over a couple cinema seats and see three year old McBobber with a huge grin watching the movie.
We were blessed with another beautiful drive across Washington when we headed home. We put a few miles on the car but it was worth every driving moment to have the opportunity to see our “littles” and their folks. Having everyone spread around is a big change from our big gatherings of earlier years. There is a part of me that misses those moments… but it just makes me more determined to value every moment we are together.
Cheeks is playing hockey. This is the third year he has been on the ice. It’s so cute. And scary. Those kids have no fear, skate way faster than you might image and don’t even seem to mind when they apparently dive to the ice on purpose.
He had a game in Lewiston Friday night and then again Saturday morning. We weren’t able to go on Saturday so we drove down Friday.
If you are familiar with this level of sports, they don’t keep score. Well officially anyway. I’m fairly certain every player knows the score. I can confirm the Papa in the stands knew the score. (If you’re wondering, the score that wasn’t kept on Friday was something like 20-3.)
Random musings haven’t been the norm for me lately. Honestly it’s been years and a completely different blog. But as I slowly have started to reclaim my life and establish a routine, I sometimes find myself pining for an outlet for the voices in my head. Not really. Well, maybe.
I graduated from Boise State University with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Spanish language this past May. Three and a half years as a non-traditional student some 20 plus years in the making. I had been living in our motorhome “Thor” since December because we put our home on the market, sold it immediately and purchased a home in Northern Idaho. My husband made the trips back and forth, working on projects in our new home and coming to check up on me.
This summer we did some traveling, attended my nephew’s wedding in Milwaukee, WI, hosted all of the kids for the 4th of July, spent time with grandkids in Moscow, Bremerton and Boise AND worked a lot on the landscaping at our home. We have two city lots, approximately half an acre. We downsized the house (to 1195 sq.ft from 2200) but gained a playground. Fortunately the majority of the lot was sodded and the builder already seeded the remaining part. He even set us up with a great parking spot with electrical power and sewer for the motorhome.
We planted trees, shrubs and perennials. We added more crushed rock to extend some parking in the front of the street and along side the driveway. We added (free) shredded cedar mulch from the lumber yard in St. Maries. We have four raised garden boxes, one tucked away for the winter with approximately 50 garlic bulbs. After much deliberation we decided we really didn’t want to enclose the yard with a solid fence, or any fence (we liked the open feel) and opted to contain/control our fur kids with Invisible Fencing. AHHHHHHH!
Gradually we’ve learned our way around our new Northern Idaho home. Trips to Coeur d’Alene are only 33-1/2 miles – and we make the trip in less time than it took for us to drive from Star to Boise downtown. Win!
I haven’t made any plans yet to be anything but “retired”. I am a photography leader for the local 4H club and a Wish Granter with Make a Wish Idaho. I have been paired with another woman from Bonner’s Ferry to work with a child from Rathdum.
We’ve been to Bremerton and Boise to spend time with the grands. Princess Lulu celebrated her 1st birthday. We visited a pumpkin patch. Returned for the annual trick or treating in the Tower Dorm at University of Idaho with the boys in Moscow. Call me silly but I was so excited to FINALLY get to find my inner-Cruella! Gramma watched the boys in Bremerton while their folks went to Oktoberfest. We returned for Thanksgiving as well.
I spent a week in the Chicago suburbs hanging out with my sister for her birthday. Her husband went out of town for the weekend. We drove to Indianapolis for my youngest niece’s swim meet with University of Missouri. We met up with my middle niece for lunch. The oldest niece lives at home and is doing an excelerated nursing course at Loyola. Her and her cute boyfriend hung out several nights. My oldest nephew was suppose to travel for work so he managed to swing through town to see his mom (and Godmom) and the youngest nephew works in downtown Chicago and commutes home for a hot meal and choir practice at church. I loved just having the opportunity to hang out with my sister. Even got to spend a couple days with my folks.
The winter months are descending on us. Tomorrow is the Solstice, right? We had snow welcome our return home after Thanksgiving. We had snow a couple days last week. Mostly we’ve had rain. Gallons and gallons of rain. And wind! The weather man said 1″ of rain is equivalent to 10″ of snow. Ok, so it’s Christmas season and I’d love to see the white stuff covering the ground right now, but admittedly I’m not hating on the rain. I could do without the wind. It took down our TV antennae’s and tore up some shingles in the process.
We have settled in nicely. My only reality smack was after my return from Chicago. Our wifi was glitching and we only were getting two of the seven channels on TV and one was pixelated. My husband saw my frustration with the re-entry to small town living and graciously researched and hooked us up with DishTV. Even with the basic package I’m in hog heaven. Christmas movies galore. DIY. Cooking. Even a run through Murder She Wrote, Matlock and Diagnosis Murder for old times sake. Not to mention he got to see the end of the college football season. It’s the little things sometimes that just make the rough days a little easier.
Speaking of rough days… I’m done with today. I’ve called a truce with Thursday.
It started with dumping my full water cup on the floor. I bit my tongue eating oatmeal. Sheez, it’s not like you really have to chew a lot while eating oatmeal.
I tried to be productive and changed out the bed skirt in the guest room. This took a lot longer than it should but that’s because I walked out of the room for something and saw this squirrel run by which led me to about six other things before finally returning to the hallway and seeing the upended mattress awaiting the new bed skirt.
Somehow while moving the mattress around, I managed to push my oversized backside into a closet door shoving it off the track. My husband rescued me and set it back in place. Actually he should have probably just followed me around today with tools, towels and trash bags.
I put together cookie tins for the neighbors. When placing the cookies back in the garage fridge I accidentally opened the door into one of the projects he’s been working on in Santa’s garage, knocking it over, breaking the roof off and spilling the contents all over the floor.
This was when he told me to sit down on the sofa for awhile – carefully so not to break something. Our neighbor came to get me as it was time to walk our dogs. While putting on my coat I managed to catch my hair on a coat snap, unbelievably, and knot it somehow while my arms were extended and the coat was half on. He managed to free me through the laughter tears in his eyes.
The walk was uneventful though our neighbor was given specific instructions to just roll me off the street if I fell, and call Mike to pick me up. It was raining good so I stuck my glasses in my coat pocket. Once we got home I realized I didn’t have the glasses so started retracing my steps. Part way on our route, I found them. In the street. Broken. I think I actually stepped on them when they fell out of my coat. Did I mention I can’t see much without them? Thank goodness for my contacts and a older pair of reading glasses to at least make bedtime reading possible.
Costco Optical is now on tomorrow’s agenda. Merry Christmas Deb. You are getting the gift of 20/20 vision!
Well, I’m safely tucked into bed. Better stay put and wait for Friday. It’s got to be better than today.
Last fall our oldest son and family moved to the west side of Washington State… taking two of our grandsons with them. Our oldest grandson Mr. T was leaving us, after nearly 11 years of having him nearby, holding the infant, babysitting the toddler, walking him to preschool, hearing stories about his activities and attending his school events. His little brother McBobber was going to be gone before we had the opportunity to make these memories. But it was for the good of their family and no one knows better than we do, how important (and how difficult) it is to make these decisions. Besides… we knew in just a few months, I would be done with my college adventure and we could take advantage of opportunities to visit them more often in their new home.
So fast forward to summer. We also moved, putting us only six hours from their doorstep instead of ten. Our family was going to gather in Northern Idaho at our new home for the 4th of July. What better opportunity to convince his folks to let us keep Mr. T here for a couple weeks. Even better, a couple weeks turned into the month of July AND a trip to see extended family in Wisconsin/Illinois.
We celebrated the 4th of July together. Krieg, Karissa and Princess Lu came from Boise; Matt, Brit, Mr. T and McBobber came from Bremerton; Erin, Chris, Cheeks and Bash drove up from Moscow and the local Shaws – Michael, Andi, Miss G, A and E-man all joined us for BBQ’d ribs and sides – and lots and lots of birthday cake. I thought we would celebrate all of our July birthdays so I made a yummy cake, my husband surprised me with a sheet cake for my birthday and Erin brought a cake.
Yaya and her “Littles”
Krieg, me, Erin, Matt & Mike
We watched the fireworks from the Plummer Shaw’s home on the hill. Waiting for dusk afforded everyone a chance to play and ride the 4-wheelers.
We were treated to a beautiful sunset once again.
On the 5th we gritted our teeth to check out the Riverfront Park in Spokane in the heat. We discovered the carousel, the walking paths, the Clocktower and the sculptures.
As families returned home, Mr. T stayed on – and the summer of Mr. T began. I was determined to use this as our chance to explore our new home.
We drove over to Heyburn State Park – a mere 4 miles from our front door, where we found a couple of trails to walk, as well as a nature trail leading out into the nature preserve.
Since we live in a small town with one restaurant and one fast food, when you are craving something else, you venture out. Not far from Heyburn is St. Maries. Our close proximity from the park led us to a small pizza restaurant.
Mr. T has always been a huge help around the house for us and this visit was no different. He helped us plant some shrubs and perennials; and other projects around the yard. In return, we cooled off one afternoon to watch the movie “The Incredibles 2”.
On the edge of town is a Veterans Memorial and the start of the Trail of the Coeur d’Alene. It’s a former Union Pacific Railroad which runs from Mullan, a small town near the border of Idaho/Montana to Plummer (we are very near the Washington/Idaho border). It’s a 73 mile trail through mountainous terrain, along the edge of Lake Coeur d’Alene, over the Chatcolet Bridge to Heyburn State Park and then across the Palouse prairie. When I read more I learned it takes up again in Washington, in the Spokane area.
Discovering the trail was so close, we purchased a Mr. T sized bicycle and helmet to make this part of our activities.
Mr. T, Papa and I headed out on this beautiful trail. Papa had some struggles left over from his hand surgery which forced him to cut the ride short, but Mr. T and I discovered we liked the ride to the lake and did it more than once. I should confess, it’s a 4% grade downhill from Plummer to the lake… and I basically coasted. It’s a gorgeous ride and what better way to cool down than the breeze in your face (close your mouth though) and the reward of a refreshing plunge in the lake on the end while we waited for Papa to come pick us up. Another confession… I never made the return trip UPHILL, but that’s on my “to do” list for the summer of 2019.
On one trip we decided we would go across the bridge and see where that led us. We rode along the lake front, up and over the bridge. Mr. T pointed out the osprey soaring out over the water. We followed it’s path to a huge nest right above us on the bridge.
Mr. T enjoyed a few days up on the hill with his cousins, exploring their property and riding the 4-wheelers. We celebrated Plummer Days by participating in the Fun Run and watching the parade with the cousins.
Four weeks is a long time for an 11 year old to be away from home. Mid visit his mom was returning from a trip to Boise so we drove to the Tri-cities area to meet up so he could go home for a few days. Mr. T spent a couple of days with family and close friends at home. He also needed to repack for a trip to Wisconsin. I was planning to go back for a visit and asked permission from his folks to take him with me.
Together we flew from Spokane to Midway. Not his first flight but the first one he’ll recall. We took the bus to Janesville, Wisconsin, arriving late and met by my folks, his great-grandparents, Denie and Granpas. We stayed with them for a few days before my sister drove up and took us with her to Culver, Indiana where we stayed for a long weekend.
Since I was back the week too early to attend our 40th class reunion. I was able to get together with some friends for a “Pre-reunion Reunion”. Honestly it was probably way more enjoyable than a bigger group. Tate also met my friend Shelly, who happens to be Mom to his Dad’s best friend Phil, when we lived in Evansville. She couldn’t believe how much he looked like his daddy.
Mr. T discovered Fireflies
or as we call them…
Lightening Bugs
My nieces and their friends treated Mr. T extremely well. We ran in the Bass Lake 5K, and went kayaking. We spent several hours out on the boat, Mr. T on the tube with the big kids. He loved the interaction with the older bunch.
Back in Chicago Auntie Di found a troll exhibit we hiked to explore with cousin Nicole and her charges.
Our summer of Mr. T was coming to an end with our flight back to the Inland Northwest. We once again had to say good-bye. Fortunately we have more memories to hold near and dear to our hearts. Our time with Mr. T never ceases to put a smile on our faces.
Do you ever wonder about signs? They aren’t all physical – large wood canvases standing high above the roads beckoning us to come, use their product, try what they offer, eat at their restaurant – sometimes they are inside our head, a quiet voice, an itch we can’t quite reach. Sometimes signs are feelings, invitations, reminders, reoccurring… dejavu.
The signs for us may have started a few years ago when we saw our family growing by two more grandchildren, sitting around the dining room table already full to capacity with eight adults and two grandsons. Grandsons played between us as we talked in the family room. Mike struggled with the stairs as his back and legs continued to give him problems. We knew the signs, telling us it might be time to make a change.
We found a perfect home in rural Ada County. A new build, in a growing small community. It felt perfect. We existed. We were comfortable, but out of town from our kids. Our backyard neighbor was a miserable old man who our grandsons called Mr. G(rumpy). I’m convinced he once thought he would never have any thing but a farmer’s field behind his home. He yelled at the dogs, complained about the grandkids playing and was a genuinely unhappy person, appropriately named by the kids. I spent most of my time away from home working and in class while I finished school.
We have a daughter and her family living in Moscow. We have a son and his family living in Plummer, south of Coeur d’Alene. Our oldest son was moving to Bremerton, WA with his family. We were down to one son and family in Boise. We were driving north often to visit both of our families and with every return south we heard, “you should move north”. My husband needed little encouragement. Who wouldn’t want to have access to 80 acres of his son’s property? We struggled because we now had a new granddaughter in the Boise area. But moving would put us six hours from Bremerton instead of nine. Then there was the fact that I didn’t graduate from Boise State University until May. Every visit. Every phone call. “Come north”. It just didn’t seem like a reasonable thing to do. There were new build homes going up in our neighborhood and several older ones on the market. And I still had classes… But we were not as happy as we had hoped we would be. I desperately missed spending time with our daughter. Our oldest grandson, whom we’d spent so much time with, was moving out of state. And I had classes… Northern Idaho was so different from the much populated capital city of Boise. The area reminded me of my home state Wisconsin with the rolling fields, the farms, the barns, the evergreen trees, the quiet. But I still had classes…
I’m not sure what changed. We kept saying “when it gets closer to graduation”. And then the neighbors house sold. We looked at each other and said “Lets see what a realtor says.” Needless to say on a Thursday, the realtor said “sure, here’s a price. I’ll take pictures and put up a sign.” Friday we left in the car, a ‘For Sale’ sign in the front yard, and headed to Plummer. We had been doing some searching on line and had appointments to meet a realtor in Plummer. I was not impressed. The first few homes I saw driving around were single wide trailers, many with blue tarps on the roofs. I broke down in tears and thought ‘What the heck have we done”?
We saw one split level ‘stick and brick’ home we had been hopeful to view. It backed up to a bike trail and had 2 acres. The home was being remodeled and not quite finished but the owner had informed the realtor of what would be finished and how. It wasn’t bad, but there were some serious cracks in the foundation which gave us pause. And we thought realistically, did we want 2 acres?
The next house was under construction, being built by a contractor, originally for himself. We could see it had good bones but it was small, less than 1,200 sq. ft. I told Mike we’d have to do some serious downsizing. It was on half an acre and gave us room for a shop or studio as well. The yard was all sod (we could see under the thin layer of snow). We had major questions for the contractor regarding how it would be finished.
Saturday morning we learned our home was to be shown and by noon we had a full price offer, with no contingencies. We accepted and the panic ensued. We were committed to moving… somewhere.
We decided to stay in the Plummer area. Prices were very reasonable. Coeur d’Alene is 35 miles away. St. Maries was 18 miles away but houses were more expensive. Moscow is 45 miles south and we know the cost of living was high there as well. And we definitely wanted to stay in Idaho… Plummer is only 8-10 miles from the Washington State line but the taxes and cost of living in Washington ruled out crossing the border to live.
Once home, we started figuring out what we wanted to do. All while packing up the house. We asked so many questions and drove back to Plummer to meet the contractor and hear his vision for the house. This time when we got home we made an offer for the new build. We liked what we heard and felt like the contractor was a decent guy and we looked forward to working with him.
Since we had the floor plan and measurements we could back up our home in Star knowing what we were taking and what we had to sell… alot! And we did. The rest was moved into storage. Mike and I moved into our motorhome, Thor, and the first weekend of December we were officially residents at the Meridian KOA, space #66. But not without some drama.
Our last night in Star, parked at the side of the house, we cleaned our way out of the house and showered one last time. Mike came out with the last pile of things and was locked out. I couldn’t get the door open. We had to dig out the ladder for the loft, and use it at the emergency window for Mike to climb/me to pull Mike into Thor. He proceeded to dismantle the lock so we could come and go.
The first weekend, Mike spend winterizing Thor. We had to add insulated skirting around the bottom (or a kilt for Thor), and wrap heat tape and insulation on the water hose and sanitation hose. We discovered the regulator on the propane wasn’t working and got it fixed. He also replaced the door lock so that we could remove the dog leash currently holding it closed for travel. (We are soooo classy!)
We were officially full-timing in Thor… in December… for the next six months… until graduation. We quickly learned where to add the additional small ceramic space heaters and how beneficial a small dehumidifier is for keeping mold at bay. I set up a work space for homework. We had a new routine in less than 300 square feet.
Mike was able to close on our home in Plummer and move in the end of February. We took turns driving back and forth for weekends, depending on what my school schedule permitted.
We truly felt like it was all meant to be. Things just fell into place so smoothly. I have to admit, it’s so peaceful. We feel like this was what we were looking for when we moved from Boise to Star. A home big enough for us and room for our kids when they come to visit; being available to our grandkids; just enough property around the house to give us space and room to play; access to the airport in Spokane just 45 miles away; and a small, quiet neighborhood with very friendly people.
Sadly I didn’t take many pictures through gift opening or our delicious meal. We all gathered in the living room to watch Polar Express together, huddled in our blankets piled on the floor.
I spent a week in the Chicago suburbs hanging out with my sister for her birthday. Her husband went out of town for the weekend. We drove to Indianapolis for my youngest niece’s swim meet with University of Missouri. We met up with my middle niece for lunch. The oldest niece lives at home and is doing an excelerated nursing course at Loyola. Her and her cute boyfriend hung out several nights. My oldest nephew was suppose to travel for work so he managed to swing through town to see his mom (and Godmom) and the youngest nephew works in downtown Chicago and commutes home for a hot meal and choir practice at church. I loved just having the opportunity to hang out with my sister. Even got to spend a couple days with my folks.
Empty Nest Full Hearts 