A New Life....

So those who are close to me know that I have struggled with weight issues a VERY long time.  Heavy!  Not so heavy!  Heavy!  Not so heavy!  I had a hysterectomy and turned 30 the same year and that's all she wrote! 

So it's been a decade of struggle.  10 years of not liking what I see in the mirror.  The thing is I have no vision per se of what anyone "should" look like.  I'm not one to think super skinny is always best.  It looks great on some people but not on others.  So I'm not wanting to look like a rock star, or a runway model, or even a catalogue clothing model.  I just want to FEEL good.  I want to feel healthy.  I want to have energy.  I want to have a much much better self image. 

So I went to the doctor. 

Bleck. 

I need to lose A LOT of weight.  Maybe once I accomplish it I will actually share the poundage but pure embarrassment keeps me from doing so just yet. 

Balanced Diet and Exercise is the way to go.  Duh!  I know I need to make better choices.  I know I need to partake less of the adult beverage I so enjoy during the Friday happy hour.  Basically, I've realized that I chose for the past 10 years to be unhealthy.  Sure there were times when I lost almost all that I needed to lose.  But it never stuck.  Never did I say:  "Okay, I worked this hard to drop it so I'm going to continue living this lifestyle."  Of course there were fad diets of protein, no carbs, grapefruit only and cabbage soup.  Those never last because once you stop you stop and the weight comes back. 

It's an actual lifestyle change.  I chose every bite I put into my mouth.  I chose to live in an unhealthy way. 

So now I choose differently. 

My doctor will hold me accountable.  My husband will support me.  My daughter gives me high-fives.  This is it. 

WHY you ask?  Because FREAKING 40 is staring me in the face.  May 14, 2012 I will turn 40.  I don't want to enter that decade of my life without finding a balance.  I want to feel good about myself.  I want to know I can achieve all things. 

Really - I don't want to be 40 at all.  But if I have to - then I might as well do it right. 

So here's to the next 8 months - being healthier - and gaining a new perspective on what the next ten years can be! 

Being a Mom....

I started writing today in one direction and it turned into something entirely different.  I guess I was trying too hard when I should have just let my fingers do the talking :) 

Every day on my way home from work I call my mother.  It's my time to see what's going on with her, and just give her attention so she knows she's important to me.  I hope my children will likewise stay in touch. 

More and more has my mother been complaining about her mother, Lucy.  My Gran is 86 years old, soon to be 87.  Imagine in the 30's and 40's a dark haired slight of a girl who was not just beautiful but STUNNING!  I have her graduation picture hanging in my home.  Now imagine a red cross worker, who married a sailor, and upon leaving the military this young couple settled in Northern Kentucky and the sailor answers the call to be a baptist minister. 

A couple years pass while in bible college, and this sweet, handsome couple find that they are unable to bear children.  They are distraught.  They find out what to do in regards of foster care because they want to share their love so much!  Inadvertently, the young couple learn about adoption and become convinced that they are to adopt.  Over the next 12 years as the young pastor begins his ministry they adopt four children, all from very difficult backgrounds.  They love these children, raise them as their very own, and give them a wonderful family and life. 

Fast forward.  The minister goes to be with his maker at the age of 79.  He was my mentor and one of my best friends.  My Gran was also a truly wonderful influence.  Every time he called me or I called him he would say:  Hello Miss America!  If it was Gran she would say:  Well it's the sunshine of my life - how are you honey"  I never doubted their love for me.  Never will. 

But lets face it.  Age changes you.  It doesn't matter if your 10, 40, 65 or 90.  Age has changed you.  My grandmother is easily agitated these days.  She doesn't always make sense or remember things.  She speaks about things with authority when she has no clue.  Sometimes she behaves as though she favors one child over another - obviously not her usual behavior.  Only randomly does she remember that I am the sunshine of her life.  It's painful sometimes to see this different Gran.  But it is age.  It is not her.  It is age. 

And here we are at the present.  The phone calls to my mother.  My mother can no longer "tolerate" my gran.  She's become too much for her.  My daily phone calls have become her venting sessions.  I want to say:  Would you stop!  Your mother gave her life for you even though you were born of another.  She saved you!  She handmade every birthday cake and party dress.  She made every single holiday so special.  She supported you through childbirth, marriage, divorce, remarriage.  She's done everything for you.  But now "age" has made her unloveable?  I'm ashamed.  I'm ashamed of my mother and her complaining.  I think to myself, I will not be who you are.  And then I feel ashamed about me.  Who wants to think like that about their mother?  So I said to myself, it's not that I don't want to be who she is - I just want to be better than she is.  I want to do better than she's done.  And I certainly want to take better care of her when it's time to than what she is giving my gran. 

This past mother's day, instead of waiting to receive the usual cards and gifts from my children I decided to stay up late the night before and send each of them an email.  I took careful time to make each of them individual and not just repeat thoughts.  I spent time really thinking about what it was that made each of them so special.  I wrote to them about how they honored their parents so greatly by being BETTER.  I wrote to them about the ways in which they astounded me.  I wrote to them about their strengths and how proud I was of them for overcoming any weaknesses.  I let them know in the plainest terms I could that I was truly amazed and thankful to be part of their life.  Then I hit send.  I knew they wouldn't receive it until Mother's Day was upon us, which was perfect.  The effect was amazing.  I had such joy because I knew that my children couldn't doubt how much they were loved.  I had given myself the perfect Mother's Day Gift.  And the sharing of love and time later that day after they had received their emails was incredibly rewarding. 

I also wrote to my mother.  It was, afterall, Mother's Day.   I thanked her for all she had done for me.  I thanked her for supporting me during the times I was not easy to support.  I thanked her for providing a home, an education and all that's inbetween.  I told her how much I loved her.  I told her that it is a circle and she should never doubt that I would always be there for her. 

I will continue to focus on my mother.  She is almost 60 now.  Not at death's door by any means.  But she is a bit frail and not in the best of health.   If she were gone tomorrow would I have regrets?  No.  I'm there for her.  Every day at 5:15 we talk.  She waits for my call and I do not forget her.  I will not complain about her.  I will not be irritated by her.  I will take care of her when the time comes.  I will support her when she needs me.  I will love her regardless of any imperfection. 

Though I don't always agree with her, she is my mother.  And I know how much I desire my children to love the imperfect mother they were given. 

So I guess, Reader, this blog has once again become an outlet that I was able to vent frustration but in writing, realize the true lesson. 

I love my mother.  With all of her strengths, imperfections and weaknesses, I love her.   I believe today at 5:15 I will share with her how it hurts me to hear her talk about Gran that way.  I will share with her that I hope we never exchange those feelings.  I will tell her I hope my children never feel that way about me.  I will tell her in a gentle way, that Gran is still Gran and after giving us her best for a lifetime, we should be giving our best to her. 

Survivor

Dear Readers: 

I find myself writing again because this blog is such an easy way to vent all my frustrations and then tuck them away.  It’s an awkward subject, this one.  It’s easier to type anonymously than trying to share it in depth to friends or family.  You know that infomercial that’s about the rotisserie and time after time during the spot they repeat the tag line:  Fix It and Forget IT!!!  Well, that’s what this blog is to me.  Type about it – vent all you want – the forget about it and move on.  Thanks for reading my random rants!!!

Some of you, but not all, know my past history.  For those of you who don’t – I’m sorry to dump this on you like this but it has to be explained before you will understand why I need to vent.  My first marriage turned into 12 years of domestic violence in the worse way.  I was very young when I married and it was exactly 30 days before our first year anniversary when he pinned me to the floor on my stomach, knelt on my back, and pummeled the hell out of me for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only 3 or 4 minutes.  I could barely move for a few days.  I remember during the beating that my mind just couldn’t comprehend what was happened so I was literally thinking the entire time that our carpet was still like new because I had carpet fuzz in my mouth.  When it was over, of course there was much wailing from the man who would become my torturer for the next 11 years.  He wailed about how he couldn’t believe he did it.  He wailed about how much he loved me.  He wailed as he asked my forgiveness.  My mind shut down, I stared, I nodded, and I think some part of me knew that it would never end but I made a decision that I would give him another chance as over 98% of all women who get hit will do.  It took me 11 ½ years longer before I would find the courage to seek help with the women’s crisis center.  Through this time I became a master at the art of hiding bruises – making up to my son and daughter the fear they would feel when mom would “get in trouble”.  I lied and then lied to cover lies to so many people.  In fact, I had learned to hide and lie so well that when the truth finally came out it took another 8 years for my mother to finally witness my ex-husband admit that he had hit me in front of a judge and FINALLY believe what I had been through.  The story of my marriage is in and of itself a book, which I am very slowly working on.  It’s a pain that runs so deep I can only confront small pieces of it at a time which means my book will be years in the making. 

And now to the reason I want to blog today.  I’ve known about certain physical damage to my body from those years of beating.  For instance, I have permanent Eustachian tube Dysfunction in my ears because my ex would come up behind me and slam both hands over my ears to scare and hurt me.  It would result in busted ear drums and bleeding.   After so much of that, I began to feel pain any time I would go under water.  It was years later that I learned from my doctor what the extent of the damage was.  To this day I cannot go under water when I swim without pain and there are certain soft tones that I have trouble hearing.  The list goes on and on and each time I find something I deal with it. 

Yesterday the list got longer.  Early spring I decided to get healthier and began walking.  About two weeks into it, I began experiencing lower back pain.  Suddenly, a few nights later I had severe hip pain that worked itself away a few hours later.  Then I found I was waking up at night due to a throbbing sciatic nerve.  I finally made the decision to go to the chiropractor.  I go and he’s such a terrific doc!  He does x-rays, makes a few adjustments, tells me he’ll get me fixed up in a couple of weeks.  I go back a few days later to review the x-rays with him.  He is astonished at what he finds and I am immediately sickened by it.  First, I have spondylolisthesis.  It’s only grade one so it “should” be treatable.  You can be born with it, or it comes from acute injury.  I’ve been to a chiro in my teenage years and know that I was not born with it.  In my head I click off a “thank you” to my ex for the gift that keeps on giving but I say nothing to the doc.  But that’s the easy part.  The second x-ray gets put on the lighted board and my stomach turns and I literally say Oh My God out loud.  The doctor confirms I’m really seeing what’s there as he begins to explain it.  My hips are not only crooked by THREE inches, but they have been twisted inside my body.  He explains that he was glad I wore jeans that day and he had me keep them on.  Although my pants had been zipped and buttoned right at my belly-button like everyone else, the x-ray shows my zipper was laying almost on my right hip.  The doctor again says he was astounded.  He explains that before he can begin to treat me properly he needs to take more x-rays.  He needs to make sure there are no fractures involved because that will affect my treatment.  We sit down at his desk and he asks me if I know what caused this. 

BAM!  Here comes the wave of humiliation.  Here comes the guilt and the anger and the pain and fear of all that happened those years ago.  I tell him.  I see that he is deeply affected.  He sees that I am close to a breakdown.  We take more x-rays.  He explains that we must wait for them to come back, could I make another appointment for later this week.  I do, he gives me a pain medicine that is topical because I am allergic to anti-inflammatories.  I leave and make it to my car before the tears flow.  I call Brian; my husband, my rock, my calm in the middle of every fucking tornado, the only one who knows how to get me back to reality before I get to far out there.  I’m sobbing.  He begins to cry.  We cry together on the phone for 4 or 5 minutes and then I take a deep breath.  He tells me how much he loves me and asks that I hang up so I can drive home.  I do.  I drive home.  My mother calls to check on the chiro appt.  I lose it again.  Brian opens a bottle of wine and we sit on the deck for the next four hours talking it through.  He listens.  I re-live every emotion and painful memory that has been stirred up again. 

We get ready for bed and he kisses me goodnight.  All he says is “we” will beat this too.  I woke up this morning grateful.  Grateful for my new husband of almost 9 years.  Thankful that even though I feel I waited too long, I still got up one morning and dialed the women’s crisis center and got help.  I looked in the mirror and said – yep – we’ll make it through……and prove one more time to that piece of scum that I am a survivor.  As much as he may have tried to beat me down – I am a survivor.  I am the winner and he is the loser.  He will stand some day before God and justice will be served.  He did not take my life, nor my family.  My children have grown into healthy and happy young adults and we made it despite his efforts to destroy us.  We are the winners. 

C'est la vie Mother Fucker!

Part II

So it happened.  I met her.  All of the alarms and doink doinks in my head were multiplied by three when she actually came in.  Seriously, Readers – I am much more sarcastic in my head than I am able to verbally express and the thoughts that passed through my mind throughout the night were not so appropriate for a first-time guest.  First, let me help you visualize:  Medium length frizzy hair that is very dark at the ends then turns to medium brown somewhere in the middle, finally ending as blond at her roots.  An interesting choice of hair colors at best.   Deep dark purple eye shadow from the tips of her lids applied heavily and evenly all the way up to her eyebrows.  You know how you might get a funny word stuck in your head throughout a day?  Mine was grapes.  All night long every time I looked at her and those damn purple covered eyelids I would think…grapes.  By the end of the night it was grapey skank but that’s neither here nor there.  It was nice that she was careful enough to make sure she applied her eyeliner in three coats so it would be just perfectly caked but yet amazingly even and un-smudged.  Better yet, was the mascara clumping those eyelashes until I thought she surely must have intended to look like she literally had short daggers protruding from her eyelids.  Whatever – she doesn’t scare me.  The shining trophy was the eyebrow ring.  I mean, really?  She’s CLASSY!!

But I tried.  Clearly, I knew this was going nowhere good.  Still I tried. 

I began asking simple questions.  Ones like, do you live with your parents?  Answer:  Well, I live with my mom but I’ve never met my father so I had a step-father but they divorced when I was nine and now I’m getting a new step-dad.   My head:  this is going to be a long night. 

Question:  So you’re 17, right?  Answer:  Well, not yet.  I’ll be 17 in July.  I’m just 16 now.  My head:  OMG I better check the fucking statutory rape laws!  (yes, he’s safe)

Question:  And how old is your baby?  Answer:  She’s almost one, yeah, almost.  My head:  So you were pregnant at 15 fucking years old.  Sweet!

Question:  Do you have any siblings?  Answer:  (smiling) Yeah, I’m one of 14 kids but I’m my mom’s only child.  The rest of thems my two dads’ kids.   My head:  I need smelling salts quick.

Question:  (to both my son and her)  So we’re not making any new babies are we?  Answer from my son:  Mommmmmm.  Answer from Her:  Oh no – I got on the pill.  My head:  Better hug her ass now, son, ‘cause she just saved your fucking dick from being cut off!

So the conversation went for most of the night as I drank too much alcohol and then they finally left.  I cried.  My husband comforted.  He actually said he was “proud” of me for handling it as well as I did.  Ha!

I have created a calendar for my desk at work as my good friend Hazel assured me today that it would be over in a month and my son would come to his senses.  A month is clearly too long but still there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.  Better yet, after creating my one month calendar I realized that it ends on my birthday.  Sing along with me readers…..Happy Birthday to me…….

Tomorrow will be a better day. 

The New Girlfriend...

Dear Readers:  I have missed you.  BUT – I am getting back on track and of course that means back to incessant writing about nothing.  If you’re entertained – that’s terrific.  If you are not – call my children because they are usually not entertained either.  What is the topic of this blog?  Girlfriends.  I laughed because the last time I blogged I had to write about Kennedy’s first crush.  That is over and done with and she’s now moved past number two and is with number three now.  Long stories that I’m sure you will be filled in on soon, but for now I have to discuss my idiot of a son who is bringing me much pain.  Yes I said Idiot.  Parents out there will know that you can refer to your children as heathen, idiots, the spawn of satan and many more names and still love them.  I love him in a ridiculous way – but….that doesn’t mean he is not making me want to scream at the top of my lungs like I’m at the top of the highest hill of the highest roller coaster and I’m crapping my pants because I do not like roller coasters anyway.  That’s how I feel about the new girlfriend.  If you’re new to my blog let me catch you up.  My husband and I have five kids total; four boys and one girl.  Technically they’re split between us but we do not use words such as “step” or “half” in our house.  We are one family.  The oldest four are all boys and the youngest is of course the only girl.  They range in age from 15 through 29.  We are also grandparents thanks to our oldest who is married with two of his own. 

Now back to the story.  Through the years we have been through some pretty interesting rides with our boys and their choices of dating material.  We loved a few and hated a lot but I think this time we are facing the ultimate challenge.  Wouldn’t it be great if we took our sons to the Girlfriend Closet and hand-picked everyone they dated until it was time for marriage?  Sounds a little “Brave New World” I know, but come on – this one’s a prime candidate for Skank of the Year and I haven’t met her yet!!!!  First let me say that I’m meeting her tonight – which is why this is overwhelmingly on my mind.  Secondly, in our family education is VERY important.  There is no choice.  You will go to college.  If you go and drop out, we will hound you and harass you until you get back in and finish.  No child of our will be left with the inability to support themselves and their future family.  It’s how we roll.  Imagine this if you will:  One of my twenty-something, incredibly smart, handsome young sons calls me and informs me that he’s dating a young lady and he would like for us to meet her!  Hooray!  It’s always great when they bring the girlfriends home because that is yet another sign that we have moved beyond total loathing and are somewhat acceptable in their lives as adults J  Therefore I’m excited.  I ask all the appropriate questions, but don’t go too far because that would be considered “prying” and thus shuts the door of communication for at least a month but we’ve experienced almost 8 weeks before.  They can be brutal.  So I’m delicately asking all the right questions and I get to:  So, what does she do?  Expecting to hear something fantastical, I instead get dead silence.  Hmm.  “Did you hear me honey?” I say.  He says, “Well – nothing right now except take care of her child.”  GOOD GRIEF – the alarms sound off right along with the Law and Order SVU doink doink that I’ve written about before.  But it’s still okay.  See – we’ve been through the “dating a baby-mamma” before and we survived.  We’re soldiers.  We march through anything!!!  So I took a breath and said,  “Oh really?  Does she have plans?”  Hold onto your hats readers because the wind that you’re about to suck in after I tell you his answer will clearly knock you off the seat you’re sitting on.  His reply:  Yeah, she has plans mom.  She’s going to back to school in August and will finish and go from there.   (Did you say big deal?  Just wait!)  I say: Oh great!  What is she studying?  He says:  Oh just general education.  Once she gets her diploma then she’ll think about college. 

Echo.  That’s all I heard.  An echo of the word diploma.  It echoed.,…and echoed.  Then I screamed.  Relax – just inside my head. 

Hmm.  “Uh, Hun?  How old is she?” 

“Oh, she’s 17.”

Echo.  Screaming.  Doink doink.  I look at my wrists.  Does it hurt to cut?

“Mom?  Mom?” 

“Oh yeah – so she’s 17, and not in high school, but has a baby?  Tell me more!”

I tried readers, seriously – but there was no way my voice was going to hide the absolutely 100% disappointment I felt at that moment.  If any of you fit the description of his new girlfriend please do not take offense.  When you’re a parent you understand that people can live hard lives and still come out on top.  I am one of those people.  However – it’s just not what you want for your child. 

So immediately I went into Mom Mode.  I asked if they would like to come to dinner so that I could meet her and her baby.  He lightened up immediately and said:  Sure that would be great.  And so that brings us to the present.  Tonight is the night.  Tonight is the night I will sit across from the 17 year old high school drop out baby mamma that is trying to actually step in on my son and his perfectly good life.  She will sit across from me and she will know.  She will know that I will be watching her.  They all do.  It’s happened many, many times before. 

Obviously this is a two-part post.  God help me tonight.  I will try to behave.  If I am unable, my shins will be bruised from under-the-table kicking, and somewhere my son end up comforting a 17 year old high school drop out baby mamma because his mother was a brutal bitch. 

Lord Have Mercy On ME!!!

The Crush....

For those of you with grown children do you remember what it was like when they had their first crush?  Of course I've been involved with many crushes when it comes to boys liking girls as my husband and I have four of them.  However, our youngest, my baby, is our only girl and now that she is in high school has discovered the opposite sex.  No longer are they nasty and stinky.  Nope - now suddenly she says to me:  It's weird but I really like hanging out with guys better than girls.  I don't know why but I just have a lot more friends that are guys than are girls.  Suddenly I have alarms going off in my head.  They sound like police sirens strangely mixed with the doink doink sound of Law & Order.  Instinctively I say to myself:  "just keep a closer eye on her - it's fine." 
Then comes the call - from her bedroom.  "MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM" yells Kennedy.  "CAN YOU COME TO MY ROOM?"  For those of you with younger children please note right this minute that an invitation into the bedroom by your teenager is something that you must never turn down.  It's the moment in time where for some reason their disgust for you has become tolerant enough that they believe they want to actually have conversation with you.  I run.  I do not hesitate.  I need not think of why.  I don't care.  I have been invited.  I run up the stairs as fast as I can and into the bedroom across the balcony - of course it's the farthest one from me :)  She's sitting on her bed and I ask calmly (like it's no big deal) "What's up cutie?"  she says kind of shyly, "Well, I guess I should tell you.  You know that thing you said I should always let you know about?"  I'm searching my mind like an un-folded load of laundry that has swallowed your one matching black sock.  Outwardly I stay calm.  "Oh yeah?  What's that?"  Kennedy is smiling sheepishly and I'm seriously beginning to wonder if she's reached a new stage of dork when she lets it drop.  "I'm GOING with a guy" 
Readers - at this point you need to know that my parenting style is one of always always ALWAYS keeping an open line of communication.  It's pretty simple.  If you talk to your children they will talk to you.  If you treat them with respect they will in return respect you.  If you show them your love often, they will eventually treat you with love in return......after the "my parents are retarded" stage is finally over.  That being said - when I hear these words I draw a blank.  I'm seeing snow in my head - I have no words to say - I got nothing.  Tick tock goes the clock.  Kennedy is staring at me and I am wondering why I'm staring at her in return because I am 100% completely blank.  She brings me back.  "Did you hear me?"  I smile and shake my head.  I find my voice.  "Really? Who is it?"
I sit down on her bed and she lets me.  Wow.  This is serious.  From this point on she tells me about the boy.  How dreamy he is - how nice he is and the information comes to me in fragments as I'm only able to wonder what "DAD's" reaction is going to be.  This is another story, Reader, but it will be interesting.  As for now I am only reveling in this moment and in the fact that my daughter has chosen to deem me worthy of conversation.  We chat.  She smiles.  I smile.  I'm very open and frank about reminding her that even though she is in high school, the fact still remains that she is 14.  The age 14 still means: no dating, no "I love you" notes, no hanging on eachother.  None of it.  Of course she says she knows and wouldn't do that anyway.  My inner "me" is laughing her ass off because I know she will at some point.  Hopefully not yet.  Hopefully not for quite a while.  But I know this is where one of the hard parts of parenting comes in.  The part where you have to care - A LOT - because now you're going to be at ALL functions and hanging out with a large group of teenagers until after graduation because that's what it takes to be involved and aware of what's actually going on. 
Football game comes and I meet him.  He's in the marching Band with Kennedy.  I say "Hello" and quickly inform him of the ground rules for hanging around my daughter (I cannot bring myself to say boyfriend/girlfriend yet).  He says yes, ma'am to me multiple times.  He is cute as she says.  Polite as she says.  Manners, talent and a brain.  Okay - I get it.  However, that night at home I remind her that it's more important than ever to stay grounded and realize that all of the teenagers running around saying I LOVE YOU to every boy they date, hanging on eachother, and getting serious when they haven't even figured out what their life is about yet is a very dangerous thing to do and that I would not tolerate this behavior.  She agrees.  WHAT?????  Yes.  She agreed with me and reminded me that I had raised a very level-headed daughter. 
TIME WILL TELL.  I am watching like a hawk.  My house will not be clean for another four years because now it is yet again the "hangout" place for teenagers.  I'm okay with that.  It's the price of being a parent - a good one anyway. 

TO BE CONTINUED........

THE BLACK DRESS

Shopping for what is, in essence, a costume with a teenager is probably listed as one of the top ten reasons you get a migraine.  My adorable, beautiful, stunning, angelic princess Kennedy (stop laughing) is in the choir.  She is a stickler for following “choir” rules which leads me to think that I should name our house “CHOIR” in order to get her to follow my rules at home.  Anyway, to sing in the women’s choir at school you must be adorned in a long sleeve floor length black gown or shirt/skirt combination.  SERIOUSLY?  Where in the world do you find a fashion piece such as that, which is also appropriate for someone under 90 years old?????  I panicked the minute I found out her needs and proceeded to put the shopping trip for this “costume” off until the last minute.  I mean – come on – do you think I seriously WANT to visit hell?  No.  Finally, we’re just 2 days before her first choir concert and she is in serious panic mode about her dress.  Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to put it off so long after all because now I get to shop for this horrid outfit with a teenager who is in the middle of a panic attack while have that monthly visit from Aunt Flo.  Open Hell – Welcome Renae.  We go to the Mall and begin our search.  First Macy’s.  There is a relatively decent gown in their formal department that I secretly believe was made for an 80 year old woman’s last New Year’s Bash but I hold my tongue and look for Kennedy’s response.  I don’t get one.  This is because while I’ve taken the time to actually look at the dress she came, she saw, she immediately walked away.  I dare to say: Kennedy – did you see this one?  She flips her head around – I get the “glare of death” and she continues to walk away.  Simply put – I’m a dumb ass for even asking.  Reader, if you’re unfamiliar with the dumb ass reference, please refer to a previous blog where I explain this in more detail.  Back to the story.  I let go of the dress and follow my daughter who appears to be promptly leaving Macy’s.  They have nothing that would approach tolerance level with her.  We move on.  Next is Forever 21 because apparently she shops their web site and saw a dress.  However, we quickly find out they do not keep that particular gown in the stores as it doesn’t really sell that well.  Go figure.  We leave and I try to cheer up my beloved monster.  “No worries!” I say.  “We’ll find something.”  Kennedy immediately responds, “Mom – please – just – don’t”  She says all of this in broken sentence form without so much as a glance in my direction.  So much for cheering up.  I walk ahead a little bit and begin to guide us to JC Penny’s.  As we get closer I believe my brilliant daughter begins to realize this and says:  “Uh – Mom – stop – where ARE you going?”  I smile and cheerfully say:  JC Penny’s of course!  They always have lots of formal wear.  She stops.  So suddenly the person behind her almost collides with her almost causing an avalanche of mall rats.  She is staring at me like I have horns.  “What?” I innocently say?  Kennedy scowls and informs me viciously, although very quietly, “you are not making me go in that store.”  Another smile from me as I happily reply: “Oh, but yes I am doll – because this is probably the only place that’s going to have what we need.”  I don’t wait for a reply this time.  I might be a dumbass to a 14 year old but certainly not when it comes to mothering.  I head on to the store not daring to glance back and see if she is following.  That would give her reason to believe she has control.  Not anymore.  This bitchy momma has taken the reins and I’m getting this done whether she’s on board or not!!!  Off to JC Penny’s I go heading straight for the formal section.  I arrive and begin looking.  I don’t even look for Kennedy – although I believe she is there because I hear a sniff and some long nasty sighs (yes sighs can be nasty) behind me.  I see something.  It’s a floor-length gown, not too bad, but we’ll have to buy a long-sleeve shoulder jacket to go with it – who cares.  I grab the dress and the first one is Kennedy’s size.  It’s a sign.  I turn around – and yes, she’s there.  She looks at the dress and about knocks me over with her reply:  It’s not so bad.  I go with it.  “Take this and go try it on.  I’ll find some long-sleeve jackets to go with it and see if we can get out of this place!  I grab 5 different jackets and run to the dressing room.  The dress fits perfectly, except for the fact that it shows cleavage which is not allowed.  NO PROBLEM!!!!  I will sew a peace of material in that tear drop and we’re good.  She goes through the jackets and we agree on an acceptable one.  WHEW!!!!  We’re done and it only took an hour – I AM NOT KIDDING!!  We buy our purchase and Kennedy actually spies a coat she likes – SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!!!!!!!!  I get the dress without a nightmarish fight, and actually get to avoid the winter coat war too?  We’re on!!!!!!!!!!  “Throw the coat on the pile!”  I say.  WHAT’S THAT I SEE???  Kennedy is smiling!!!!  OMG – I’m not in Hell – I’m in Heaven.  THANK YOU GOD!!!!