The Waiting Game

*I apologize for my lack of posting lately.  As you all know, this is an incredibly busy time of year.  I  promise I will try to do better.*
"When do you expect to be matched?"  "When should your fingerprints come back?" "When should you travel to pick up the baby?"  I have become accustomed to hearing the barrage of questions that come as soon as we tell someone we are adopting, because these are normal.  These are things friends and family are curious about.  Unfortunately, these are things that I don't know the answers to.
Adoption comes with a great deal of unpredictability and waiting.  It forces you to be flexible and patient in the face of a great deal of stress and busyness.   There are countless questionnaires to be filled out, official documents to gather, fingerprints to be done and sent, and references to contact.  There are meetings to attend, required readings to complete, and home safety recommendations (that aren't recommendations).  Prospective adoptive parents must go through this marathon of sorts just to wait and see if you will even be approved by your agency.
Why do we do this?  Why do we endure?  We stand strong because there is a child out there God has selected for us.  There is a child out there waiting for us.  We will do what needs to be done to make sure we get that child.  We will wait as long as it takes to find that child.
So... for now, we have completed our first homestudy meeting (of 3), turned in all of our documents/paperwork, and sent off our fingerprints. For now... we wait.

Trick or Pete

One of the things I loved about Frisco ISD was the immersion in children's literature my children received on a daily basis.  Whether in the classroom or in the music room, they were constantly being read great children's books. 
One of the books my kids fell in love with was Pete the Cat.  The books do not convey a profound life lesson, but they are cute, catchy, and colorful.  We have had to purchase every book containing Pete (there are just 3-4 of them), so imagine my children's excitement when they heard that Eric Litwin was coming here... to Colorado.
I rushed to buy tickets in August, and we have been marking our calendar daily to count down to the big event. Finally, on Thursday night, it happened.  There was a spooky forest, trick-or-treating, Pete himself, AND Eric Litwin signing books.  After patiently waiting in line, the kids were able to meet Mr. Eric. Not only did he sign their books, but he was SO nice, asking each child (even the smallest) a few questions.  It was a night to remember.

Life is a Journey

If anyone told me this time last year that I would be typing this from our basement in Colorado, I would have laughed in his/her face.  Life has a funny way of throwing you the unexpected, and while it's been quite an adjustment for our family, I believe we are coming out on top.

We have gone from swimming pools to hiking trails, upstairs playrooms to finished basements, public school to home school, and crazy time to family time.  Some of the differences are small but some are outrageously big.  Almost all of them, however, have been good.  More changes are still to come for the Gregory's, and for that we are all excited.  To stay connected with our journey just check back here periodically.  Thanks to everyone for your help and support!

To retain or not to retain

*Apologies for not posting in over a month.  We have been super busy around here!

Dictionary.com states the definition of retain is to hold in place or position, but I had to search for that one.  The other definitions I found used the example of holding a prisoner in custody... which made me cringe.  Then there are the countless articles on the devastating results of retention, essentially insinuating that a child who is retained will actually become a menace to society and, in fact, the prisoner from the other definitions.  Why the search for this word and this topic?
Evander and I had a large decision weighing on our hearts and minds about our oldest.  About mid-year through first grade, we noticed that he wasn't progressing.  After attempting various strategies and plans, I met with the teacher to ask about retention.  Being the teacher she is, I got the typical teacher answer (which I myself have given).  That answer holds statistics of drop outs, bullying, and the final zinger "How do you know that things will change if he repeats the same grade?"
After praying and pondering that question with my teacher hat on, and then my parent hat on, I was stuck.  I was stuck until I began to listen to Bubba as the start of school was looming over his head.  I overheard comments like:
"I'm nervous."
"I wish I could stay in first grade."
"I'm scared I'm not going to do good in second grade."
"I'm very worried I won't make good grades."
The remarks went on and no amount of reassurance from me or dad changed his feelings.  That is when Evander and I revisited the topic, and here is our conclusion.
Do we know that things will change?  Absolutely not.  Do we know that he will gain all of the knowledge he needs for 2nd grade the second time around?  Absolutely not.  Do we know our child better than a teacher?  You better freaking believe it!!! 
With that in mind, we will be retaining Bubba this year.  He is struggling, and he even recognizes it.  We also recognize that this is our once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and we want to take it.  I don't want to see him fail second grade and then be forced to repeat when all his classmates are aware of grades and what "failing" actually means.  He is also better socially with younger children. 
We told Bubba last night that he would be staying in first grade and he was elated!  He could not have been happier to hear he was staying, and his attitude toward school has immediately changed.  He is now wondering who his classmates will be and if he will get to see Baby at recess.  His reaction further solidified our decision.
Parents know their children better than anyone else on this Earth, and don't second guess that.  Go with your gut and do what you feel is best for your child. 

The Lake

The gentle breeze mixes the smells of newly fallen pine straw and fresh fish as it blows across the otherwise still water.  The faint sounds of crickets chirping and frogs croaking seem to provide the perfect background music for the evening as the sun begins to disappear behind the trees in the distance.  Just as the sun slips out of sight, the ever-so-slight buzzing of a mosquito can be heard, but it isn't enough to make me retreat.
I'm not sure that I can pinpoint one particular thing that I love about the lake, because I have so many.  I love the way that no one worries about the bugs but just accepts them as part of the territory.  I love the way that everyone stops at the pier to say hello as if it were the corner store or waves in the distance like we are long lost family members, and I love that those people haven't showered in days... just like me.  I love that there is no pretense, no expectation.  I love that my children love it just as much as I do.
I have never been happier than to see them spending the week just being kids.  They tubed, fished, knee boarded, and swam.  They learned to ski, which I am so proud of them for.  (Water skiing is another love of mine.)  They collected bugs, snails, pine cones, moss, and all sorts of crazy things.  There was rarely a moment during the week that they begged for tv, iphones, or dvds, even during the rainy days.  They watched fireworks, rode the boat in the rain, and played in the mud. 
I am so thankful to have had this little slice of heaven my entire life, and I am thankful that my children share my feelings and my experiences.  The sun rises on another day at the glassy lake as I take in the gentle breeze full of the smells of fresh fish and newly fallen pine straw.

How I Do It...

"Oh my... ALL of these are yours?" asked the strange woman at the park.  "Well... I don't know how you do it!  I only have one and I can barely keep up!"  This is an all to common reaction to our family of four young children.  I'm not sure that it is the number of children or the disbelief of the closeness of their ages that gets people, but I always give a half-smile and say "I guess we are just crazy!" which is what everyone wants you to admit anyway.
My admittance of crazy allows some to breath a sigh of relief and others can relax their unconsciously tense muscles.  The truth is, though, that I don't think we are crazy at all... they are.  So many parents in our society have taken to the comparison game in order to feel as if they are competent parents.  With the addition of social media sites, it has skyrocketed to a whole new level.
Mothers today believe if they don't feed their children GMO-free, 100% organic, home cooked meals in the shapes of farm animals at every meal, they must be a failure.  If they don't have a Pinterest-inspired birthday party with matching take home arts and crafts, their child will go on to live a life of crime.  If every single activity is not finished off with a "participation" trophy their children will become outcasts of society, opting to wear a trench coat in place of their sports uniform.
SO... you want to know how I do it?  I just do it!  I don't lose my mind on Pinterest or schedule every moment of my children's lives.  I cook healthy meals, but I'm not afraid to pull out the chicken nuggets and frozen pizza when necessary.  I am confident in the knowledge that I know what is best for my children, and do not listen to the crazed opinions of others.  I pray aloud and read bible stories to them, but I also let the occasional curse word slip... and apologize for it. 
I let them know that there are things I don't know (instead of racing for my phone), and there are times for them to play alone.  I tell them I am sorry if I raise my voice and am honest beyond compare.  They know that the shots will hurt and death is really sad.  They know that nothing makes me happier than to see them getting along, and nothing makes me more angry than being dishonest.
How do I do it?  I am just me, and I encourage them to be just them.  I want them to see that no one is perfect, and it takes a village.  I am only human, so I make mistakes, I cry, I am late, I laugh, I fall, and I do the best I can every single day.
How do I do it?  I pray to God every single day, in good times and terrible times, to thank him for this amazing family He has given me.  I give it all up to Him and know that He is in control.  He has trusted me with these amazing tiny people, and I am so grateful.  I better no mess this up!

Still miss you...

Sometimes I lie awake at night imagining my dad swimming in the pool with my kids or pushing them on the swings at the park.  I wish he could know how much Peach's appetite mimics his own or just how much LJ really resembles him.  I hate that my children will not be able to listen to his childhood memories told in only a way that he could tell or taste his homemade peach ice cream.
It has been a little over 2 years since my father passed away, and I still miss him desperately.  I would love to call him and ask how to repair the drywall in the garage or how he thinks we should remodel the bathroom.  He always enjoyed doing things around the house, and I think he secretly enjoyed when I asked his advice on how to do something in my own home.  I miss his dry humor and his unbelievable humility.  I miss his little smirks and the way he could fall asleep at the drop of a hat.  I miss the unconditional love he had for our family.
I hate that he will not know my children, and they will not really know him.  He will never know how great Bubba is at soccer or how intelligent Baby is.  Yes... I will share stories, memories, and photographs but nothing can take the place of his presence. 

Attachment vs Asperger's Part 2

Attachment                                             Asperger's

• antisocial behavior                                antisocial behavior
• repetitive behaviors                               repetitive behaviors
• sensory processing issues                     sensory processing issues
• motor delays                                         motor delays

This comparison is by no means an exhaustive list of symptoms from Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) or Asperger's Syndrome.  It is also not an expert's list.  I just wanted to show why these two are so difficult to distinguish.  Many of the signs and symptoms seem to mimic one another, and each expert's book seems to tell you something different. We have also visited many a therapist who all share the same thoughts... it must be one or the other.  They also always have their reasons, but there are no two alike.
After years of dealing with the questioning, my mother found an therapist who "specialized" in Asperger's.  By this time (earlier this fall) I had almost made up my mind that we were dealing with RAD.  Each time, however, I knew without a doubt, Bubba would do something to make me question my decision.  With years of reading and therapy visiting in my backpack, I walked into this man's office completely alone (well...not exactly.  I had just had LJ so she was in tow).  I was ready to hear the same 'ole thing. 
He asked me TONS of questions about how Bubba reacts to certain situations, what he enjoyed, how he handled being disciplined, what I believed were his biggest issues, his anxiety level, his history, etc.  I did this for two sessions.
Finally on session three, before he had even met my child, he said " I get the feeling you believe he must have either Asperger's OR attachment.  Is that correct?"
"Well yes..." I began confidently.  Remember, I've been to this movie before.
"Has anyone ever told you he could have both?" he questioned.
"Excuse me?  Both what?" I stammered.  Wait...hold the phone. 
"Asperger's and RAD?  I believe he could have both.  I of course won't know until I meet with him several times, but both is definitely feasible from what you are telling me." He answered.
"Are you serious?  He can have both?  Well that makes a hell of a lot more sense than anything I have EVER heard in years!" I exclaimed, half wanting to jump up and squeeze this frail man (who may have been on the spectrum himself) and half wanting to sit on that couch and cry.
After several months of therapy with him, Bubba is now on consult only, and we now treat him as if he has both.  The Asperger's makes the RAD so much more difficult to handle, but we take one day at a time, and I believe we are making progress.  There are days when I feel he may like me just a little, and there are days when he manipulates every situation to push every emotional button I have.  The good days are glorious and the bad days suck more than you can imagine.

Best's Disease

The lights are so bright you feel as if you may be interrogated at any moment, and the walls have always been gray...the sort of gray you find on a faded newspaper that's been on your counter for a few weeks.  I carefully ease down in my faux leather chair as I take in the sights.  I'm immediately aware of the chill in the air.  From what I can see, they probably keep it so cold to keep the smell of death at bay or the relentless germs from overpopulating and causing destruction. 
"Momma!  How much longer?" exclaims Peach as she jumps into the chair beside me.  We have just been seated in the waiting room of the retina specialist for barely a minute, but it is too much for her.  "It's FREEZING in here!"  she yells.
I couldn't agree more, but judging by the waiting room population, I'm not certain they feel it.  Every single person in there is a good 75 years older than my little girl, yet she is forced to sit and wait just as they are.  And just like that I hear "Ms. Gregory?" It was Peach's turn!
I sit anxiously as the specialist looks through my daughter's beautiful eyes, praying through clenched teeth that he finds nothing.  "Please God, not 2...Please God, not 2."  I'm interrupted by the doctor's poor excuse at humor, which means I have to force a smile.  I even manage some sort of sound, which I suppose could sound like a 1/2 laugh if you don't know me.
Suddenly I am in awe of Peach's stillness.  She looks almost lifeless as she sits SO very still, allowing him to tilt her head back and forth, shine lights in, scan her eyes and take films.  Her sister had warned her in advance of this requirement, but she is also still a rambunctious 3-year-old.
"Well..." he began.
Here it comes...Please God...Please God...Please God...
"She definitely has all the signs of Best's disease." he continues.
And there come the anvil over the head.
I'm really not sure of what else was said, because I deemed it unnecessary to listen.  I now have 2 daughters with Best's disease... 2 daughters who may lose a good deal of their vision...2 daughters who don't deserve this.
But... I was also reminded as I looked into Peach's precious face that I have 2 amazing daughters,..2 beautifully intelligent daughters...2 daughters who, for right now, have excellent vision.

The Chart

"I've made a chart!"  This was the announcement I made about 15 minutes before the older 3 were heading to bed.  It's that time of day where they can smell bedtime coming like a lion can sniff out an injured gazelle.  They sense my tempered excitement that, in moments, I will have a rare opportunity to sit down on the couch and possibly finish off the last of their grocery store candy.  Because of this, the children undoubtedly loose the last bit of sanity they have been holding onto since they emerged from their warm baths.
I have announced these four words often.  "The chart" always keeps baby in line because of her innate competitive nature, and appears to work on Bubba for approximately 10 days before the attachment issues kick in and he begins to claim we no longer love him when he doesn't get a sticker.  Peach is new to the chart system and has such a strong will that I'm not sure God Himself could hold her to it, but we are at our limit.  For the past month, our children have run around like maniacs when put to bed.  They come to us for water, imaginary injuries, band-aids for said imaginary injuries, to alert us they may need to pee, or the room is too warm/cold.
I briefly explain what "going to bed" means at this house and what it would take to "receive" the almighty smiley face.  I sensed Baby's competitive juices flowing and I was completely exhausted, so I upped the ante.  "If you get 3 smiley faces (out of 5) you will get a prize, BUT if you get 5 smiley faces you will get a SUPER prize."  That was all I had to say...the thought of the super prize was too much for their little minds to imagine.  What would it be?  A new pet, a video game, tons of Barbies, a sucker?  Who knows but it couldn't be lost.
The older two were in bed and asleep in under 10 minutes.  Peach, however, began screaming at the top of her lungs for me.  I calmly went up to announce the loss of the smiley face... AND she lost it.  Our neighbors probably thought someone was in imminent danger, but it was just my sweet Peach screaming from her bed.  I quietly closed the door as she continued to scream.  There would be no couch time tonight, no candy, and no sanity.  She would loudly cry herself to sleep, only to wake up, run downstairs and exclaim "DID I GET MY SMILEY FACE?"

We're baaaccck!

Warm, slow tears drip down my face as I look back on this blog and its contents.  The memories, the heartache, the stress, the joys, the laughes and the love it holds still stirs many emotions in me.  The photos of tiny faces are priceless, and the reality of many of the situations I typed about I do not want to relive, but it is like the car crash on the side of the road.  You know you shouldn't stare but you can't turn away.
 I originally began this blog many years ago so my family and close friends could keep up with Bubba's (our oldest child) ever-evolving progress and Baby's (she is hardly that now, but she is our oldest girl) medical issues.  I stopped this blog 1 year and 1 month after Peach (our second girl) was born.  My life with 3 babies riddled with issues became too much for me to continue, but I desperately wanted to.
Writing is my therapy.  It's a love of mine that I have had for many, many years.  It provides me the ability to vent my frustration, share my happiness, and tell my weaknesses without having to hear someone's unthoughtout response.  So... after much prodding from family and friends, we are back. 
My goal is one post a week for now.  If you have never read the blog, feel free to go back and read previous posts.  Also know this is my place.  I will be 100% honest and will hold back very little.  Feel free to comment but if you are offended by something...I don't want to know.  This is me...like it or leave it.

Just a Minute

"Come on MOM! We are going to be late!"
"Just a minute... let me just put the laundry in the washer real quick and then we'll go!"
"UGH!"
This was a situation that occurred often at my house when I was a child. I was always ready, and it always seemed that my mother was not. She was always trying to squeeze one more chore in before we went anywhere, and I was always SO frustrated. Did she have no respect for others' time? Did she not realize that we HAD TO LEAVE? Was her laundry more important than the event we were going to?
Two days ago, Baby was ready for school 45 minutes early. After repeatedly telling her that it wasn't time to go, I gave up. I said, "Ok, let's go, but first I need to put the laundry in the washer!" At that very moment I stopped and laughed out loud.
Nearly thirty years later, I finally realized what my mother had done all those years ago. She was stalling. She was tired of telling me it wasn't time to go and decided to take another approach. As I laughed, I saw my daughter glare at me and sigh, which made me laugh even more.
My sweet Baby could very possibly be an identical clone of me, so I knew in that moment exactly what she was thinking...just as my mother probably knew too!

Forever changed...at least for right now.

This little guy came into our family almost 5 years ago. He stole our hearts and became our son's confidant and best friend. He has been with us through thick and thin. He has endured the pain and the joy and the sweat and tears from all of us. He has eased Bubba's anxious thoughts and nervous mind more times than I could count. I have even blogged about how special he is to all of us. If it weren't for Mimi, we may have never been introduced.

I'm not sure if the pressure became too much or this had been on his mind for a while, but, after a brief stint as Carlton, Lambie is now a girl.

Insurance (a little rambling and angry)

From the moment Bubba was diagnosed with PDD-NOS, I began weaving my way through the upside-down world of insurance. As I picked up the new language, I began speaking in diagnosis codes and specific procedures. Reading insurance law and regulations became my pastime. It seems relatively straight-forward, but it never works out that way.
One week ago, I was approached by the business director of our therapy center. Let me just say from experience... the business director doesn't want to see you, much less call your name, unless there is a problem. So, I grimaced as soon as I heard Ms. Gregory roll off of her tongue. She quickly and matter-of-factly explained that Evander's new insurance, CIGNA, only allows a combined 60 visits for therapy, and Spencer has two visits remaining in speech (and 4 in OT). They can apply for reauthorization but usually don't get it.
Immediately my heart sunk.
I asked all the appropriate questions, the most important coming first: Is the appropriate diagnosis code on the paperwork? Texas recently passed a law requiring insurance companies to pay claims associated with Autism therapy. What I just found out, however, is that they do not have to pay ALL claims. We were allotted 60, so that is it.
How can they let this happen? My son relies on weekly therapies, and he is in danger of losing that. He has come so far and continues to grow. How much is one 30 minute session you may be asking? Afterall, it is only 30 minutes for one therapy. It is $109...the same amount as ONE college class for me. $109 pays for 4 1/2 months of education or 30 minutes of therapy.
What is wrong with healthcare? Here you go!!

Sink or Swim

A refreshing swim in the pool is a memory that many people share. I grew up at the lake and in pools, and I have always loved the water. There is nothing better on a hot summer day than jumping into a nice, cool pool. My daughter, Baby, feels differently.

For some reason, she is hesitant around the water. She enjoys playing in the sprinklers and baby pool. She will even float out with swimmies on, but it all changes when you ask her to take her swimmies off, or worse, take her to swimming lessons.

First, she went and watched Bubba, crying and whining the entire time for me to sign her up...so I did. The day came for her to enter the pool and she began to have second thoughts. Her nose crinkled, her eyes squinted, and her mouth opened wide as she began to cry. "I don't wanna go underwater!" Baby has not been back since her first swimming lesson (first for this month, not first lesson ever or even in the past few months).

The moment swimming lessons is brought up, she screams and cries, refusing to put her swim suit on. So today... I received a call from the lesson director (after I had called weeks earlier and she refused to refund my money).

"I notice that Baby hasn't been to lessons." she began.

"That's because I can't even get her to put her swimsuit on, much less in the car to go to swimming lessons," I explained.

I, then, went on to explain how head strong and independent Baby was. I continued to describe how she doesn't like to go under water and wants to do it on her terms. After a brief discussion, the director suggested we go in for "acclimation time". Acclimation time is when I get in the pool with Baby, but we just play. There are no instructors and no classes going on. It is just us, the pool, and all the fun stuff they use during lessons. So I agreed to try it.

After picking Baby up from school I explained what we were going to do and she began to cry. It was only after I held up my swimsuit to her that she believed me. Baby, Peach, and I arrived and headed for the pool. Baby immediately began pulling out everything. She ended up wearing swimmies, a swim ring, a noodle, and these rod things under her arms. She wanted to make sure that she wasn't going under.

We swam for some time and eventually she began to remove flotation helpers, until she was finally without anything. It was only after I said that it was time to go that she attempted to go under. I acted like I didn't even see it and she hopped out of the pool.

"That was fun!" I exclaimed. "You wanna come back tomorrow?"

"NO" she shouted.

"But I thought you had fun?" I questioned.

"I don't want to come back!" she yelled.

"Well...do you wanna come back, Peach?" I asked. Peach nodded her head vigorously. "OK...that settles it! We are coming back tomorrow."

"UGH!" Baby exclaimed.

We shall see what tomorrow's acclimation time brings but I am hopeful.

SURPRISE!

"Quick...we are in a hurry!!" This is a phrase my children often hear. Ever since I had Peach, it seems as if we are never on time, and last night was no exception. We were running late to Bubba's 6:00 soccer game, so I was pushing everyone out the door.
"Bubba, do you have underwear on?" I asked (another popular phrase in our house).
"Yes" he moaned. Great! We are all set.
As we arrive at the field, I pull Peach from her car seat and plop her down into the stroller. It was our turn to provide snacks (which I had remembered only minutes before), so I toss the Cheez-its and Gatorade into the bottom of the stroller as I coax the older two out of the car.
We then begin the decent to the soccer fields that, at this moment, seem like they could not be further away. I can make out what looks like hunter-green ants in the distance and yell "This way!"
Peach is bumping and hopping up and down as I run down the grassy hill, laughing all the way. Finally we make it, and I find the coach's wife in order to get Bubba's uniform from her.
Bubba is the only one not on the field, so I decide to change him on the sidelines. I strip off his shirt and speedily replace it with his jersey. Next I pull off his shorts and... NO UNDERWEAR! UGH!
I jerk his shorts back up as I say "I THOUGHT you said you were wearing underwear!"
Off we go, running back up the hill to change his shorts. We made it back just as the game started.
Moral of the story: Don't forget your underwear!

Backpack Incident

Monday morning I vaguely remembered that I had a microbiology quiz, so I pulled myself off the comfy couch and headed to the garage to grab my backpack. Just as my hand touched the doorknob, it hit me. On Saturday I placed my backpack on Evander's car to get it out of the way, as we raced out the door to soccer games.

Immediately, I ran inside to text Evander: "Did you leave with my backpack?"

Evander: No...I put it on the top of your car.

A sick feeling rose in the pit of my stomach as I typed: Seriously, where is my backpack?
Evander: On the top of your car!

Not only could I not see the top of my car, but I knew the backpack wasn't there. I had already run several errands, so there was no way it could have hung on for the entire ride. A single tear ran down my face. I immediately pulled on my tennis shoes and shot out the door. I ran down the alley way looking for my possessions, but nothing. Next I jogged down the road in the direction that I had left the neighborhood and still nothing.
I instantly began to panic a bit. The Jansport generic-navy backpack... I could live without. The microbiology lab notebook and pages of notes...I could not. Then I began to think of the implications of my lost bag. Inside was my lab coat, goggles, rubber gloves, dissection kit, and a vast array of highlighters, pens, and pencils. I would not even be let in the door of lab without my lab coat, goggles, and gloves. After glancing at the time, 10:35 am, I developed a plan.
10:35: pack up kids and head to mall to replace lab coat
11:30: have kids fed and Bubba at front door for bus
11:40:head back out to replace remainder of supplies
1:00 : put Peach down for nap
3:30: replace lab manual and binder
5:00 : dinner
6:00: class

My plan was genious, but it didn't work that way. In fact, I went to the mall with all 3 kids, but I always forget just how long it takes to get things done. We wheeled in our garage at 11:25, providing enough time for Bubba to scarf down lunch before jumping on the bus. Peach couldn't last another minute, so I put her down for a nap. When she woke up, at 2:15, I hustled the girls back into the car to get goggles at Lowes and other supplies and backpack at Target. We turned the corner at 3:20, just as the bus was pulling up to the house. Everyone headed inside for a quick snack before I was going to heard them back into the car to replace the lab manual.
Just then, my cell phone rang. It was my lab partner, Stitch.
"Hey!" she says. "You got your backpack back, right?"
"WHAT?" I exclaimed. "How did you know about my backpack?"
"Well...the college called me earlier today to tell ME they had YOUR backpack!"
"Seriously?" I questioned.
"Yep...someone turned it in," she said.
I went on to tell her the backpack incident and how I had JUST replaced EVERYTHING.
After picking up my backpack, it was obvious that it had been runover a few times, but nothing was missing. As I went through the pockets, I found a piece of paper.
I began to get nervous as I unfolded it. What is this?
It was a letter from the good samaritan who found my backpack and delivered it to school. It said:

I found your backpack just south of Rolater and Coit. I apologize for going through your things, but I was trying to find the owner. My name is __________. My phone # is 555-5555 and my email is skdlfj@yahoo.com, if you would like to contact me.

SUPER CREEPY, but curiosity was eating me alive, so I sent an email. I basically thanked him for saving my poor backpack and returning it to the college. The End...or so I thought.
He replied to my email with a very long, interesting, and weird response. There were things like "one person can make a difference" and "it looked like a nice pack". I won't go into detail but I will say that I was definitely a little freaked out. Now I can say with certainty... THE END.

Soccer Anyone?

"I wanna do soccer!" Baby exclaims. "I don't!" shouts Bubba.

"Why don't you wanna do soccer?" asks Baby.

"Cause I don't!" replies Bubba.

A few weeks ago, this conversation took place in our house and continued for some time. Baby posed in front of Bubba, hand on hip and head swaying back and forth, as she was trying to convince him that it would be fun. Her friend, Jewel, plays soccer, so she wanted to as well. Bubba, however, did not, which I could have guessed. The idea of having to participate in a team was more than he could handle. He wanted to take more swimming lessons. The result... both are taking swimming and playing soccer.

Today was their first soccer game of the season. How does my princess prepare? She started at 7:30 this morning demanding that I paint her fingernails and toenails after she had OBVIOUSLY been in my makeup. Next, she looked for the perfect pink shirt (because jerseys weren't in yet) and black shorts. Finally, she donned her shin guards, socks, and cleats. As she casually brushed her hair, like a woman you would find in the movies sitting at her vanity and stroking her long hair as she brushed, Baby said, "Ok...aaallll ready!" Great...only three hours till game time.

Where was Bubba? He was running around the house in undies and a t-shirt playing with trucks and cars. Not only did he have no concern about the upcoming game, I'm not sure he even realized there WAS a game. About five minutes before we had to leave, Bubba got dressed but didn't put on the cleats, shin guards, and socks...because he might get too hot.

I was so surprised at my sweet Baby. She normally despises dirt and detests being sweaty, but here she was excited about playing soccer. Then, the game began. My super enthusiastic soccer star turned into a whiny, over dramatic princess. She refused to go onto the field, and screamed when I told her she had to play. Evander (who is btw her soccer coach) and I begged and pleaded with her to play just for a few minutes. Some of the other girls began to drop out too. It was as if Baby had lead a soccer revolt. Of the eight players on the team, only four were playing.

Shortly after Evander tried to bribe her with a trip to Target she removed her cleats and got out her lunchable. There in the grass, next to the field, my three non-enthusiastic soccer players (and 1 fan) sat eating their lunch when one of them should have been playing. At one point, some of the four playing girls began to tire out, so we had to employ drastic measures. I picked up the shoeless, moody Baby and placed her just over the line onto the playing field so one of the other players could rest. A complete meltdown ensued.

Bubba's game was next. Since Baby wasn't playing and Evander was the coach, I took my three children and trekked across the park to Bubba's field. Bubba was the second person from his team to arrive, and he didn't look to excited. I was afraid that I would have to endure a second hour of a pouty preschooler, but I had no idea how to coax him onto the field. Bribing and time out don't work for Bubba. In fact nothing does. He is not affected or phased by anything, really, so I wasn't sure how this was going to play out because I also wasn't interested in dealing with a complete tantrum that only Bubba can throw. So...I waited.

To my surprise, Bubba ran onto the field. He ran onto the field and continued to run. It was like a swarm of bees, all running for that one tiny ball with no regard of teammates. The object...to kick the ball. Whoever got in the way of that was going down. He actually did very well (as long as you said "Bubba go that way!"). I will say he needs to learn that you stop running and kicking with a blow of the whistle, but I was very proud of him. I believe I was more proud that he was out there, on the soccer field, with other boys his age and he was doing something that other boys do. No one out there had any idea what he has been through.

All in all I am very proud of all three of my children. Peach endured the heat and multiple soccer games, as well as a birthday party before hand. Baby sat with her team and has promised to participate next time. Bubba said as he came off the field, "Well... I did my best!" Did you hear my heart melting? We will see what next weekend brings.

Let's Play Catch Up

Many things have taken place since I last visited. Bubba's misdiagnosis may be a misdiagnosis. I started nursing school. Baby has left princesses behind in an effort to pursue rock stardom, and Peach will be ONE in less than a week. Oh the Gregory traveling circus continues its tour!!
Bubba, we have decided, may have a dual diagnosis. He has too many Autism Spectrum symptoms (when not on medication) to ignore or to pawn off on another disorder, but we also do not want to put the Attachment Disorder to rest. Therefore, we will address both disorders equally. We have seen a lot of progress with him using attachment parenting, as well as ASD therapies and do not want to do anything that may inhibit that continued progress.
Shortly after I stopped blogging, my father went into the hospital for triple bypass surgery. This is where he stayed for 6 weeks, spending half of that time in intensive care. He left the hospital a very different man than he went in. He now requires round-the-clock care and cannot be left alone. My mother is a saint because she has refused to put him in a home or hire a nurse and has instead decided to take on sole responsibility for his care.
Because of this, in combination with all of my children's health needs, I have felt a need to become a nurse. It is something that I couldn't have done just out of college or even a few years ago. It took life experience for me to come to this decision and this feeling of where I am needed. Therefore, I began school again in May and hope to apply to nursing school in the next few months. So...goodbye elementary school! Hello hospital!

Baby has decided to grow up! She is slowly leaving princesses behind and is now watching things like iCarly and Hannah Montana. She likes guitars, microphones, and high heels. She would rather sing along to Strawberry Shortcakes "RockaBerry" then hum a princess sing-a-long song. This 3-year-old is going on 13!

Six months may have passed but Peach is still very much a baby...my baby. There are many things I believe she can do, but there are many things she refuses to do. Why? Because she is the baby. Why walk when someone will carry you? Why talk when someone hands you whatever you want without asking? She is the complete opposite of Baby at this age, but I must admit...I love it!

Evander is doing well. He is currently training for the Dallas 1/2 Marathon and working like a wild man. He just purchased the family a 6 month old golden retriever named Dodger and is very happy.

Many things have happened in the last six months, but we are like a soap opera. You can turn it off for months at a time, but, when you turn it back on, you pretty much pick back up where you left off!

Back Again

It has been almost 6 months exactly since I last blogged. After talking with a friend today, I began to scroll through all of my posts and slowly I found myself engrossed in my own story. Tears came to my eyes as I relived some of those emotion-charged moments, as well as a realization of just how far Bubba has come.
When I left off Bubba had just been misdiagnosed and questioning himself. I also had a needy 6-month old. A lot has happened in those 6 months. If you are new to the blog, you will have to go back to the beginning to discover nicknames and wade through the history of our family. If you are a regular visitor, I pledge to you to restart the blog and keep it going.