The Bipolar Express

Busy, but relaxed for a change

Strange combination of terms there - busy and relaxed - but it's how things are going right now.

We finally got the house into a condition in which it could be appraised. Ok, we hid three garbage bags of laundry in the garage and one full of clean socks in Andrew's room, but hey; it looked good.

There are still some decidedly iffy areas due to the fact that two of the remaining three children in residence are changing bedrooms. Raymond's is almost done and looks great. I give it a week. We stacked all our extra stuff in Andrew's new room, so he can't do much until that's gone and Raymond moves the rest of his junk out. I have a distinct feeling that there is at least as much left in his closet and under his bed as he has downstairs in his new room.

Michael is staying in the room he's shared with Andrew. Michael claims that it will be much neater when he is alone in there because he likes everything just so. Huh? When did that start??

Andrew and Michael have these massive oak dresser/desk/loft bed monstrosities that are space efficient - a good 6.5 feet high - but also about 4 feet wide. To have them both in one bedroom makes it look like a bunker, but with four kids, two parents, and "only" four bedrooms, something had to give. Now they will each have their own room. Andrew and Michael will have to label the inside of their shirts so I know whose goes into which room. (Andrew is going through a "sometimes I forget my deodorant" stage, so Michael is understandably not interested in sharing shirts with him!) 12 years old = deodorant, I don't care how cute he thinks he is!

Leigh is settled into Julia's house (Craig's mom - baby's grandma) and baby will have his/her own room too. Our baby gift to Leigh was to purchase the crib. My idea - kind of a family tradition among the women on my side of the family. She found a piece she really liked and took us to see it. It was $250 for a crib/toddler bed/twin bed combo with an attached three drawer dresser. It was crap. I should've kept my mouth shut :-) but I steered her to the store my boys' cribs came from; actual wood and everything. Thrice the price for a crib and dresser, but well worth it. It wouldn't surprise me - if they were well cared-for - if mine are still in service somewhere. Last I knew they were in my old church's nursery.

I know I'm drifting here, but... I cannot believe that Raymond is going to be a junior in high school. He already has a class ring, and today I was pricing letter jackets. He's already earned two letters - band and choir - and will likely earn an academic one this year. It feels like about a week ago that his father and I were assembling his crib. 6lbs 8oz of baby blue bundle is now 5'5", 165 lbs of intelligent, articulate, compassionate, talented, handsome young man. It just boggles my mind.

Back to topic: so, now that the house nightmare is almost over - Jack and I still have to properly put away all the stuff we scooped into drawers and closets when we were running out of time - it's time to kick some butt on my online class.

The class is on educational technology. It's supposed to be a survey course, and there is no prerequisite, but the 8000 series course number should've been a tip-off. (4000 series are undergrad senior classes, 5000 series begin graduate work, etc.) There are nine modules to complete, each with approximately 6 activities. Of the nine modules, I am confident of four. We (mostly Jack) finished module 1 tonight. It was all techie stuff which I have no idea how any ordinary teacher of my age bracket would know. Aargh.

Because I'm planning to have scar revision surgery later this summer, and because the local university's teacher ed classes were full, I opted for this class. Online seemed like a great idea. Unfortunately, one of the areas in which I do well is classroom participation. I usually have good ideas and fairly insightful "takes" on things. I try hard not to be an ass, but it's against my nature. Plus, these classes are populated by
20-somethings who are taking their first grad classes so they can start to move across the pay schedule. I'm usually closer to the professor's age - hell, my mom was 33 when she got her Ed.D., and my dad was 36!

Anyway, a survey class this thing is not! I have to do a power point, use a database to merge contact lists, and a myriad of other things I haven't done. There are a couple of modules that are more common sense education-related topics that anyone with my years of experience shouldn't have any trouble with. I have 3 weeks and 5 days to complete 8 modules. Yikes. Oh, and if I don't finish, I can't just drop the class, I wouldn't be able to TEACH next year because I need these hours for recertification. Paychecks are good. Eating is good. Lights, heat, water, house, car - all good.

Somewhere over the past 20 years, I have lost my jazz musician internal clock and "gained" that of a teacher. The evil mainstream world has turned me from a happy night owl to a grumpy lark. (Almost typed 'lard.' Funny.) So, time for bed.

Hope all's well in your world!

Where's Samantha When You Need Her?

Wow, what a weekend. And not in a fun way.

Jack is refinancing the house for a shorter term so that it'll be paid off before he retires. Good financial planning, right? Right. There's only one little complication. Because it hasn't been appraised since he purchased it in 2000, it has to be appraised now. Inside and out. Couldn't settle for a drive-by look-see, could they? Noooooo. Have to see the inside too. We found this out on Thursday. It's been cleaning/repairing mayhem around here ever since.

Jack is doing a little painting, replacing baseboard that I had tried to paint white over dark walnut finish - yeah, brilliant - AND he's been getting paged from work about every 10 minutes today.

Raymond is cleaning the "computer room" which should actually be called "The Place Where Useless Crap Goes to Die." He's been at it for about 6 hours or so and you can now actually discern that there is carpet on the floor.

Speaking of carpet: a few weeks ago Andrew cut himself on the outside of his ankle. It bled prodigiously and he freaked. I was down here surfing, so he came screaming downstairs, dripping hemmoraging all the way down the stairs. Did I mention we have white berber carpet on the stairs and in the basement? Oh yeah. It looked like a scene from CSI. The gross factor was completely obliterated for me by the "how the hell am I gonna get that out of the carpet" factor. Yes, I did check the "wound" first. He had somehow managed to scrape it against a hinge on the door (?) and it sliced a nice scratch about two inches down the outside of his ankle. You would've thought the Manson family had attacked him. We cleaned up the blood -off him - put on a couple band-aids and he went cheerfully back upstairs.

Still CSI. I put cold water in the shampooer - hot water sets blood, or so I'm told - and tried to clean it up. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. White berber carpet.

Now, who in the hell puts white sculpted carpet in a fricking WALK-OUT basement??? I don't care if you don't have kids, dogs, cats, guinea pigs... if even one person is going to use the stairs frequently - the laundry's down here - and ever go outside, it is the stupidest choice in the history of interior decorating. (Leigh is moving her stuff out, and we got a 2x3 glimpse of what the carpet is supposed to look like when she moved her small china hutch; the only piece of furniture in there that hasn't been moved in 7 years. It's pretty. Still stupid.)

I've shampooed the stairs four times, used a special cleaner for blood, used cold water, hot water, put bleach in with the carpet shampoo. Nothing will budge the spots. Am I doing a remake of Macbeth and no one told me? I'm not even getting union scale! Carpet: done as it's going to be.

Clutter: Funny word. So small and innocuous-looking. This house was cluttered when the boys and I moved in 5 1/2 years ago, and we've certainly done nothing to change that. Two parents, one teenaged girl, three boys, two dogs, four cats, two full-time jobs, and no housekeeping help. Having an "Alice" all these years would've been nice, but what I really need now is "Samantha" in high-speed mode. I've wrinkled my nose repeatedly, to no avail.

We have filled four 45 gallon garbage cans with detritus of such an array of sources it's amazing. Cancelled checks written in 1975 by a woman (Jack's 1st wife) who's been deceased for 11 years. Boxes, packaging, etc. from every toy, game, picture frame purchased since Christmas. Don't normal people throw these things away? I do know what happened. I told the boys they could play with their stuff after they put the rubbish away. Moron. How long have I been doing this gig? 17 years? They shoved all the junk under their beds so they could play/game/listen/watch with their presents.

On a positive note, I finally got rid of the black enamel metal three-way bulb monstrosity of a floor lamp that Jack had here when I moved in. It is the last piece of "I just got divorced and I have no taste" funiture. Woo hoo!

Michael had decided - around Easter or so - that it'd be a good idea to clean out the garage, so he pulled everything off shelves, out of drawers, etc., so he could "organize." He may finish before Friday when this person comes to peruse our house. Easter to Flag Day. A reasonable window, apparently, for a 12 year-old.

Andrew will only work if someone is standing over him. The child is going to be a school administrator someday, I swear. He comes up with so many reasons why someone else, usually Michael, should "take care of it" that it is unreal.

Finally, this is the week that Leigh had decided to start moving her bedroom things over to her new "place" in her maybe-future-mother-in-law's house (note: need a name for Craig's mom.) So her crap is all over. Well it's in two piles: give away and throw. Unfortunately I can't tell which pile is which, so I have to wait for her to get it out of here. Not a biggie in the grand scheme of things; should be done by tomorrow.

Oh, and I start an online class so that I can recertify to teach for fall. Kinda important. I kinda like getting paid every month.

Back to cleaning. Happy, happy joy joy.

Last Train to Memphis?

Well, it might be the last train to nowhere, but we'll see.

At our therapy appointment on Monday - scheduled at noon Monday on a somewhat emergency basis - Mark assigned us to write down if we want to stay married, if we think we should stay married, and if yes, "how the hell are you finally gonna learn to show respect for yourselves and the other person?" (As I've mentioned before, the man doesn't mince words!)

So, after much thought and gnashing of teeth I've written a FOUR PAGE thesis in the third person. It reads like a social worker's write-up of a consultation with a couple. It sounds crazy, but using the third person was the only way I could keep my hyper-emotional self out of it. Crying until I puke is not going to get anything done during tonight's session.

In other news, my boss is going to place me on "informal intervention." It's like pre-probation. What it's really like is driving for hours and hours with a police car behind you. You make sure you do absolutely everything right, but you still have a knot in your stomach the whole time.

One of the things she's going to mention is my extremely poor attendance. I've consulted with my union rep and asked if he thinks I should reveal the bipolar disorder. It is basically at the root of everything that I am possibly doing wrong. Needing med changes, getting med changes cause psychiatric upheaval that cause me to miss work. Missing work, after my 10 days are up, means missing income, which causes more stress, which causes more anxiety which triggers a depressive episode. We have yet to find an anti-anxiety med that doesn't cause mania.

That's life today.

How're you?

Update

Leigh made a decision today that I think might help all of us. Best of all, she made it maturely and rationally. (Anyone who have kids ever have them behave rationally when you can't/won't? It's really humbling. And annoying.)

I digress.

Leigh is moving into her boyfriend's (babydaddy's) mom's house. His mother is a lovely woman; thoughtful, selfless and kind; the kind of person I wish I could be. Craig, Leigh's boyfriend, is her youngest, so she has two empty bedrooms and a lot of time on her hands. And, she adores Leigh. Even now. I believe the woman is a saint.

There was no animosity in this move. Leigh will continue to attend college - for another month - four days per week, then come home to Judy's house from Thursday through Sunday so that Leigh can keep her waitressing job. (She also got a "real job" offer last week! Yea for her!!)

As far as I can tell, there are no hard feelings regarding the move, unless there are some from Jack - we haven't had any constructive conversation today. I'm still waiting, as bedtime approaches, if he is going to make good on his statement that he is going to sleep in Leigh's room for the forseeable future.

Complete Emotional Exhaustion

This has been the worst weekend in recent memory. Does anyone have any ideas as to why Jack and I fight on the weekends, but rarely any other time?

Leigh and I got into it again. I tried to apologize for a thoughtless remark I'd made. My mistake was that I made my apology in a text message. Apparently a "tone" found its way through the magical airwaves that transmit text messages, and my apology was thrown back into my face.

This morning Jack said he is going to divorce me. I went and curb-looked at a couple of rental houses. (Can't very well get a showing on Easter Sunday.) The house that had informational flyers on the yard sign runs $950/month. I'm assuming that does not include any utilities. So, add to that water/gas/electric/cable/phone/internet/cell bills, plus I presume the boys would wish to eat regularly, and I'm fairly sure that I'll have to continue to fuel and maintain my car since I drive for a living... well, you see the problem. (Not to be too tacky, but the rent alone is half my net monthly salary before child support.)

Since buying a 20k car in December, my income:debt ratio is not so hot. Add to that the credit card bills that seem to grow monthly, including a ridiculously overspent Christmas, and there is no way I could qualify for a home loan large enough to buy a house that would fit four people and all their accompanying stuff. PLUS, as my father has warned me my entire life: if you own a home, you must have a maintenance fund set aside for "little" things like the water heater going out, the ceiling leaking, the basement flooding, ad nauseum. He's right, of course. Unless you buy a brand-new home - which is out of the question for me - you inherit decades of someone else's idea of maintenance. Also, I'd have no money to do a damned thing to it; carpet, paint, etc., if it needed it.

The worst part about all of this is that I have been a complete and total bitch lately. Actually the word "bully" might be more appropos. I don't know what is wrong with me. Shit comes flying out of my mouth seemingly several minutes before any coherent thoughts form in my brain. Then I look at the stricken/hurt/furious face(s) of the person(s) I've just shat on and I feel even worse. So, do I back up and use the problem-solving techniques I've learned from five years of therapy? Hell no. I forge ahead on completely the wrong path (gee, maybe I'm related to George Bush?) no matter how much damage I might cause along the way.

I am not an evil person. I am a nice person with a vengeful, jealous, self-centered, selfish, unkind, generally awful person living inside of me who refuses to obey my eviction notices.

Anyone have any ideas? Anyone? Anything?

Please send us your prayers/thoughts/vibes - whatever you're into. We need all the help we can get.

Still here...

Well, for those of you who've wondered if I was still among the living, here I am.

The past few weeks have been insane, PLUS my school district has installed a block so now I can't read or write blogs from work. Sucks.

Our household is returning to some sense of normalcy, although it is by necessity a new "normal." Leigh is experiencing - none too unobtrusively - the wonderful hormone swings that accompany early pregnancy. it's a laugh a minute around here, let me tell you. (NOT!)

She's also developed some bipolar tendencies of her own - whether pregnancy related or psychological really doesn't matter. She wants Daddy and Stepmommy to be there when she needs/wants us, but the rest of the time we can pretty much "fuck off." That's the frequent refrain. Lovely language to blue up the air with around two twelve year olds. (I know they hear it, I'm not that naive, but I'd greatly prefer if they didn't hear it in their own home.)

Leigh is actively seeking employment. She has interviewed for a few jobs that would pay in the 30k range, which I think she could make work, and she hasn't ruled out law school. She's still waiting to hear from the two schools closest to us; one of which is extremely prestigious. (and extremely expensive.)

But yes, there are still other members of the family who deserve some blog time! :-)

Raymond just finished a 6-week stint in the pit orchestra for "Guys and Dolls." The past two weeks he's been at school until 10 pm. and beyond. Thank God Jack is a night owl and volunteered to pick him up. Ray still has to keep up on his homework and although I've reduced them somewhat, he does still have chores at home to do. He's pretty much the walking dead. I think it'll take a week for him to find a normal sleep cycle again.

And he's on the birthday countdown: 30 days from tomorrow, he drives solo. For any readers in Nebraska, I implore you: stay off the sidewalks! He's also planning his annual birthday party which has, for reasons unfathomable to me, become somewhat of a yearly tradition for his friends. They think I'm the "cool Mom." I don't know why. I spend most of the evening telling them they're too loud.

One thing they like is what I do when I'm serving the cake. Before they can have their piece of cake, they have to tell one embarassing thing about Ray from the previous year. Ray pretends to hate it, but he's a drama guy, so he really loves the attention.

Younger brother Andrew thinks he's gay. He's 12 1/2: a little young to know this, but I just go with the flow. Jack said the other day (we have one daughter and three sons) "So, if things continue as they are with Andrew, I'll have three sons-in-law and one daughter-in-law." LOL It's really no big thing around here. So you're gay. You're left-handed and blue-eyed too. Those things don't make you a freak, and neither does being gay. Embrace who you are, know that you always have a sanctuary within your family, and the hell with the rest of the world.

Michael just takes it all in: sister's pregnant, brothers are gay, Mom's a little crazy, Dad's a little grumpy and dinner's usually late. I may not make mother of the year, but in light of the circumstances that surround me at the moment, I think I'm doing pretty damned well.

Here's hoping it's not another three weeks till I post again. I'd really like to up the readership here, and especially those who offer comments, but I know if I don't post consistently, that won't happen.

Happy Monday. (did I mention I'm on spring break?) hee hee hee.

Mel

My Stepdaughter is Pregnant

She's 21, totally irresponsibile,a complete user of people and is absopositivelutely going to "keep my baby."

Never mind that there are thousands of couples who would give a limb or major organ to be able to adopt a healthy baby.

Never mind that her last big decision was to take herself off the pill because "taking it every day when I wasn't having sex was just too depressing."

Never mind that three years ago she transferred from a state university to a fourth-rate state college and will thus be graduating college in May with a degree not worth the ink it's printed with, 3-4 months pregnant with no job and no health insurance. (She was supposed to be continuing coverage with her father's insurance next fall because she was going to be a full-time law student.)

Instead, she's going to be a full-time drain on our family's resources; emotional, mental, and fiscal.

Jack insists that she will stay here and raise the baby if she wants to. (In her bedroom in the basement!) Guess who will end up taking care of baby? You damned well know it - Me!

I'll be 43 years old, and had planned to be starting a new chapter of my own - careerwise. Instead I'll have to stay at my mind-numbing job because I will literally have to have a job that I can do in my sleep.

Yesterday I completely lost it. Jack had been treating her with kid gloves because he didn't want her to feel "overwhelmed." (WTF???) I was livid. I said (screamed) all kinds of "overwhelming" things to her about the realities of being pregnant, let alone of raising a child. I could go on for paragraphs about my ludicrous performance, but suffice it to say that it was a real Springer moment.

Today I took her dog to the vet. The bill was $75, he has to eat more expensive food now, and have two medications daily for the forseeable future. And That's A Dog!!! She doesn't walk him, brush him, pay for his feeding or vet care... what in the Holy Name of God is she going to do with a real baby???

I'm going to my shrink now. I'm a bit concerned that I was crying so hysterically yesterday that it took me two hours to stop

Bits and Peaces

I've been thinking a lot lately about having children. Yes, I know; strange timing since my oldest bio child is 15.5 (and oh, boy, ladies and gents, is that .5 important! He has a countdown on his Myspace for "Days Til I Drive" dear Lord...)

Why did I have children? Why do other women choose not to? Should I - for the boys' sakes - have chosen not to?

I think a lot of people have children for selfish reasons; someone to love them, someone to take care of them when they're old, etc. Some have children because that's what their social or familial circle expects them to do. Others just can't find the way to the dr/drugstore. Still others have a genuine love for children and want to nurture and raise intelligent, thoughtful adults.

So which one am I?

As a teacher of 20 years, and a Mom of 16, I'd sure like to say it was that last choice. But if I'm honest, the answer is a resounding "I don't know."

Unlike every other female member of my family, I had to try to get pregnant. None of this look-at-me-crosswise and here-comes-baby, like my mother and grandmother. I took Clomid prior to both pregnancies. Not surprisingly, the eventual effective dose the second time was much higher and ta-da: twins!

I love my children. Fiercely. It is a love that defies definition or description. But the older they get, the worse a job I think I'm doing. I'm crabby, short-tempered and loud. And those are my good points.

The boys and I spent the afternoon today with our psychiatrist - all six family members see the same physician. R.J. went in by himself, unplugged his I-Pod long enough to tell Dr. B. that everything was fine, and came out. Then I went in.

She asked me questions about Michael and Andrew, and finally, me.

(Review: Michael is bipolar, highly emotional, slightly learning disabled, with a high Irish temper and the face and heart of an angel. Andrew is the poster child for ADHD: highly intellectual, verbal, and additionally, a raging drama king, and Michael's twin.)

When the conversation got to my stuff, I said all I wanted was peace.

Peace. Such a short word, such a tall order.

It seems like there is always a Major Conflict in the house between/among at least two of the six members of this family. In fact one time Leigh asked Jack "will we ever just be normal?" Yeah, right. Current psychotropic med count: Andrew, Michael, R.J. and Leigh, one each. Jack, two, Melody, four. See? I AM the craziest! :-)

Do other women have mid-life doubts about everything from childrearing to career choice? I'm in the process of changing my profession from educator to paralegal, but I'm pretty sure it's too late to change my mind about children!

The truth is, I know I wouldn't have made different choices - though I would've made those choices with a different man, and not ended up divorced with three soul-wounded little boys. I guess I just fear the day when my guys are in a therapist's office every week, like I am now, describing the myriad ways their mom screwed them up.

My therapist has a sign in his office that reads: "It's never too late to have a happy childhood." I'm not quite sure what that means for adults, but I hope it's not too late for my "babies."

From Bad to Worse?

Things are bad here. Very bad.
I was going to "flunk" (read - gentlewoman's 'C') my advanced research class, so I dropped it.

I'm still home - unpaid - from my accident.

I have an appointment with my PS to talk about a scar revision for my belly. I have adhesions under the vertical scar because he did such a crappy job, and it hurts/pulls when I move.

Haven't exercised since before the 1/24 car accident. Have gained 7 pounds. Back to 180 again. It makes me cry to type that.

The family situation is horrid. I don't think Jack is ever going to be able to have a steady, loving relationship with my boys, and I positively cannot stand his daughter most days. It hasn't always been this way. But it is seriously time for her to graduate college and get the hell out on her own. She's almost 22 and acts it about 10% of the time. The rest of the time she acts like a irresponsible child with a filthy mouth. Nice combo, let me tell ya.

Example: over the weekend she borrowed R.J.'s car. She brought it back reeking of smoke, and with a nearly-empty tank. R.J. is allergic to cigarette smoke; it gives him migraines. So he can't even drive or ride in his own car. AND it has leather interior, so you know damned well someone was actually smoking in there; it wasn't just the amount of smokiness you get from "bar clothes." That wouldn't sink into leather that fast. I am so pissed.

I am pissed at life. I am teary, fat, in pain, and fear that my marriage and family are about to fall apart completely. I have no RL friends and I can't talk to my Mom about anything important, so I'm all alone.

I'm so tired of thinking that stability and happiness are just around the corner. There is no fucking corner. Just a cruel twist or turn here and there to make me think there's hope.

There isn't. Time I faced that.

Never Ask...

...what can happen next.

Four days before Christmas I slipped off the last step of a ladder and fell hard - all 180 pounds of me, at the time - on my right side. I missed 10 days work - non-paid, as my sick time was gone - on a work-comp claim

A week ago, I was in a car accident and have been off work ever since; again, without pay. Yesterday I failed the physical therapy exam that would have allowed me to return to work. Today I saw my PCP who took me off work for another two weeks, and prescribed muscle relaxers and 3X/week PT.

Last night at our therapy session, Jack shared with me that he'd gotten a very negative performance evaluation from his boss. He is a computer programmer for a very large bank. In August, he accidentally discovered that a 35 year-old colleague is making 10% more than he is. Without being too tacky, let me say that that is a lot more money than it sounds like. He also found out that although he has been employed there nearly twenty years (who stays at a career that long, let alone one job??) he is the lowest paid member of the team.

Although he could not share this knowledge with anyone, he approached his boss and asked what additional responsibilities he could be given to merit an advancement in title. (There is only one above his, and that would carry with it the additional income.)

His boss basically gave him a pat on the head, told him he was doing a great job, and sent him on his way.

Jack is not the type of guy to accept a non-answer as an answer, but what are you going to do when it comes from your boss?

Now he gets this - grossly tardy - performance evaluation that is absolutely terrible. It makes him sound like a slacker, and an entirely ineffectual employee. Also, there was a third party at the eval meeting, which has never been the case before. Can you say CYA?

Did I mention that Jack is two years from full pension? Gee, do you think that has anything to do with this???

We paid off a large bill last month, and promptly replaced it with an almost equal car payment. In case that sounds foolish or frivolous, my old car has 97k on it, and I put on about 400 miles/week. It will be a great school car for R.J. in a few months, but it wasn't going to handle that many more miles for much longer.

Yesterday R.J. told me, yet again, that he really, really, really wants to go to a very exclusive private college that is world-renowned for its music program. Total cost: 38,500/year.

I have no trouble telling my kids that they can't have everything they want, but at the same time I privately applaud his ability and confidence in aiming so high.

As a music teacher, and not as his mother, I can safely say that he would be admitted in a heartbeat. He is a good trumpet player, which are a dime a dozen, but a fabulous tenor with excellent relative pitch. Perfect pitch, in layman's terms. Excellent tenors are scarcer than hen's teeth - gee, how many hackneyed two-hundred-year-old phrases can I incorporate into this paragraph - and he is beyond excellent, even at 15.

Even with a full-ride music scolarship and a partial academic one, though, he would still fall short by about half the cost.

Leigh is headed for law school this fall, unless she chickens out. Even though she will be on her own financially, you can bet there will be frantic phone calls home the first year. I guess Jack will have to learn to say "no" too.

On the "little boy" front, Michael's shrink proclaimed his recent horrible behavior to be just that, and said that it does not have an organic source. She wrote him a refill for his Seroquel - an antipsychotic used to treat the mood swings of bipolar disorder - and that was that. She is a terrific dr., and I don't doubt her for a moment. It's just always easier to throw more meds at a situation than to modify behavior.

My grandmother used to tell me that "fear takes the place that faith should fill," so I'm not only paralyzed with fear, I feel moderately guilty as well.

I firmly believe that God will take care of us; S/He always has. But it's still scary to sit and wait for the actions of mortal idiots to shake our lives to the core.

So dear readers and friends, please send us your prayers/thoughts/vibes, whatever you believe in.
We can use all you can give...

Mel