People often ask me where my stories come from.
Actually, anyone who knows me knows exactly what my life is like and where my stories come from.
Here’s an example and it will explain what’s been going on.
On January 11, 2010, I gave my resignation at my job so I could move from my home in Arizona to my new home in North Carolina. I don’t really have a new home there, but I would be staying with friends until I could find a new home. My family was going to join me in May once the kids were out of school for the summer.
I gave my notice and I was moving to North Carolina to open our bookstore, Barnhill’s.
Did you really click that link? I’m not there yet! Save it for later. I’ll tell you when. Now pay attention.
Within an hour of giving my notice, my husband arrived home to discover we had been robbed. My first concern was the saftey of my fifteen-year-old son, Joey. He hadn’t felt well that morning and stayed home from school. My husband leaves before me in the morning and didn’t know my son was home sick.
He was still in bed, sleeping.
However, earlier in the day, he woke to discover the kid who lives behind us coming in the back door. They scared each other with Joey yelling, “What the hell are you doing in my house,” and the kid taking off running and jumping back over the fence. Joey went through the house. The living room looked fine and my bedroom door was still closed so he went back to bed.
My husband came home, opened the bedroom door, saw the blinds askew, the window open, and my laptop gone. Apparently, when Joey surprised him, the kid was coming back in the house after taking his first load of stolen goods out.
Word quickly spread through the neighborhood and reports of seeing him carrying my laptop began to circulate. The police came and took a report. Word from the grapevine got back to us that the kid was trying to trade my laptop for a gun or enough money to buy a gun and he was coming back.
Everything that was gone was just stuff. Sure… my laptop had my latest book on it and some personal stuff like our Christmas pictures, but I have most of my book on backup and the pictures are just pictures and video.
The scary thought was that if this little punk had a gun when he broke into my house, he probably would have shot Joey. And if not at my house, he wouldn’t stop breaking into people’s houses and someone would die.
This was supposed to be a happy week for me. After a lot of planning, it was time for me to take the next big step in my life. I was packing and planning my trip.
On Tuesday, my husband remained home in case our visitor returned as promised. He was seen several times and the police were called but they didn’t come out.
On Wednesday, I was coming down the street from work when a neighbor tried to squeeze between me and parked cars. He hit the mirror on my truck and it folded. His broke. He called the police and said I hit him. Hours later, when the police came out, they stopped by just to let me know that he wasn’t pressing charges but he did have witnesses. The “witnesses” didn’t mention they spent every Friday drinking with the “victim” or that they weren’t actually outside or in view of the accident.
After that, we changed our plans. We’re all moving. I’ve been packing. This neighborhood has gone downhill and I don’t feel it’s safe for my children. Yesterday, they arrested the kid, but he will probably be released today. He had one of my rings in his possession and the police impounded it. It’s now being held as evidence. The kid confessed. They’re still going to let him out.
Welcome to my world. I’m leaving.
The week simply started bad. Sunday evening, we were putting away laundry and preparing for another week of school and work, when my daughter looks at her pile of clothes and says, “I can’t breathe.” She’d had a cough at night for a few days, but she hadn’t complained at all and she was very active during the day. I had already planned to call her doctor for a checkup if the cough didn’t go away, but my plans changed as I asked more questions.
Does your throat hurt? Does your chest hurt? What about your ears? Nose? Tongue?Eyes? What about your big toe? How’s it doing these days?
She said her chest was scratchy, her throat hurt kinda, and her ear hurt if she stuck her finger in it. The big toe, thankfully, was fine. This is the same kid who came to me over a year ago and said, “Mom, my tongue hurts.” I looked at it with a flashlight to discover that it wasn’t her tongue, but her tonsils that hurt. They were the size of grapes. That resulted in a trip to the emergency room. She hadn’t complained about it at all before that.
While I was taking her temperature, her nine year old brother coughed. I said, “Oh no you don’t. I know that as soon as I get her healthy again, you’re going to end up at urgent care with the same bug. That’s it, you’re going, too.”
Instead of going to work on Monday morning, I waited four hours with a very sick little girl, and a threatening to be sick little boy at urgent care. I never understood why it’s called urgent care since nothing there is ever done urgently.
With a diagnosis of bronchitis for each child as well as a double ear infection for my daughter, we left urgent care to go to the pharmacy and fill five prescriptions. I then packed my little sicklies back in the car and I drove to work to trade kids for work. Luckily, or unluckily some days, we work at the same place. So, I unpacked the kids from my truck straight into my husband’s car, he took them home and I worked the rest of the day.
Husband stayed home Tuesday and I stayed home Wednesday with the kids. Thursday, everyone went to school and work like usual except that I was totally buried in work just from missing one and a half days.
Monday night through Thursday night, my husband takes our oldest son to his night classes at 6 and I pick the kid up at 11. In other words, I literally sleep about 5 hours a night. Throw in a couple of coughing kids and I’m lucky to get 3 hours of good sleep.
Friday was the last day of school and included me racing from work to an eighth grade graduation for son number two.
Saturday, they’re all hanging out in the pool and I’m exhausted.
Finally, on Sunday evening I start feeling human again. Then, my daughter coughed. I told her if she started feeling bad at all, she had to tell me right away so I could take her back to the Dr because I didn’t want her to get pneumonia. She and my youngest son both listened with rapt attention as I explained how I barely survived a bout of pneumonia as a child.
It started with my grandfather falling asleep on the lakefront. My 7 year old brother and my 5 year old self were swimming in the lake at the time. Except, I couldn’t swim so maybe wading is a better term.
We were wading in the lake. Actually, I was just walking in the water until the surface dropped off. Then I was under the water and sinking like a stone.
My brother thought I was kidding. I could see him through the murky water. At least until everything went black. When I came to, vomiting up most of the lake, some teenager had pulled me out, someone had roused my grandfather, and my brother was completely awed. “I thought you were dead! Man, that was cool!”
Soon after this mishap, I got sick, except my mom didn’t believe I was sick. She thought I was faking to get out of going to school.
Do kindergartners do that? Really?
When I stopped getting enough oxygen and I became lethargic and unresponsive, my mother finally decided it was time for me to see a doctor. The diagnosis? Walking pneumonia. The doctor told my mother I was very close to death and it’s a good thing she didn’t wait a minute longer.
When I finished telling my children this story, my son said, “Wow Mom, you saved millions of people.”
Understandably confused, I frowned and said, “How did my nearly dying save anyone?”
“Because,” he replied, “you have four kids, and we could each have four kids, and they all have four kids. That will be millions of people!”
I looked to my daughter for help.
She stared back at me innocent and wide-eyed and said, “Did you live?”