Modern Day Woman ... Old Time Man (part one of a true love story)

April 17, 2001.

She. She pulled into the gas station just shortly before eleven that morning. It was Tuesday. Just another day. Another beautiful day in April. The sun was warm coming in through the glass in her car. It warmed the slight chill that lingered in the air. Thirty five miles from home, in the city, the course of her life was about to change.

He. He pulled into the gas station just shortly before eleven that Tuesday morning. So much to accomplish, so little time. A working dairy farm doesn't give you much idle time in town. Always in a hurry and always on a mission, he shivered from the early April chill. Mentally counting all the stops to make, and always watching the time. As he turned his head, he noticed a woman. Thirty minutes from his home in the country, an unanswered prayer was about to be answered, and the course of his life would change forever.

She stood outside, putting gas in her car. Unaware of the eyes watching her, she had her arms wrapped tightly to her chest to stay warm. The denim dress she wore whipped around her legs and she had goosebumps on her arms, and she shook. She shook from the cool air, and got back in her car to wait. So unaware of the black haired man in front of her.

He stood there watching her, leaning against his truck with one foot on the bumper. Just watching. This feeling of loneliness he'd been having, was stirring emotions he hadn't felt in a long time. Something started to brew in the pit of his stomach. But he only watched her.

She heard the click of the gas pump as it shut off. As she got out of her car, she looked up and saw the man that was staring at her. She was momentarily unable to speak to the woman on the other end of her cell phone. She felt a jolt go through her, and it took her breath. A feeling that she swore she'd buried, reared it's head and came to life. As she ended the call, he spoke.

He said, "I noticed your car. I really like the front end." She said, "I love it too." They chatted for a few minutes about the car, then parted ways to go inside and pay. He got there first, and held the door for her. He continued to chat while they waited in line. Her guard was up. His was down. She was scared, and so was he. As they walked out, he ask for her phone number. She hesitated. He ask again, and she gave. They continued to talk by her car. He said he'd call. She hoped he would. As they drove away .... they both knew that destiny had intervened, and their lives would forever change. She couldn't help but look back, and so did he. Their eyes met once again, as they turned opposite ways.

Two weeks later their love letters of life began. In an old hardback journal that snapped, he wrote to her first.

(May 1, 2001)

Dear Tan,

Since this is the first letter I've written to you, I will reflect back on our first meeting. When I entered that gas station, I noticed the front end of your car and I thought it looked neat, at almost the same time I noticed you. I couldn't get you to even look at me when I fueled my truck. You got in your car to wait. I was not worried yet. I would go to Plan B. (make sure we entered the store at the same time). When I ask you about your car, you said, "I love it." I checked you out as you told me about your car. As we parted, I knew I would be getting in way over my head. After knowing you for just over two weeks, I have never been so much in love, or felt so loved.

You friend & lover,

Von

p.s. I just love it when a plan comes together.

exert from her letter to him: " ....these words are from my heart. Each day we have to share is a blessed day"

.... as always, be blessed,

You can click here to read Part Two!

Please Pray for Cami

Cami is having a biopsy of a very large lump today. Her Pediatrician was worried enough to send her straight to the hospital for an immediate biopsy. Cami is 4 years old and is my little grandaughter-to-be. A beautiful little girl.

I'm asking everyone that reads this blog .... to please pray for Cami today. To pray that she is okay and the biopsy turns out to be nothing. Please feel free to pass this post along to others for prayer. Thank you.

... as always, be blessed,


UPDATE: Cami is just fine. Her biopsies came back negative. As it ended up, she had Cat Scratch Fever, and after three rounds of antibiotics ... she's back to normal and as onery as usual.

An Apple a Day ...

When you live in a *gated community* (meaning that there is more of them than you, and they are fenced in always, because they run and you can't catch them), it's a real treat for them to roam around the yard. Today we roamed. We picked a apple and we climbed a rock.

Way back in the corner of our back yard is a little apple tree that Marlboro Man planted years ago. As long as I've lived here, for almost seven years now, there has never been a apple on this tree. Today as we were exploring ... we found three very big perfectly round apples on the lower branches of this tree. I think of this as a God thing ... most everything that comes in three's is a God thing to me. Meg found the first apple.
She was so proud her apple. She was telling me all about it. Don't you just love the pink cowgirl boots in August? They are her new favorites. today.

They came back around the yard about five times to climb on this rock. I am still yet to get a picture of them sitting on top of the rock. No way!
But Sam like to climb! Until he reaches the top that is .... then he wants down so he can climb on it again, and again.
Sam and Jay picked their own apple too. It's too coincidental that there were only three apple on that tree and they were all perfectly ripe and the right height for the kiddo's to pick them.
Here's Jay on their new favorite rock. He guards the center so no one else can climb up. Jay sometimes can be a bit of a bully .... unfortunately, Sam is a bigger bully and usually comes out on top.
Here's Sam on top ....

Be Blessed,

Snack Time

Okay, this is my last post of the day. It's just so rare to have them all lined up with their eyes looking at me. Even if they're all in their pull-ups and eating watermelon! I had to post it!

Tan

Just a Couple Pictures from Playing in the Hay

Jay managed to hold onto his tomato from the garden, while he was sitting on top of the hay bale throwing hay down on Meg, Sam and Kelcie. If you look close, you can see where the tomato was split open. By the time he got down, his tomato was squished, but he was still holding it!

Meg was sitting on top of the bale with Jay ..... briefly that is, until she fell straight down on her butt. I had to take a picture before I picked her up. By the look on her face, it was worth it. This is priceless!

Be Blessed,

Tan

Stupid People

Today we took the kids to Pizza Hut for lunch. It was a first, and it will be a last! At least, at that Pizza Hut.

I'm sure they will be just as happy to not see me, as I will not going back there!

When we got up to the counter and ordered, the woman ask me how old the kids were. When I told her, "Two", she gives me this look that says I'm trying to cheat her out of a piece of pizza and ask me, "They are all two years old?" .... so of course I answer, "Yes, they are triplets, all three of them are two years old."

So then she proceeded to tell me that she felt SOOOOO Sorry for me and that she couldn't handle her seventeen month old singleton baby! Then she further says, "Yesterday a woman was in here with a brand new set of triplet babies. I told her the same thing, that I feel so so very sorry for her."

I looked at the woman without cracking a smile or batting an eye and said, "well then I guess you probably p***ed her off as much as you're p***ing me off!" I don't think we'll be going back to Pizza Hut anytime soon! Actually, I don't think Marlboro Man wants to go any where with me any time soon, ever.

I seriously think I need a shirt that says, "if you're stupid, please don't open your mouth"

Be Blessed,
Tan

I Love You Kelcie ...

It's so heart-tugging to see these two girls together. Meg (on the right) is Kelcie's (on the left) Aunt. They were born two months apart. Kelcie's Mama is my only other daughter, Juli. These two little girls truly love each other. As they get older they play with their babies and they put on makeup and brush each others hair. They talk to each other now. I'm sure they'll grow up like cousins since they're the same age.

When Juli and Kelcie left here last night, Meg was standing on the porch waving good bye. Meg yelled out as they drove away, "I Love you Kelcie, come back."

Be Blessed,
Tan

Kelcie and her Mama

Kelcie and her Mama came out to the farm this evening to take pictures. Kelcie being the Diva Princess that she is, wore THE dress. The itchy dress that little girls wear to get their picture taken in. This is the third little girl to wear this dress in less than 48 hours. A little girl named Lorien also wore it yesterday morning. Just pictures of Kelcie Jo ... and her Mama Juli.

I'm a lucky Grandma to have a little princess like this!

Be Blessed,

Tan

Many Faces of a Woman

The Goddess. Yes, I'll sit here on this rock and look pretty for you. But you owe me. I want a new baby doll and some candy, and yes, a sucker too.

Mom, I'm serious! Please stop buying these itchy dresses at Good-Will for Two Dollars just so you can take my picture. Stop Mom! You're obsessed! I hate them!
I mean it .... no more old Good Will dresses. I am hot and I am itching and you didn't get me some candy. I quit! I'm going home! After all, I am only two years old!

Did I hear you say candy? Ahhhh, on second thought I might just smile. Hurry though, it's 103 degrees and this dress itches!

I just can't take this anymore. I feel exploited and abused! And this dress is horrid. It stinks and it is stiff and I can't twirl in it. I am never doing this again! I am going to refuse from now on. I have better things to do! Please Mom!

Yes, everyone .... my Mother really does go to resale shops and Good-Will and buys these two dollar dresses just so I can be a Princess and play dress up and she really does force me to walk out into the fields tripping on the hem of these stinky old dresses .... all for just a picture! And, then, she conveniently forgets the promises of candy and suckers.

Marlboro Man and his Kids

This man loves his kids! No matter how busy he is, when we come over to the farm, he stops and takes time to love them .... greasy hands and all! It's funny because all three of them ask him, "grease daddy?" He always says the same thing, "yeah, grease." Then Jay always says, "farming daddy? milking cows? tractor daddy? ewwww, grease." Then they all have to look at his hands and fingernails, and we start the "ewww's" again.

I've come a long way in life. I know now that a little grease won't hurt you .... but lots of love gets you where you're going!

Be Blessed,
Tan

Lighten Up? Huh?

I just read through this blog of mine, and I said out loud, "Dairy Wife, you need to lighten up. You need some deep therapy old girl." The problem is: I love to write. I love creative writing, and I love to write with emotion. I can go on and on, and stir the deepest emotions and paint a picture with words. I know this. I get carried away sometimes. My stories are true. They are my life and I felt like I needed to put words to my thoughts this past month. Why? I don't know. I just did.

Starting tomorrow, I'm dedicating a whole month to happy thoughts and lots of pictures Of course, that means that Marlboro Man isn't going to like it. For when I'm on a roll ... he's usually on the other end of my camera. Him and his cows and his kids. His kids I love, his cows I don't. They don't like me anyway, so I can poke fun at them all I want. They're just jealous because they have to share him with me!

Be Blessed,
Tan

Shattered Dreams

Yesterday evening before I came home from work, I felt so compelled to go to the cemetery. I felt like I was being called there. Called to visit, and called to find closure. Called to a place that I had only been to once before. A place where I have never taken flowers, and to a place that I was unsure of where I was going, or could even find again.

The cemetery was beautiful. I parked my car outside a small chapel that was surrounded by fountains, tucked deep in the middle of the cemetery. Flowers and shrubs and small brick paths wound around all sides and ended with concrete benches that had scripture engraved upon them. I had only been inside the chapel once before, five years ago.

I don't remember if I ever told anyone about this little chapel that only held twelve short cushioned pews and a tiny little white coffin, so small that I could have carried it myself. On top, a single white rose with nine delicate white ribbons decorated the little box. This tiny little coffin held my unborn baby, and eight others.

There were four other couples in the chapel with us, and four other Mothers and Fathers that didn't come. This doesn't make them bad, it only made them not present. For I am sure they had shattered dreams too.

One particular young woman I noticed was so visibly upset that she could hardly sit there. She was sobbing out loud and her husband comforted her. Tears streamed down his face as he held onto her. After the prayer service, and after they announced each couples name that had lost their baby, we moved on to the cemetery. We walked, each holding the tiny white ribbon that was all that was left of our dreams. Surrounding us were other little graves .... all from The Women's Hospital, all little graves from other lost dreams. This hospital has a wonderful bereavement program, and they opt to have these services, and to have a burial if the parents so choose. The nurse in charge of this service, Darlene Inman RN helped me to feel like the child I lost had a home. He was somewhere that I knew would always be there. Somewhere that I could find peace in knowing that he had existed.

I spoke with the woman that was so visibly devastated with her loss. Her name was Tracy. She lived close to me, and she had miscarried twice before. We exchanged phone numbers and stayed in contact for a couple of years ... then lost touch. I heard through the grapevine that Tracy went on to have a son.

My husband and I were so devastated by our miscarriage, and we had kept our heartbreak to ourselves. We didn't share our plan with our families to go to the memorial service for the unborn babies that were lost, and buried together in a tiny white coffin. It was awkward for them, and as time went on, for them it was over. They didn't share our grief, or even begin to comprehend our loss.

Like a small piece of a precious treasure that was snatched from us, before we were able to reach out and grasp it, we lost it. I miscarried at nine weeks. A week after we saw that tiny heart beat. A week after we had chose a name. A week after we had a made a world full of plans, for this tiny little being, that wasn't meant to be. The dream of having this child was gone. We had planned his life. We had talked about how our lives would change, and how this child would grow up on this farm and would be so special. Von had waited all his life to become a Father, and his dream of having his son with him vanished as quickly as it came, very unexpectedly.

So the drive to have a child bloomed and grew. We suffered two more devastating miscarriages over the next year. Then we successfully had our triplets: Sam, Jay and Meg. I was told once by a nurse I worked with, when we found out that we were having triplets, that God was giving back what was taken from us.

I still remember my due dates and still remember the dates I miscarried. I never thought this would happen to me. A woman that had successfully carried and delivered four healthy children almost twenty years before. A woman that was stunned to complete heartbreak.

I had been told to not have hope. To guard my heart. To not buy things for this baby. I was not at a safe point yet. But the maternal drive is strong ... stronger than anything I've ever experienced, from the very first moment that I knew this little being existed inside of me. And I had lost him, or her. It hurt.

Today I found that little grave. There were fresh flowers there. Someone else had come to visit. Someone else with a shattered dream. Someone else was called there, and someone else was remembering. I wondered if it was the young woman named Tracy that obliviously was very heartbroken by the loss of her unborn child, or was it one of the others. I also found the graves of the other two babies that we lost. Just larger than a brick, a flat little bronze stone marked where they each lay. There was only a date and a tiny pair of wings engraved on each stone. No names, but lots of shattered dreams lay there, just outside of baby land, under a little tree, not far from that peaceful little chapel that I sat in five years ago.

Tomorrow I will return with flowers ... and I will never forget them. I will pray for them and let them know that they have brothers and sisters, and my heart still yearns for them.

Be Blessed,
Tan

My New Office

What used to be a blue bedroom Saturday .... became a lime green office for me yesterday! At first I was very shocked when I walked in and saw the shade of green on the wall. The painter ask me if I wanted him to stop. I think I must have had the look! But to see only bits and pieces of lime green around just the windows and door frames covering what was a Robin Egg Blue ... was a shocker!

I spent my spare time gathering other limey looking things around the house, including a quilt that Marlboro Man's Mother made and a matching quilt block that I finished and was told MM's Grandma pieced together. I slapped a big cream rug on the hardwood floor and started decorating. I have a long way to go and when it's finished, I'll post pics from all angles.

My goal is to do this room in a Vintage Retro look. All limes, pinks and browns. Even Marlboro Man likes how it's coming together I think. He hung the Roman shades for me today. I have been editing pictures like crazy to frame and hang on the wall in my new office (hideout).

My plan for this room is to tell MM that I have work to do, then I'll close myself in there, turn on some music, kick back in the recliner and listen to him chase kids all day! Do you think I'll get by with this every Saturday and Sunday afternoon? I think I need to visit Home Depot and get some locks for the door .... ha~

Be Blessed,
Tan

Miss Livia

Miss Livie is getting so big. Her Mommy (our niece, Amanda) took the pictures and I edited them into kind of a modified storyboard. I love this little gal so much. I get goose bumps thinking about her. Holding her brings back a flood of memories of when Meg, Sam & Jay were this size. I do have to say, I'm definitely happy that my little trio are much much bigger now. When I need a baby fix, I can hold Miss Livie, and tell her that her Great-Aunt Tan loves her sooooo much!

Be Blessed,
Tan

When Daddy Is In Charge

When Daddy is in charge .... we sit on the table for dinner. He gives us bites of Raisin Bran cereal with milk and Peanut Butter & Jelly sandwiches. ... and they sat there and they ate every stinking last bite. They never do that for me! Maybe Daddy can be in charge every night for dinner! Go Daddy! You Rock!

Be Blessed,
Tan

The Ending: My Story of Domestic Violence

"Some women are not as lucky as I am. Some never walked away. Some died, and there are thousands that wish they would. ... and if anyone reads this that is walking in the shoes that I walked in. Leave. Leave now. Your life depends on it."


The Ending:

For some of us, writing the raw and unguarded secrets of the heart is painful. It brings back many memories and feelings. Some good, and some unpleasant. Some that make you shudder, and some that make you cry. For me, I'm finding that as I've thought deeply this past week about my walk with domestic violence, it has been therapeutic, and both cleansing and healing. It has helped me to write these words and look deeper into my future, and it has shown me that my path is golden, and my future is good. I know that I will never have a hand raised towards me again, and I know that all men are not abusive.

I walked away from that marriage seven years ago. Yet today he haunts me. He continues to be in my present. He harasses me, he threatens me, and I believe that will never change. I believe that he, and others like him, will never change. I don't think he is capable of change. His violence is his sickness and his power, and his attempt to control.

He still yet attempts to control our kids, with threats and anger. He still yet feels that I deserve what he did to me . I believe that his rage lies dormant and I believe that it will rise again, and he will rear his ugly head like that of a snake ready to strike. His venom is poisonous ... his words are deadly. But yet, I am no longer afraid of him. I now pity him.

I used to pray that he would die a lonely man. Totally alone. That was to be my revenge. The satisfaction of him knowing that he will never have me, and that I left him for ~ ME ~. I have prayed that he would feel hands around his throat squeezing, until he sinks to the ground unable to breath. I have prayed that he would feel the cold steel of a gun to his head, and hear the click of the trigger, not knowing if he would live or die, then hear the sick laughter when there was no explosion. I have prayed that he would feel someone kicking his stomach until he's vomits. I have prayed that he would hear the crack of his skull as it hit concrete. I have prayed that he would be unable to see because his eyes were swollen shut, and that he would choke on the taste of his own blood. Many times in the past, I prayed that he would physically feel the things he did to me, and suffer for it. Mainly, I prayed that his tongue would be ripped from his head and I would never have to hear his voice again.

I no longer pray for these things to happen to him .... I have found my peace, my place in life, and I thank God that the nightmares are no longer vivid, and no longer visit me frequently, and when they come, I have safe arms to remind me that I am no longer there.

As I write these words ... I feel like I to was tormented for wishing these things upon him. Forgiveness is hard. I haven't found that I can do that yet. I know that I will never forget.

Because we have children together, there are times that I have to be in the same room with him. I feel the chills running up my spine long before I see his face. Even though I hide it well, I feel the nausea in the pit of my stomach and I hear his cold promise to me the day I left him "I will make you pay until the day you die." .... and he does.

I read this on another blog, and it made me think, "And so I began to think of the power of women's stories, and what they mean in our lives. Women's stories can be, are meant to be, a source of strength, a lesson learned, a poignant memory that unlocks one in our own heart. Something to take forward with us on our own journey - the idea that you are not alone."

Domestic violence is not only in the homes of the poor, or the uneducated. The violence we endured as educated upper middle class people, is everywhere. It is everywhere. There is no neighborhood that is exempt. From the very rich to the very poor. It is hidden behind four walls, tucked away like a great secret, until some woman, some day tells her story.

Everyone has a story to tell. It's been said, "there is nothing more painful than having an untold story inside you."

If you've read these words, please leave a comment. If only your name, I'd like to know. Mainly, if you know someone that is in danger from domestic violence, reach out to them. It could make a difference in their life. It could make a difference if they live. Many women are killed by men everyday in their own home. Statistics say that most of these women live with these men, and have been abused prior to that relationship. Speak up. Save another woman from domestic abuse. ... and for some women reading this, it could be your own life that you're saving.

Be Blessed,
Tan

Soon I will write about ~ Starting Over ~ and how I met my Marlboro Man and came to have his triplets.

Jay Day

I finally got him! We talked about taking his picture as we were driving home from daycare this evening! He said he'd sit on the rock and he would smile and say cheese! (it's really really awesome that they can talk now; it's a heart melter) He said that Jay would do it, not Sam and Meggie. He was so excited and so animated and talking with his hands about getting a picture of him. As soon as we got to the farm, and I helped them out of the car, he ran over to a little rock in the yard and sat down with his big tractor book on his lap. I was ready! Thank goodness, because the very second his little butt hit the rock, it bounced right up and he was off and running. I got one shot on the rock. (above) He did his job!

I followed him through the yard camera in tow .... he found the grape arbor. He ate the grapes, then sprinted off to explore his world. Full run. A world awaits me!
Look Mom! What's that? Here we go, another treasure to be found!
I'm gone! Off into the sunset ... off to be a little boy. You got your pictures Mom, it's time to play!

Be Blessed Everyone!

Tan

The Ending - My Story of Domestic Violence

After writing for two hours and saying everything I wanted to say to conclude this story, when I hit the "publish post" button ... I lost my post. I am so upset and so mad at blogger. Any ideas on how to get it back? Maybe it will magically be here when I wake up in the morning!

I will write it again ..... Tomorrow!

Tanya

I had a Brain-Fart!

Since Marlboro Man is working practically around the clock these days, because the corn in the fields is drying faster than they can chop it .... I thought I would take my little trio of terror out to eat this evening. By myself.

I have done this before on several occasions. Each time I swear within my deepest inner being and to God and to anyone or anything that will listen, that I will never, under no circumstances, even if they are starving to death, will I take them into a restaurant again, alone.

But I did. I did it tonight. What was I thinking? That my two years old triplets would walk in holding hands and properly sit at the table .... and eat. I must have been delusional from hunger, or suffering from oncoming senility!

First of all, you have to understand that the only place that this is even remotely possible is a buffet. We all know that buffets draw in people like magnets ... and not all the magnets are dealing with a full deck. Most are worse off than me. Me ... who just had a short term deck adjustment, and ME ... who lives in a fantasy world. Ha~

Let me begin by telling you it wasn't pretty ... and that I am never ever taking them into a restaurant alone again. Never! I am posting a note on the dashboard of my car, to remind myself, in case I get this wild hair-brained idea again. GO TO MCDONALD'S! DRIVE THROUGH ONLY!

First of all, this was a spur of the moment idea. Megan was wearing a brand new white dress that my niece brought her back from Mexico. The boys had on white shirts as well. I had NO BIBS! This nice cheap Buffet I chose did not furnish throw away bibs. They did furnish however, at least 700 napkins that we shredded onto the floor. ... and of those 700 napkins, at least 480 of them got wet.

Another thing about having triplets and taking them to a Buffet alone, is that you have to sit as close to the food as you can. They have to constantly be in your sight while you're filling their plates. You can't have your kids snatched just because you're a hungry hippo. So that means that you are FRONT and CENTER for all the magnets to see! Not only do they see .... they want to touch, and they have to stop and talk. Not only do you get every magnet leaving the restaurant as they pass by, you also get every magnet that is coming into the restaurant as they are seated. It makes my head spin. I need to post a sign on the table that says:

• yes, they are triplets, but please keep walking.
• it's none of your business if I did fertility
• no I didn't automatically qualify for welfare did you?
• no, we don't work for the circus
• how dare you ask how much they cost?
• yes, I'm the Mother
• yes, I really am the Mother
• yes, triplets can be a mix of boys and girls
• yes, you are rude
• no, you can't take their picture
• please don't touch them
• please stop clucking

Within five minutes of sitting down, Megan leans over, lifts her butt off the booster seat and says in her prettiest little girl voice, "Mommy, I have to poop." I whisper to her, "eat first, okay?" "No Mommy, Megan has to poop" she says. Of course, Jay being the narrator and spokesman for the group and the loudest says, "Meggie has to poop." There is no way I can take Megan to poop. I knew that. I can not leave the boys there alone and I can not take all three of them to a potty at a Buffet .... alone. Why would I take three two year olds to a Buffet all by myself when they won't stay in their seats, are very vocal, loud, obnoxious and in the throes of potty training?. It's called a Brain-Fart my friends!

I could hear the snickers of most of the people around us. Those that thought it was funny to watch me sweat .. and those that obviously weren't amused at all. Some had pity looks and one trucker-man winked and said, "honey, looks like ya got chur hands full there." (I won't even comment or go there)

Needless to say, I put nice tip on the table .. up righted all the spilled drinks, gathered up my trio and all the paraphernalia they carried in, left all 700 shredded napkins on the floor, hiked Jay up under my armpit while he was screaming and kicking for ice cream, raised my nose sky high and left.

As I rounded the corner I saw that I had to stand in line to pay .... I had my horizontal football (Jay) under my arm and was grabbing Meg and Sam to keep them from bee-lining to the candy shelves that they purposely display by the cash register. I wonder how they would have liked to have about twenty jars of their pretty Amish jelly on their tile floor?

While I'm waiting, a ADA (advanced maternal age) woman walks up to me with cute little twin girls dressed alike and says, "cute little twin boys you have there ... how old are they?" I tell her they will be three in October, and skip the triplet thing. She then comments that her girls will be three October 17th. Same birthday as my squirts. Then she says, "oh, you their Mother? How old is your little girl?" So I tell her that she will be three in October as well. This is one smart woman ..... "Oh, twin boys and the girl is a triplet. Did you do fertility? Do you know Dr. Gentry? (fertility doctor) He has a lot of baby's out there you know. Do you do playgroups? You live around here? It's hard isn't it? Being older and having twins and a triplet .... I don't meet a lot of Mom's my age." Whew!

I just had to open my mouth and ask the question: "how old are you?" She answers, "forty-seven, how old are you?" I tell her, "I just turned fifty in May." "Oh" she says, "you're just their Grandmother then, right? I thought you were their Mother, but you're too old!" Brain-Fart! Brain-Fart! Brain-Fart!

As I loaded them into my little work car, that has three car seats across the back seat, I could feel the eyes of all the people in the restaurant pressed against the window staring at this mad woman with three screaming kids. I even thought I could hear one old woman cluck. But I was determined to be a proud woman. I would not look back. I wanted to, but I didn't. Well, just a little. Only once. And, only out of the corner of my eye as I drove off.

This was far worse than going to Wal-Mart!

Be Blessed,
Tan

PART TWO: MY STORY OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE

"So the cycle goes .... like an old wringer washer that turns and turns and turns, and never stops until you pull the plug, and drain the dirty water from the tub. It spreads out onto the ground and soaks into the dirt, then disappears. Once dry, it's gone, until the next wash day." - Tanya S.

Part Two:

The Pain. The pain was not only physical, it also was anguishing mental pain for my unborn child. Cold fear ripped through me like a hot searing knife cutting deep into my heart. For at that moment, I knew that I might lose her. Her life might end before it began. The pain of losing a child has to be worse than any physical pain. I healed and Juli was born on June 15, 1982, a perfect healthy baby. I went on to have Joey the following year, and Jared the year after that.

Throughout the years of my children's childhood, I endured many many more beatings and many more fears. The abuse escalated as he became more and more depressed and angry. I became reclusive and left my home only when I had to. I was ashamed of the bruises and the black eyes. For when people looked at me ... I knew they knew. My children witnessed almost every episode of abuse. As they grew, they would cry and try to stop him from the beatings that he was certain to give. They would jump on his back and hit him. Our dog would bite him, yet he never felt their blows nor did he hear their cries. He was oblivious to his children and what he was doing to me. Not once throughout the years did I ever fight back. It would have only made it worse, and I couldn't imagine it being worse.

I remember the dining room the most vividly. For some reason, I was always in the dining room, in a corner, against the closet door. I can remember hearing my head crack against the wood at the same instant that I felt his fist smash into my face, and I can remember the taste of blood as I would slowly fall and swirl into unconsciousness. I remember counting the blows as a way to endure until it ended. ... and it always ended. It ended with pity, sorrow, tears and promises that it would never happen again. I remember that he would pick me up, lay me on the couch and my kids would bring me wet wash clothes and sit with me, and they would shake and they would cry. Only twice did he take me to the hospital, knowing that he did this me, and would have to pay in the eyes of the law. Yet I stayed, and I never left him. I endured many more meaningless beatings and many more years of his torture.

The cries of my children still haunt me. When I remember back, the vision of them I see, tears at me, and I hate myself for staying and I hate myself for letting them witness the violence that could have destroyed them. And at times, I pity them, for they remember too.

At the time, I didn't know which was worse. The fear that it would surely come, or the actual pain of his hand that would hit me with enough force to knock me to the floor, or over furniture ... or out the door. His rage would come in waves and in cycles. For reasons that no normal person would even get upset over. But I always knew when it was coming.

He would stand in the doorway and watch me as I cooked dinner for our family. When the clock struck five o'clock, and if dinner was not ready ... he would say, "I told you that we eat at five o'clock. Look at me!" ... and I knew. I knew what was to follow. I can remember him throwing the pans of food out the door. I can remember the dishes being broken, I can remember seeing the fear in my children's eyes. I remember that I tried so hard to have dinner ready on time ... but for some reason, whatever I did, was never was good enough. I never kept the house clean enough. I never did the laundry good enough. I never did enough. I didn't have sex enough ...and I never did it right. It was never enough. Just like the beatings, to him, I never got enough.

My husband entered into counseling after being court ordered. I too would go occasionally when the Psychologist would summon me. I was told that "he is a sick man that is waiting to explode like a loaded gun, and he is capable of the unthinkable." I took that to mean that he could kill me and our children in his rage. I took his threats very serious, "if you leave me, I'll kill you." I stayed. I still believe with all that I have within my soul, that if I'd left him then, I would not be here today. I could have been the poster child for domestic violence, and I endured it like a disability that would be forever.

Sadly, I can not say that my children never suffered at his hand. They did. And they remember, but they forgave me for my fear of him.

After many many years of counseling, the abuse never ended. It did stop though. My children grew up and they physically stopped their Father. There came a time in our life that he knew that they no longer would tolerate the dirty little secret that we lived. It was over. My boys had reached their limit. It was over. For all of us. This was at about the same time I knew that I had to leave. ... and I did. After his fifth extra-marital affair, I left. It's funny .... I never left because of the abuse, I left because of his affairs.

I left him in the very same place it started. I walked away. It took more strength to leave than it did to stay... I am free from domestic violence. I have a good life. I have remarried and know that never would my husband raise his hand to me. I am healthy and have a healthy love. Only the memories remain, and they visit me less and less with each passing day. I could write forever of each incident, but as I think back now, they were all the same.

Some women are not as lucky as I am. Some never walked away. Some died, and there are thousands that wish they would. ... and if anyone reads this that is walking in the shoes that I walked in. Leave. Leave now. Your life depends on it.

You can't go back and make up for the past you've missed, but you can go forward and live. You can just live, or you can live. I choose to live. I am one of the lucky ones.

~ lay your hands on those you love with kindness ~

Tanya

To read the conclusion, click here

I Know - I Know! I have triplets. Where's the other one?

I know! I'm missing Jay. Jay was too busy running all over the farm and visiting the cows, smelling the cow poop and chasing the baby kittens. Of course, these two were right behind him, but I couldn't ever get Jay to turn around. I couldn't get one good shot of him. None!
So after work tomorrow, my mission is to go back and visit the cows again and focus just on Jay. I could be filling my micro drive, but I will get a good shot of that kidlet named Jay. I'm just not fast enough to keep up with that little guy.

He did sit down once ... just long enough to show me cow poop on his shoe. Of course I had to lay my camera down to examine his cute little toes and make a big deal of the cow poop on his shoes and the end of his big toe. Plus, I have to be very careful to not embarrass them in their teenage years in about 12 more years. You have to think ahead when you're a Mom!

Our mission tonight over at the farm (and the storage house) was to go through baby things for our beautiful little niece Livia. She's getting all bouncy and standing up on her chubby little legs, and it's time to get out the Exersaucer and Jumperoo, and all the little things that Livy can use. Jay was busy in the house helping me and grabbing everything he could get his little hands on. Sam was digging for food and Meg kept saying, "ahhh, for baby Livy Mom?" as we pulled out all the little things they used to have not that long ago. They grow up so fast!

Tomorrow will be Jay Day! I promise!

Be Blessed,
Tan

Daddy's aren't Mommy's

Marlboro Man is babysitting the trio of terror today while I can Tomatoes. It's entirely his fault since he brought me in two big buckets of ripe red Tomatoes. I love home canned salted tomato juice and wouldn't miss doing this for the world. Now that the kiddo's are getting bigger, I have a little more time. Not much, but just a little!

His day hasn't been good. At one point I felt a little sorry for him, but I stayed in the kitchen and did my thing! I couldn't help from cringe once in a while or hold in a giggle at the things I heard.

Here's a little conversation I overheard from in the bathroom:

MM: Jay, do you have to pee?

Jay: I poop.

MM: Jay, do you have to poop?

Jay: I pee.

MM: Poop Jay.

Jay: I pee Daddy

MM: Sam, wait a minute. Jay has to poop

Jay: I pee Daddy. See Daddy.

Meg: Megan has to pee too Daddy.

MM: Sam, get down Sam.

Jay: M & M Daddy. Four.

MM: Jay, you can have two M&M's if you pee.

Jay: I poop Daddy ... Four.

MM: Sam, get down Sam.

MM: Meg, leave the toilet paper alone.

MM: Tan, can you help me out in here?

MM: Sam, GET DOWN NOW.

Jay: I poop Daddy. See Daddy. See my poopy.

Sam: I see. I see.

MM: Get back Sam. Get back Meggie

Tan: Von, you have three potty's in there .... use them.

MM: yeah, but only one of them flushes.

Tan: yeah, well, their butts never flushed ...use them.

MM: Sam, if I tell you one more time to get down ...

Sam: NO

MM: Sam you can't have M&M's unless you pee or poop.

Sam: ME potty. (naked by now)

Meg: Megan potty Daddy (naked too)

Jay: See Daddy, I poop.

MM: Tan, I need help.

MM: Jay bend over. Sam get down. Meg wait a minute.

MM: Tan I need help

Tan: My hands are in Tomatoes.

MM: Sam. I mean it Sam you're in trouble.

Sam: NO ... M&M's

MM: OKAY ... everyone can have two M&M's.

Jay: Eight Daddy. Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve.

MM: Everyone out of the bathroom. Come on. NOW


Fast forward to lunch .... which was mostly uneventful, since I helped him.
Repeat the potty time before nap time. (same story, except Sam pooped)

Then nap time. He resorted to bribery. He gave them some coins to put in their bank. He tricked them into going upstairs. Smart Man I say! He's learning.

Fast forward 45 minutes later and I hear him coming down the stairs.

Tan: Before you come downstairs, will you check and see if they're naked. They're having way too much fun up there.

MM: (through the monitor) Sam, why'd you take your clothes off? Come on Sam, you're getting pajama's on. Meg, put your pants back on. Jay, don't take your shirt off. Go to sleep.

MM: (after a couple of minutes with Sam)Okay everyone ..... lay down. I mean it. Go to sleep! Now!

Meg: (crying) Daddeeeeee, I droppa my lipstick!

MM: Go to sleep Meggie. You don't need it.

Meg: Daddddeeeeee ..... I droppa my lipstick!

MM: (through the monitor) Now lay down!

MM: (as he's walking down the stairs muttering to himself) SHIT!


Welcome to my world Marlboro Man!

Be Blessed,
Tan

PART 1: My Story of Domestic Violence

Less and less do I think back to the days when my life was not so good. It's funny how when you find peace, love and happiness, painful memories slowly fade away, like the colors in an old quilt that's been left hanging in the sun. This is a good thing, and a God thing. It's his way of healing. Healing fear,torture and terrorism. Erasing the scars of Domestic Violence. I have color in my life again, and I am healed.

This is painful to write, but I'm writing this because statistics say that most women that are physically abused usually never tell. Some never live to tell, and most never leave. I don't want to be one of those statistics. If one woman reads my story and it saves her from the throes of hell that I lived in, it will have been worth it to have told the world.

To those that read this blog that know me well ..... you know. To those that read this blog that know me well, but don't know the entirety of my past, have no pity ... for I am healed, and I am happy, and I have been blessed.

In the fall of 1979, I met the man that I married and was married to for twenty three years. The man that I bore four children with, and lived with, until the day I turned my back and walked away. I took a deep breath, turned away and walked through the door. I knew that I free. If I lived. If I lived through the rage that was surely to follow. Occasionally the words I said continue to haunt me. I still can hear them ringing through my head, like the echo of an old church bell. "kill me now if you want to, but you'll only kill me once."

Within two months of being married to him, I knew that something was wrong. That he had a temper. That he was deeply bothered. That he was severely depressed. Yet I was co-dependent and I blamed myself and I tried to do better. I tried to help him. I vowed to stay and not leave him alone. I believed him that he was sorry. I believed him that he would never hit me again. I wanted more than anything in the world to believe him. So I stayed. I stayed home for almost two weeks while the bruises on my face healed and the black under both eyes faded. I listened to him tell me he was sorry, but I shouldn't have pushed him. He had warned me. I hadn't listened. I was young. I was 22 years old. I should have ran, but I didn't. ... and I was embarrassed.

"So the cycle goes .... like an old wringer washer that turns and turns and turns, and never stops until you pull the plug, and drain the dirty water from the tub. It spreads out onto the ground and soaks into the dirt, and disappears. Once dry, it's gone, until the next wash day." - Tanya S.

He didn't get along with his family. He felt like his Mother hated him. He hadn't seen his real Father in almost fifteen years. His last memory of his Father was of him shooting his dog in front of him when he was a little boy, because the dog killed a chicken. His Step-Father worked him like a animal on the farm. He says it had been this way since grade school, since he was a little boy. He said they made him plow the fields at night and go to school in the day. If his rows weren't straight or he got into the next field, he got beat with a stick. He was made to work in the garden during the times he wasn't in school or working in the fields. His lips would blister and bleed from the sun and heat. His sister verified this. I have now come to believe that he told the truth. I believe that his Mother did hate him because he was the reminder of his Father. I also believed that he had no one except me, and I stayed. His parents have both since died. His Father died without really ever getting to know him, and his Mother died without ever telling him that she loved him. He's estranged from a sister that suffered sexual abuse from their Father, but he came to form a relationship again with his other sister.

His Mother was adopted when she was nine years old. Her only memory of her biological Mother was walking down a highway carrying a suitcase and holding the hand of her little brother. She never saw her Mother again after that. She remembered being in a courtroom and playing with a typewriter. She said that she remembered being in a orphanage and sitting on the front step and seeing her younger brother taken away in a car. She never saw him again. .... and she remembers being adopted. By a cold woman that told her that, "We only got you to do the work. You will never replace Janice." Janice was their daughter that had died. She said her adopted Father was good to her .... and she took care of him until he died. But her heart never softened. She never loved her husband or her children. I don't think she was capable. She died of Liver Cancer thirty days after she was diagnosed in 1993 at the age of 64.

My first son was born in 1981. I can't remember many times during that period that he hit me. I had learned early on not to provoke. To be quiet when he was in a rage, and to always do better than what he expected of me. I got pregnant again a few months later with my daughter. During this time, money was tight and things were tense between us. Nothing I did could make him happy. A month before my daughter was born in the summer of 1982, I remember him being very upset one day. I remember saying the wrong thing to him, and an argument escalated into a fight. I remember him opening the front door and literally throwing me out into the yard. I remember the fear as I landed, the fear for my unborn baby, and I saw my 13 month old son standing in the doorway. I remember the kicks to my back and the kicks to my stomach, and I remember being curled into a ball to protect my baby. Mainly, I remember his cries of sorrow for what he had done to me, and I remember the pain. I'll never forget the pain.

Click here to read part two, and here to read the conclusion.

Just Like a Girl

Late this evening I heard Megan talking and couldn't find her. It was obvious she was talking to someone. She was laying under the dining room table talking on my cell phone with her legs kicked up and her hand on her chin. Just like a girl. She loves the phone, and she loves to talk.
She was carrying on a full conversation .... and you could tell she was answering questions. She was on the phone with her Aunt Janet and Laura.

When she was much much smaller and before she knew how to work a telephone, she called 911 without us knowing it, and chatted quite a little bit. There's something about having a telephone that this girly girl loves.

I can remember laying on my belly under the table and talking on the phone when I was a teenager. What's the deal these days? This girl is growing up on me fast.

Be Blessed,
Tan

Some Thoughts about Age, Time and Life

Tonight I babysat for my daughter .... she brought her daughter and her boyfriend's two little girls out to the farm for the evening while they went out to dinner. Since we had plans to go down to my sister in law's and swim, we took the girls along.

Swimming in the dark (there was a pool light) with six little kids was rough. Four of them being two years old. I was starting to think that this isn't safe. It was very busy watching them all and we constantly had to hand off a kid to an adult. We had it covered though and they had so much fun. Total exhaustion when we got back home!

After Juli and Mark picked up Kelcie, Kami and Chelsea and our little trio was sound asleep, I just sat down. My head was spinning at how "busy" they were, and how much energy they had. Chelsea is eight and Kami is four and the other four kids were almost three. I had time to think about my future and what is in store for me.

I have the energy to keep up with my three little terrors for now. I've grown accustomed to their energy level. I've been with them from day one! They do what I want them to do .... well, most of the time anyway. Everything is at my pace.

But the day is coming that this will all change. As I age and slow down, they too will age and have the energy of a Duracell bunny. That would be three Duracell bunnies in this household. I wonder if I can keep up with them and do them justice.

I wonder how it will be for them to have a Mother that is the age of a Grandmother? I wonder if they will make cruel remarks like kids often do. I wonder how tough my skin will be. Will I have my feelings hurt and hide the tears? Or will I brush it off?

I literally have sat down in the past and calculated our age differences. I truly wrote it down once. I ran across that little piece of paper the other day. Tonight I seriously thought about it, and I was sad. I wondered if I did the right thing for them by bringing them into this world at my age, when I know they'll lose me long before they should. But I love them so much, and I tell myself that they have a great life and they are so blessed, and they are a special gift, and that God gave them to me because he wanted me to be their Mother. He gave me wonderful healthy triplets at almost 48 years old. That makes me special to him. He knows I can do it. I worry. I need to trust in him more. I need to worry less.

Here is that little piece of paper that I wrote and shed tears over:

Them and Me
Them: 0 Birth
Me: 47 Young at Heart

Them: 2 Toddlers
Me: 50 Keeping Up

Them: 8 Activities, School
Me:55 Living in a Car; Busy

Them: 13 Teenagers
Me: 60 Very Busy and Very Worried about how I can do this

Them: 16 Driving
Me: 63 Oh, So Worried

Them: 18 High School Graduation
Me: 65 Retiring

Them: 22 College Graduation
Me: 69 Health Problems ?

Them: 30 Married, Children, Career
Me: 77 Slowing Down

Them: 35 Prime of Life
Me: 82 Needing their Help, Nursing Home?

Them: 40 Bitter? Resentful? Lonely? Too busy for a ailing parent?
Me: 87 Flowers on my Grave? If I'm lucky to live this long

Them: 45 Becoming a Grandparent
Me: 92 I'll See them from Heaven

Them: 50 Living the Good Life

Them: 60 Looking towards Retirement

Them: 70 Retirement

Them: 80 Nursing Home?

Them: 90 The Circle of Life Begins Again .... the Revolution of Life

What bothers me the very most, is that I won't see these kids at 50. The age that I am now. I feel so young, and so healthy, and so full of life .... and way too young to lose my Mother. As the years creep up on me ... I think about the future more. I try hard not to compare them to my older kids ... who will have me (hopefully) well into their later years. I think about my Grand kids. They will remember me and will remember having a Grandmother. They will have memories.

The Grandparents that would have lived right down the road from these kiddo's are already gone. They missed them by just a couple of years. They missed two of the most wonderful people that God gave life to. I hope these little treasures that I'm raising will miss me when I'm gone and will look back on their life and say, "Our parents had us when they were older, but what a life they gave us. They gave us life. We are Lucky."

.... and I'll be smiling from Heaven, waiting until I see them again.

Be Blessed,
Tan

I Love PhotoShop

Because: I was able to take the boogers out of Meg's nose, the snot off of her lip and all the dirt and food off of her face. Then I was able to totally smooth out her face and make it luminous, enhance her gorgeous big eyes, add a few luscious eye lashes, make her hair a little more wispy, and I aged her about 5 years. Doesn't she look about seven instead of almost three years old? I made her look like I've spent all day sketching her with a pencil. I would post the original picture, but then in twelve years when she's fifteen years old .... she'd kill me for embarrassing her this way. So you just have to trust me on this one.

Sound hard? Nope, it took a little more than 5 minutes. This is why I love PhotoShop. I think I'm going to do a self portrait and PhotoShop about 25 pounds off of my butt and make me look 30 again, instead of 50. Any volunteers out there to lend me a skinny body to work with?

Did I say that I just love PhotoShop? I do!

Be Blessed,
Tan

Flash Back: Joey and Mariah - One Year Ago

I am so proud of this kid. Still, he is on fire for God. He always will be. He makes wise choices. He is becoming a wise man. He's mature and he's responsible. I respect him and I admire him as a person, and I know that he will make a great Minister. ... and I just love him so much!

Joey leaves for college again next week. This summer has flown by. I don't feel like I've got to see him a lot. He has worked almost everyday since he came home in May. I know that St. Louis is only a three hour drive from here and I know he will be coming home some weekends, but still my heart is missing him already. Mariah, take good care of him! (Mariah goes to SLCC too)

Ahhhh, these Mom heartstrings get you every time!

Be Blessed,
Tan

P.S. Happy Birthday today to my wonderful sister Kim. ... and when you read this, know that I love you very much and I greatly respect and admire you too!

Just Winging It ...

I am so doomed. Doomed to be a single-like Mom of two year old triplets for about the next month or more. Today was my first day, and I didn't like it. Marlboro Man is getting ready to start harvest. I am dreading it so much. Did I say I am dreading it so very much? I am. I know I am spoiled. I know it should be "no big deal" .... but I'm skeered! (just kidding) There's more of them than me! I know a lot of other triplet Mom's do it by themselves every day. But like I said, I'm spoiled ... or maybe just lucky.

Marlboro Man has been here since day one ready to share this job 50/50 with me. He comes in every morning after milking the cows and helps me get them up and get them ready and going. I think I can count the times on two fingers that I've had to wing it alone in the morning with them. That's not many times considering this little trio of terror will be three years old in October.

This morning I was all prepared and had everything laid out and ready for them. I was calm and didn't even have heart palpatations. I was breathing evenly and said all my prayers prior to getting them up. I counted to ten, tip-toed across the room, took a deep breath, opened their door and in my best voice said, "Good Morning Babbbbbiiiiieeeeessssss ---- Mommmmeeeee Loves YOU! Who wants to get up?" like I do every single morning! All three of them looked at me like I was an alien. They looked right past me and started yelling, "DADDDDDDY" - "WHERE'S DADDDDDDDY?"

I knew instantly when I got the "we only want Daddy, and we can yell louder than you look" that this morning wasn't going to be pretty! I wasn't Daddy. I am Mommy! I am not the one they wanted this morning ... and it was getting uglier by the minute! Make that .... by the second.

My pre-planned vision of being cheerful and happy and keeping them happy long enough to get them changed, dressed and breakfast, then out the door to the car and to daycare wasn't going to go as I had planned. It was going south in a hand basket F-A-S-T!

Do you know how long it takes to get three noodle limp and kicking toddlers down a steep and narrow flight of steps by yourself? They stalled out on step seven, with eight steps to go. I bribed them with suckers (which did not work). I thought about rolling them, but thought that they might dog pile at the bottom of the stairs and someone might get hurt .... so instead I carried each of them the rest of the way down.

The very second their feet landed on the floor downstairs the screaming and crying stopped. They wanted that sucker. They got that sucker. They got two suckers. They were breakfast this morning. I decided that no one would know that I fed my kids a sucker for breakfast. I also reasoned with myself that they would eat a good lunch in two hours. They wouldn't die of starvation .... they'd had a sugar fix.

Needless to say, I am very much so dreading harvest this year. I think the cows should change their diet and forget about chopping corn and making silage this year. Marlboro Man thinks that I'm woman enough to do this every morning without him. I don't think I am. In fact, I know I'm not! I'm going to beg him and promise him the moon if he'll just come back home in the mornings for an hour.

By the way, when he asked me this evening how things went this morning .... I smiled and said, "it was a piece of cake honey" .... why would you even ask?" I will never let him know that I lost all dignity, aged four years in one hour, and was done in by three two year olds. N-E-V-E-R!

Be Blessed,
Tan

Swim Day!

We went down the road to Marlboro Man's sisters house this afternoon swimming. Guess who the Weenies were? Yep, it was my boys! Meg said so!

Jay finally got in. It took a lot of persuasion and a little bit of just force. Well, not really force, but just being bigger than him.
He still wasn't sure if he liked the water or not. He liked the ball .... just not in the water!
Meg loved the water. She stayed in the whole time. "Them Weenies" she said.

Sam had more fun on the outside. He liked throwing things in the water. He's a Weenie too!
He's a cute Weenie though!
Meg says, "They're just Weenies" ..... Boys are Weenies!

Be Blessed,

Tan

P.S. Happy Birthday Robin! (another wonderful sister) Love you Sis!