From Chapter 2: "MISSTEPS"

My God, I’d spent years smelling my teenagers’ breath for alcohol, looking for dilated pupils and asking them if their friends were smoking pot. Our kids were even fully involved in the D.A.R.E. (Drug Abuse Resistance Education) program in school. How could this be happening to our family? 

We drove straight to the outpatient rehab facility, located inside our local hospital. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience as we rode the elevator up to the floor labeled “Chemical Dependency Treatment.” I never imagined our family would be here and hoped I didn’t see anyone I knew, at least not for the time being. I didn’t want to have to explain anything, just yet. When we reached the front desk, the reception staff was very friendly and asked us if we’d like water or coffee while we waited.                                                                        I’d rather have a new life, I thought.

Jaime began the program the next day and was assigned to a counselor whom she’d see weekly, and who could randomly drug-test her. She received a behavior log, the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, written rules of the program, and she attended her first patient meeting that night.

“How was it, Jaime?” I anxiously asked when she got home.

“It was okay,” she despondently answered.  “I just don’t think I belong here.”

“Maybe it’ll get better with time,” I said, sensing this was not going to be the easy fix I was hoping for.

           

It was a big life adjustment for all of us. While Jaime went to daily patient meetings with other addicts/alcoholics, we were expected to attend meetings twice a week, Mondays and Fridays, in the same building. Stu and I were labeled co-dependents. Initially, we thought co-dependents were the interested parties attached to the addict or alcoholic. But we soon learned that co-dependency is a behavioral issue -a tendency to behave in excessively caretaking and/or controlling ways. Our name was all over that one. Stu and I had a lot of work ahead of us if we wanted healthy relationships. Who knows? Maybe Jaime’s disease would make us healthier!           

Snippet from the Chapter-"MISSTEPS"

            The rehab program had rolling admissions, so patients entered at different times and graduated at different times. Many co-dependents stopped coming when their qualifiers graduated, but some stayed on to continue sharing their strength and hope with the new people coming in. We developed a genuine compassion for most of the people we met through program. We might see them casually or not see them for years, but we will forever be part of the club and they will always be friends. Many people who haven’t experienced this process can never understand, and I always feel compelled to try to make the co-dependent experience vivid. Program people get what you’re going through. There’s no small talk and no explaining necessary, but there is a lot of empathy and hugs. It feels safe.

             Unfortunately, the twelve-step program is not a cure-all and we saw many alcoholics and addicts come and go, along with their co-dependents. It was very eye opening and upsetting to see so much failure and pain. The miracles were those who got sober and stayed sober.                                   

            We learned quickly, but found it difficult to accept that addiction is a family disease in which we played a part. It’s so easy to say that it’s the alcoholic or addict with the problem; that it’s not our disease. Even though Stu and I didn’t choose to abuse drugs or alcohol; as significant others, we were part of the problem. That concept took longer to grasp.

Chapter Excerpt: GRANDPARENTS AS PARENTS -Can Anyone Relate?

Being grandparents as parents is a unique life. Some people miss out on their childhood; we’re missing out on our golden years. At this stage in life, Stu and I were supposed to be planning European cruises, not cruises by Disney. We looked forward to getting up leisurely on the weekend, not at six o’clock in the morning and, most certainly, not to the voice of SpongeBob SquarePants on the TV! We can’t always accept invitations because we’re at the mercy of finding a babysitter. My days are bookended by school drop-offs and pick-ups, with not much time in the middle. How can the day go so fast? Early evenings were supposed to be filled with relaxing activities like preparing a quiet dinner for Stu and I, or soaking in a hot tub, while he picked up dinner. Instead, I’m making grilled cheese sandwiches -and taking a leisurely bath? That means, while I sponge quickly, Brady’s running past my tub after his “Nano” battery-run bugs, yelling for me to watch. It’s back to the chaotic daily life that only a child can provide. Don’t get me wrong, in Brady we’ve been given a joyful gift of life that we wouldn’t trade for the world; but we’ve also been given a few lifelong challenges.

“Brady, it’s time to do homework!” I call out.
“Can’t it wait until later?” he pleads. “I want to play.”
“If you wait until later, you’ll be too tired and you still have to practice piano,” I tiredly answer. “And I need time to make dinner.”
“But, Mom,“ he argues, “I’m a kid, and kids are supposed to play. It makes us happy.
He always manages to make me smile.
“Well,” I say, “you are a kid, and you are supposed to play. But your first job is schoolwork.
Then I try the competitive approach.
“Brady, how come your cousin Aidan does his work without arguing and looks forward to solving math problems?”
“Mom,” he says as if I’m clueless, “Aidan and I are two very different people. We were made that way, so we don’t do things the same.”
What can I say to that?
“You’re right, Brady, but you still need to do your work.”

After more coercing, we finally sit down together to do homework. He’ll look bored, play with the pencil until it flies out of his hand, argue that his printing is neat when it isn’t; and homework that should take fifteen minutes, is taking forty-five!”
How many more years of homework do I have to look forward to?

Chapter Excerpt: Oh, No, Brady's Almost 8!

Brady's favorite outing became The Model Train Store, a forty-minute drive from our house.          

“Why can’t I buy the Lionel Train?” he’d plead. “I’m old enough to work it.”                       

“Brady, on the box it says you have to be at least eight years old,” I said, to my relief.                        

“But, Mom,” he’d say, the box won’t know I’m only five!”           

We’d leave the store, with Brady yearning for his eighth birthday. I left hoping they’d change the age on the box to twelve by the time Brady turned eight.                                                

My boys were never that interested in cars or trains, so this was new to me. Even if they had been; we couldn’t afford them, which left them content to play with anything they could find in the house. 

Barely two years old, our galley kitchen was Adam’s favorite area to explore. He’d pull all the pots and pans out of my cabinet and play. One morning, while I was in the bedroom folding laundry, I heard Tracy and Adam giggling. By the time I peeked into the kitchen to see what they were laughing about, my jaw dropped when I saw Adam. He was covered in white grease! He had taken off his clothing and diaper, lifted the plastic lid off my giant can of Crisco, slathered it all over his body (even his head), and was sliding on the linoleum floor from one end of the kitchen to the other yelling, “Weeeee!” I should have bought him some toys. I can’t begin to explain how long it took me to clean him up.

NOT for Grandparents ONLY

This was sent to me by a friend and worth reading for the chuckle:

ONLY A GRANDMOTHER WOULD KNOW...

‾A Cup of Tea ‾

One day my Gramma was out, and my Grampa was in charge of me.

I was maybe 2 1/2 years old. Someone had given me a little 'tea set' as a gift, and it was one of my favorite toys.

Grampa was in the living room engrossed in the evening news when I brought him a little cup of 'tea', which was just water. After several cups of tea and lots of praise for such yummy tea, my Gramma came home.

My Grampa made her wait in the living room to watch me bring him a cup of tea, because it was 'just the cutest thing!' Gramma waited, and sure enough, here I came down the hall with a cup of tea for Grampa, and she watched him drink it up and rave about it.

Then she said, (as only a gramma would know), "Did it ever occur to you that the only place she can reach to get water is the toilet?"

Excerpt from Chapter: RAISING BRADY

This chapter could have been called “Spoiling Brady” because that’s one grandparent trait we’ve had difficulty abandoning. As much as we don’t want to spoil him, we’ve lost the battle many times, which our grown kids are only too happy to remind us.

With all Brady’s been through, we wanted to afford him as much pleasure as possible. To Brady, like many boys, that meant anything with wheels. It began at two years old with fire trucks and police cars. We spent our weekends, with Brady in tow, visiting local fire and police stations (he knew the firefighters by name) and to local fairs where fire engines and police motorcycles were on display. We couldn’t do enough for him, most likely overcompensating, because Jaime wasn’t there.

            

When Brady added autos and racecars to his repertoire on wheels, his collection totaled at least five hundred cars. He knows where every car came from and knows if one is missing.    

“When I grow up, I want to make billions and trillions of dollars!” Brady exclaimed.  “I want seven Ferrari’s and each one will be a different color for each day,” he confidently stated. “That way, if one breaks, I’ll go to the next one.”  Maybe he should raise us!  

          

Excerpt: HOPE IS ALL WE HAVE

Jaime spent two hours trying to tell us how ridiculous we were, that we were wasting her time. “The drugs belonged to my friend,” she lied.                                            

“Just take the test, Jaime,” I said through clenched teeth. “If you’re innocent, the test will prove it.”

Coaxing and coaxing, I was beside myself with exasperation.                                          

“Don’t bother with the test,” she dismally said. “I’m not clean.”                                                           

We said she needed to leave our home and figure out a way to get sober. Stu and I promised we would take care of Brady, who was a little over two years old at the time.                                    

Against our advice to go into a six-month locked rehab, which she could afford with its sliding scale fee, she chose to go back to the same sober living home she failed at twice before. She feared that going into a locked facility and not being able to work; she’d lose her clients and be limited to her visits with Brady. But that would happen, anyway, if she couldn’t get clean. At least, there, she’d have a chance at sobriety.            

Her plan was not promising. However, no one knows when someone decides to get sober. Maybe this was her time and we held onto our hope.