Last year they were undefeated and the day before the state championship a decision was made to disqualify them from playing. They apparently had an ineligible player (one student had repeated 8th grade and he was 3rd string). Not only did they not get to play in the championship, their entire season was wiped out. Tragically there was a suicide as the result of that situation. The community mourned and grieved and then banded together for this season.

In 2011 they were not undefeated – they fought their way back to the top and what sweet redemption it was!!! All Hail, Kahuku Hail!!!

There are days when I am so angry. There are days when I can’t stop the tears. There have even been days when I have wanted to walk away from all of this because there are days when it really is that hard. There are days when I find myself wondering if today is the day that there will be pictures in the mail, or a text message to D’s phone, or a phone call. There are nights when I dream about them and when I wake up my pillow is wet. I imagine J&A vanishing and I can’t comprehend it, nor can I imagine taking them away from their other mother.

Did I mention it has been seven and a half months? Their shoes are still downstairs by the door. Their coats are still hung up on the wall. Their toys are still where they left them. Their beds still have their blankets on them. One night D put their blankets in bed with her so she could smell them. It was heartbreaking.

I was looking through some of the last pictures we took. I realized how much J&A have changed. I wondered how much M&W have changed. They are suspended in my mind the way they were when they left and they likely will be until I see them again.

So I’m back blogging again. WooHoo. I’ve got to let it out somewhere. I promise, there will also be happy posts. Right now I’m pretty damn proud of myself for blogging period.

The holidays are coming. I am facing them with optimism and faith and hope. I think it’s pretty obvious what every member of my household wants for Christmas.

M’s favorite thing in the whole wide world are butterflies. I remember when she was 3 she would call them “buttflies” and I would laugh hysterically. Over time she grew out of that, but her passion for butterflies got stronger. In the summer you will often find her flitting about the yard looking for them, and when she spots them the genuine excitement in her voice warms your heart. We only had M and W (D’s son and M’s twin brother) every other weekend so imagine the excitement when the caterpillars arrived on a Saturday when they were with us. We promised to watch them while they were away and then 12 sleeps later when they returned the first place M would go was to the little jar. She was also here when a few of them emerged from their cocoons. It’s now been several months and they butterfiles have dwindled down to two, but the two that remain love the habitat that my brother has created for them. He keeps wet paper towels and fresh fruit and flowers for them to feed and watches over them daily. He did after all make a promise to M to keep them safe.

One week ago D reached out to her ex to see when the kids spring break was. I’m not going to go into all of the gory details but the conversation ended with a text message that the kids would not be coming for the weekend. At the heart of the matter? D’s ex made the statement, “If you want the benefits of visitation you will need to start providing financial support.” We used to have the twins every other week. Then the ultimatum was delivered that we would have them every other weekend. There is never any compromise. We are completely at the mercy of the ex who is also the “bio” parent. We have dealt with the every other weekend. It hasn’t been easy. Two sleeps every fourteen is hard on D, it’s hard on my kids, and it’s really hard on M and W. They would drive 90 minutes on Friday and arrive about 6pm to have to turn around and drive 90 minutes back on Sunday afternoon to be home by 6 (as mandated by the ex). Then tball and soccer started and D was told they would only be down when there weren’t games that conflicted. Again no compromise, and we dealt as hard as it was with what we got. Now don’t get me wrong. D is more than happy to provide for the children, and when they are with her she meets their every temporal, emotional, and spiritual need. She also offered to pay educational, medical, dental or child related bill. Simply send the bill to us and we will pay it. Not good enough, because that would be a compromise right?

So for five days after the fight and the final text from the ex D sent a text asking how much money was wanted so she could see her children. She has yet to receive a response. Friday night at 6pm came and went and there was no pitter patter of footsteps through the front door. No exclamation from J and A of, “M & W are here!”. There were no forts, or trips to our favorite restaurant, or movies with popcorn, or checking on the beloved butterflies. I knew it would be difficult so I kept the kids busy. D had to work, and at night we planned activities that kept us moving forward. Despite this, there was still a hole. Sunday morning while cooking special breakfast (which I do every weekend for the kids) I kept thinking W would come around the corner and say, “Kyla! I smell bacon!” When I heard something in the hallway I assumed it was M running back and forth on all fours like a monkey. My assumptions were illusions and when I put the french toast and bacon and eggs on the table I couldn’t help but notice the two plates missing. Each of our children has a special plate they  made at color me mine. They all are different colors and they are used for every meal. Light green and pink and green were on the table. Purple and blue were not. Later while cleaning J’s room I couldn’t help but notice that hanging on two of his bed posts were two little super hero capes. One red, one blue. Each one with the boys names embroidered on the them. I asked J if he wanted to take W’s cape down to his room to which he replied, “No mom, it’s where we hang our capes”. I could not hold my tears back so I turned and left the room.

What do you do? What do you say? How do you fix something like this in a state where someone like D does not have a legal voice? Have you ever had that dream where you try to scream and nothing comes out? Or where you do scream but noone hears you? We have decided to find our voice in this. M & W need to know that we are fighting for them. We started a journal, “Letters to the Babies”. I am going to make it into a blog where we can write to them. One day we will hand them the letters and they will have a record of how much they are loved. In addition to this we are going to band together with others in our situation and those who support us and we will find a voice. It’s time that situations like this are put to an end. It’s unfortunate that we are not alone. This is happening too frequently and without consequence to those perpetuating the hurt to the children of the community. For now D and I live with the hope that M & W already know they are loved. We live with the faith that maybe just maybe there will be a knock at the door in ten sleeps. We live with the knowledge that we are doing what we can with what we have. We live with the determination to keep living, and to make J and A and D’s son J happy. Most of all we live knowing that we will see them again. We may not know when, but it will happen.

This morning as I walked down the hall past the butterfly habitat there was a flurry of activity. I stopped to look inside and saw two beautiful creatures flying about, their wings vibrant with color and their enthusiasm for life contagious. I couldn’t help but think that perhaps it was M & W’s way of saying, “We love you too.”

I’m going to cut to the chase for several reasons: First, each time I add a part to the saga I find myself re-living the experience and my anxiety levels go through the roof. Second, if I keep it at this level of detail there will be 20 parts and I’ll be 50 years old. Third, I really want to write about a lot of other fun and happy stuff that is going on in my life.

We got back to the house and my nieces and I took the kids upstairs to play Karaoke Glee and Just Dance 2 on the Wii. We were having a blast when guess who appeared. I had a very deliberate conversation with my self in my head talking myself into trying one more time. It was my birthday after all. I invited her to come and play with us. The next 30 minutes were actually a lot of fun. I sat back and watched as they all sang and danced together. I almost forgot about the issues we had been having and it truly felt “normal”.

I digress…In the beginning we were peas in a pod. Only 14 months apart and we were inseparable. We even dressed alike. Probably cause I was my sister’s size by the time I was 3 and bigger by the time I was 4. My older sister actually got my hand me downs – including my coveted jeans with Shaun Cassidy’s face painted on the front lower right leg. She was my hero and I worshiped the ground she walked on. We shared a bedroom and until we were 8 and 9 even shared a bed. I was afraid of the dark and she was always cold. It was a win-win situation – she was brave and I was warm. I remember one day she was sick and couldn’t get out of bed. She was upset that she was going to be missing her piano lesson. We were 4 and 5. I took her book and walked across the street to the teacher’s house, knocked on the door and said I was there to fill in for her. I didn’t even tell the General, I just went. I wanted to make sure I could tell my sister what she had missed. I came home and performed “Hot Cross Buns” for my family and my sister clapped for me. Nothing could have made me prouder.

Something happened as we began to grow up. I will never forget the day I ran into her room ready to participate in whatever game was being played. She was there with a friend and told me to leave. She had moved on and I was devastated. I ran into my room and cried myself to sleep. We never played together again and our roles began to shift. She went from being my hero to being my nemesis. If she chose left, I chose right. If she wanted black, I wanted white. I also began to take on the role of protector. My sister didn’t have a lot of friends, in fact she pissed off a lot of people. She was arrogant and had an ego the size of an elephant. I realize now it was her way of compensating for low self-esteem but at the time she would run her mouth and I would have to step in and be the person who saved her hide. I always secretly wanted our relationship back, but it wasn’t to be. The older we got the more different we became and rather than embracing each others differences we attacked them.

So that evening as I sat and watched my kids and my nieces and my sister dance and sing I caught a glimpse of the past, set in reality and it made me smile. I’m glad I got those 30 minutes because I won’t forget them.

My nieces left and my kids continued to dance with my sister. J came and cuddled on my lap while A stayed. My sister decided to teach A some of her “dance moves”. Unfortunately these were not moves that she had used in the prior 30 minutes. They were new moves and I can only describe them from my own experience – because the people I have only ever seen dance like this have been strippers. I don’t know about you, but saying to a six-year-old, “Too bad we don’t have a pole”, or “this is how you bounce your booty”, are totally inappropriate. I’m pretty open, but I’m not that open. Just then my sister started to let A twirl while holding her by the hand. The problem was A was twirling but my sister had her by the hand so tight, I was afraid she would hurt her. I didn’t want to tell my sister what to do (been there, tried that) so I said to A, “Careful baby, you don’t want to hurt your arm.” My sister didn’t skip a beat and said without even turning to address me, “You know I’m not as stupid as you think I am. I wouldn’t ever hurt her.” I let it slide and just passed it off as one more of her stupid back biting underhanded comments. She obviously was bitter and I really didn’t want to fight.

They continued to dance and my sister started getting touchy with A again. At one point she looked down and said to A, “You have your Daddy’s feet.” REALLY??????? Did you really just say that to my kid???? A immediately looked up at me and said, “Mommy, I have a DAD!!!” To which I replied, “No honey, you don’t have a Dad, and neither does Jackson.” Oh if looks could have killed I would have been dead. I then addressed my sister, “To have a Dad, you need to at least know who the Dad is.” I probably could have held that to myself but I was over it. The truth is that A was born as the result of prostitution. Finding her “Dad” is about as likely as finding a needle in a haystack.

My sister changed the game from dancing to singing (mind you she also continued to dance like a stripper). I asked the kids to come and sit with me and we would watch. She shot me daggers again and said they could stay. I calmly replied, “You know I only have my kids half the time, and so every moment is precious to me. I really would like to spend some time with them too.” She rolled her eyes and continued.

The next few minutes are a bit of a blur. My niece came upstairs and as she was talking to me, Liza approached us. A ran to her and started to remove her bracelet. I gently said to my daughter, “A we don’t ever touch other people’s things without asking them first.” My sister unraveled on me. Right in front of my kids she pretty much told me that I was a Nazi. She went on to let me know that A’s behavior was a direct result of my parenting and not her drug exposure in-utero. I was LIVID and I wasn’t going to let her get away with it. I realize I shouldn’t have started fighting AGAIN in front of the kids but all I saw was red. I unleashed a verbal fury on her with everything I had. My mouth was a machine gun and my words flew out of me like bullets. How dare she tell me that ANY of A’s problems were because of my parenting. How dare she use drugs while she was pregnant – not one drug, but every drug she could find. When A was born she tested positive for 7 substances. You name it – it was in that little baby. How dare she put that tiny precious soul in danger – that same tiny person who had to go through a horrible withdrawal where her body would seize and she would shake for three straight months. Where was she for any of the therapies A had to endure? How had she contributed to the amazing child A is and has become? I didn’t stop at A either, I went through 21 years of her inept choices. Alix, Punky, A, Joshua. How many diapers has she changed? How many high fevers did she stay up through the night with? When was the last time she held a child who had a nightmare?

We were millimeters apart, almost nose to nose when she said to me, “Back the f*uck up or I will take you out.” My response? “Oh Liza, don’t give me a reason to make this world a better place.” With that I took my children downstairs, gave them to my niece and said to my father, “Either she goes or I go but I will not have my children around her.” It was pouring rain outside and by this time it was almost 11pm. My father offered to take her home. I refused to allow him to do that. She lives over an hour from the house and the rain was so heavy coming home from the restaurant we could barely see. I told him that if she didn’t leave I’d even call a taxi and stay at a hotel. I didn’t care, I just wanted to be away from her. He went to talk to my mother and I went to make sure my children weren’t going to be scarred for life. All of a sudden there was a crash at the foot of the stairs. I jumped up to see what it was. She had hurled J’s backpack intending to send me a message that she didn’t give a shi*t about him or about me. His new toys from Christmas were inside and the sound was horrible. I ran up the stairs to see her standing there with a smirk on her face. I hadn’t actually “seen” the backpack thrown so I asked who had done it. The only people upstairs were my sister and my niece. My niece pointed to my sister behind her back. My sister flat-out denied she had done anything. I packed the rest of my suitcases and bags to take them downstairs while she started in on me again, threatening me and calling me every gutter name she could think of. I screamed for my father who came upstairs and told my sister to leave the house. She tried to fight it, but he stood firm and after a few minutes she left, but not without ranting the entire way out the door, across the driveway and down the street. I moved my things to the front door, intending to leave if she returned. The General, in what I think was an attempt to help said to me, “You know you are dealing with someone who has half a brain, be grateful you have all of yours.” She went on to tell me that my sister took pride in making me angry, and the angrier I got, the happier she was. I said to my mother, “That is the definition of PURE EVIL.” I also said that I would have the last laugh, because she was never going to be allowed to see A again.

I took my sleepy babies upstairs and we cuddled and talked about what had happened. I explained that sometimes people fight and that I was sorry they had to see or hear any of it. I made sure they were okay and tucked them into bed for the night. A few minutes later I heard the front door open and my father tell my sister to go with him to the back patio. They stayed out there for almost 2 hours talking. I didn’t dare go to sleep until I knew my sister was either gone or sleeping downstairs. I’m glad I stayed awake because for some reason she got angry again while talking to my dad and came in the house saying she was going to throw all of my things into the street. OH HELL NO YOU ARE NOT!!! I sprinted down the stairs and grabbed my bags and took them up with me. I looked at my dad and told him that under NO circumstances was she allowed to come up or be anywhere near me or the kids. I even said that I was enforcing a restraining order on her. Come within 50 feet of me and I will dial 911 beeeeotch. I turned and marched up the stairs, not paying attention to anything she was saying to me as I walked away.

She left to go and get high and returned about 4 o’clock in the morning. Thankfully she climbed into bed with one of my nieces and fell asleep. The next morning my parents gathered all of her belongings, woke her up and told her to get in the car. Before she even had a chance to realize what was going on they were pulling out of the driveway and she was on her way home. The house was immediately peaceful. It’s hard to explain but the energy totally changed. It’s like there had been a demon amongst us and it had been exorcised. My oldest niece was upset and came to me in tears saying that her mom always stayed until New Years day. I asked her what price she was willing to pay to have her mother there. Liza had fought with Alix, my mother, my father and with me. Were we really having quality time? Was it worth the pain just to have her there physically? She agreed with me and after I gave her a huge hug I suggested we go do something fun. An hour later we were sitting on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world and I finally felt like our vacation had truly begun.

My sister didn’t return while we were there.  The result? We got in some major bonding time with my parents and my nieces and enjoyed every minute with them. I’m excited to write Part VII because it will be dedicated to all of our fun adventures. I would say that the remainder of our stay was perfect but there was that visit to the E.R. on the day we were scheduled to leave – that will be explained in Part VIII but I will say that I was the patient and I have also fully recovered (didn’t want any unnecessary worry out there in blog reader land).