See the previous entry for the full backstory.

Our mold tests came pack positive. There is mold in the basement, as well as the ventilation system.

We are unsure what we are going to do next. Any advice is welcome.

Tomorrow, we move forward with whatever legal options we have. Woo-hoo! At least we know what is going on.

To be continued…

Those of you who are parents will immediately understand where I am today. If you are not, you may sympathize or empathize, but you may not actually “get it.”

Last Tuesday night, our 2 1/2-year-old, Ashton, came upstairs shortly after dinner and loudly proclaimed to Kelly, “Mommy, my tummy really hurts!” Well, we are on the other side of the whole potty-training thing, so we naturally assumed he simply needed to go. However, he usually wants to go alone. This time, he INSISTED that Kelly go with him.

As they left, I began cleaning off the table. About 60 seconds later, I heard Kelly scream. By the time I got to the bathroom (about 2 seconds later- I still have a little speed in me despite being old and fat), I found Ashton sitting on the toilet projectile vomiting and Kelly with her hands over her mouth about to join him. The smell was incredible. He did not have to go #2. That was not causing his tummy ache.

I have been around my share of kid-puke. Both of my kids got sick every time they cut teeth as babies. It is no big deal. This was different. I will not go into any further details. It was gross.

Ashton had issues several more times overnight and Wednesday morning, so Kelly and I decided to take him to the doctor Wednesday afternoon. This was our first visit to a doctor since being back in Cleveland. The doc pronounced it to be a virus and gave us instructions.

I took Ashton home and stayed with him the rest of Wednesday afternoon. He slept for most of it, but was still not keeping anything on his stomach, and what was coming out was not awesome, to say the least. On Thursday morning, Grandma took him to her house because I had to go to work since I was leaving for the MWOA Rally on Friday. I had to get stuff done. Kelly left for the rally that morning as well.

Ashton seemed to get much better Thursday morning while at Grandma’s. I had lunch with a friend and picked Belle up from school. I took her out to Grandma’s and brought Ashton home with me. (We had decided to keep them separated as much as possible since we were told he was VERY contagious. However, as you will soon see, he wasn’t.) We had been home about 30 minutes when he started all over again. I stayed with him all day and all night, on the couch in the living room. When he would get sick, I would pick him up and put him on the floor so he could do what he had to do in a pail I had put there.

Once, at about 4.30am, he was on his knees and had just finished his business with the pail. I was wiping his mouth when he looked up at me, completely groggy and lethargic, and said, “I love you, Daddy.” He almost whispered it. Then he literally collapsed on my lap. I held him for a while and absorbed the moment. It was as if he recognized that I was caring for him in the most disgusting situation, and he wanted to let me know he appreciated it. I will not lie and pretend that I did not get choked up. I have a lump right now simply recalling it.

I slept maybe 2 hours that night. He was on one end of the couch and I was curled up on the other, touching him the whole time so I would know if he moved. We got through the night and he seemed to be a bit better. He did not get sick the rest of the morning and, at about noon, I turned him over to Grandma and left for the Rally. He was still incredibly lethargic and weak.

He had been at Grandma’s about an hour when he started getting better. He started talking and wanting to eat. After a little while, he wanted to play. He was still weak (since he had not kept ANYTHING- even water- on his stomach for 3 days), but he still started to move. His recovery was almost miraculous.

I was driving to Sevierville when I heard about the recovery. Then it hit me and I almost had a stroke right there in my Element just south of Knoxville.

Seven weeks ago we had major rains and flooding in Cleveland. In fact, the basement of the house we rent flooded in a major way. It had minorly flooded back in November, but this one was major. We have been in a struggle with our landlord ever since to get this mess cleaned up. The smell was horrible (and still is), and the mess was incredible (and still is), but we had another primary concern.

Mold.

It became obvious that Ashton was experiencing mold sickness. When he was home, he was violently sick. When he was not home, he got better almost immediately. I have been having terrible headaches for the past several weeks, and Kelly has been experiencing very strong fatigue. After a little research on Kelly’s part, we discovered that all of these are symptoms of mold sickness. Over the weekend, not one headache for me. Over the weekend, Kelly felt more rested than ever, even though she actually slept LESS. Over the weekend, Ashton got completely better.

I cannot tell you the anger I am experiencing now. Kelly and I can take a lot, but physical danger to our babies is where the line is definitely drawn. Watching Ashton suffer, and I mean SUFFER, was terrible. The fact that it likely was preventable and due to the negligence and down-right greed of others is maddening. I cannot detail here all that we have tried to do to get this situation corrected.

We are not sure what we are going to do. We are exploring all options. For now, we are not taking our kids back to the house. Belle does not seem to have suffered any side effects, but we will not take a chance. We are washing all of their clothes before they wear them, and cleaning all of their toys before they play with them.

I know this has been a long entry. I just needed to vent. I will post again later with updates.

Well, it has been ages since I blogged. I have no idea if anyone even reads it anymore, or if they would want to! =) So much has happened since my last entry that I am a little unsure where to start. The past year has been a long journey; one that has been tiring and difficult, but one that has taught me a lot.

I am not going to use this forum to unpack the baggage of the last year. I am so grateful for my wife and my kids. I am grateful for my family. I am grateful for friends who have propped me up, and sometimes dragged me along. I am grateful for people who REALLY know me and who believe in me.

I am going to stop here for now. I am in one of those contemplative moods where my thoughts could easily cause me to say too much. All I want now is peace. Peace that comes in the form of kisses from my wife. Peace that comes in the form of smiles and giggles from my kids. Peace… wonderful peace.

Just for the two people who may read this, I am attaching a recent picture of the Owens clan. This was taken in the back yard of our home in Cleveland. We had been enjoying the fall by playing in a gigantic leaf pile. For the whole story, check out Kelly’s blog at www.kellyreflects.blogspot.com.

I love you, Kelly, Belle and Ashton!

I have learned a lot in the past few weeks. I tend to be a slow learner, but the past few weeks have seemed to teach me a whole lot in a short amount of time. I have not blogged in a while, so be patient with me as I get used to it again.

My lovely wife, Kelly, is quite brilliant. For those of you who do not have the privilege of knowing her very well, let me enlighten you. She is the smartest person I know… and I do not mean just book-smart (although she is that). She is also very instinctual and aware. Because she loves me so much and believes in me, she put aside some of her own pursuits to move to Tallahassee and give birth to Belle and Ashton. Now, I am doing everything I can to give her the room to study and complete her Masters of Divinity, which she is set to do by spring 09! Woo-hoo!

In so doing, she takes a few nights a week after dinner (or earlier) and goes away to study, since there is no way she can do it with two toddlers hanging around. She has also tried to take all day Friday or Saturday (my supposed off days), if my schedule will allow, as well as a few days or weeks here or there to travel to Cleveland. During the longer periods, the kids have gone to stay with my parents in SC.

Last Saturday was the chosen day for her to study since Friday was so rainy and nasty. She left in the morning, met us for haircuts and Sonny’s, then went back and stayed out until about 9pm. I have prided myself in my ability to take care of the kids all day, and have the house clean when Kelly comes home at night on these particular days. I was well on my way.

It was about 7.30pm. The kids were in the bathtub playing. I had finished cleaning everything up from the huge mess we had made playing all day, except for Belle’s room and one load of laundry. I had just gone into Belle’s room to start when I heard the scream.

I ran across the hall to find Belle standing up screaming, “Daddy! Ashton pee-peed in the tub!” Well, being a boy, I did not think much of this. I know it is gross to most girls, but I am a guy. No big deal. Belle would hear none of it.

They had been playing with their crayons which typically turn the water a strange color. As I got closer to Belle, who would not calm down, I noted the crayons had turned the water an orange-ish color. I told Belle to calm down and finish her bath, or I was taking her out. She immediately asked to get out. That was clue #1. My kids LOVE the bath. They hate to get out. That is when I saw it.

A floater.

Obviously, Ashton had had more of an issue than urine. Belle had not given me the full story. Of course, I immediately jerked Belle out of the tub. Then I checked out my son. He looked at me and just started giggling. He thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

I took them to the large tub in the master bathroom and rinsed them off and filled the tub for them to get clean. Then I set out doing one of the most disgusting things I have ever had to do. I will not go into detail, but suffice it to say that it was nauseating.

When I finished and put all laundry associated with this nasty episode in the washing machine, I went into the master bath, washed the kids and took them out. They had been out of the tub for about 5 minutes when Kelly came home. I had not finished cleaning Belle’s room nor the laundry. I was flustered.

I did not get sympathy. I got a little empathy, because it was gross, but I was told that it had happened to her before too and this is the way it goes when your kids are not toilet trained. It was no big deal.

NO BIG DEAL?

To make matters worse… Sunday night Kelly and I allowed the kids to take a “big, big bath” in our tub as a special treat. Another scream from Belle. Another incident from Ashton. This time, he had climbed up on the built-in seat and done his business. Then he slid off the seat and promptly contaminated the water. Much bigger tub… much bigger mess.

As I reflect on these episodes, I am still grossed out. However, I realize how much I love my kids. I love spending time with them… just me and them. I feel closer to both of them now than ever before and I cherish the time I get to spend with them. I wish I had done this sooner.

I can handle a floater from time to time.

No, this is not going to be a blog about Ah-nald.

I have the privilege of talking to a lot of people who have had one or more traumatic events in their lives that have sent them into this downward spiral of self-loathing. From the outside looking in, these people seem to be at the top of their game… perceived success in virtually every area of their lives from money to family and beyond. Then there are others who seem that no matter how hard they try, they cannot seem to get ahead. They work hard, they pray a lot, they give. It seems that God is somehow against them. I see people who have been so beaten down by life that they cannot stand up straight any more.

I had an interesting impromptu conversation with my Grandma Orvin the other day. For those of you who do not know this woman, she is a force to be reckoned with. She is from a generation who truly knew poverty and hunger. She grew up in the depression with lots of brothers and sisters. She and my late-Grandpa were pioneering Pentecostal ministers in the South. They were ridiculed and persecuted. Her first child (my uncle Perry) lost his left eye to cancer at age 2, then died from the same cancer at 34. Her 2nd child (my mom) was deathly sick the first two years of her life. It is a miracle that she made it. Aren’t you glad, though, cause I would not be here!

She is a formidable woman. She is one of those people who prays, and keeps praying until an answer is given. I will always remember as a child hearing her pray for hours, laying face down on the floor of her bedroom.

In this impromptu conversation, we started talking about self-esteem. This was on Wednesday afternoon, and I had just had a long day of counseling. She said something that I found to be interesting. She told me that she has a tremendous amount of faith that God will meet everyone’s needs. She has never doubted that God would and could move heaven and earth for everyone… except her. She has never believed that she was good enough or special enough for God to move in her life. She was never smart enough, attractive enough, or like-able enough for people to care about her or appreciate her abilities. She looks back at her life and is amazed at all that has happened and how blessed she is. And she wonders how it all happened with all of her inadequacies.

I have never really heard her talk like that. She is one of my heroes… a woman of strength and uncompromising faith and commitment to God and her fellow humanity. She has given all of herself to the cause of Christ her entire life with no complaint, only glory to God. When I heard her talking about her own insecurities, I heard my own voice. I heard my mother’s voice. I heard how these kinds of destructive lies are passed along though generations of the most well-meaning and devout people, and not just people who are walking time bombs.

It is amazing what we believe about ourselves, and the kinds of people we allow to be a part of our lives, no matter how much they have hurt us or torn us down. We have been scarred by others who were so hurt and broken themselves, and we choose to believe those things spoken to and over us rather than the truth of Christ. He has created each of us to be powerful men and women of God. He has afforded us grace and mercy that we could never deserve, and loves us so much. Often we can only see the mess. He ALWAYS sees the possibilities.

Grandma gave me some great advice. It is time to see ourselves as God sees us… and to stop believing the true lies.

I am a political junkie. I love the whole process. I stay up late during every election night, dancing with glee or throwing things at the TV, depending on who wins. I will leave it to your imagination as to which recent elections I danced and which ones I threw things. Many have said that I should be in politics because I love it so much. I disagree, because I speak too frankly and honestly to ever get elected to anything.

I started writing about my soap boxes with regard to certain political and social issues, but decided against it. It is difficult to discuss these issues in today’s politically charged and politically correct environment. Labels are cheaply thrown around when people disagree with the political establishment, and considering I have the opportunity to minister to lots of different kinds of people, I choose to keep most of my political opinions to myself. Those of you who know me best already know the hot-button issues for me, so feel free to ask. I may or may not answer. =)

One thing I know for sure… we need a political revolution in this country. The corruption and sleaze that surrounds today’s political process causes apathy in most voters when it should inspire more activism. Politicians who claim to seperate their personal moral position from their “job” are trying to sell us some beach-front property in Oklahoma. It is ridiculous. If the courage of your convictions is not incorporated into your job, then they are not convictions. I do not care if I agree with you. Just be honest and vote what you believe. Let the people decide if they agree or not.

I think this disease is not just limited to the political realm. It seems no longer realistic to actually believe in something. There is nothing that is real or absolute.

I like Jesus. He spoke plainly and unapologetically. There was no wondering what he meant. But, and there is always a big BUT, he did it with love. He made the truth clear. He loved greater than any other person on earth before or since. He made it clear that love and discipline are not mutually exclusive. He was the champion of personal and community responsibility.

Maybe I will try to be like him and leave the politicizing to the pros.

So why do we pretend that it is not? We are all afraid of opening up and being who we are… exposing all of our hurt and mess, along with our joy and excitement. We are afraid that if people REALLY knew who we are they would reject us… and some may have rejected you in the past for this very reason. However, we have made a strategic decision to be a part of a community where we value openness and reality. The reality is that we all have things in our lives that we wish we could change. It is ridiculous for us to dwell on or compare our mess being somehow messier than the person sitting across the room. Mess is mess. The quickest way to clean up any mess is to get someone to help you do it. The more the better… Trust is a difficult thing for most of us. We have all been betrayed and hurt in the past, some worse than others. However, does it really do us any good to remain closed off to real, life-changing relationship because some other insecure, wounded person wounded us, too? Is it any surprise the cycle continues?

Putting myself out there is a hard thing to do. I have been rejected so many times… on so many levels that sometimes it makes me sick to remember. I was called viscious names early in life because I am not good at sports, as well as for other reasons I was oblivious to then. It was not until I was in COLLEGE that I began to come into my own and shed some of the weight of that… to know what being a man REALLY is. Even to this day I still struggle with confidence because of it and find myself on the needy side all too often with my closest friends. (Yes, my facade of confidence is a complete JOKE!) =)

Know what I have learned through all of this? I am not alone… the circumstances might be different for others, but the results are similar. We have all been hurt. But we can help each other clean the wounds and actually HEAL! I know that it took my best friend to snap me out of my own self-loathing that others had knowingly or unknowingly “helped” me develop. I am determined to repay that favor by doing the same thing for as many as I can. Real, true, open and honest relationship changed who I am and how I see myself. It can do the same for you. It may hurt a little, maybe even a lot, in the beginning. True honesty is a contact sport! But as with any muscle that you start working out for the first time, it will eventually get stronger and make you more powerful overall.

It is time to stop pretending everything is ok all the time. Life is messy… have I said that enough?