They tried to make me go to rehab...

Sing it, Amy Winehouse.

If I have to endure another month like this past May, I really may need to check into a rehab facility...or at least someplace with luscious, padded walls.

What a month May was. I sacrificed my all last month. I'm officially sacrificed out. All of my "do nice things for others" supply has been officially tapped out. I've made my good deeds quota for the year. I'm not a contortionist (gawd, did I even spell that right??) so I'm done bending over backwards for others.

The month of May has taught me that I truly am patient. I began to think that every ounce of patience I had within me had been sucked out by my (sometimes) demanding children, but I guess not. The month of May has proven to me that my parents truly DID a damn fine job of raising me and that I've become a very compassionate young woman. The month of May has shown me that the people in my life and the things that I have around me are blessings I should truly be thankful. The month of May has given me new insight to life.

I didn't go to rehab. Well, I did, but I didn't check in. No, that still doesn't sound right. Yes, I went to rehab (more than once, in fact), but it was not me who was (and excuse the really corny 'Amazing Grace' reference) "once was lost but now [is] found." OK, so maybe she isn't "found" just yet, but she's definitely finding her way and I believe she's realizing that her life's path was not supposed to continue down the road it was heading on.

My sister-in-law. Love that girl to death. I've only known her for many years. Put it to you this way, her brother and I have been together for 14 years...married for 6 of those 14 years. When I first met my sister-in-law, she was only 6. She's now 21...on the verge of turning 22. It's sad to say, I barely remember even being 21...but I certainly remember enough to know that my life at 21 was not even remotely similar to her at 21.

There was some trouble. There was some trouble before, but that had all gotten taken care of. But, it's never, ever good to get into more trouble when you're already told that you should be good (i.e., probation). May was a busy month. A cousin was graduating from college. The company was super busy with two school jobs running at the same time. My kids were suffering from the "near the end of the school year" itch. There was just a lot going on. Somehow, trouble still managed to find it's way into my already crazy life. Frantic collect telephone calls are never good...especially when your caller ID reads "Virginia Beach City............." I knew my daughter's school wouldn't be calling collect. What makes things even worse is that I didn't even get to see my caller ID until later in the afternoon -- after my sister-in-law had to call her ex-stepmother (my ex-MIL who is also known as "the big itch").

I was at work when I received the call. I had heard bits and pieces about what may or may not have happened from my husband. He heard from his uncle who lives next door to my sister-in-law. From what I understand, it was a cuh-razy night. So crazy that it landed her in jail -- solitary confinement, no less -- and that jail visit turned out to be for nearly a week (but we'll get to that part sooner or later). When the news first came about, everyone sort of backed off at first.

"No, she needs to figure this out on her own."
"She needs to realize where she's headed."
"I'm not going to help her...we helped last time and look how much good it did."
"They won't give her bond."
"Let her sit there all weekend to think about what she's done."

*sigh*

Despite it all, the first thing that happened was her father called his lawyer. He kept going on and on about how he wouldn't help, that she needed to learn, etc., but he called. The bond hearing would be after the weekend...we'll see the lawyer then.