Tag Archives: Tyler Buccheim

The Car, the Card, and the Kitten

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My daughter Emma Katherine Roey, now Emma Buchheim, lied about a friend being raped and attempting suicide, claimed to have been molested by a priest, and then, just as her attorneys were about to file a law suit, Emma accused her mother (me) of physically abusing her and later of poisoning her with DDT. Emma claimed to have a toxicology report to confirm that her mother (me, again!) poisoned her, but would never turn over this report to my attorney. If you read through the blog, you will find many other examples of Emma’s lying. At one point, she even complained about the way her dad touched her and that he called her a “bitch” and a “slut” everyday. (I refused to listen to her when she talked about her dad like that.) As long as Emma continues with the lies, I will tell her story.  Emma and her current husband, Tyler Buchheim live in Frisco, Texas where Tyler, who has put architecture on hold, is studying to be a Full Stack Developer at the Flatiron School in an effort to avoid a midlife crisis (according to Tyler).  Emma works in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area as an insurance underwriter.   Emma and Tyler are the parents to two little dogs, Arya and Sansa.  (Emma is a huge Game of Thrones fan.)  Love and thanks to all of you who read and have written to me. If you have any questions or comments, please contact me at: losingemma@gmail.com Please continue to share the blog with others.

 

Part One, The Card (So, I went out of order.  Sue me.)

(There’s some alliteration for you, Emma. Remember learning that when we homeschooled?”)

Ok, so this post isn’t really about Emma, it’s just about life. Since a lot of you are estranged parents, divorced, struggling, and so on, you will get this. It’s just the daily things. The adventures in singledom. I once had a husband who took care of a lot of things and didn’t want me to handle the banking, the bills, the investments, the retirement, etc., and to be honest, I didn’t like dealing with car stuff or workmen on my own. I preferred Phill to be home if someone were coming to the house.

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Emma and Phill at SEFF.  Southeast Electric Flight Festival

The cars were always in Phill’s name, and he always took care of the registration during his birthday month (March 21, 1958—my husband just turned 60!), except for a couple of times when he didn’t. One time, I was driving Emma to private school—-about 24 miles one way—the price we pay for trying to do what’s best for our children (sigh), and I got pulled over and got a ticket because Phill had forgotten to renew the registration. I was embarrassed and thought it had to be a mistake, but it wasn’t. Phill just forgot. Later, I asked him how much the ticket was, and he said, “You don’t want to know.” and I never did ask again. I looked it up these days, and it’s about $125-135. I don’t know why Phill said I didn’t want to know. I had assumed it was a lot more than that. Emma, I think, was in kindergarten. She was still in a childseat, and I remember the officer handing me the ticket and telling me that he appreciated that I had my child buckled in safely. I guess it’s always good to give someone a compliment when you’re about to ruin their day.

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Later on, Emma had made her big announcement of being sexually molested by the priest on Phill’s birthday, March 21, 2010, Phill was so distracted by everything that was going on, dealing with the church, the police, and poor Emma who was traumatized by her “repressed memories,” Phill forgot again and I got stopped again. I was driving down Hwy 124, near Mill Creek High School, when the police pulled over everyone. There were a bunch of police cars there. Spike, my lab/mix was in the back seat, hanging his head out the window, and I think the only reason I didn’t get a ticket was because Spike was a big, friendly goof and the police officer seemed to like him. For whatever reason, he let me go without a ticket that time.

Fast forward to April of 2018. I am having some car trouble, and my car is stuck in 2nd Gear (which will be Part 2 of the story, The Car.) so I can’t drive it on the highway, and I’m driving back roads to work and being jerked around by the car dealer on when my car parts will be in. This was actually sort of a blessing in disguise because it is spring, flowers and trees are blooming, and I live in a rural area with a lot of horse farms. It was such a pretty drive, that I didn’t miss going down the highway, even though it took a little longer,  With the car problems, even on back roads, I was usually going about 30mph, and I know people were pulling up behind me wondering what the heck was wrong with this old lady who’s driving so slow. I wanted to dye my hair blue. I thought about putting a sign on the car that said, “Stuck in 2nd Gear” or “Go Around” and then I thought both “2nd Gear” and “Go Around” would make good names for a rock band.

On this little country road, I take for most of the 13 mile trip to my job, there is 3-way stop. One morning, I was going in to work late, about 1030am, when I noticed the police conducting a traffic stop at the 3-way stop. I thought this a little odd at this time of day because there wasn’t much traffic on this little road. It just didn’t seem like a busy enough road to have a traffic stop on, but what do I know?

As I pull up and stop on this beautiful spring morning, I roll down the window, and a young officer comes up and tells me they are just checking licenses and insurance. “Oh, ok. Sure.” I pull out my license and hand it to him. The officer takes my license and walks behind my car like he’s looking at the plate, with my license. I really wondered what he was doing, but wasn’t going to ask. He comes back and hands me my license and asks for my insurance card. Figuring that that was what he was going to ask, I had already opened my glove box and pulled out a stack of papers.

As I said, Phill always took care of the car stuff, so since Phil had me thrown out of our Buck Trail, Hoschton home in April of 2011, I had always just stuck whatever car stuff there was in the glove box. Every-time I got a new insurance card, I put it in the glove box, and the same with my registration, the owners’s manual, or anything else that had to do with the car.

I pull out a wad of paper and grab one on top and hand it to the officer. “Here’s my insurance card.”

“Ma’am, this card is from 2015.” (I love southern officers. They are so polite.)

“Oops. Ok, wait a minute.”

I flip through the paper and see on that has the correct year on it and hand it to him. “Here it is.”

“Ma’am, this is your registration.”

He hands it back to me, and I look at it. Yep, he’s right. I start flipping through all these papers. “I know it’s here. I remember putting it in the car. Apparently I don’t throw anything away.”

The officer says, “That might be a good thing.”

(Pause……………………………………………………)

“Ma’am, I’m just going to take your word for it.”

I was dressed professionally and wearing my name badge, so it’s not like I looked like some bum, but I really wanted to find that card.

“No, wait a minute. I know it’s here. Here’s 2016. Here’s 2017. Wait. I’m getting closer.”

“Ma’am it’s ok. You can go.”

“But I know it’s here.”

“Really ma’am, you can go. Just make sure you have it in the car when you get home tonight.”

I always thought the police could check your insurance with either your license plate or your driver’s license, but I don’t know and thought it was probably best not to ask, so I drove on it to work, and when I got there, I flipped though all those papers and found it! Sure enough, I did have it!  I almost wanted to turn around and drive back to show it to him.

To be continued……………..Part Two will be, The Car—- and dealing with car dealers, or being a woman in a man’s world, or……… In the end, there was a great service manager who knew I’d been treated poorly and he took over and made things right, but boy was it two weeks worth of aggravation!

Childhood Lies and the Fire Alarm

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If you are new to this blog, you may want to read the posts “In a Nutshell” or go to July 2012 and read “Sending out a Letter.” My daughter Emma Katherine Roey, now Emma Buchheim, lied about a friend being raped and attempting suicide, claimed to have been molested by a priest, and then, just as her attorneys were about to file a law suit, Emma accused her mother (me) of physically abusing her and later of poisoning her with DDT. Emma claimed to have a toxicology report to confirm that her mother (me, again!) poisoned her, but would never turn over this report to my attorney. If you read through the blog, you will find many other examples of Emma’s lying. At one point, she even complained about the way her dad touched her and that he called her a “bitch” and a “slut” everyday. (I refused to listen to her when she talked about her dad like that.) As long as Emma continues with the lies, I will tell her story. Love and thanks to all of you who read and have written to me. If you have any questions or comments, please contact me at: losingemma@gmail.com Please continue to share the blog with others.

 

After my last post about Pretty Little Liars, I got to thinking a lot about Emma’s childhood lies. Should Phill and I have caught on that Emma had a problem? Did we miss the signs that Emma had a problem telling the truth? We didn’t have another child to compare Emma to, but maybe if we had, would we have noticed that Emma lied more than most children?

One of the lies I that stuck in my mind after that last “Pretty Little Liars” post was the story about the fire drill. We were at Master’s Academy, the homeschool arts program where Emma took classes on Fridays, and I worked, at first just to pay for Emma’s tuition, but later, because kids were interested in my classes, and I found that I loved teaching the kids. (Masters Academy took place at Hebron Baptist Church, Dacula, Ga. Later on, the arts program became Dacula Classical Academy.)

Emma was in 6th or 7th grade, and was taking a dance class. I don’t even remember what class I was in, but there was a fire alarm, and we had to take the kids outside. Afterwards, on the drive home, Emma told me what I think was an Emma Tale, about how one of the girls in the class, Rachel M. had “accidentally” pulled the fire alarm. How do you accidentally pull a fire alarm? Don’t they have a little glass bar that has to break to sound the alarm? Silly me, I had just assumed that the fire drill was a routine event that occurred every once in a while. Since we were like a school at the church, it would make sense to have fire drills, like we had in school when we were kids.

I questioned Emma, because the story just didn’t sound right, but she went on about how Rachel was dancing around and somehow grabbed the fire alarm and set it off.

I had been an aide in some classes with Rachel, and I know I had her in at least one of my classes, and also Rachel’s little sister. Both girls were very sweet, quiet, kind, polite, helpful, good workers, and well behaved. They never caused any kind of trouble, never brought any attention to themselves, and had Rachel “accidentally” pulled the fire alarm, she would have been MORTIFIED, and according to Emma, that’s what happened. Poor Rachel was so embarrassed that she had pulled the fire alarm, she had to hide and couldn’t face anyone. Emma went into great detail about how embarrassed Rachel was over “accidentally” pulling the fire alarm.

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Emma and a friend from a dance class at Master’s Academy

A lot of Emma’s childhood lies have caused me to think and wonder if Phill and I could have done anything different. So many times, I couldn’t prove Emma was lying, so I just let her tell her stories and didn’t go out and verify that she was lying. Being a “not my child” kind of mom, of course I didn’t want to believe my child had trouble telling the truth. All children lie, right? When does lying become a problem? Is Emma’s lying my fault (everything in Emma’s life is my fault, so I guess I need to take credit for this too) because I didn’t establish a “No Lying” policy in the house to get Emma on the straight an narrow?

Kids like for attention, to individuate, to get out of trouble, to establish their identity, etc. Kids learn to tell white lies, so as not to hurt someone’s feelings, just like they see adults do. There were times I felt like Emma’s lies came from an active imagination, and again, I assumed lying was a normal part of childhood. During Emma’s teen years, I learned that Emma would say whatever she needed to say to get what she wanted. She would tell me she put her clothes away, when she crammed them under her dresser or threw them on her closet floor because I’d told her to put her clothes away before we were going to do something or go somewhere. Again, I thought this was just typical kid behavior. Did I miss something?

It will be interesting to see where my prodigal daughter goes in life. Is it too later for her to have a normal life. Will she continue to lie her way through life? Is it now such a part of her that there’s no turning back? I also have to wonder about Tyler and if he’s caught on to Emma yet. Living with her on a daily basis, even blinded by love, I think sooner or later he will figure it out.

Happy Mother’s Day, Emma

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If you are new to this blog, you may want to read the posts “In a Nutshell” or go to July 2012 and read “Sending out a Letter.” My daughter Emma Katherine Roey lied about a friend being raped and attempting suicide, claimed to have been molested by a priest, and then, just as her attorneys were about to file a law suit, Emma accused her mother (me) of physically abusing her and later of poisoning her with DDT. Emma claimed to have a toxicology report to confirm that her mother (me, again!) poisoned her, but would never turn over this report to my attorney. If you read through the blog, you will find many other examples of Emma’s lying. At one point, she even complained about the way her dad touched her and that he called her a “bitch” and a “slut” everyday. (I refused to listen to her when she talked about her dad like that.) As long as Emma continues with the lies, I will tell her story. Love and thanks to all of you who read and have written to me. If you have any questions or comments, please contact me at: losingemma@gmail.com Please continue to share the blog with others.

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Recently I came across this letter you wrote when you entered a contest with the FISH 104.7 for a Mother’s Day makeover:

 

WHY MY MOM DESERVES A MOM’S MAKEOVER

I’m her only daughter, Emma (I’m 11). I think my mom deserves a mom’s makeover because as some say ‘if dads are the head of the family, then moms are the neck, and the neck can turn the head any way it wants’. My mom is DEFINITLY the neck of our family. She gets me to softball, choir, chorus and lots of other activities. She also reminds my dad that he has a dentist appointment in an hour so he needs shower and comb his hair and put on a shirt that doesn’t have holes in it (those are his yard-work shirts that have holes). On top of all this, she still manages to put a meal on the table so we can eat together. Getting the family together for meals may sound easy; however, it’s often anything but, since my dad works for UPS (United Parcel Service). He isn’t the kind of worker who delivers packages to your door, but the kind of worker who takes packages from GA to another state, and he does it at night; so he has a weird schedule.

Since she wants me to get a good education, she gives up her day to homeschool me so that I’ll have a chance to complete my ultimate (earthly) goal; to earn all good grades so I can get the Hope Scholarship, attend Georgia Tech for the first 4 years of college, and attend Yale University in Connecticut so that I can become a children’s pediatrician. It really helps to have my mom support my goals and to know that she’s behind my every step to catch me if I fall and encourage me to get up and start again. My mom is a fire when I’m cold and a couch when I’m tired. She’s an animal-sitter for our neighbors and a friend to anyone who needs one. It’s hard for me to put on paper why my do-good, church-going mom deservers a mom’s makeover, but I’ve tried my best and I think she would be a VERY worthy recipient of your luxurious prize!

 

 FISH

Oh, and safe for the whole family? 104.7 The Fish!!!!

Mom and me (and you enclosed a picture of the two of us)

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I know you’ve made some bad decisions, but you’re still my daughter and I still love you.  I think of you always and pray for you daily.  That’s all I can do for you at this point.

I remember when you turned nine, and I thought that my time with you was half over.  At 18, you would probably be going off to college.  How that time flew by.

During the difficult times, when you would get so angry with me for being the bad guy, the mean mother who made you pick up your room or do chores, I often looked forward to the day when you were an adult.  I thought you would be something amazing.   There was no doubt that you were smart, and I knew you could do whatever you wanted.  Even thought you talked of becoming a doctor, I knew the odds were not likely.  Not too many people have what it takes to put in all the time and effort to become a doctor.  It is a lot of hard work.  I just looked forward to the day you were an adult so we could be friends, and I wouldn’t have to be that evil mother who micromanaged your life..

When you were growing up, I thought you were the most important job I’d ever had.  If I could just raise you to be a decent human being, that was what was important.  I have so many happy memories of being your mom from the time you were a flutter in my belly, until you hit those terrible teens.  I was always proud of you, maybe too much so.

You were a wonderful baby and spent practically the first two years in my arms or on my hip.  I remember so many times, vacuuming with one hand and holding you on my hip with the other.  I remember you in your walker, and how happy you are when you discovered how mobile you could be.  I remember how much I read to you from the time you were just a few months old.  By the time you were able to sit up (at 6 months) I would spread books out on the carpet and you would reach for the one you wanted me to read next.

I remember the time we visited my sister in Ct., and you were a toddler.  We were in the kitchen, and I don’t remember what she did, maybe dropped something, and she yelled, “Shit!  Shit!  Shit!”  and you went wandering out of the kitchen mumbling to yourself, “Shit, shit, shit.”  and your aunt said, “Phill is going to kill me.”

Sometimes when I’m doing something or going somewhere, I still think, “Oh, Emma would love this.” or I wish I could tell you about something that happened at work.  We used to talk about everything.  I’ve wondered if your taste has matured.  Did you ever learn to like any vegetables besides green beans and corn?  Did you ever learn to like any Chinese food besides Sesame Chicken?

You never asked about your little dog who lives with me.  He is now an old man, with a lot of white in his face, his paws, and down his back.  He’s not the little psycho we adopted way back then, but he is almost socially acceptable now, although it’s been a lot of work.  I take him to your grandmother’s assisted living home at least once a week, and all the older people there love him.

I wonder how you feel about having a stepmother.  Is that cool or will you be jealous of Kim Chassion like you were of me?

Just know my darling daughter that wherever you are, whatever you are doing, I’m always thinking of you.  I hope you and Tyler do something special for his mother this mother’s day.  And no, I don’t expect a card, a call, or even a text.  After all, what was I on your facebook?  Your “pending” mother before you removed me.

I was recently joking with a friend (someone who knew you for many years) and said, “Back when I was a mother…..” and she reminded me that I will always be your mother.  I know.  I will.  With all that you’ve done, you can’t take away what was.

I have a lot more writing to do, and I think next I will tell you about your dad’s family, and why your dad is the way he is.  If you still plan on being a counselor or a therapist, it might help to understand your own family dynamics, and know how you got away with what you did because your dad could not confront you.

Happy Mother’s Day, Emma.  At times I’ve prayed that you don’t have children, and other times I’ve hoped you’d have six just like you!  But what it is your dad said, that you were afraid you’d be a mother like me?

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