Have you ever noticed that the inexpensive gas station version of cappuccino is much, much better than the expensive crap served in fine china? It's a metaphor. Figure it out.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
What a day, or why I have a lumpy forehead
From 4 PM until about 9:30, I had a really crappy day.
At 4, we had a caseworker visit. This was our first of what are supposed to be monthly visits with our new caseworker. This is caseworker number 9 since January, and while we've never met in person, we've talked on the phone. She remembers me from Dawn's adoption, but I don't remember her. (And since January, she's only the second caseworker to do the home visit.)
Caseworker visits are to make sure that A. the kids are alive and well. B. the home is reasonably safe. C. the home is reasonable clean and D. the chaos is at least contained.
We chit-chat. It was going well. Then she asks to see the babies' room. We walk in, I yoink the cord to turn the light on, and the soccer ball-sized, thick glass globe from the light fixture falls off, bounces off my forehead, and lands in the laundry basket.
While I'm holding NaNa.
A friend of mine who dropped by, trying to be helpful said, "It knew you just finished the school year and that it was time to be dusted!"
Yeah, that went well. There's an imprint of the globe's striped pattern on my forehead and a large lump.
And it's 11:08 PM and I still have a headache.
So then, there was in-home therapy at 6:15 PM--our first home visit with our third therapist since October. Today, I asked Danae to keep the babies in her room, while I worked with the therapist and Leigh, since this is court ordered for Leigh.
Five minutes into our session, my phone starts ringing. I kill the sound and ignore it. Then the house phone rings, so I kill the phone again. We're in therapy here, people! Stop calling. And the only people who would do that would be one of my children, my husband or my brother.
It was Danae, calling from her bedroom. She wants me to bring her a drink. But I don't know this until she stomps into the kitchen, slings open the the fridge and grabs a drink, pausing only to say in that level of sarcasm that only teens can exude, "Thanks so much for answering the phone, Mom."
We're. In. Therapy. DUH!! One does NOT answer the phone while in THERAPY!
After the therapist leaves, I ask Danae what her malfunction is.
Her: She'd only been there five minutes, and it's not therapy for you anyway. Besides, the baby could have been choking and died and you wouldn't know it because you didn't answer the phone. Me: I'm pretty sure you'd have been yelling. Her: Whatever mom.
Wait! Is that a win for me? I think it is!!! YYYYYEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!
Point for me!
Lumpy forehead and all!!
I am a wife, parent, adoptive mom, foster mom, teacher and pet owner. My 6 kids range in age from 9 weeks to 23 years, which means my life is a little on the "needs that prescription filled NOW!" side.
I enjoy dropping the occasional odd reference or big word to confuzzle people. I prefer words with nice sound effects like perspicacity and capricious, and interesting phrases like "pruny zombie wang."
Thanks to abuse and adoption issues, our lives are an interesting mix of psychotropic meds, probation, cheerleading practice and court appearances.