The Party was a hit!

So, Leigh didn't show for the party. Didn't call.  Nothing. 

But it was a great toddler party-- sidwalk chalk, bubbles and punch balloons.  Lasted just long enough to wear them out, but not long enough for them to pitch fits. 

MoMo had a blast-- loves her new toddler camera.  She hasn't put it down since she got it, and she wouldn't take off the princess dress until we threatened her with no trick or treating if she wouldn't cooperate with us.  That child!  She'll dig in the dirt wearing a tiara and dangling earrings.  I love that she's such a mix of tomboy and princess. 

Anyway, haven't heard from Leigh, but the peace at home is nice, even if it's coming at such a price.

Birthday Conundrum

MoMo's birthday party is this weekend.  Her birthday isn't, and we've already had a small family party, but this weekend is her "invite the friends from daycare and mom and dad's friends to hang out with cupcakes and bubbles" party. 

And in a weak moment, I FB-invited Leigh.  She replied that yes, she was coming.  Now, I'm not sure I want her to come. Yes, I miss her, but I've enjoyed the peace and sense of boredom that she's left in her wake. 

Here's the thing. We've passed along her school uniforms, a pair of shoes and some basic hygeine stuff.  If she comes home, even for a little bit, she'll want to take stuff with her.  I'm not willing to let her do that.  But I'm having an internal dilemma about that.

I'm honest enough with myself that I can't decide if I'm doing this to full-on embrace the tough love we're living out, or because I'm just flat hurt that after everything we've been through, she left.  I want her to "suffer" the consequences of storming out in a snit and leaving behind all her makeup, her ipod charger and her favorite books.  I want her to know that she is truly on her own to fend for herself out there in the big world, but I don't know if it's because it's what's best for her, or because I know she's missing those things, and I have them. 

We went through so much with her in the ten years, four months and seven days she lived with us.  I at least deserved a hug goodbye.  Or to be picked over a burgeoning drug habit.  Or both. 

Leigh's Last Week

...it has been eerily peaceful at our house.

In April, we helped move Danae and Leigh's older sister and her partner down here, hoping she would be a positive influence. 

Not so much.  Turns out they're dedicated potheads with a knack for mooching and slovenly living. 

We helped set them up in an apartment, and when they ran out of money (it was allegedly stolen) we lit them live on our sofa.  We kicked them out six weeks later for helping Leigh sneak boys into our home late at night, and for helping her skip school three days in a row. 

Sad but true fact--after they left, our bug problem disappeared.  That nasty.  Like throwing food wrappers in the toddler's toybox and under the bed nasty. 

So that's the back story. Last weekend, we let Leigh spend 45 minutes with "the Gruesome Twosome" as we call them.  She came out to the car stoned off her ass.  The next day, I attempted to have a conversation with her.  She refused, so I simply said that we don't do drugs in this family, and that if that's the life she wanted, she'd have to live it elsewhere, so she left, and moved in with the Gruesome Twosome.

Today, the therapist, Carla, called to tell me that the twosome is already frustrated with the amount of food Steph eats, and with her lack of hygeine, and her attitude, and how she talks to people-- all things we were working on at home, and all things the Twosome told us we should stop riding her case about.

HAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!

Sorry.  I had to get that out of my system. 

So now they want money from us for groceries.  NO. 

And for rent.  NO.

And want us to make Leigh bathe.  Not my problem any more.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  Sorry.  Can't help it.

All of this AFTER they called me the worst mom ever on Saturday, because I wouldn't drop everything and run to give them their mail. 

I love it when people get exactly what they ask for.

I miss Leigh, but I love the calm.  I've gotten so much done, I wonder how much more I could have gotten accomplished with the last ten years of my life if she hadn't been around.

Anybody still there?

So, I'm back.  I think. 
I need an outlet again, and you guys and the world of the blog were very therapeutic. 

So here I am.

Lets see.  Dawn did indeed get prego, and now has a special needs, medically fragile infant--born two months early to an emergency c-section with gastroschisis (intstines, liver and stomach on the outside instead of inside) and extra fluid on her brain. She is not coping with motherhood well, and I may have to make a second call to social services.

Leigh eventually was released from residential way too early.  Even the state medical director in charge of the entire system agreed she needed to stay, but ordered her released based on the rules and regs of the state system. It's been an incredibly turbulent 7 months, in which time Leigh discovered the joys of pot and has decided to live elsewhere because we will not allow her to use drugs at home. 

Danae is doing well, preparing to graduate and spreading her wings.

The babies are both toddlers now and are probably going to be a permanent addition.

I'm hanging on thanks to sheer force of will (where I got it, I have no idea) and modern pharmacology (who knew xanax was so nice?!)

Any way, I need to vent, and there are lots of stories to tell. 

Another Awkward Miracle

My mom was approved for Medicaid and starts treatment next week. 

She is embarrassed and ashamed that she is getting public assistance, but is relieved that she'a getting the medication she needs. 

Personally, I couldn't care less about being embarrassed. When she and my dad divorced, she pretty much got nothing. No retirement, no nest egg, nothing. 

I look at this as an "it's about damn time something good happened for her."

And I pray that it works.

A Season of Awkward Miracles

A season of awkward miracles

Leigh is in residential, and it's the private one that's 20 minutes from home, instead of three or six hours. Somehow, someone in the state's Medicaid office borrowed a soul and stamped payment approval on the local private hospital... A decision that is what is in the best interest of our entire family, but probably the antithesis of everything in their rule books. 

I was in shock, and pretty much stayed there through packing, and check in, and even all the way home the evening we checked her in. Didn't cry, didn't even tear up. 

For almost a week. 

Until the night before Thanksgiving. 
That night I had to leave a little before Danae and their older bio sister who was in town for the week, and as I walked to the car, the grief and guilt hit me. 

And it hit hard. 

I put the babies in the van, and sat on the chiiled asphalt of the parking lot and sobbed.  

And sobbed until I couldn't breathe, took a hiccoughing breath and cried more. I didn't think I could cry that hard. 

Unfortunately that let loose a torrent of emotion that I have been fighting to keep under control since then. I find myself on the verge of tears I can barely control, and the silliest thing sets me off. This tenuous grip I have on my tear ducts needs something to shore it up. I'm open for ideas. 

I know intellectually that this is what is best for Leigh and for those around her. I know that she needs this.  I also know that this is our last stand, our very own little Alamo. 

If this doesn't work, I don't know if there are any other options, anything else that might help her find an internal steady ground. 

So for now, we are visiting four to five times a week, but the pace is killing me. I know I can't keep it up, but on the flip side I have to.  

When you're already exhausted, where do you find another wind? 

October Did Not Kill Me

...although it damn sure tried to.

Hi, my name is GasStationCappuccino, and I am peeking out from my hidey-hole.

It's been a helluva time.

So without much commentary, here are the things that have tried to kill me, but have not succeeded, since I last posted.

Leigh's behavior has been gathering momentum on her downhill slide.  She has spent 20 of the last 30 days in a local acute care psychiatric facility for the following:  suicidal thoughts, threats, poetry and art; and increasing aggression directed at everyone.  She was home for three days before the state's mobile crisis unit, accompanied by two police cars showed up at our house to take her back for another stay.  She's been home for five days now, and has been a little better, but her "better" starting to show some wear, tear, and cracking around the edges.

My husband spent a weekend in the hospital after his blood pressure shot way up into the triple digits (top and bottom number) due to stress.  The good news is that his heart is very healthy.  The bad news is that the craziness at home is making him sick.

We've ridden the "can we please FINALLY get some long term help for Leigh" roller coaster, and finally, today, after TEN years, found out that she has been approved for residential treatment, which means she'll be leaving to move into a long-term psychiatric care facility very soon. The problem is that the closest facility is about three hours away.  The best one is five hours.  So do we take the "easier on us" three hour drive or the "has better programs but is five hours away" one? 

My mom, who has no medical coverage, no job and was denied disability (Lupus and Sjogren's), was recently diagnosed with myelodysplastic syndrome, which basically means that her bone marrow has given up. The first line treatment is a series of shots that are supposed to kick start the sleepy marrow.  The shots are $2250 each.  They are given every two weeks for around six months.  If they don't work, the next two steps are regular blood transfusions and then a marrow transplant. Remember-- no insurance here. Definitely not good news.

So this will likely be her last Christmas.  And Leigh will be in residential, which is where she needs to be, but won't be able to be with her grandma, who is one of the few people she actually likes, relates to and respects on this earth. 

Danae has worked very hard at being mean to everyone.  Dawn and her Dumbass were both working for about three weeks before they both got fired.  They're still living on other people's sofas and generally making nuisances of themselves. 

The babies are amazing and growing and happy.  And we still have made no official decision.  Social Services has to decide something before December 28, as that is MoMo's "one year in care" anniversary.

My teaching schedule changed three weeks into the school year (not technically October), but the kids who had the easier teacher before me have been driving me nuts. 

Hubby works weird hours and I'm doing way more single parenting than I want to, but we need the paycheck.  And since he works retail, him getting Christmas off without a major act of God is something I'm already worrying about. 

I realize that nothing worth having is easy, but I'm starting to lose track of what it is I want to have. 

Sad but true...

No good deed goes unpunished. 

So I'm attempting to help my daughter Leigh work on her make-up work (read: work she refused to do at school, which is why she has a 35 in language arts, which, coincidentally, is the subject I teach). 

She is being herself (read: a collossal raging bitchy PITA), and everything she says is oozing venom. 

I finally get fed up and explain to her how goals work.  This is the gist of the explanation.

People who work hard in school have decent jobs, decent homes and decent lives. Not spectacular, but occasionally fun, mostly pleasant lives. 

People who don't end up as homeless hookers addicted to drugs. 

Her response:  So you think I'm going to be a ho because I don't do school work? 

Me: What other job are you preparing yourself for? 

That boom you heard was an epic door slam.
(First month of school is over, so I should be more regular with my rantings...  How are YOU guys doing??)

To adopt, or not to adopt... What exactly is the question?

Hubby and I are faced with what will likely be the most important decision of our adult lives: Whether or not we should adopt the two babies we’ve been fostering since January and February. Today, the birth mom told the caseworker that she is considering surrendering her rights. We think she’s pregnant again, which is why we think she’s considering surrendering—if she gets social services out of her life, she has a better shot at keeping number three.

Reasons aside, how do you know if you’re making the right decision? Hubby wants to sit down and do a pros and cons list, and have a conversation about it. I know we need to, but when I think about making this decision, all I want to do is cry. And I don’t know what that means.

I’ve always been a “gimme a sign” kind of girl. We have known without a doubt that we were supposed to adopt every other time we have, and I’ve been praying and hoping for the same clear signs this time, but so far, nothing. And I don’t know what that means.

When I think about the future with these babies—as little kids, as pre-teens, as teenagers, as young adults—and I see three very different paths. I see them with their bio mom. I see them with us. And I see them with someone else—usually, in all honesty, someone who looks more like them than we do. People younger. People less jaded.

I think of how hard it’s been with Marie and Dawn and Danae and Leigh, and I wonder what impact that has had on the babies, what impact it would have on them in the future. I know Leigh is a horrible influence, and that Danae would be devastated if we don’t adopt. And I still can’t decide.

I think of their beautiful big brown eyes and their faces smiling into someone else’s face and calling someone else mom. And I cry. Then I think about getting to pick them up and take them fun places on weekends as grandparents and I don’t cry as much.

I think of all the time I spend with them, that I spend doing for them, and wonder what I did before, and what I would do after, if they leave. I think about their bio mom crying, looking at the photo album we gave her and her saying, “They look so happy.” And I wonder if them being adopted by someone else would ruin the happiness we’ve worked so hard to help them find.

Will they remember us five years down the road? Ten years? Twenty years? Or will we be there with them, at our own retirement ages, as they graduate and go to college. I can’t decide which picture has the stronger pull, and I don’t know what that means. Or if it means anything at all.

Sometimes, I think the fact that I’m even struggling with this decision is a sign. But a sign to keep them or let them go? Are we being selfish to want to keep them? I know there are hundreds of young couples who are where Hubby and I were ten years ago—eager and breathless and full of hope and anticipation, waiting for the phone call that is the beginning of labor pains for them. But then I wonder if maybe the dark road we’ve traveled with our four older girls has been a test, and the babies are the reward.

Are we being selfish to consider letting them go? I miss my husband, and the marriage we had before we had kids. I miss spending time with him without kids around, and we have reached the light at the end of the tunnel with the older ones, and we starting to plan on what to do with the extra space in our empty nest. Plus, with Leigh being so completely special, we need more time with her. But what impact will it have on the babies if they leave us for another family? What impact will it have on the four who are already ours?

And what does it mean that I can’t answer a single question I’ve posted here? And that I don’t know what any of it means? And that I’m crying as I type, with no clearer perspective?

And I still don’t know which one would hurt less.

Questions, Questions

I have lots of them today. Bear with me. Answer them if you can.  Offer humor if you can. 

1.  Am I unreasonable to expect my almost 16 year-old daughter to be responsible for her own laundry?  And to not let her go out in public with me if she is not clean and appropriately dressed?  This is Leigh we're talking about--  my RAD/OCD/PTSD/Depression/BPD child, who consistently has to be sprayed down before we go somewhere because she smells bad. 

2. Am I unreasonable to NOT allow my almost 17 year-old daughter share a bed behind closed doors with her girlfriend. (She's gay, so this is not a "just a friend," this a "we're dating" girlfriend.)  I'm opposed to any sort of spend-the-nights since they are in HS and I don't care if you're straight or gay, it is not appropriate to spend the night with the person you're dating.  My friend Katie, a lesbian, agrees with me, but she says she's so conservative she beats herself up in the parkinglot. 

3.  Am I unreasonable to expect my teenagers to complete basic housekeeping chores for the good of the family, even if they didn't personally make the mess in question?  My theory is that you ate the damn food that I worked to pay for AND cooked, you can clean up the kitchen. 

4.  And along those lines, if I ask you to do something, and you don't do it or half-ass it, I reserve the right to tell you no to something you want done, just on the backscratching principle.  Right?

5.  Is it wrong that we're still waffling about adopting the babies?  Is that a sign we shouldn't?  Or a sign that for the first time in our adult lives, we're looking at something long and hard before jumping in?

6.  Since Leigh has been off her meds, I have done a lot of thinking. Is it wrong that I plan to bully her into a birth control implant that she can't remove without pain and difficulty?  Is it wrong that I am starting to fantasize about spiking her food with Prozac?

7.  And am I wrong to be FURIOUS and HURT that bio-grandma called Danae's phone?  This is a violation of our agreement to move at our speed on bio-grandma's part; and for Danae, a violation of the promise she made to NOT give her cell number to her bio-family. 


That's all for now.  Thanks.

Messin' with the Kids

Sometimes you just have to mess with your kids to have a little fun. 

Yesterday, Hubby and I had a date. We took the babies to daycare, sneaking out of the house while the teens were still asleep, and went to the beach.  We packed two small coolers with our adult, refreshing beverages, and parked on the beach. 

I have a new favorite drink--Smirnoff Ice Green Apple Bite.  Amazingly delicious.  Like a Jolly Rancher Candy in liquid form.  But I'm birdwalking.

We spent th eday sunning, swimming, eating, drinking and generally enjoying each other's company, reminding ourselves why we got married in the first place. 

After lunch, we went for ice cream. The problem was that it was over 100 degrees, and the chocolate ice cream kept attacking my husband's clothes. By the time we got home, it looked like dried blood stains on his shirt and shorts, so we went with it. 

Leigh:   What is that on Dad's shirt?
Me:   Blood.
Leigh:   What happened??  (Shock and interest)
Hubby:   Someone was hitting on your mom, so I handled it.
Leigh:   No way.  You hit someone?
Me:   No. He knocked someone's lights out.
Leigh:   Did the cops come? 
Me:   Not sure.  We left pretty quickly after that. 
Leigh, running from the room:  Danae!  Danae!  Dad got in a fight at the beach today and has blood all over him!!
Danae, coming out to look: OMG, Dad. Did you really hit someone?
Hubby just stood there, with his arms out, letting the girls get a look at the stains. 

It was THE topic of conversation yesterday.  Apparantly, word of my husband's alleged bar fight made it to my mom, twenty-three hours away, with the information that I'd gotten a tattoo.  They left out the part about it being henna. 

So now, Hubby has some street cred with the teens, I giggle everytime I think about it, and all is normal in our world.   I know it's probably against good parenting to mess with your kids like that, but it was just so amusing, we couldn't help it!

A Funny at the Mall

We were at the indoor playground at the mall, MoMo was running around, and I was rocking NaNa in her car seat.  A precocious little girl with big blue eyes and dimples skipped up to me and said, "She doesn't go with you."

I smiled at her, and said, "Yes, she does."

Girl, looking at NaNa and then at me:  But she's black.

Me: Yes she is.  Do you know what adoption is?

Girl, looking puzzled: No.

Me:  When a mommy won't take care of her babies, and someone else does, they call that adoption. 

Girl: Oh. 

She skips off to the slide.  Convo over.

I told Blue Eyes' parents about our little conversation before we left.  They were really apologetic.  I assured them that I wasn't offended, but that I wanted to let them know in case the subject came up later.

Still makes me smile a little, even though we haven't adopted the babies, it was the easiest way I could think to explain it on the spur of the moment.

The Seven Things I Didn't See Coming... Last Week

So, instead of a wrap-up, I'm just going to start looking at the things that surprised me, the things that were unexpected. 

So here are my seven from the week of August 8.



1. I went to a drag show with my oldest daughter, Marie. I gave a drag queen money, which he/she took from my teeth with her (his?) tongue. No touching. And, as an unexpected bonus, I was sober.

2. Then, we went to a dance club. At 1:30AM. I have not danced, in a bar, around other people, since 1995. Again, I was sober. However, the man who kept grinding on my backside and elbowing everyone around us was not.

3. Leigh decided to take herself off her meds. She did okay for the first week, but this week, back at home, she’s not doing so well.  (You can loosely translate that as we want to kill her, but haven't found a way to get away with it yet.)

4. I found out that Leigh is having sex. Again. But with whom I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to know. With her off meds, she is not taking pills daily, which means being on the pill is no longer the best, easiest option to keep her un-impregnated.

5. The philosophical dilemmas I’m having with #4 are many. First, Leigh is 15. Sex at 15 is a bad idea no matter what, and we’ve been battling sex issues with her since she moved in with us when she was six. Second, if she gets pregnant, there are obviously many other big, big issues. Like the fact that I don’t believe in abortion, and that mental illness runs deep in her bio-family. And she is completely incapable of caring for a child. She can’t remember to put on pajamas. I shudder to think how a child left to her care would survive. And I don’t want to raise another baby, but I feel very strongly about keeping families together. Borrowing trouble? Maybe. But I’d rather prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

6. One week left until I go back to work. Ugh. Summer vacation is great. Ending it is not.

7. I haven’t heard from Dawn in two weeks. She made the mistake of asking me to be honest with her, and then not liking the answer. She’s also ignoring everyone else, which only makes me feel marginally better.

That's it.

Next week comes with more court, more caseworkers, more therapy, and my last week of summer. 

Lessons From Vacation

Vacation is not as much fun as when I was a kid. Or before I was a parent. Or before I became an adoptive parent to special needs kids.

In the interests of spending time on the beach and time with my brother, getting to know his preggo wife, I rented a two bedroom condo with a pool and beach view.

It was a lot smaller than the pictures, a lot farther from the beach than the pictures, and very over decorated. Yes, it’s a beach condo. We do not need to be reminded of this fact with a fish or boat motif-ed in every square foot. But I birdwalk.


Here are the things I learned on vacation:

1. Not all technology definitions are equal. Our landlord for the week assured me before I paid him that we’d have Wifi. My brother works from home on-line, so he had to have the internet. I’m taking an on-line class and wanted to blog and stuff. So it was a priority. Our landlord’s definition of Wifi was to use the neighbor’s. The problem was that the neighbor changed the password and wouldn’t return our landlord's call. Brother spent a lot of time in a national-chain overpriced coffee shop. I just turned my school work in late. Lucky for me, I have an online prof who is very understanding.

2. Not everyone has the same level of tolerance for crazy that I have. You have heard from my blog that my children are kind of special. We have lots of things going on, and lots of behaviors that are outside the realm of what others might see as normal. My brother and his wife—Don’t get me wrong, I love them—they don’t live my life, or near my life, so they don’t know what normal is for us. Our normal level of crazy, I think, might have made them twitch. There were several moments when I caught them looking at me like I was either crazy or, well, crazy.

3. Not everyone has the same gag reflex. I think nothing of changing a diaper on the floor in the middle of the living room. And honestly, I don’t care how many people are there. Or what they’re doing. A wet baby is a screaming baby, and ending the screaming humanely, without me going to jail, is way more important to me than the fact that you’re eating squash casserole. Which, I must say, looks remarkably like what was in the diaper. Which is probably why you started gagging and running from the room. I’d apologize, but you’re pregnant, and you needed to learn that lesson before you finish procreating. Baby poo is gross. Accept that fact and life will be much easier for you in five months.

4. Your intoxicated brother can and will tell your kids stories about you that you don’t want them to hear. I really didn’t want my kids to hear about me giving my brother and all his friends condoms when they were in HS (no pregnancies in that graduating class, thank you very much). I didn’t want them to hear about us rescuing my drunken father from the back office of a bar. I didn’t want them to know I smoked, or drank, or dated before my husband. I was a perfect, virginal pure young lady prior to my wedding day. (Yeah right, but you know where I’m going here, right?) My brother, after a few drinks, decided to tell them all about my sordid past of teenage infatuations with bad boys and cheap wine coolers.

5. Whether or not the stories are true is beside the point. See number four. I deny everything. Those pictures are clearly photo-shopped.

6. Your time spent on the beach will decrease inversely proportionately to the number of children in diapers. I spent about $1000 on the condo, about $200 traveling, and about $400 on supplies from food to toilet paper to beach stuff. I spent less than two hours on the beach the entire week, despite the fact that it was less than a football field from our condo, and despite the fact that I was desperate for beach time. Two kids in diapers will do that. So will four teenagers who do not have any appreciation for the deeply brewing insanity inside their mom’s head.

7. If there is a chance for the crazy to come out in your kids, it will. We’d been there for five days. It was inevitable. Danae and Tonya (her “friend”) got into a screaming, yelling, cursing fight in front of the condo. Then it came inside where a table and chair got broken. It went back outside, and Danae and Leigh ended up in an actual physical fight. (I mentioned the place was small, right?)

There was lots of noise and yelling and stomping, as Leigh got more involved. CC just watched the whole thing, wondering what the heck she'd gotten herself into.  Security was called. I explained to the nice man with the patch on his arm that I have crazy teenagers, and they’ve almost got it out of their system. But that if they couldn’t settle down in the next ten minutes I’d be the one calling the police. Security didn’t seem convinced and Patch-man hovered under our balcony for about 45 minutes.

8. If the crazy comes out, and security gets involved, prepare to be embarrassed. Everyone around us looked at us funny for the two days left of our trip. At least back home, our neighbors can’t HEAR the crazy. In public, we usually take great pains to keep our crazy tucked away for later. And I’m sure that the stares had nothing to do with my openly gay daughter walking around holding hands with her sweetie, or Leigh’s friend CC, who is tatted and pierced and has pink hair, or our decidedly dark-skinned babies that none of us could have given birth to. I'm sure it was the ghetto-style brawl.  Right?

9. You will not want to cook as much as you plan to. We planned to eat out only once. My brother and his wife bought groceries for the rest of the week. We ate out four times. And they took the groceries home. Next summer, we just plan to only cook twice. It’s easier that way.

10.  Everything is more expensive the closer you get to the beach.  Brother and Preggo bought two back-pack lawn chairs from a Wings chain store. They spent $85.  Several giant chain stores sell the same things for about $20 each.  Gas was up 30 cents a gallon. And speaking of gallons, milk was outrageous at about $4 a jug. 

11. You will not be invited to rent again if any of the following happen: broken furniture, broken knick-knacks or complaints about your boogey-board and towel placement. I left the landlord a check to cover the damage, and asked him to call me. So far, my phone has not rung, and I am not holding my breath.

Oh well.

As Preggo pointed out, there are lots of places at the beach.

Ego Boost

So tonight I'm at the store and a tall man in a black cowboy hat struck up a conversation with me in the movie section.  This tall man was NOT my husband.  He flirted with me. 

And we passed each other about three times in grocery, and each time, he smiled, made eye contact, and said hello. 

At that point, Dawn elbowed me and said, "Mom, that mustache dude is totally flirting with you!"

Really?  Wow.  It's been awhile. 

Now, the fact that I am sporting a size 20, instead of the 24 I was at Christmas, I'm sure has nothing to do with it.

But it made me smile, and put a much-needed touch of pep in my step. 

And made me glad that Hubby and I have each other, and I do not have to date. Ever again. 

Weekly Wrap-Up, July 25

Aloha, bloggerites!  Whassup?

We just got back from a cross country road trip that lasted two weeks, so the blogging has been kinda sparse. 

Here are some things I have learned, or experienced in the last few weeks...

Uncomfortable Personal Realization:  I have become my mother.

It's not terrible, it's just that some of the things that annoy me most about her, are now how I most annoy my children. 

Here are two examples.

When I yell my child's name, it means "personal appearance in front of me right now no matter what you were doing."  I'm 38 years old, and when MY mom yells for me, she still expects me to show up.  No matter that I'm feeding the NaNa with one hand and changing MoMo with the other.   I do that to my kids and am just now seeing what a pain it is. 

Also, there's the "if it's not cleaned my way, it's not cleaned" attitude. 

I'm not a neat freak. But my mom is. 

I think she might be an officer in the Neat Freaks of America Club. 

Two weeks at her house went a long way, I think, in showing my teenagers where some of my deep-seated housework neuroses come from.  Towel-folding is the best example. I am a towel-folding nazi.  They must be done just so, or I lose it.  I showed my daughters my mom's bathroom closet.  Perfect order.  Now they know. 

Proof That No Matter How Much You Want Someone to Change, Gorillas Will Still Eat Bananas:  The Gorilla of the Week award goes to Dawn. I asked Dawn and Dumbass to mow our yard while we were gone, offering to pay $50 for the job.  Three doors down from us is the young college student who bird sat and fed the outdoor cats for us while we were gone.  One week into the trip, I asked Dawn if they had been by to mow.  She said they'd done it the day before. I asked Critter Sitter, and she said it hadn't been done.  A friend of mine got her hubby to mow it for us the day before we got back.  I asked Dawn about it tonight and she admitted to lying about having mowed it, and apologized.  "I knew it was stupid to lie to you about it, that you'd know we didn't do it."  I didn't bother to ask why she lied.  It's just one more thing.

REALLY Uncomfortable Personal Realization:  I think I might be too selfish or lazy or something to adopt the babies should we be given the chance.  Let me 'splain.  While on vacation, I tried really hard to NOT ask the teenagers to help with the babies.  It was their vacation too, right?  Which meant that I didn't get to go fishing much.  I love fishing.  No, I take that back. I love being on a boat, out on the water in the sun.  Fishing is optional.  Anyway, Nana is not a big fan of fishing, being on a boat, out on the water, in the sun.  MoMo not only is not a fan, she is a member of the rebellion against such things--but this is the child who screams her way through bathtime. 

Because Hubby hasn't had a vacation in five years, and because I get one every summer, I stayed off the boat all but two times.  They got to boat nearly every day.  And it pissed me off--not at hubby or the teens--but at the babies.  Now stupid is that??  They can't help it that one is six months old and the other is mortified of all things having to do with water.  But I spent too much of the vacation resentful of the fact that I couldn't do the things I wanted to because of the babies.  That either says that at 38, I am still not mature enough to NOT be selfish about not getting my way, or maybe it was the sign I've been asking for when it comes to whether or not we should adopt. But every time I even think about them leaving, it brings tears to my eyes.  Whuck is that??

Another problem is that next week, we're spending the week at the beach with my brother and one of my best friends. And I'm taking the teenagers and the babies. And I'm already resenting all the sunbathing, boogey-boarding and general cavorting I WON'T be getting to do because the babies will be there.  I feel so childish, and I'm really embarrassed by it.  And the irony is....

New Favorite Things:  I never understood why otherwise sane adults would let a baby chew on their fingers.  NaNa has turned into a drool monster, and spends hours gnawing on anything she can get her hands on.  She has a nub of a tooth popping in, so I know that's what it is.  However, today, she caught my pinky finger and gnawed on it for about an hour, and it was such a fascinating thing, watching her face work and change as she chomped away.  And she bites hard. 

Last night, we were taking Danae's girlfriend home, and I heard MoMo talking to herself.  At 21 months, she was sitting in her car seat, reciting all the words she knew.  MaMa, PaPa, DeeDee, Eee (Leigh), izzie (the dog), seat, cup, butt, diaper, head, hair, ears, eyes, nose, mouth, tongue, teeth, belly, arm, leg, elbow, knee, feet, toes, booty, eat, please, thank you, bless you, welcome, hello, bye-bye....  the list goes on, but that's how she was entertaining herself.  And while she's naming the parts she's pointing them out on herself.  New cutest thing ever.  Plus she's gotten conversational enough that she's fun to babble with.  She's even used a big girl potty and big girl toilet paper once.  And she points out when she needs to be changed. 

IGiving NaNa a bath is just delicious.  She lies on the bottom of the tub and kicks and splashes and smiles and laughs, and the thought of giving that up just slices my soul. 

Just Clean it Dammit:  I got up with the babies at 7:30 this morning and had the teenagers up and working by 9 to clean the house.  "Why do we have to do this?"   Because it's dirty and it needs to be cleaned and I'm tired of nagging you so no cell phone computer or tv until we're done.  Pissed 'em off, but got 'em moving.  I'm such a motivator.

Cell Phone Conundrum:  I am trying to decide what kind of phone I want.  I have some money put back for a fun phone, and I've narrowed it to three:  the Samsung Jack, the Blackberry Bold (with camera) or the Iphone.  I am desperately hard on all things mechanical, so I'm desperately scared of breaking an expensive toy.  Everyone keeps telling me the Iphone, but only if I can get the old version and not the new one, or the Blackberry.  But the Jack is the least expensive, and will do everything I want.  What to do, what to do?

Excruciatingly Painful Soul Searching--This one requires a whole other post, but here's the rhetorical, "get you in the mood" question:  Have you ever behaved in a way that you have been absolutely convinced was right, and after many years, found yourself second-guessing the behavior?  That's where I am right now, and it's rocking me to the core.

Among the best vacation moments:  Swimming in Lake Michigan. Yes, the water is FREAKING COLD, but there is something amazing about swimming in ten foot deep water that you can clearly see the bottom of--it's bracing and refreshing and every summer, it rejuvenates me. 

Also, with the same outcome (the whole refreshing and rejuvenating thing) I got to hang with THE Claire Montgomery MD, of Car Dancing fame.  You see, we were acquaintances back when big bangs were not just theories in a text book, and we connected through a social networking site, discovered how much we have in common, and are now dangerously close to becoming, dare I say it?  Friends?  I  don't use that term lightly, as I have very few people in my life that I consider friends.  But I'm pretty sure she is one of them, or soon will be.

Claire is wicked funny, has her own house-full-of-crazy-she-didn't-give-birth-to, and the same sort of "love me, love my family" mentality. And her blog rocks.  Two of my favorites by her are here and here.  I'll see you again in October, and don't forget...  we pinky promised!!  (I'll blog about that later. Pinky promise.)

New Motto:  I found an over-priced sign in a gift store on vacation that read "Don't let your yesterdays ruin your tomorrows."  I didn't buy it, but I plan to use that saying A LOT in the coming year or so.

Upcoming events... This week, we'll be dusting off beach stuff, making photo albums, running a million errands, working ahead in the first class of my doctoral program, reading stuff for lesson plans for school (my job school, not school I'm attending) which starts way too soon, and trying to pare down the immense load of STUFF around my house.  I have a basket for craigslist and freecycle-- I just have to find the time to start posting!!

Happy blogging!

Writer's Workshop: My Personal Heaven

Sometimes you find heaven in odd places.

I find my heaven looking for smooth, flat stones along the shore.

Heaven is looking at the messages left behind by those

who have passed before me,

who were happy. And in love.

For some people, heaven is a beach in the hot sun.

For others, it's a cool day on a beach.

For some, it's not even the beach at all.

I don't understand those people.

Not one bit.

For me, heaven is where land and water intersect.

Whether it's the ocean or a river or a lake,

heaven is watching the water tickle the land.

And watching the sun's gentle kisses

touch the face of the water.

 

 

And say good-night to another beautiful day.

Welcome to my Heaven.

Lake Michigan.

Near Mackinaw City, MI, USA.

Firsts...

Today was a day of firsts, some great, some not so great.

We'll start with the happy stuff:  MoMo used the big girl potty, big girl toilet paper and said "Bye-bye peepee!" to her urine as it flushed away.  I've sat her on it several times prior to a bath to get her in the habit, but tonight, she asked without being prompted.  Actually, she was about to be unceremoniously plopped into the tub, skipping the time on the toilet, when she pulled away, went over to the toilet, patted the front of her diaper and pointed at the toilet. 

Also, today, NaNa, went from lying down to sitting up in order to reach for a toy...  all by herself! 

Hooray for the babies!!!

Now, the other first, not so great.  Dawn and Marie are visiting their birth family this week.  The woman they call grandma tried to help Dawn run away at one point, so my respect level for her is pretty much zero.  That, and when I confronted her about it, she started making stuff up about other members of my family.  She's not their grandma, but a neighbor who lived near them when they were kids.

Anyway, I got a text from Dawn today saying that as a welcome home gift, her family had paid for her to get a monroe and her first tattoo.  (A Monroe is a piercing above the lip to look like Marilyn Monroe's famous mole.)  The tattoo is an algae green hibiscus flower down near her hoo-hah.  Yay for us.  Part of what irks me about this is that she texted me yesterday, wanting Hubby and me to pay a deposit on an apartment. Again. 

HAHAHAHAHA.  I ignored that text, choosing to follow my new rule of life: Be nice.

Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop!! (Prompt # 2:  Write a poem about the last thing that made you mad.)


What makes me mad tonight
is the sudden truth
that no matter how
much
I
love my
daughters,
their birth moms
will always be
first.

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Conundrama--Puzzles and Problems

So I thought I did something that would be totally mom-amazing.  I scraped together enough cash to rent a beach house for a week near where my brother and best friend live.  On the beach.  Pool right by our building.  Two bathrooms. Did I mention that it's on the beach?  And near my brother who I see about once a year??

Yay me, right? 

Not so much.

Danae announced, "Well if it means that I'll miss PRIDE, I'm not going." 

PRIDE, for those of you who don't know, is a day long festival for the GLBT community.  There are booths, and food, and shows, and lots of gay people running amok and generally enjoying themselves.  And for those of you new to my world, Danae was bullied into coming out came out recently. 

I get that PRIDE is important.  Believe me, I do.  But I'm having a hard time reconciling that with the whole "I don't know these people, why are you making me spend time with them?" Which is what she said when she realized that I was serious about making her come with the family to visit my mom for two weeks. 

What's funny is that PRIDE isn't until the fall...  way past our beach trip.  And she's still arguing because she doesn't want to go. Unless we let her girlfriend come with us, which I told her a while back, before I set the date, that I was considering.

Am I wrong to try to force her into getting to know my family?  Am I wrong to just say "this is how we do it in our family" and expect her to shut up and cope with it?  Or do I just resign myself to being another stop on the tour? 

Condundrums and drama. It's what we're good at. 

Any ideas? Thoughts? Anything to make me feel better about this whole thing called older child adoption??