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.

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. 

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??

Weekly Wrap-up (sort of) July 11

I'm on vacation this week, and was able to leave a few days early, thanks to Hubby's successful juggling of the schedule, so here are some random tidbits from the week...

1.  Our caseworker was genuinely shocked that we wanted to take the babies with us on vacation.  Apparently, a great majority of foster families do not take their foster children on vacation with them when they go.  If you've read me for any length of time, you know what I think of THOSE people.

2.  We drove from 3 PM Wednesday to 6 PM Thursday.  We made it.  No one died.  Except the potato chips in the back seat.  From the crumbs left, I'm pretty sure it was a horrible death (that's where the teenagers were.)

3.  We're staying at my mom and step-dad's, near one of the Great Lakes. 

4.  That particular Great Lake is AMAZING to swim in.  Cold, but amazing.

5.  When you have a child (Danae) who will bait her own fishing hook, but will not take the fish off, what do you do?  And if you're the mom who refuses to do either, do you really have any moral ground to stand on?

6.  What do you call it when a fish whaps Leigh across the face as she's trying to remove it from the hook?  You got fish slapped!!

7.  Where we are, there just aren't many people other than the pale variety... a point that is driven home any time we go out in public.  My step-dad is oblivious to the stares, we're all used to them, but my mom was pretty shocked. She thought that poeple would look and then get on with life.  Eating out with us is an excercise in ignoring people gaping at our paleness and the dark cuteness that is our children. 

8.  Thank GodAllahBuddha for minivans, diet coke and laptop computers.

9.  Did you know a Bobble Head isn't just a cute, annoying little doll whose head moves back and forth?  It's now an insult of a type of person known for head bobbing behavior...  well hell. It's what you call people who give blow jobs.  Frequently. 

10.  Lesbian joke of the day:  My hubby and Danae were walking, and saw a boat for sale.  The boat's name is, I kid you not, the Hootchie Bobber.  Hubby told Danae she should buy it someday. She agreed, but that she'd have to change the name.  He said, "To what? The Cootchie Bobber?"  Oh yeah.  Gotta love my completely blunt kind of family.

11.  I'm supposed to meet up with an old HS buddy later this week.  I'm a little nervous--lots of reasons I guess, but the bottom line is that I'm not sure I want her kids to meet my teenagers.  It's that whole appropriateness thing--since I can't ever predict if they'll behave, I'm not sure I want them to go. At the same time, I want hubby to go, which means we take the babies, which doesn't bother me a bit.  They behave like they're supposed to.  The teens, not so much.

On my agenda this week...  more fishing. More swimming.  More hanging with Mom.  More attempting to convince MoMo that swimming is not evil.  More attempting to convince Danae that just because there are no black people here doesn't mean everyone around her doesn't like black people.  More attempting to convince Leigh to pull her $%^&* pants up because we DO NOT want to see her crack while she fishes. 

On the other hand, Hubby and I are on the same shift all week which is oh-so-wonderful.  I miss having him around. I hate second shift.

More later!

Tonight's Crazy Train, Part 1

WARNING: This post will not be lovey-dovey. Nor will it contain language you’d be comfortable saying around a pastor or your great aunt Tillie. Unless she hangs around angry, drunk sailors. I’m not drunk, but I wish I was. And I am very, very angry.


Tonight, Hubby and I were supposed to go to a concert together. I won the tickets, Dawn was supposed to babysit, and Leigh and Danae were supposed to help with the babies, so Hubby and I could have a date.

Yeah.

Clearly, if I’m blogging, it didn’t happen. Fuck. I wish I had a time machine.

It started at about 3 PM with Dawn trying to bail so she could go to the movies with Marie. I complained, she realized that you don’t bail on parents when they’re asking for your help to go to a free concert of a top 40 band without their kids.

Then, as we’re leaving, Leigh asks us to unlock the TV. Unlocking the TV means giving them complete access to cable TV and all its variegated glory. No.

We’re pulling out of the driveway, and Danae comes sprinting out of the house, complaining that Leigh called her a fucking bitch and won’t give her the remote so they can turn the TV off. I told her that Leigh had every right to watch TV and to leave her alone.

We’re driving down the street, as I call the house phone. Leigh answers. “What?” Loudly and rudely.
“Since I pay for that phone, you will follow my phone rules. I’m hanging up now, and when I call back, follow them.”

I counted to 20. Dialed. Better answer.

As I’m talking to Leigh about what lead to her sister being a fucking bitch, I hear Danae yelling, “You’re the fucking bitch! Give me the goddamn remote!”

Leigh’s response, “No! Quit being so bossy!” I hear muffled scrapes and grunts, and then Leigh wailing, Dawn trying to separate them. I tell Hubby to turn around. We go home to find Leigh in her room sobbing, Danae cranking up the stereo and Dawn straightening the furniture.

Danae and Leigh had gotten into a fucking FISTFIGHT over the remote. I told Danae to go to her room. She then had the complete lack of sense to argue with me and tell me that it was no wonder Leigh had such fucking problems.

Really? Because for the last nine years, I didn’t know why Leigh was so fucking crazy, because it’s been just SO MUCH fun living with her. Leigh has nothing to take away, so her being in her room is her punishment. I go to Danae’s room and tell her to give me her phone. She told me no, that it’s hers. Okay fine. You paid for half. I’m not going to wrestle. I’ll just turn the damn thing off. If I don’t get to have fun tonight, no one does. I said that out loud as I was walking away. “That’s part of Leigh’s problem, you’re so fucking selfish!”

I go to the living room, call the phone company, shut her phone off, and start cleaning. It was either clean or hurt someone, and I try at all costs to avoid violence. (Keep reading. There’s more of that.)

While I’m on the phone with the phone company, Danae comes out and asks if she can talk to me outside. I said, “I need some time to calm down. Give me a little longer.” She stomps off, “Well at least I can say I tried.”

In my “not my proudest mommy moment”, I called after her, “I didn’t tell you to fuck off! I told you to give me a little bit of time!” As I was saying this, the operator came back on, and we had a very awkward parting conversation.

Two minutes later, Danae storms into the living room. “DID YOU REALLY SHUT OFF MY PHONE?” yes. OHMYGOD THAT’S THE ONLY THING I CARE ABOUT SO YOU TAKE IT AWAY NO MATTER NO ONE WANTS TO LIVE HERE.She stomps to her room. I follow. i’m sorry you feel that way. Is there somewhere else you’d like to be? ANYWHERE BUT HERE! fine. I’ll help you pack.

She spins around and finds me in the doorway, and tries to move me using the door. I told her that it would be a very good idea for her to take two steps backward because going toe to toe with me was not a smart choice. She leaned in and started yelling in my face that we were stupid, that we never punish leigh, that we can’t control her, and generally going over all of our parenting failures. I turned around and walked away.

Why did I walk away?

It was either that, or I was going to hit her. Not just push her backward. I wanted to punch. Fingers curled in, nails digging into my palms, thumbs crossed over my fingers, pointer and middle fingers held as a flat surface… I wanted to punch. I know how to. I've taken karate, but I wasn't passionate about it enough to stick with it.

I joke about wanting to punch people a lot. But I have never actually done it. In my head, though, I could see my fist connecting with her face, and knew I had to turn away.

She slammed and locked her door. I went to clean some more. As I cleaned, I came to this conclusion: As parents, we cannot control our children. All we can do is distract them if they’re young, and guide them as they grow.

And in Danae’s case, she LOVES control. She wants to be the boss. Always. And if she’s not, she gets mean about it.

I went to her room, tried the handle, knocked. When she opened it, I told her that there was no reason to lock her door. I asked her if she was ready to talk, and she rolled over on her bed. Okay, fine, I said. But here’s something you need to think about: ….. then I told her what my conclusion was.

She lit into me. She’s tired of Leigh always getting to do what she wants. She’s tired of never getting to do what she wants. She hates that her stress caused her to fail her classes and lose the one thing she’s always loved: school. She’s tired of me and Hubby not doing anything with Leigh and her behavior.

And I lost it. Nine years of frustrated parenting came spilling out. Among other things I told her are the following (and we were standing outside Leigh’s door, and since I was yelling at the top of my lungs I’m sure the people on the next block heard everything):

I tried this in all caps to emphasize that it was all at the top of my lungs, but it was too hard to read. So I put in reminders....

1. We have tried everything we know to do. Therapy, counseling, meds, absolute control, spankings, more therapy, threats of jail. Everything.


2. And when those didn’t work, we called caseworkers and experts and we were told to hospitalize her. We can’t because she’s not homicidal or suicidal.

3. And when we asked caseworkers for help, we were told to give her back, that we’d done all we could, that they’d put her in a group home and we could get on with our lives.

4. And when we asked the probation officers and the court to lock her up, we were told THAT her crimes (a broken razor blade used for cutting at school and one pot-smoking incident) weren’t enough to lock her up.

5. (and I’m still yelling) And when we adopted Dawn, and then again you(Danae), people told us we were stupid, fucking crazy, out of our minds and out right dumb. And those same people, when they have seen the issues you guys have, they have told us to take your asses back to social services and give you back.

6. (still yelling) but we didn’t. Because real families don’t ever give up on their kids. No matter how crazy, no matter how fucked up, no matter how mean, controlling, bitchy, scary, or just plain bad.

7. And you know why i walked away from you earlier? It’s because I wanted to hit you, but I walked away because I’m not that kind of person. I’ve never hit Leigh or Dawn in anger, and I’ve only actually “hit” dawn in self-defense. Do you have any idea what kind of self control it has taken for nine years not to beat the living shit out of you guys? You drive me batshit crazy and I swallow it and hold it back because I know it won’t do any good.

8. And I’m 38 years old and all I’ve ever really wanted to be was a mom and I fucking suck at it, which is one of the reasons we don’t think we want to keep the babies because if you look at our track record we fucking suck at being parents and we don’t want to set these babies up for failure because they deserve better than this. (Still yelling, now gesticulating like the crazed ranting Italian mama I am.)

9. So Danae, if you think you’re frustrated at being in this family, imagine how it feels to be us, knowing there’s not a fucking thing we can do to make it better. (Done yelling.)

At that point I turned around, and went in my room, and put my head into my pillow and cried. I didn’t lock my door, but I did slam the hell out of it.

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. Ugh. 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!!

A New First. Not a Good One.

I've never smoked pot. Neither has my husband. Yeah, we're kind of square. In fact, the extent of my law-breaking is limited to speeding tickets. I'm actually so scared of getting in trouble that the time I accidentally stole a pack of batteries in WalMart, I took them back inside to pay for them. I'm all about the law-abiding. Except for speed limits. Those I break. And often. So when Leigh came home from her first taste of freedom in a long time (yesterday at 8:10 PM. she was out for exactly 1:40 minutes, completely BAKED out of her mind, I was at a loss. I called, in this order: Hubby, at work. Probation Officer. Two of my friends. The Hospital, about drug tests. PO again. The police. Hubby was where I was emotionally: Done. The PO did not answer her phone. However the last time we had problems with Leigh (a bit of crazy aggressive violent type threats), PO told us to call the police to come take her to Juvie Jail. I called the hospital about having her drug tested. Get this: As her mom, I cannot take her to the ER and request a drug test because IT VIOLATES HER PRIVACY and they will not test her unless she's acting up. Hellooooo? She's stoned, of course she's not acting up. She wants to snack and go to bed!! I called the PO again to say I was calling the police. Still no answer or response. I called the police. It must have been a slow night in my town because all five cars on duty showed up at my house. The neighbors all stood in their driveways, watching to see what happened. Because let's face it... we've put on a few interesting shows in the past. Lucky for me (and good for local TV advertisors) it was a quiet call. According to the local police, they cannot simply arrest a juvenile offender, even one who is on probation, without a court order and lots of paperwork. I was not pleased. Then the officer told me that even had my darling Leigh been destroying my house and started attacking the officers that they couldn't arrest her and take her to juvie. At most, they could detain her until she calmed down. Do I need to point out the obvious flaws here, or shall I assume that you are at least a tiny bit righteously indignant on my behalf? So this morning, we took Leigh to the courthouse and met with her PO. PO was not thrilled with Leigh. And the longer we were there, the more Leigh's attitude got under her skin. PO asked if she could keep Leigh for the day. Yes ma'am. We wanted her in jail last night. So at the very least, she should spend a day with you. So we left her. Turns out, Leigh has been lying about some of the events of last night. Not only did they go buy the pot from some random guy someone told them was a dealer (dangerous much?), they smoked, in a car, WITH A BABY IN THE CAR. I don't know who the baby belonged to, but Leigh admitted there was one there. Now, I'm a foster mom of two babies. Two babies who were taken away from their mom because she's a pothead with a lot of other issues. And for Leigh to not only buy and use drugs, but to do so with a baby in the car... Well, I still can't look at her without having to sit on my hands to keep from choking her. And now, it is possible that Leigh will face additional criminal charges for the situation, if they can track down the two girls and the baby's parents. Felony child endangerment, probation violation. I'm not sure what this means for our foster babies, but I can say that I will lose sleep over it tonight. E0ven sadder: Leigh did not know the names of the girls she was getting high with. (And in my parental defense, I dropped her off at a friend's house, under the guise of her eating dinner with her friend, her friend's boyfriend, and her friend's mom. I got played.) And having cried off and on all day, I am so ready for bed. Tomorrow is the last day of school, and my students will be crazed, and I get to come home and deal with my own Crazed. That is, if she doesn't get arrested at school. The PO was really irritated with the lying and was still trying to decide what to do when I picked Leigh up at 4. So here's my question: How does a parent punish a child who cares about nothing? She doesn't really experience pain, plus she's a cutter with a severe abuse history, so spanking or (as the nice police man suggested) "just kicking her ass" is out of the question. She doesn't care about anything she owns, so taking her belongings has no impact. She has no friends, and doesn't get invited anywhere, so grounding isn't an option. I'm at a loss, and my eyes are burning from crying. And I have no idea what to do. I have dealt with crazy, violent, nasty, gross, hateful, loud, smelly, painful, pinching, biting, public masterbation, inappropriate toileting, hairpulling, name calling, throwing things and all out mental illness, but the patently illegal? No way. So now what?

So much to write...

... so little time.

So I shall sum up, until I can have a nooner or a quickie with my laptop and start telling some of stories I have from the last week.

1. Met Danae and Leigh's bio mom and grandma. Damn. Explains a lot, lemme tell you. No really. Let. Me. Tell. You. (Sadly, it will have to be later.)

2. GGA was a complete bitch to her own kid and mine at graduation. She needs to be punched in a kidney or two. Or in the nose. Or shanked mightily.

3. MoMo was a hit at the Braves game. Too bad The Beach Boys weren't. They sucked.

4. The Beach Boys sucked because Brian Wilson was totally lip synching, that is, when the old fart bothered to even move his lips.

5. The Georgia Aquarium was way too busy, but it was cool as hell. I love me some penguins, belugie whales and otters. And manta rays. I do not, however, like $4 bottled beverages.

6. If you are fascinated by the slightly macabre, anatomy or just bodies in general, definitely check out the Bodies Exhibit. It was really interesting and far too educational to be of any overt interest to the teens, but they still liked it.

7. Prepaying to park at a professional sporting event is a waste of money.

8. One should always carry sunscreen.

9. The Bodies Exhibit showed me once again that MoMo is WAY smart-- she noticed right away that the body in front of her had different parts than her own. And she kept grabbing herself ala Madonna 1987, dancing and pointing at the shrunken penis on the first body we saw. Then pointing at herself. "Yes MoMo. Boys have different parts than girls." She stopped. Pointed at herself and the man. I said, "Yep. He has an outie. You have an innie. That's how boys and girls are different."

10. A popular comedian says that you can't fix stupid. I'd argue that one can also not fix mean, jealous, sneaky or drug-addled. But I could be wrong.

11. I don't like Zima, but DAMN. The one I had was awesome on Monday at the baseball game. It's amazing how much heat changes your tast in things.

12. Fleas suck.

13. So do abscessed armpits and yeast infections.

14. I lost my list of random things to blog about that I was making on our trip in the hotel. I hope I find it. It had some neat things on it.

15. GET OVER IT PEOPLE! HUBBY IS OVER SIX FEET TALL AND VERY PALE. OUR KIDS ARE NOT. Geesh. I feel better.

16. The worst thing about adoption is having to share your children.



I'll elaborate more later. Have lots to think about and be thankful for (Like my teeth. Again, more on that later).

Wish me sweet dreams. I haven't had much sleep. And I need it.

Gallows Humor

(I'm writing this in response to a minor windstorm over at Navigating the Maze. Partially in defense of Abba, and partially in my own defense because I know I have thought and uttered many of the same things.)

As a parent, I find that I laugh at strange things. As an adoptive parent, I laugh at even stranger things. As an adoptive parent with special needs kids, I laugh at some seriously weird shit.

As the kind of parent that I am, I find that my coping mechanisms may not always be socially acceptable. In fact, some of my coping mechanisms would completely horrify people who have not had the day-to-day stress and frustration of dealing with my family.

Don't get me wrong: I chose this path. I chose my children. Granted, I was lied to A LOT about my kids before they were mine, but even after the lies were uncovered, we kept them.

Our choice. Since starting to blog, I have found some other bloggers out there who have similar lives, with similar kids, and similar coping styles. I found other bloggers who have similar lives and kids, but very different ways of coping.

We are all humans. We are going to face out situations with the sum total of our past experiences. And the sum total of who we are and how we think is often on opposite ends of the spectrum from those around us.

But does that make us wrong? I read somewhere today that there are a million ways to raise kids correctly, and a few tried and true ways to royally screw them up.

That being said, how I do and don't cope is all about me. I don't expect everyone to get the fact that when my teenage daughter starts to be completely obnoxious in the Great Big Store That Sells Everything at All Hours that I burst into a loud, purposely horrifically off-key rendition of the Oscar Meyer Weiner song. Complete with dance moves. I'm a size 22, so me dancing and singing like I'm on Broadway gets attention. And it's not usually applause.

We joke about bodily functions way more than most people think is normal. We tease our children about things that other people may see as completely inappropriate-- Leigh's ridiculously smelly feet and bedroom. Danae's naive nature and newly announced taste in women. Dawn's ditziness and promiscuity. Other people wouldn't even discuss such things, let alone be okay with all of it. The fact that our babies clearly did not come from our loins is a constant source of entertainment and probably inappropriate jokes.

And I don't often talk about the crazy things I do in my head. But I will say this... the difference between people who abuse their kids and people who don't is CHOICE. I might choose to imagine punching my daughter's teeth down her throat, and yes, I have. But I don't. And honestly, it doesn't mean that I love her any less. I love her enough to NOT punch her.

I might choose to imagine driving to Social Services and dropping her off on the curb and driving away with the windows down drinking (read that as power-chugging) a margarita. But I don't.

I imagine testifying against her in court. I imagine her going completely boxcutter crazy and having to physically defend myself against her, but this time I turn the tables and beat her into a bloody pulp. (Notice that I said "this time." It's happened before.)

There are moments when I fantasize about packing a few changes of clothes and just driving away. There are moments when I wonder what would happen if I approached some of the kids I teach who I KNOW get baked during lunch and ask if I could join them to see what feels like. I have even had completely inappropriate thoughts about the young actor who plays Jacob in the Twilght series.

Fantasy, yes. Action, no. Everything is choice. I don't choose these paths for a variety of reasons. Mostly, I think they remain fantasy because I believe them to be fundamentally wrong, or I don't like some of the possible consequences.

Now, having brought this up, I guess it would be appropriate to look at the motivations behind blogging. Why do so many of us get on here anonymously and vent and spill our guts, but not use our real names and addresses?

We blog because there is something in us that compells us to write, that moves us to share. And the cool thing about this is that anyone who doesn't want to be apart of my little corner of the world doesn't have to stick around.

I hope you'll stay. I really do. I like thinking that what I say and think matters to someone, even if you don't know my real name. But if what I say and believe and the parenting path I'm hiking doesn't suit your tasts, there are plenty of bloggers on the menu.

No Shows

So at about 4:15 this afternoon, as I'm getting ready to have the hair color rinsed from my head, the day care calls to tell me that the caseworker never showed up to pick up the babies for BioMaMa visit today. I am upset by this. First, why is it that no one bothered to tell me until NOW that the babies--who were supposed to be picked up at 2 PM--were still there.

Second, what the heck is happening?

I never delete a phone number from my phone. If you call or text me, consider it saved. Forever.

That being said, I have saved several numbers of random caseworkers over the years. There are a very few caseworkers who answer their phones. Knowing who they are is helpful, especially because social services didn't spring for caller ID.

I called the first such one to find out who our caseworker du jour is. (The babies have had NINE since January. And her last day is next Friday.)

All foster homes are supposed to be assigned to a caseworker to monitor their "home." "Home" meaning certifications, placements, stipends, etc. I don't know the last time we had one of those.

Anyway, I called my go-to phone-answerer to find out who to talk to about the complete lack of communication today.

Her very honest answer is, "I don't know. We have so few people working here right now that no one really knows who's doing what." (Thanks to furlough days, crazy caseloads, low pay and a hiring freeze.)

So I called the assistant director.

She actually knew what was going on. BioMaMa has not checked in and no one could confirm that she'd be there, so they didn't pick up the babies. And then she didn't show up for the visit, so it was just as well. For them.

I had my wonderful former student/professional hair stylist, rinse me off and send me out the door with wet hair, so I could go get the babies, and still make the rest of the day. Hair Stylist was horrified that I had to leave unstyled, which is proof that teenagers do grow up, because I can't remember her ever finishing an assignment when she was my student. Everything takes longer with babies, so the rest of my day has bitten something smelly, and left me wondering.

I wonder what would have happened had I been across town at 6 PM as planned, when the day care called to find out why I hadn't picked them up?

Luckily, I was running late, and was still nearby. Since social services decided that we shouldn't drive them to and from visitation, I try to cram as much into that three hour block as possible.

Luckily, the day care director realized that the girls were still there and called me.

Luckily for all of them I was too tired to really get my grouch on.

(Side note--we offered to drive the babies to and from visits, but this didn't help justify someone's job so they told us they'd handle it. I know. I *know.* Don't get me started on another sidebar.)

Weekly Wrap-up, May 16

Not as much story telling tonight, folks, as I'm very tired after an emotionally exhausting week. I'm also facing teenager and baby duty by myself for two days this week, as I have sent hubby to hang with his family on his two days off. 

So here you have it, in all it's abbreviated glory:  My life.

Silly Goal of the Week:  Get sunburned by the end of the weekend.  I succeeded.  I even have a weird video of my neck, but that was too personal.  Suffice it to say that where the sun hit, I am the color of a lovely red thing.  And on the pale side, it's just pale ol' me.

Best day:  Today.  Spent the wee hours with the wee babe, NaNa, whilst she slurped away on the formula.  (FYI:  That crap STINKS!!) Then went to the beach, to work on my only goal of the weekend, which was to get a sunburn.  (Yes, I know it will make me look like someone's old SUV seat, complete with cancer and chemo, but dammit, fat looks better tan!!)

Today at the beach, I convinced MoMo (thats her cuteness in the pic), who HATES the water, to get wet...  if we redefine "convinced" as "picked her sandy body up, toted her out into the water told her to take a deep breath, pinched her nose closed and dunked her."  She put up a little fight, but after that, she became Barnacle MoMo, and was pretty quiet.  Terror, maybe?  But my friend LC says it's the only way she'll get over her fear of the water.

We watched an entertaining show of Danae and Annette trying to put up a sun tent.  That's Danae wrapped in the tent, as she tries to figure out how it hooks to the ground while the wind was blowing, and the rest of us were laughing. 

Then we snarked under our breath as a school of dolphins scared the crap out of a bunch of tourists who were certain that there were sharks getting ready to attack. 

On a positive note, the jelly fish that scared the crap outta me was dead.  Positive for me.  I'm guessing not so much for him.

Worst Day:  Any day, Monday through Friday, last week. I teach a lot of seniors, and this is the time of year when their heads fell off. And me being the softy that I am, cried with at least one student per day last week. 

Some of it is "OMGWhatAmIGoingToDoWithMyLife?!" terror, some of it is family drama (one girl found her bio-dad; another, at the tender age of 18, just had hers sent to a nursing home because she couldn't care for him any more.) 

Some of it is gang-related (two groups of boys ready to fight and go nutso because "someone said he heard that this other dude had saw Tookie talk trash about Lil Mike.) 

Some of it is just nerves. Some is poor planning (Why haven't I heard from XYZ College yet? I sent them my application a week ago!)  Some of it is a complete lack of a plan, so they start to tank graduation, in order to have more time to think about it and not have to leave the relative comfort of high school.  I had a NICE "Come to Jesus" meeting with that boy on Friday. 

"Can't Wait til All the Kids Are Gone" Moment: When we threw away all the mismatched plates and glasses and bought styrofoam and plastic.  What's the point of having nice dishes when the kids break them, and the adults have to wash them.  So buh-bye glass!  Hello environmental degradation! Plus we're hoping it will create a little more time for Mom and Dad.

Proof that Gorillas do Indeed Still Eat Bananas:  When one of  our kids acts like themselves, and we get irritated, we go back to a phrase I heard somewhere.  Don't buy a gorilla and expect it not to eat bananas.  So my pet goril.. I mean daughter Dawn, showed up today wanting to borrow fishing poles. This as I was hopping out of the shower and into clothes at 3:35 for a tutoring session at 4:00 with some of my kids who are taking End of Course Tests tomorrow.  I told her that I was running, late, didn't have time to look, and that she and DA couldn't because Hubby had started his project already. 

She took this as "Mom hates me, doesn't want me around, so she's being mean." And she and DA left.  then she told Danae that she didn't understand why I was "trippin." I asked Dawn what that meant. She said I was acting funny and was rude to her.  I told her that she showed up unannounced when I was running an hour late-- I wasn't rude, I was trying to get un-sandy and semi-clean to go to a meeting.

I got a "whatever mom" message back. And so, all is right in the primate world.  When it doesn't center around my little gorilla, she gets grumpy. 

Can't Find the Words Moment:  Tonight, as I was burping NaNa, I realized that she is the perfect fragrance.  The top of her head tonight smells happiness.  It is a combination of so many things-- kid playing outside, sunshine, sand, baby wash, a hint of sweat, some powder.   I wish I could do it justice, find a way to make it come alive for you, but I am not talented enough for the task. Or maybe it's not talent; maybe its one of those things you have to experience a few times so that later in life you can overcome the urge to kill them.  But it is amazing. I just want to hold her against me, and breathe through her hair. Not creepy at all, right?

Question for my readers: Do you tweet? Would you read tweets if I became a twit? And why is facebook such a pain??

This is weird:  Is it possible to become "addicted" to the drama and arguing of your children?  This weekend, Leigh was exiled to her room until it, and she,  magically becomes clean.  And as a result, there was so little arguing around the house that one could almost say there was none.  And I missed it.  Or maybe I missed her. Or the idea of her. Or the daily hope that THIS on will be different. 

Guilty Moment: I got another pedicure.  But I didn't have my Adult Refreshing Beverage, so maybe that balances out somehow.

Navigating Teen Sexuality:  Shopping tonight. Picking up a few things I couldn't live without this week (mascara, sippy cups and panty-liners)

Danae:  Mom, what is dow-shay? (Rhymes with Ow! As in, that hurt.  And hay.)
Me:  Huh?
Danae: That stuff, the dow-shay. 
Me:  Oh, that's douche. 
Danae: No it's not. That's not how you spell it!
Me: I'm pretty sure that's what it is. 
D.: So it's French then?  (Points for public schools!) What's it do anyway?
Me: You shoot it up into your hoo-ha and it's supposed to clean you out, make you feel fresher.
Danae:  I thought you told me they didn't sell sex toys at The Big Store That Sells Everything!

And on that giggly moment, I'll to bed.

Did I Lie?

So when Danae told me she was gay, I told her I didn't care and that I would be just fine walking through the mall with her and her girlfriend hold hands. 

That happened today.  And if I am honest with myself, I was uncomfortable. And I don't know why.

I really don't care if she's gay. And I really don't care if the whole world knows.  But when I saw that they were holding hands, I did a double take. Now why did I do that?

And when we ran into one of my coworkers, I turned to introduce Danae and Annette, and they had disappeared. I asked her about it later, and she said she didn't want it to be an issue for me at work.  I told her that I didn't care. No one I work with is perfect or has perfect lives.  If they think less of me or my family because one (or more) of my kids are gay, they can get right the hell over it and kiss my large pale butt in the process. 

But why was I uncomfortable?  I am really bothered by this. 

Guh.  What the heck?

Bitch Mom

Tonight, I unveiled the new Mommy Me... Bitch Mom. At least in Leigh’s eyes. She didn’t want to play nicely with others (i.e. make her room stop smelling badly and looking like a homeless man’s dumpster), so I told her to stay in her room while I was gone. And left. With the three other daughters.

She is fifteen, and I am tired of my life—of all our lives—playing second fiddle to her mental illnesses. Oppositional Defiant Disorder, Reactive Attachment Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Anxiety, Depression, Self-Mutilation, General Pain in the Ass Refuses to Do Anything She’s Asked or Be Nice to Anyone Syndrome.

She is so angry, with every breath it just oozes off of her, and I wonder when she’ll snap. She lies, with every word she speaks. And I'm tired of all of it.

So now, the answer is NO. To everything.

No. No. No.

No.

No, you may not _____, until you have _____. No ifs, no ands, no buts, no negations, NOTHING. Until you can be nice, feel free to stay in your smelly room. Feel free to sleep 24-7. Feel free to wear the same clothes day in and day out, and not bathe. But until you no longer smell like unwashed hooker clothes and look homeless, you will not get in my car to go anywhere with me.

I will not fight you about the cigarettes, alcohol and weed you sneak every chance you get. But if you indulge these on my property, by GodAllahBuddha, your probation officer will be called, as will the local PD and they will haul your ungrateful, ever-expanding ass to juvie.

I don’t care that I can’t have you committed anywhere. I don’t care that you aren’t suicidal or homicidal enough to get the damned insurance company to pay attention—eventually, mental illness or not, you have to make a decision.

YOU have to decide if you want a life, if you want to do more than just live. Or not. And nothing I do or don’t do will fix that. I will continue to lay out your meds in the morning. I will continue to buy food. I will continue to make sure you wake up to get on a bus. I will continue to love you no matter what. But I have learned that I don’t have to like you. And I don’t remember the last time I really liked you.

But from now on, if you want something, the answer is no, unless you meet my terms. I don’t care how crazy you are, it will be my way.

Because I AM the mom, and I’m in charge, damn it, whether you like it or not. And if you don’t?  Oh well. You’ve survived worse.

And I can lock my bedroom door.

It's a long walk home.

Tonight, I've done something I've only jokingly threatened to do to my daughters when they became annoying, obnoxious or "challenging" in public. I drove off and left one of them.


I have been known to say, "It's a long walk back to home." Tonight, it was about two miles.

We were attempting to meet my husband for dinner during his break (with four kids at home, second shift BITES!!) The babies were okay-- NaNa was in the ER last night for wheezing and phlegm and coughing-- at three months old, she has asthma, and a galloping case of bronchiolitis. MoMo is being her silly self.

Leigh started out rough on the way to dinner, but straightened herself up after I told her that I'd turn the car around and leave her at home.

By the time we got to the restaurant, Leigh was fine. When Danae got out of the car, Leigh said, "Get MoMo out!" She said it in a not quite a speaking voice, not quite a yell, so she could be heard out of the closed car. Danae snapped at her, and I told her that it wasn't necessary, Leigh was just trying to make sure she was heard.

Danae got mad and stomped off to the restaurant door. When Leigh got there, Danae said to Leigh, "Don't talk to me at all during dinner." I said, "That wasn't necessary. She was just trying to make sure MoMo got out, so she could too." (My Camry's backseat is a little crowded-- two carseats and a plus sized teenager.)

Inside, Danae takes MoMo to change her diaper. Points for her. I make a list of what to order so the food will get there when Hubby does, being that he only has an hour. I sent Leigh to find out what Danae wanted.

Leigh reported that Danae said, "Hold on, I'm coming." Now, Danae has been known to take up to four hours to get ready to go somewhere. Even her friends know to tell her to be ready an hour before they actually want her to go somewhere.

My response: Well, if she makes it, great. She eats. If not, we have food at home."

Leigh goes to the RR to report that. I'm ordering, when Danae stomps up the the cash register. When the cashier asked what Danae wanted, she was really, really rude to her. And then stomped off again.

Hubby has arrived just in time to see this. He asks what's going . I tell him. I apologize to the worker for my daughter's pissy behavior and head for the table.

When we get to the table, Danae asks me why I only ever tell Hubby what bad kids they are. Her frustration is loud enough that people halfway across the dining room have now turned to watch. Then she moves to the last seat in the row we're in, turns her back to us, starts eating and says NOT ONE WORD during dinner. Leigh was actually mostly socially appropriate, except that she smelled. Ghastly.

After dinner, Danae tried to argue more, and Hubby told her that he'd asked what was going on that she was in such a bad mood. She starts to argue that my attitude is what always puts her in a bad mood. I pointed out that all I had done was point out a misperception and correct her attitude.

She stomped off. Hubby and I decompress together for a moment. We've seen each other in passing for the last three days--last night was the worst. He left to take NaNa to the ER at 1145, and got home when I was getting up (late) for work at 6:30.

We head for the car. Leigh is in the front seat, headphones jamming. No Danae. I loaded the babies up as I casually scanned the parking lot for her. She was across the street in a bank parking lot, on the route we'd take if we were going to the local Buy Everything Under One Roof Store Where Hubby Works. During the attitude problems, I'd told them we weren't going, that I'd give Hubby a list and he'd just pick it up after he got off work.

I would be driving right by her if I were going to the store. Since I wasn't going to the store, and the restaurant was only about 2 miles from home. I drove home.

Leigh, for a change, came to her sister's defense. "If you call the cops on her, I'm going to tell them you knew where she was and just left her."

"You can do that," I told her. "I'll only do that if she's not home in about an hour."

Ooooohwheeee she was MAD!!! Mad like this really, angry cat. I couldn't call her until we got home thanks to a user error on my cell phone--forgot to charge it. How dumb is that?? But I digress.

It actually took her two hours to get home--after calling me and telling me I had to come get her, and that this was why she wanted to leave and never wanted to be hereblahblahblahblah. And calling Marie to ask for a ride. (I'd already texted her and asked her not to pick Danae up if she called.) I told myself that if she wasn't home in fifteen more minutes, I would have called the cops. I think they have a folder for us, with pre-completed forms ready to go.

She didn't say anything when she got home, but went straight to the shower. Poor baby. It was more than 80 degrees, very muggy, and the ground is still so very wet from recent rains. And her with her white shoes.

Lessons learned today: Across town is not really too long a walk, and it is very liberating to put your money (or your car) where your mouth is.

More about today in tomorrow's post. This is just sprinkles on the cupcake!!

Okay, Maybe I Am Stupid

Have you ever said something you knew you REALLY shouldn’t have said, but you reallyreallyreallyreally wanted to? I did that Sunday. And it has caused some interesting complications.

This weekend, Danae’s “friend” Annette spent the night Saturday. I knew they were more than friends. However, I stuck my giant emu ass up in the air and buried my head in the very nice sand because I didn’t want the fight and the lies and the drama. More emotional honesty, right?

All that was working out just fine—until I got up at 3:45 a.m. to go to the bathroom. I heard giggles and talking from Danae’s room, and went to tell them they probably needed to get some sleep, (I know, I know, but at least she can’t get knocked up. Remember the emu image? Thought so.) I did my usual knock three times and turn the knob.

It was locked.

And it was a loooooooong time before Danae got to the door. I was not pleased. But I had two hours to sleep before the baby alarms woke up, so took my tail feathers back to bed.

So, fast forward to us dropping off Annette. I hugged her, wished her a happy birthday. And then, against all my better judgment, I whispered, “I’m not stupid.”

Now, I’d been contemplating two strategies. The first, a simple rainbow beach towel left on Danae’s bed with a note that said, “I know and I still love you.”

The second, talking with Annette. Annette has been honest with me about her sexuality, so in my head (in my defense all I can say is that I have been very sleep deprived… midnight bowling and solo baby duty) I thought if I talked to her it would open up doors for Danae.

So I whispered, “I’m not stupid.”

She jumped about thirteen feet away and bug-eyed stared at me for five full seconds. Then there was a crazy little “oh my god are you serious what do you mean oh my god” dance. When she stopped freaking right the hell out, she asked, very calmly if she could text me and talk later. I told her she could text me any time about anything she wanted to talk about.

Danae has a very good BS meter. Eighteen placements and 60+ caseworkers will do that to a kid. She was not pleased that something was clearly up. (And there have been several instances when she had the chance to open up to us about her sexuality, and hasn’t. I hate that I’ve been lied to, but I totally understand the reasons and the logic.)

So, long story short (damn, I’m a rambler!), Annette and I had a long text conversation that ended with me saying this, “Since a lot of what you’ve said to me tonight are things Danae has already said to me, I’m assuming you’re sharing what I’m saying to you. I’m good with that. Please tell her to notice the fact that I’m still sitting in the living room, and I have not ordered her to pack. In the grand scheme, this is not a big issue for us. However, we do need to talk about it.” No more texts from Annette.

This morning, Danae texted me to ask if we could go for a drive tonight to have a heart to heart, I accepted the date, and told her I loved her and to have a good day.

And then Dawn showed her ass, and FUBAR-ed the evening. So I’m writing this summary instead of navigating the “How To Manage Sleepovers and Dating with Your Lesbian Daughter” conversation.

To top things off, Annette’s 17th birthday is tomorrow, and it is the one month anniversary of her mom’s death, and we’d already given Danae permission to spend the evening with Annette and her family before I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut.

==insert huge sigh here==

What the #$%^&; was I thinking??

So if any of you have any words of advice, please… start typing. Now! Do it!!

Peez?

I Hate Myself for Loving You

Have you heard the old Joan Jett song, “I Hate Myself for Loving You?”

Here are the lyrics. (I’m not sure how copyright works here, but Joan rocked the hell out of this song in the 80s, and I had absolutely nothing to do with it!)

Midnight, gettin' uptight. Where are you?
You said you'd meet me, now it's quarter to two
I know I'm hangin' but I'm still wantin' you.

Hey, Jack, It's a fact they're talkin' in town.
I turn my back and you're messin' around.
I'm not really jealous, don't like lookin' like a clown.
I think of you ev'ry night and day.
You took my heart, then you took my pride away.

I hate myself for loving you .
Can't break free from the things that you do.
I wanna walk but I run back to you, that's why
I hate myself for loving you.

Daylight, spent the night without you.
But I've been dreamin' 'bout the lovin' you do.
I won't be as angry 'bout the hell you put me through.
Hey, man, bet you can treat me right.
You just don't know what you was missin' last night.
I wanna see your face and say forget it just from spite.

I hate myself for loving you .
Can't break free from the things that you do.
I wanna walk but I run back to you, that's why
I hate myself for loving you.
I hate myself for loving you.
Can't break free from the things that you do.
I wanna walk but I run back to you, that's why.

I hate myself for loving you ....

Anyway, I learned something about myself tonight—I don’t live up to my own expectations. It both pissed me off and made me cry. Well, I cry angry or sad, so I guess the tears were irrelevant.

The narrative: Dawn was supposed to be staying with us until June 1 when she moves into the apartment that Hubby and I paid the deposit on. She’s been home two nights since moving her belongings onto my carport and into my living room. She was supposed to be home Sunday from babysitting, and go job hunting with Hubby on Monday. I texted her five times Sunday, as plans for the week sort of hinged on her being around. (Why I have yet to learn this lesson, I don’t know.)

Today, we were supposed to be having a family dinner-- all six daughters, grilled food, fresh veggies, fun times, right? Wrong-O! She has decided to stay with the man she’s babysitting for because he’ll let Dumbass Boyfriend live there too. And DB does not want to spend time with us because it makes him uncomfortable because he knows we don’t like him. (And with his resume, who wouldn’t adore him, right?)

The pork chops are coming off the grill when Dawn texts me that they’ll be at my house in five minutes to get more of her clothes and her phone charger. I ask if she’s staying for dinner, and she says no, she already ate. Now I’m mad.

They arrive as we’re sitting down to eat, and DB stays in the car, Dawn comes in to get her charger. She hugs everyone, and makes some fast small talk, and then Marie dares to ask her what the plan is. Dawn bites Marie’s head off when Marie asked her about how long she’s planning to stay where she is, and how she’s going to job hunt while stuck babysitting for $100 a week. She stomped out and slammed the door.

Now I’m pissed. You don’t want to be my kid? Fine. You don’t want to eat my food? Thanks. More for me. You want to come in MY house, during MY dinner, yell at someone who WANTS to be my kid, and slam the door we’ve repaired ad infinitum thanks to your slamming, and expect me to be okay with it? Um, no.

So I drop my plate and go outside all prepared to let her have it, and


nothing. All I can manage is a half-hearted “Really?”

She responded, “Yeah mom. Really. I’m tired of everybody pissing me off.”

She got in the borrowed car and off they went.

Why is it that I can unleash my unholy Mediterranean temper on measly crap like chores being half-assed, or someone leaving icky stuff on the bathroom floor, or students who are rude in the hall, but when someone’s behavior REALLY desperately deserves to have my inner Sicilian come out, I don’t?

Dawn deserved to hear what I was thinking and feeling and it would have felt A.M.A.Z.I.N.G. to let it out at the top of my very capable leftover-cheerleader lungs. But I didn’t. I watched her drive away.

I expect and demand emotional honesty from my children. From my students. From my husband. I don’t let them hide behind excuses and past life experiences. So why is it that when I find myself in the heat of a moment, that I am incapable of the very thing I value and push so hard?

Is it wimpiness? Fear? Performance anxiety? Base hypocrisy?

Whatever it is, it’s driving me batshit tonight. Or maybe it’s this other issue distracting me, with another daughter.

If stress shortens your lifespan, I think I might be scheduled for next week.

Weekly Wrap-up, May 1

Funniest Thing I didn’t Say:  Our anniversary ended up being a family bowling night, and trust me, we all suck.  We had fun though, and me especially, thanks to the internal gigglefest I had over a statement made by one of my daughters:

     Danae, actually said: I can’t even bowl straight!

     Me, said in my mind: That’s because you aren’t! (I snooped in her phone and found out that her “best friend” is actually her girlfriend. I don’t care, except for the fact that she’s been spending the night a lot, behind closed doors in the same bed. Straight or gay, I don’t think sharing a bed with your HS sweetie is appropriate.)

She doesn’t know we know. That’ll be a fun conversation. I've actually thought about buying her a rainbow beach towel and leaving it on her bed with a note that says, "I know, and I still love you" and putting the ball in her court.

Funniest Thing I Wish My Husband Would Have Said: (After I told him of my internal funny moment above...)“I know she doesn’t have much experience playing with balls, but you’d think she’d at least be able to put her finger in a hole.”

Best MoMo Moment:
     Me: Say please!
     Her: Peez!
      FINALLY!! I thought we’d never get her to say please!!

Cutest Child Moment: We got home from work, and I put MoMo down. She immediately trotted across the living room, grabbed a bottle of lotion, held it out to me and said, “Peez!” (She loves lotion. After bath time, she loves to clap her hands in it and help me lotion her.)

Then she put it down, clapped her hands and said, “Yay!!!!!” I love it when she applauds herself.  She does it at least once a day, and it never gets old.

Since then, she’s been saying it very regularly, having FINALLY learned that she generally gets what she wants, if we can figure out what it is, when she says “Peez!”

Most Heartbreaking “What if?” Moment That Popped Into My Head And Made Me Cry A Little:   What if the babies’ mama gets them back, and they one day walk into my classroom and don’t remember me?

Best new gadget: When we got our first tax check, my husband bought himself an IPod Touch. So when we got The Big One, I decided I was going to buy myself a video camera. Partially for the babies and teenagers, partially for my classroom, and partially because I want to participate in MeanGirlGarage’s odd video contests. So I bought a Flip Ultra HD digital video camera. I love it!! Amazing!! When I figure out how to post a video, I’ll put a cutie up of my two foster babies. (Can you tell that this week I learned how to link stuff in my blog?)

Best Saturday in a Long Time: I took all but one of the girls shopping yesterday. Having recently gotten a hellacious tax check, I wanted to buy them some clothes, and generally just spend some no-pressure time with them. We spent way too much money, but had a really good time. I don’t think all those people in line behind us for a dressing room at Bell’s will ever forgive us, but they’ll get over it.

Conundrums of the Week: First, should I start graduate school next week? It’s a year-long program for an EDS degree (halfway between a Master’s and Doctorate). My financial aid is done. All I have to do is register for classes. I can take two classes at a time, and they are all online. And if I do it, I can put off starting to pay for the loans for my Master’s again. If not, I have to start repaying them in July.

Second conundrum: Should I make or buy a Mother’s Day card for my foster babies’ mom? They are scheduled to visit their biomom on Thursday, and I thought it might be nice to give her a card, or make her one, with pics of her daughters in it. She is trying to work her case plan, and having seen her with the babies, she loves them… no doubt.

Third conundrum: To teach, or not to teach (summer school) that is the question. It’s damned hard to justify not doing it at a rate of about $45 an hour. But I do so love sleeping late, and working on my tan and reading list.

Funniest Thing That Happened to Someone Else:  My high-school-acquaintance-turned-online-friend/mentor/therapist is also navigating an interesting adoptive life.  Her experiences are chronicled on her hilarious blog, but the best (and by best I mean I wish I could have been there to record it to win money, or at least have it to go back and howl at again) that  I've heard in a long time, is this one: jesus is gross.  I laughed outloud 'til I teared up, read it to my daughters and one of their friends, and plan to share it with my husband if I get to hang out with him today. 

Stupidest Student Comment of the Week: "Man! We graduate in less than two months. I need to stop gettin high after school and finish my credit recovery class."

Moment I Could Lose my Job Over:  I have a student in my AP English Lit class who qualified for the state track meet in three events. The problem is that if she goes to the state meet, she'll miss the AP test. The AP test determinse if she is eligible to be granted college credit for the class.  AP exams are only offered once a year and are not rescheduled.  I thought a lot about my initial reaction: "WHAT? My class isn't the center of your world?  Are you KIDDING ME??"  Then I met reality. We shook hands.  Then he shook me. 

So, I told her mom that if my opinion counted for anything, she should go to the track meet--she's worked for that far harder and much longer than she ever thought about working for the AP Test, and (I didn't say this to the mom), has a better chance for success at the meet.  Here's hoping the mom likes honesty. My boss has a history of hating it.

Biggest Duh Moment: Dawn acted like herself. Why do I continually expect that she’s going to suddenly not be selfish, immature and wrapped up in Dumbass Boyfriend? To quote someone I heard a long time ago, why on earth would you buy a gorilla and expect it not to want bananas? She’s spent the last few days with a friend babysitting, and was supposed to come back this afternoon. I still hadn’t heard from her at 5:15 after texting her five times during the day. I only know she’s not planning to be here tonight because Marie called to tell me.

Something New to Worry About: Marie told me that Dumbass Boyfriend wouldn’t ALLOW Dawn to change clothes, put on make-up or brush out her hair to go run errands with Marie Friday. She wasn’t ALLOWED? What the hell kind of crazy, gonna-turn-out-to-be-a-psycho shit is that? Marie asked Dawn about that later, and Dawn says he’s just worried she’s going to cheat on him or find someone better. Duh. Just almost anyone would be better than him.

Random Thing That Pissed me Off: I saw a commercial today for multivitamins—one for teen girls and one for teen guys. The commercial pointed out that guys and girls have different needs—girls want clear skin and boys want good muscle development. Really.

So when I was a cheerleader and was trying to get my jumps better, I was really only worried about having clear skin, and not my aching shoulder and calf muscles? And the guy I dated who had such bad skin that he wore more make up than my cheerleading squad combined was actually more interested in trying to get buff.

Yeah. That makes total sense.

I Was Totally Shocked When Leigh came out of her room in clean (albeit brand new clothes) with makeup on, and her hair done. She looked great! And didn’t smell!

Happiest Blog Moment:  I have seven followers!  Yay!!  Someone out there might *actually* be reading this silliness! We should totally have a party when I hit double digits!

Coming up this week: Well, the issues presented in the first two parts of this weekly wrap up have been keeping Hubby and me hopping and my text inbox full this evening. I’m sure I’ll be writing more about that this week, after some of the debris has settled and the National Whatever Board comes to finish the investigation into whether or not parents should back their kids into corners to discuss their sexuality.

I’m sure there will be more horrible poo and people being themselves, but the weather looks promising, and I don’t have to do progress reports until next week. Which means I still have a little bit of time to catch up on grading.

Yay. 

Why you do the things you do? (very, very long...)

I’ve heard it called many things—Crusader Complex, Bleeding Heart, Sucker, Stupid, Trying to Save The World, A Wonderful Thing, a Blessing, Crazy.

And they are all true. All of those describe what people have said to me about my family, and our adoption and fostering. “It takes special people.” Oh yes, very special. “I could never do what you’re doing.” Yes you could. You’ve just chosen a different path. Hope it works for you. “You are such a blessing.” Maybe, but mostly, I feel cursed. “You must be so patient.” You have noooooo idea, babe. “Is it hard?” So many metaphors, so little time. “What do your real children think?” Um, since I gave up Glen, my pretend friend, in third grade, I haven’t really dealt with not-real people.

I’ve been following with interest the traffic jam that has become the life and times of the wonderful moms at Navigating the Maze: Adoptive Parenting and Life for about two weeks now. They are on a path very similar to mine, and are having many of the same problems we have had and are continuing to have. The day-to-day trudge that is the life of a RADmom is one that so few people can understand and relate to, that I felt both relieved and guilty that I was glad to find so much kinship among bloggers with horrible kids.

I say horrible kids, and some of you out there might think less of me. Oh well. I really don’t care. You probably haven’t walked the path we have in the last nine years. And unless you have, you can’t judge us.

My husband and I have horrible kids. Our first one is Leigh.

Leigh has been psychiatrically hospitalized three times. The first time in kindergarten, the second time in first grade, and the third time at the end of 8th grade. We’ve been trying unsuccessfully to have her admitted long term for a year now. If she isn’t actively suicidal or homicidal, no one will admit her because of the cost of long term psychiatric treatment. And that’s with TWO complete coverage plans. In the past nine years, we have:

1. Been bitten, spit on, puked on (intentionally and repeatedly), had things thrown at us, and had our hair pulled out.

2. We’ve been every horrible thing you can think of from a bad prison gang—all from a very cute little girl.

3. She ripped the chair rails out of her wall when she was 6 and tore out drywall down to the studs.

4. We had to board up her windows—she tried to punch through the windows after we bolted them shut.

5. For about three years, it took both my husband and me to hold her while she freaked out and raged.

6. We had to board up her closet—she kept climbing up onto the top shelf and attempting to dismantle the light fixtures, and throwing things at us.

7. After we boarded up her closet, we had to un-board it several times to get the shit out of it that she crammed under the door.

8. We had to rip the carpet up and throw it out. Use your imagination. Yes. And that too.

9. We had to reverse the door knob so she couldn’t lock us out.

10. We had to take down and pack away up most of our antiques and family pictures after she started systematically breaking and destroying them.

11. She has destroyed EVERYTHING we have ever bought her (toys, furniture, bedding, clothing, bicycles, books, school supplies, etc)… except her ipod. That she loves. Headphones, however, are fair game.

12. She ruins new clothes intentionally. And wears dirty stuff continuously because she refuses to wash her clothes.

13. She’s been a cutter since she was six, and is on probation for having blades at school and showing another kid how to cut himself.

14. She has run away on three different occasions, and that doesn’t count the times she has just disappeared to attempt to hang out with people in the neighborhood, or gotten off the bus and taken off for a few hours.

15. She steals from everyone in the family, including her sisters, parents and grandparents.

16. In the past two years, she has had SIX xrays on her right hand because she punches wall so hard her knuckles swell up, turn purple, and look horrible. And because I hate how people look at me when I don’t take her to the doctor for the obvious answer, “No, it’s not broken, and you really shouldn’t punch walls” I take her for xrays.

17. She once tried to set the house on fire… toilet paper and matches on the bathroom floor.

18. If she gets a bug bite, it turns into an infected, oozing mess because she refuses to wash and continuously picks at it.

That mom from Tennessee who sent her adoptive son back to Russia? I don’t approve of her methods, but I have stood at that breaking point and asked myself if being a mom is really worth it. The longest, hardest conversation my husband and I ever had was about whether or not we were going back to the hospital to pick up our daughter and bring her back home. There but for the grace of GodAllahBuddha….

We did go back and get her. Twice. And honestly, it was not because of a deep emotional attachment, or an unbreakable mother-daughter bond. It was because a very nice social worker convinced us that if we didn’t, Leigh didn’t have any more chances.

I’m not sharing this for sympathy-- I’ve learned that sympathy is for wimps. It is completely useless. It does nothing but make the offerers feel better about their own lives, and the receivers feel worse about their own.

You want to help a RADmom? Offer to babysit—knowing that the kid is crazy, no matter how cute and harmless she looks. She'll probably be really nice to you.

Offer to order pizza one night for that mom who, after working AND dealing with the horrible child, is just too freaking tired to cook.

Offer a non-judgmental hug.

Offer to come sit at her house with her and put up with the bullshit going on there because in reality, raising kids is not forever. The kid will eventually leave or get locked up, and the parents will be left to look around the trailer park and wonder where the tornado went. And at that moment, they will need friends more than they ever had before.

I’m not sharing this to earn cool points, either. I gave up on being cool a LONG time ago. Right about the time I had to apologize to another parent for Leigh's treatment of her child. Right about the time I called the police on my 7 year-old daughter for stealing from us. Right about the time I had to teach my middle school aged kids how to use condoms because they were already having sex. Right about the time I had to apologize to my mom, a week after her hysterectomy, after Leigh head-butted her abdomen. (And yes, she knew about the surgery, mom had shown her the stitches.)  To my mom's credit, Leigh is not dead.

What Eema and Abba are going through is part of what a silent majority of adoptive parents experience, but we don’t tend to go public with our battles. Maybe we should. Maybe people need to know what our lives are like behind the closed doors and drawn blinds. But we don’t talk about how hard it is. How exhausting and draining, and how much it strains the relationships we have with people we care about.

In my case, I haven’t gone public for lots of reasons. I never wanted Leigh to be able to say we hadn’t done everything in our power to help her “get better.” I never wanted people to look at her any weirder than they already do. I have always held on to a sliver of hope that one day, Leigh will wake up and be “normal.” And honestly, I hadn’t NEEDED to go public until recently. And for now, my little anonymous blog is all the public I’ll go.

I’m sharing this peephole-glimpse into ONE of my daughters because Fosterabba is right—Love ISNT enough for these kids. And after adopting three, I am almost convinced that NOTHING will ever be enough for them.

Think about what follows here, and bear with my very blunt assessment. These kids come from crap. Absolutely the lowest crap on the crap scale. Abuse. Neglect. Drugs. Alcohol. Violence. Lack of supervision. Untreated mental illness. Generations of poverty and ignorance and incest.

Most people don’t know exactly what it takes to have a child taken away from their birth family permanently. It’s a lot. Abuse like the parent has been pimping out the child in exchange for drugs. Abuse like letting your kids drink and do drugs because it conks them out so you can party. Or punishing them with hot water, cigarette burns, being locked in small spaces (closets or bathrooms) for hours. Or days. Or being locked outside over night in their underwear. Neglect like a baby who hasn’t been bathed in two weeks, or bottles that have never seen hot, soapy water. Or toddlers left in a crib all day while the mama goes out to party. (all true stories, btw, from my kids, or those of other adoptive parents I know.)

And for the kids, this is normal. That is the way everyone lives because IT IS ALL THEY HAVE SEEN.

Then suddenly, they’re taken by people with good intentions who make them live with other people with good intentions, who don’t do any of the things that they think are normal. So they think the new people are the weirdos. Not them.

My husband asked me a few weeks ago which of our kids was MOST likely to take care of us in our old age. That gave me a very long, very depressing pause, and gave me even more motivation to work our debt snowball and save like crazy. My answer was that I didn’t have one. I can’t see any of our kids either caring enough about us to care for us in our dotage, or being able to, financially or physically.

So the question becomes, why? Why do seemingly ordinary people go to such extraordinary measures to become parents? To keep their crazy children?

For me, I’ve never wanted anything more than I wanted to be a mom. When I couldn’t get pregnant, I really and truly wished I were dead. Or would be stricken with some horrible disease that would either kill me, or be bad enough that I could blame infertility on it, and not on my own rotten plumbing and genetics. We stopped infertility treatments before surgery and meds because we came this conclusion: Did we really want to work so hard to pass along our completely screwed up genetics? Seemed kind of mean when we looked at it like that.

I have never quit anything in my life, or let something I wanted to achieve pass by because it was too hard. I have sort of put parenting my children in that same category. I haven’t given up because I just don’t do that. However, hubby and I have begun a countdown and a to-do list for when the last crazy child leaves the house. It’s helped keep us sane lately.

I tell people all the time that I don’t regret anything about how our family has turned out. But if I’m really honest, in that dark little corner of my heart, I know I’m lying.

I regret that my career has been tanked by Leigh and Dawn. I regret not having been able to get my doctorate because I couldn’t leave our teenagers at home alone for a few hours once a week. I regret all the money we’ve wasted on therapy that hasn’t worked and replacing clothing and furniture and bedding. (For Leigh, we have purchased an average of two new mattresses a year since we got her. Again, use your imagination. Yes, that. And that. I know. Gross.)

So I’m writing this tonight, and wiping the tears off my face, wishing I could hug Abba and Eema because they are so much more honest with themselves and other people than I am. And I know how they feel about Danielle, because I feel the same way about Leigh and Dawn.

Clearly, it's not about my anniversary.

Tonight is my fifteenth wedding anniversary. Hubby and I were supposed to go out to dinner and a movie or something. Dawn was supposed to come sit at the house with everyone else so that we had an 18 year old present. Danae is truly okay to babysit both babies, but she's only 16. I don't really trust Dawn to do it, but to leave the babies with Danae, we have to have someone over 18.

She was supposed to be at the house with ONLY the girls. No Dumbass Boyfriend. At the last minute, he HAD to come with her. Because he's out on felony bond right now, we will not allow him to be at the house with any of our kids unsupervised. I don't think he'd do anything to hurt the kids, but I don't trust him. At all. Bina knows this, but insisted that he HAD to come with her because he had nowhere else to go. (He's 21. If he needs a keeper that badly... Nevermind. I don't have the energy to get up on my soapbox.)

So we canceled. And she got all upset wondering why.

All we wanted was a quiet dinner alone. But we didn't get it. What we got was a semi-annoying dinner with Danae and Leigh and the babies. Leigh doesn't know when to quit. Ever. So we end up yelling at her.

Often. Frequently. Hourly.

For example...

"Leigh, get your face away from the baby."

Evil giggling.

"Oh. My. God. Leigh! Get your nose OUT of the baby's mouth! That's just fucking disgusting!"

"Now, Leigh. Leigh. Leigh! Leeeeee-eeeeigh. LEIGH! NOW!"

"Dammit, Leigh. NOW! Should I call MaryJo?"

Now I get a dirty look designed to quell a mob boss. But at least her nose is out of the baby's mouth. (A note on Leigh's nose: She breathes like Darth Vador because she has really bad allergies and asthma, does not clean her room EVER, rarely takes her asthma meds, and smokes as much as she can whenever our backs are turned. She picks her nose. Until it bleeds. So it’s scabby and boogery, and noisy. Does this help the "why is that so incredibly wrong and disgusting?" question you were pondering? Thought so.)

MaryJo is the probation officer. I had high hopes for her, but she's just as pussed out as the rest of anyone having to do with juvenile court.

Anyway, that's a real conversation that occurred after dinner, during which we corrected her -- and I kid you not-- at least 100 times.

There are weeks that go by when I haven't said a single nice thing to her or about her. And I'm embarrassed to take her anywhere because she's so horribly behaved and so gross that I don't want to be seen with her. How horrible is that? I'm supposed to be her mom, and while I love her, I feel /think all of the following, sometimes all at once:

1. I don't like her. I don’t like people who do shit to annoy people on purpose, and she constantly does that.

2. She drives me completely bat-shit crazy… on purpose. (See #1)

3. She smells like an old locker room most of the time. No deodorant refuses to wash the fishy parts, and has the worst foot odor known to man.

4. She has gone from a size 10 to a size 20 this school year.

5. She believes really tight or really baggy t-shirts are dress clothes. But only if they haven’t been washed. She doesn’t do her laundry. (See #4)

6. She cut all her hair off using an eyebrow razor. She looks like a boy with that genetic giant boob disease.

7. I gauge the time I leave work by how long I'll have to put up with her before she gets tired of driving us nuts and puts herself to bed. Sometimes I invent errands to avoid spending time with her. But then, when no one else is around, she’s okay.

I know I should be more sympathetic toward her. She has an alphabet soup of diagnoses and issues, but dammit, she's been with us since 2001. At almost 16, you'd have thought she'd have figured out SOMETHING by now.

Granted, she no longer bites, pulls hair or goes into hours-long rages where she has to be held down. She still puts holes in the wall, but at least she hangs posters over them now. Maybe I’m being too hard on her? Or maybe I’m just tired and numb to the drama.

Regardless, my fifteenth anniversary was not spent in the solitary company of my sexy bald husband holding hands and enjoying refreshing adult beverages. It was spent wondering why Dawn has to take every chance to force the Dumbass Boyfriend down our throats, and why Leigh would want the baby to suck on her nose.

Weekly Wrap-up, April 25

And the Jury says: In the case of Sketcher’s Shape-Ups, the Jury says No, with explanation. Most people would probably be fine, and if I didn’t have plantar fascitis, I’d love them. However, they aggravated my plantar fascia, and that alone is reason not to wear them again. However, they are right on point as far as what they’re advertised to do. My posture was better, and I noticed a difference in how I walked and moved.

So, if you’re a normal type person, money well spent. If you’re kind of special like me, not a good purchase. That being said, I have a gently used pair or white ones, size 9.5, for sale…


Biggest Frustration: I hate being sick and not having anyone at home give a shit about it. I missed three days of work this week with an ear infection, sinus infection and something bronchitis/asthma-related. I spent Wednesday in bed, and tried to Thursday and Friday, but my children didn’t seem to care that inhaling at a speed other than really slow would send me into a coughing fit. I got no help with the babies other than my husband. Except when I walked in the room, handed them to one of the teenagers and said, give me two hours to sleep. That worked today.  But really, when your parents were sick, didn't you at least pretend to care? Or am I being delusional?

Biggest TMI Moment: Dawn asked about boobs. And sex. “When you’re, you know, having fun, is it true that they grow a cup size?”

Having fun?

“You know, messing around.” Oh. Sometimes it really sucks having such a vivid imagination. The ensuing conversation about what might make your boobs grow a cup size in a short amount of time lead to a discussion about what it means to “like it rough.” Leigh and Danae were appalled at that part. Bina was intrigued.

Pleghmiest Situation that Lead to a New Friendship: I’ve been sick most of this week. I went to the doctor Tuesday morning, and was told I have an ear infection, a sinus infection and crud in my lungs. I took the nose drops, inhaler and antibiotic and stuck it out at work the rest of the day. I called in for Wednesday because I was still coughing so ridiculously hard. I attempted to sleep on Thursday, but instead, went back to the doc. Two more prescriptions, and $75 later, I had cough syrup and steroids. Of that money, $68 of it was for cough syrup.

Cough syrup!

 I was livid, and cursed my doctor, her PA, the nursing staff, and all their offspring for the next five generations. Then I met Tussionex. I’m not hawking a product, but da-ummm! That stuff is amazing! Up until my little bottle of miracle drug and I were introduced, I’d been coughing so much that I pulled muscles in my chest and couldn’t talk.

One dose of my new friend, and I slept without coughing for about seven straight hours.

Meanest Mom Moment: Did you know that I discriminate against Danae's friends because I wouldn’t let her have one of them spend the night Saturday night? She was gone from 11:45 am to 8:30 PM Friday. She was gone from 10 AM Saturday to 6 PM Saturday night. My theory was that she didn’t need to have a friend over or go anywhere, as she’d had plenty of on the go time already. I was told that my discrimination against her friends is why she so desperately wants to leave. Okay. If that’s the worst thing anyone says to me in a week, it’s been okay.

Self-Realization Moment: I have become that Mom. The one who dresses her children in matching outfits. I can’t help myself. They’re so cute. The baby girls AND the clothes. My teenagers think I’ve lost it, but they mostly just roll their eyes. Carter's makes these cute little outfits that look like dresses, but have built in undies, and I have bought two sets of matching outfits for the babies. Pictures to come.

Other frustrating things: I still can’t find a way to breach Dawn's loneliness. She seems to be slipping further and further away, and no matter what I try, how I approach her, she wants nothing to do with me. We’ve always said that she was smart enough to know she had problems, but not mature enough to do anything about them. RAD, Depression and Borderline Personality Disorder are an icky, icky combination.

Positive Notes:

1. I have officially lost 13 pounds.

2. We got our federal tax refund a month early. MiniVan here I come! New windows here I come! New bicycles here we come! (We finalized an adopted last year, which makes for a nice visit with Uncle Sam the Tax Man.)

3. We are getting a hellacious deal on a 1999 Plymouth Venture. It was donated to the local tech school, and I know the guy who teaches automotive repair there. He’s going to sell it to us for the cost of the parts needed to get it up and running. It was repossessed, and the guy who wasn’t paying his bills refused to tell the repo people how to turn off the alarms system. So, the repo company, rather than have to dismantle the alarm system, donated it to the school to play with. It's been sitting for about a year, but I can’t wait!! One car, and my WHOLE family can go at the same time!

4. Hubby has begun working on his second book. Go hubby!

5. NaNa has gone from Scrawny Chicken Baby to Michelin Tire Man Baby. With a cuter smile. It melts my heart when she smiles and babbles at me.

On-Going Frustrations:

1. MoMo has issues with the word please. I don’t know if all toddlers do this, never having had one before, but why is it so hard to her to say “Please?” She can say the word, and will repeat it if we’re playing around, but when she wants something and we tell her to “say please” she completely loses it. Throws herself down and screams and cries.

2. Trying to get Danae and Leigh to be nice to each is officially impossible. Danae nags Leigh, who then shuts down and sends herself to her room, or becomes so annoying that we want her to leave us alone.

This week: Hubby and I will celebrate fifteen years of marriage. He’s awesome. And we have a WIC appointment on Wednesday. That will be nice. Bio family took the WIC vouchers out of our diaper bag during a visit, so we haven’t had any WIC support since mid February.

Moment of Gratitude: I was sorting and packing baby clothes tonight and realized exactly how much our friends, and in some cases, strangers, have helped us to be able to parent the babies. I don’t know what we would have done without them. When we got MoMo at the end of January, we had NOTHING for toddlers or babies. Within 48 hours, we had everything we needed. When we found out we were getting her sister, we had everything in place the same day. How I will ever repay these wonderful people is beyond me. I love them, and would like to say Thank You, even though none of them will ever read this.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

So, another week, more gray hair, and less space in our house. What can I say? We are our own unique brand of crazy.

And we only have one bathroom.