Vindication

Throughout the whole saga with Chica Marie and her grandmother, I sensed and said out loud to our case workers, that things with Mini Momma were not a rosy-posy as we were made to believe. I didn’t mean it to sound like sour grapes or like I wished for there to be difficulties, I actually hoped things were as wonderful as reported. But, it also felt like it was made to paint me incompetent when I expressed the issues and struggles with Chica Marie. Still, the reports to the county were of sunny perfection, so that was the story we had to follow. But, as it turns out, I was right.

 

Last night our case worker was over and she shared a secret with me. Apparently, her supervisor was at a holiday party with CYS staff and overheard a conversation between the current supervisor and someone who retired. They were talking about our case and possibility of having two separate adoptions for Love Bug and Chica Marie and somehow Mini Momma was mentioned. The current supervisor explained how things weren’t going so well and how Mini Momma was struggling and having a hard time. OMG! The truth had finally come out! Don’t get me wrong, I am not happy to hear Mini Momma is having a hard time, but it was vindicating to hear things were not as perfect as portrayed and I’m not a shitty parent for expressing the issues I’ve been having with Chica Marie. I know my case manager didn’t have to share that with me, but she did and I was grateful that she did. I was right that the grandmother was sweeping things under the rug and not a total bitch for saying so. And, hopefully, help is being provided for Mini Momma as it has been for Chica Marie.

 

The other piece of news we spoke about was regarding the separate/together adoption for Chica Marie and Love Bug, CHOR is still pushing hard for finalization of Love Bug now and Chica Marie later. They worry something could happen and Love Bug could be disrupted like Chica Marie almost was a few months ago. I asked her what the county needed to see to proceed with Chica Marie’s adoption and she said she didn’t know. She asked me if I was ready to adopt both kids and I said I would meet her a the court house in the morning, if they were ready to go. She is going to ask the county case worker what they want to see to move forward with Chica Marie’s adoption and reiterate that Love Bug is ready now. I hope we have an answer on this soon because I’m ready for it to be done.   

A Not-so Merry Little Christmas

I’m a fan of social media. I like peeking into the lives of other people, cheering their successes and lamenting their losses. But, this time of year I hate social media. So many family Christmas pictures! With matching outfits and adorable props! And I just can’t. I don’t want to sound ungrateful for the life and family that I have, and maybe I will just sound like I’m complaining, but geeze it’s not easy! I spend the holiday season gritting my teeth and wishing it were over as much as I try soaking in every last minute to remember it all. Sometimes it works out, but so often it feels like a giant waste of my time. We got our Christmas tree yesterday. Primero fought me tooth and nail to not get a real tree but I hate fake trees and really doubt our ability to keep a tree decent in our basement from year to year. So, a real tree it is. Primero was in a terrible mood putting up the tree last night, growling at the excited children and locking them in Chica Marie’s bedroom lest they interrupt his complaining. It was the total opposite of Christmas cheer. The little ones did get to put a few ornaments on the tree before being ushered off to bed, but it was not the Norman Rockwell Christmas I dreamt of when I was trying to start a family. I wasn’t even there because I over ambitiously decided to make two cookies for the daycare cookie exchange as well as two food items for gifts for the daycare staff, the teachers and therapy staff at Chica Marie’s school, and my co-workers. And, in the midst of my madness, I took the little ones to see the Muppet Christmas Movie at a local brewery, who offered free hot chocolate, cupcakes and the movie, so how could I pass that up?  So, when I finally sat down last night, at 10:55, and had a chance to reflect on the day, I had tears in my eyes thinking of how hard it is to squeeze out even the faintest of family traditions. Mostly, I just wanted to get it all over with, since it’s not like I could share family Christmas portraits on social media anyway. And, even if I could, it would show Primero with a grumpy face at being forced/bribed into the picture, exuberant Chica Marie, cherub Love Bug and an exhausted, slightly peeved me. Bahumbug.

Comedy Sitcom

I swear I do not live in a comedy sitcom. I can’t make up the stuff that actually happens to me. Here is an example:

 

Last weekend I was home alone with the little ones on Saturday night. I had spent most of the day Saturday nursing a terrible hang-over (I don’t drink much, but I went out Friday night and had mostly wine until someone bought me a mixed drink and well, I paid dearly for drinking it). The kids came home early from their visit with their grandmother because it snowed more than we thought it was going to and the roads were getting slippery. Primero went to a friend’s house and didn’t plan on coming home until 11 pm. I took the little one’s into Chica Marie’s bedroom to get them into their pajamas since it was already after 8. My house is on the older side, not cool old with a neat history or quirky qualities, but older than new homes. So lots of things don’t work like one would hope they would. Like the door knobs. I have replaced them, all of them, but they keep stripping causing the handle to pull apart. Chica Marie’s bedroom door knob is frequently pulled apart because her and her brother pull on it incessantly. So, I stopped replacing it because it became a near weekly endeavor. Usually, this isn’t a problem. Last Saturday it was. Love Bug shushed the cat out of Chica Marie’s room. I turned as he pushed the door shut, but I was like a cartoon character comically moving too slowly and he had the door latched before I could reach it to stop him. My phone was in the living room, of course. I tried using the small stub of the handle sticking through on our side but I couldn’t get enough traction to pop the latch. We were stuck. Chica Marie immediately began panicking, nearly hyperventilating in fear of being trapped in her room. I really saw only one solution, that was not sitting in her room until 11. I would send her out the back window. Our house is all one floor, but it’s sort of strange in that the front is closer to ground level, but the back is a little steeper. Still, it wasn’t more than 8 feet or so and even less because the basement door was under her window. My idea was to dangle her out the window onto the basement floor and she could come in the back door (which I believed to be open because the kids had let the dogs in and they don’t usually lock the door like I do) and free us from her room. She cried and trembled as she put on her shoes so I decided it was better that I go out the window. Now, I’m not in the best shape on a good day, but this day I was certainly not in top form. Still, I shoved one leg out the window and, with Chica Marie shoving my other foot, I managed to find precarious footing on the top of the basement door. In an awkward split, I tried gently putting my right foot on top of the air conditioning unit until I could jump down onto the grass. I don’t know what went wrong, but I suspect it had something to do with the slippery snow. I fell. And slid down the basement door, landing on my back in a pile of freezing fluffy snow missing one shoe. I flailed around a bit until I could stand up and stagger up the back steps, praying the door would be open. Thankfully, it was and I was able to free the children from Chica Marie’s bedroom before running to the bathroom to strip naked and stop shivering in warm, dry clothing. While changing I discovered I had somehow cut my left elbow. The extent of my injuries were not evident until the next day when a huge black and blue mark blossomed on the top of my right thigh. I also discovered a few black and blue marks on my right elbow. My mom wisely advised, via a comment on my Facebook post about the event, to stop climbing out of windows. I plan on following her sage advice. I also plan on replacing Chica Marie’s bedroom door knob. And, maybe next time I can get a stunt double?

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Crisis Averted

Last night I was feeling sad and somewhat hopeless. This morning my stomach hurt and I had an overwhelming sense of dread, I was so sure something awful was about to happen any moment. I don’t struggle with depression or anxiety. The things I was feeling were temporary feelings, which I knew would pass. Everyone has a bad day every now and again, I am no exception. My feelings were mostly related to events that had occurred, thus expected reactions. I don’t have a mental health diagnosis, I cannot sit here and pretend to know what it might feel like to feel that sad, empty, hopeless feeling every single day. I have no idea how someone deals with the feeling of dread and doom looming over them day in and day out. Both biological families of my children have more than their fair share of mental health issues. Yesterday was a particularly scary moment with one of Primero’s loved ones. We rushed home to find an ambulance and three cop cars in front of our house. Thankfully, help was there and the crisis was averted. I’m hoping the help will be accepted but we learned the loved one had already signed themselves out of the hospital that same night, so I still worry.

 

After the ambulance and cops left, those of us left behind were in an awkward position. It was too cold to talk outside and one neighbor had already called and text me from all the excitement, so I invited them inside. Soon I was serving a piping hot cup of coffee to Primero’s mother, sitting on my couch. She had never been to my house before. And, as if the situation wasn’t already awkward enough, after crying about what a terrible mother she has been and accusing her children of not caring about her, she began talking about me as if I weren’t there. “I never said I hated this woman. Everyone thinks I do, they think I hate her, but I don’t. She did what I couldn’t do and you (Primero) have become the man you are today because of her.” She rambled on some more, reiterating the same sentiment. What does one say to such a thing? It was fairly evident that what she denied saying, she did actually say, but I wanted to believe she was sincere, so I thanked her for her kind words. Most of the time I wasn’t even sure she was talking to me, but I figured it was better to respond in some small way than not at all. It was not exactly how I thought my afternoon was going to play out, but at least the drama died down after the initial fear of the crisis was averted. Still, if I ever imagined Primero’s mother in our home, which honestly I didn’t, it would not have been how it was yesterday. It is strange, the situations I have found myself in because I am involved in two open foster-adoptions. God certainly has given me a lot of grace to handle all of it, that’s for sure. It isn’t always easy, but it is almost always worth it.

Breaking My Silence #MeToo

I have been reading about the TIME Person of the Year, The Silence Breakers – women who have made public their experiences with sexual assault and harassment. Months ago, when I first saw the MeToo hashtag, I thought, “I’m so glad that’s never happened to me.” But, as I read more about The Silence Breakers, I realized I was brainwashed. I thought the incidents I have experienced were just a fact of life. I honestly didn’t give it much thought, but deep down I believed it was simply something women have to endure, like periods and pantyhose. But, now I know I join the ranks of millions of women who can say #MeToo.

 

I think I was 15 years old. This guy who liked me invited me to a concert with him and I liked the artist, so I went along. At his house his step-dad pushed my loose shirt against my chest to see if my nipples were reacting to the cold air conditioning in the house. He laughed saying it wasn’t cold enough. I was so young and naïve I didn’t understand what he meant.

 

This same young man became my stalker. He said he liked me because I was nice to him and he would not leave me alone. He would always find a way to be around me or try to get me alone and he never took no for an answer. One time he was caught watching me sleep during a church Youth Group sleep-over. He was asked to leave the group after that incident.                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

 

I won’t even get into the many, many times I was harassed in Nicaragua. Sadly, it’s a cultural expectation.

 

When I was in college I went home with my roommate and we went out clubbing with a bunch of her friends. We came home pretty liquored up and crashed on her living room floor. Her older brother had a thing for me and tried to touch me, kiss me, and fondle me while I tried to plaster myself to the floor to prevent him access. At one point I got angry and escaped to the bathroom. He tried to push his way in but the noise woke their mom and she yelled at him to go to bed. I down-played what happened to preserve the friendship but always stayed away from her brother.

 

Several years ago at my current job, an older male co-worker got too friendly with me. He would invade my personal space, touch me unnecessarily and one time when I was seated at a desk he came and stood behind me to show me something. He used the opportunity to push his crotch into my arm so I could feel him getting hard. I had a male supervisor and I was scared to death to tell him but I needed this to stop. So, I took my boss aside and explained what was going on and that I needed it to stop or I was going to have to report it to our union. He spoke to the man and he never came near me again. But, he did try things with other co-workers, so he did not learn his lesson. Thankfully, he’s retired now.

 

A different co-worker at the same job would take every opportunity he had to stare at my breasts, having full conversations never lifting his eye above my neck. One time he held a door for me so I would have to pass in front of him. I knew he wanted to look down my dress and hopefully feel my breast brush past him. I wasn’t in a good mood and so I demanded he move, stating, “I’m not giving you an opportunity to look down my dress.” He told other co-workers I was an uptight bitch.

 

I’ve had a first date stick his tongue down my throat, uninvited. And he kept calling me even after I told him I didn’t want to see him again.

 

I’ve been grabbed, pinched, swatted, tapped, and groped while out dancing with friends or drinking at a bar. Something about liquor makes it seem ok to accost a woman, I guess.

 

When I was talking to men I met online I had one man get mad at me because I wouldn’t let him come over to my house, I wanted to meet in public first. “Oh right, I forgot every guy online is a rapist,” was his caustic response. When I asked him why he didn’t want me to feel safe, he stopped responding, but he is still out there, demeaning women who have had the above and more happen to them just because they are women.

 

I didn’t share in the #MeToo social media campaign because I didn’t think I had anything to share. Sadly, I do. More than anything, I want to see this culture of entitled abuse to end so my daughter can’t write a list like the one I’ve written. At the very least, I’m going to talk to her about it so she doesn’t think it’s just something women have to deal with simply because we are women. And I'm going to raise sons who don't think any of this is ok because it's not and no one should be treated this way. 

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.   

All Systems Are Not Go

So, the friendly little nodule on my thyroid turned out to be not so little, according to the weight management doctor. At my follow up appointment with him yesterday he mentioned the nodule was quite large, noting it to be about 4 centimeters. He believed the endocrinologist would most likely biopsy the nodule in the office, but said he couldn’t be sure, based on the size. When I talked to my mom (she’s a nurse) about it, she said the biopsy is likely a local anesthetic and then a needle into my neck. The weight management doctor said it wasn’t a big deal to which I replied, “Easy for you to say, you aren’t getting a needle shoved into your neck.” He chuckled and said, “True.” My mom is a little worried about this whole thyroid thing, I’m sure it isn’t always comforting being a nurse, but I’m pretty indifferent. Mostly, I want answers, hopefully ones that will help me with my unbalanced hormones and extra weight. I explained to my mom my valid reasons for not wanting to take the medication to help with weight loss because it would also mean using the birth control pill which will not help with my hormonal issues. My mother seemed to think I could just tell the doctor I was celibate and call it a day, until I reminded her I have a boyfriend and no insurance company will let a doctor take a patient at their word. I feel very stuck because using the medication to help me lose weight might help regulate my hormones and make my bitch of a period calm down. But, if I am moving in a positive direction with my hormones (please dear God!), I don’t want to undo it all with the pill. Why must my body be so damn complicated? I notified the Nutritionist of the ultrasound results and also reported how I still spotted for a week before my period came and I had the worst cramps I’ve had in years. I mean, I always have cramps, but they are usually like a bloaty-heavy-blah feeling. Sunday I had cramps so bad I had to lie down. My cramps hurt so much they gave me a headache. Thank God Aleve helped so I could get up and make dinner, but I haven’t had cramps that bad since I was in my late teens, early 20’s. I don’t really want that to become a monthly thing. I go back to see the Nutritionist in January, so I won’t have any more information regarding my thyroid before then, but I will have another cycle (if my body cooperates, ha ha) to see if the progesterone is helping or not. Hopefully, answers and help are just around the corner. Fingers crossed.   

To Grandma's House We Go

So, the kids have another visit with their grandmother and sister coming up this weekend. Their grandmother asked if it could be a sleep-over again. Last month they went for just a day visit and things went well. When I saw her, Grandma acted like nothing happened, like we were same-old, same-old. I was awkward and quiet, all business and little chit-chat with her. I was deeply hurt by how they handled things and, barring a real honest conversation, I will be keeping my walls up and solidly in place. I wish I could be one of those free and open people, but that just isn’t me. Especially when I feel like I can’t trust someone.

 

I had been contemplating the sleep-over thing versus just a day visit and I needed to respond to Grandma’s request, as I promised I would. Begrudgingly, I would be ok with a sleep-over but I feel the need to throw in some stipulations, like having the kids to bed at a decent hour (not up all night) and making sure Love Bug is restricted liquids after 8 pm because he doesn’t sleep with a diaper anymore but does occasionally have an accident (like he did in my bed, for the first time, one night last week). It’s hard to tell through text, but I sensed Grandma reluctantly accepted the guidelines I asked her to follow. She might say yes to my face and do the exact opposite. My mistrust of her has my worry about the lack of structure in their home on high alert. Maybe I’m too up-tight, but sometimes their house feels like the Wild West to me and my kids go crazy. Then they come home and I have to reign them back in again. And no, it’s not like other kids who go to see their grandparents and get spoiled, it’s lack of adult supervision (at least direct supervision) that I am talking about, not too many sweets and all granny’s attention. In fact, many times their grandmother isn’t even around when I’m there to pick up the kids. Different strokes for different folks, but if my grandkid was visiting, I’d be sure to be spending time with them. I’m being judgmental, I know. I have to get over myself, I know. But, it’s hard when I feel like that’s exactly what was done to me, only worse because I never threatened to take Mini Momma from them.

 

Adding to my worries is Chica Marie’s fun little digs at me. When she is angry or when I don’t let her do something she likes, she will tell me she wants to live with her grandmother and not me. Sure, kids say they want to live with Grandma all the time. But, she tosses in the adoption thing and, while I don’t let her see me react, it does get to me. Sometimes I feel guilty for having the kids, for them not being with their grandmother. But, she had every opportunity to take them before now, I’m sure it was suggested to her when Love Bug was born. So I worry about what Mini Momma will say to Chica Marie, given how badly things went in October when she said Grandma was adopting them both. I think I have very valid reasons for hesitating. Last week I had a nightmare that the county took the children from the daycare and placed them with their grandmother. When I raised hell about it, they brought Love Bug back because he wouldn’t stop crying for mommy.

 

Yesterday morning I got an email from the county case worker, in response to what I had said last week. She wants to hold off to finalize their adoption at the same time. There are two ways to look at this. One, it’s going to hold things up for Love Bug and so the fear of both of them being removed will stay alive and well in my heart. The second is, they are still contemplating allowing me to adopt Chica Marie. Given the shake-up, I’d say that is good news. I want to ask her what they want to see about Chica Marie before they will proceed with her adoption. Did the GAL intern coming to our house help us? Did it clarify things? What is the new GAL’s stance on the whole ball of wax? I feel bad for Love Bug because his adoption could have been finalized, signed sealed and delivered. I wish the whole damn mess never happened. I will be so glad when it’s all over, truly I will!

Prying Questions

Our Thanksgiving was fairly average this year, with the exception that Primero went to his uncle’s place and I took the little ones to my uncle’s. The thing with going to my uncle’s for Thanksgiving is that it is a three-ring circus at their house. So, my uncle is my mother’s brother; one of three, only two are still living. But, my aunt, his wife, is one of like a million siblings (honestly, I think it’s 10). Not all of them show up, but a good many do and their children and their children’s children are there too. So, in a modest house, there are literally people everywhere. It is loud and crazy and I don’t know half the people. I go because it’s where my parents go, thus really the only family option for Thanksgiving.

 

I figured by this time, most of the people semi-understood the composition of my family. But, there was someone new this time; a friend of my aunt’s I think. She was introduced to me by my cousin, who also pointed out the two little one’s as my children, commenting my eldest was not along. The new woman innocuously asked the ages of my children and I dutifully listed them for her. When she heard my oldest child was legally an adult, she raised her eyebrows and said the same line I always hear, “You don’t look old enough to have a son that age.” Ok. I’ve grown accustomed to graciously accepting this backward compliment and leaving it at that, so I simply said thank you. But, she was not mollified. “No,” she went on, “I mean were you like 12 when you had him?” Um ok? I get that I look young, I hear it all the time and at 36 I still get carded. I’m lucky that way. But, it’s none of your business how old I was when my son was born. Do you want to hear me say I was a teenager when he was born so you can judge me? Yet, I could not stop myself. I was distracted by a very dysregulated Love Bug who needed my attention and so I answered, “He’s adopted” and walked away. It wasn’t until later that I was fuming at her insistence on getting an answer from me and my own compliance in responding – it’s the people-pleaser in me. What I should have said was it wasn’t any of her business. Yes, I am old enough to be the mother of my son. What does it matter how old I was when he was born? I certainly wasn’t 12, but even if I was, why do you stranger whose first name I don’t even know, need to be privy to that information? I need to practice a more snarky answer because people like that woman do not need, nor deserve, to know our story. I sensed, as I turned away from her to attend to Love Bug, she wanted to pump me for more information and the only sliver of satisfaction I have is knowing I didn’t give her the chance. I just have to be better prepared for the next time I’m faced with this question.

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Foster Care on This Is Us

*Warning* Spoilers for those who are not caught up on This Is Us.

 

I love the show This Is Us. I feel like so much of my life is portrayed in such terrific nuance, I can’t help but to watch. And cry. At the end of last week’s episode about Kate’s miscarriage, they previewed Randall’s story for this week, showing a glimpse of things happening with his foster daughter. I was nearly outraged because the clip shown did not feel real-to-life as the rest of the show has been. So, I watched the latest episode with a wary eye, thinking they were going to get foster care all wrong. Thankfully, they did not. They did take some liberties, I mean it’s a TV show after all, but I wasn’t displeased and some of it was spot on.

 

I am a foster parent. I have had 11 children with me in the nearly 6 years I’ve been fostering, not including the many weekend respite placements I had. So, I’d say I know a thing or two about fostering, or at least how it is done in Pennsylvania and while each county is slightly different, there are a lot of commonalities. Never once have I had a parent show up at my house demanding to see their child. I understand parents are able to request the address of their child’s foster parent, but it would not bode well for them to just show up. I know some families who have invited the family’s over or who have hosted visits in their home, but those things were pre-planned and approved by the county agency. So, this part of the show was the one thing I felt was not spot on.

 

The parts I found so true to life were Randall’s indigent reaction to the news that Deja’s mom was going to get her back and how Deja handled her mom when she did show up to Randall’s house. I remember feeling the same anger Randall felt with my longest foster placement. The two little kids came to me from a different foster home and had been in care for several months before I came into the picture. I did not have the best interaction with their mother; her distain for me was palpable. But, her children capture my heart and it was hard for me to contemplate sending them home to her and a brand new baby brother. If I had the means, I might have threatened to hire a lawyer. But, I learned a very valuable lesson with my first placement and that was how powerless I was as a foster parent. And, foster parents who rock the boat are not foster parents for very long. I didn’t have the same come-to-Jesus moment as Randall did, but I did learn to understand the importance of keeping children with their families, even if those families don’t meet my personal criteria for quality parenting. I learned not to be as judgmental as I had been.

 

With Primero, I have witnessed similar interactions between him and his mom, where he steps up and calms her down as if he were the parent and she was a child. He watched the show with me, something he hasn’t done in a while and so he kept asking me questions about what was going on. But, when Deja went home on the show, Primero commented, “She’ll be back” meaning in the system, “They’re always going back.” From his personal experience, he didn’t trust her mother was going to stay on the straight and narrow, but devolve back into her old ways, thus shoving Deja back into foster care. It made me sad to hear him predict a negative outcome for a teenager in foster care, but I understand why he did. I’m sure he understood how Deja felt, that internal tug-of-war over leaving a safe, happy place to return to someone you love dearly but don’t always trust. He didn’t indicate the show bothered him, but I was sniffling and trying to hold back tears when Deja hugged Randall.

 

I’m slightly perplexed why they didn’t show any scenes in the court room. In my experience, court is where the decisions are ultimately made and Deja would not have gone home without court consent. I remember the case worker was talking about court, but the children are required to be in court, even if the county doesn’t require the foster parents attend (I’ve had both experiences – one county requires foster parents to attend court and a different county never made me go, the case worker would take the children). I find it’s an integral part of fostering and certainly a tough thing for all parties involved. Perhaps there will be more shared with the next installments, as it seems Randall’s family will be getting a new foster son soon.

 

It is refreshing to see foster care portrayed mostly realistically or at all really. I do watch the show The Fosters but it is not an accurate portrayal of foster care at all. I chalk it up to the show being set in California because if Stef and Lena were foster parents here, they wouldn’t be foster parents anymore. Still, at least it’s does show some of the difficulties of fostering, fighting the system, navigating relationships with biological family, how foster siblings interact, things like that. But, it’s more like a soap opera than anything resembling real life. In This Is Us, I felt like I knew Deja, like I’ve met her in my own foster care experiences. Randall’s reaction when he began seeing how the system works, I’ve felt just like that, I nodded my head at his righteous indignation. And, I felt him loosen his grip as he finally began to understand. I was glad when both him and Beth agreed to continue fostering. I have no doubt they will do things differently the second time around. I’m anxious to keep watching!

Liar, Liar Pants on Fire

The county case worker recently contacted me and our CHOR case worker regarding the potential separate adoption of Chica Marie and Love Bug.

 

Foster Mom and CHOR Case Worker,

 

Just wanted to check in and hear both of your thoughts on finalizing Love Bug’s adoption sooner, or waiting to do them both at the same time? If we were to finalize Love Bug’s adoption first, I would suggest waiting to celebrate both at the time of Chica Marie’s adoption, or we could wait and do them both at the same time. Let me know your thoughts! 

County Case Worker

 

I had written about my conflicted opinions is a pro’s and con’s list here . Thanks to some kind feedback, I was able to see things differently, but the whole thing still doesn’t sit well with me. My preference is having the children be adopted together. But, if the county is going to push for Love Bug to go now and Chica Marie later, I’m telling Chica Marie. This is not going to be some secret, some hidden thing that only becomes a bigger issue because it is kept hush-hush. And so, this is what I told the county case worker.

 

Hi County Case Worker  and CHOR Case Worker –

 

   I have batted this idea around in my head a lot and have looked at it from various angels. At first, I was conflicted about doing their adoptions separately, it just wasn’t something I had considered; I always assumed they would be adopted together. Not that I wanted to make Love Bug wait any longer, but I was concerned about finalizing Love Bug’s adoption without Chica Marie because I worried how it might affect her, how she might perceive it. I thought of a zillion what-if scenarios of her finding out about his adoption in the near future or when they were grown up and it finally dawned on me. While I was sad to think of their adoptions happening separately, it was feeling like I was lying to Chica Marie and keeping something from her that was really at the heart of the matter. I worry about how detrimental it would be to our relationship if Chica Marie knew I kept something this big from her. So, if you decide to proceed with Love Bug’s adoption while waiting on Chica Marie’s adoption, I acquiesce to the decision with the caveat that Chica Marie know about Love Bug’s adoption and is allowed to process whatever feelings she may have about it. I liken it to having separate birthdays; her birthday is in December, Love Bug in June and so their adoption days can be different as well. I’m hoping this will be understandable to her, but at the very least she isn’t being lied to and having to find out (because she will find out one way or another) and deal with that extra baggage.
Foster Mom

 

Our CHOR case worker is out of the office until next week because she is getting married, so she won’t be responding until then. I get the sense that CHOR is going to push for Love Bug’s adoption to happen sooner rather than later. I hope what I said makes sense and doesn’t create any waves because I’m not interested in rocking the boat, at all. But, I am honest and so I wanted to express how it is still a conflicted thing for me, but ultimately I am going to be ok with whatever the county decides to do. I’m not sure what the county would want to see for Chica Marie to be adopted. I feel like I have certainly shown my dedication through all that has happened.

List of Things I'm Thankful For

I feel like my blog has been a little bit negative lately. I’m sort of in a little funk at the moment, but trying to find my way out. So, even though it’s late for the holiday, it is never too late to list some of the things I am grateful for lately. Hopefully my list will help me get into the spirit for the next holiday on the calendar. So, without further ado, my List of Things I’m Thankful For:

 

1. I think this might sound odd to any non-infertility survivors, but for the first time ever I met a pregnant woman, listened to her tell me this was her second child and she’s having a girl to compliment the boy they already have and I was genuinely happy for her with no but for me. I wasn’t happy for her, but sad for me. I wasn’t happy for her, but bummed it wasn’t me. I wasn’t happy for her, but also a little jealous. I wasn’t happy for her, but heartbroken. I was just happy for her. It could have been the glass of wine I had or maybe being distracted because we met in a cooking class, but whatever it was, I’m grateful I didn’t have the other mixed feelings that I get hung up on when encountering a pregnant woman. Plus, I genuinely enjoyed her, she was lots of fun in our class.
2. I’m grateful my cousin’s wife let me spend a nice long time holding and snuggling their baby girl. She even let Chica Marie, who was totally obsessed, hold the baby. It was nice. I’m also glad my mom didn’t make any off-handed comments when she was holding the baby.
3. I’m grateful I was able to graciously accept Primero not joining us for Thanksgiving, being our first time spending the holiday separated. I’m also glad he agreed to keeping together for Christmas.
4. I don’t mean this to sound snarky, like I’m trying to be passive aggressive or anything, but I am honestly grateful life has been teaching Primero some serious lessons related to some not-so-great choices he has made lately. Primero is a good kid who has been bitten by the I’m-an-adult bug. Luckily for me, his hubris had been checked by sleeping in a cold van and embarrassing himself with some drunk dialing and conversations he wish he could take back. I just have to balance my smugness with genuine compassion and the ever-ready reminder these things were consequences for the decisions he made and expressions of hope that he will do better going forward. Parenting teenagers is hard. But, every now and again the natural consequences do a better job teaching than even the most seasoned parent can muster.
5. I’m surprisingly glad my doctor referred me to the weight management program at our local hospital. I probably won’t end up taking the medication they would prescribe me, but the doctor sent me to get an ultrasound of my thyroid because he thought he felt something. He described it as a fullness in my neck. The infertility doctor thought he felt something many years ago (6-7 years, I guess) but I never went to see the endocrinologist because we were done with infertility treatments by the time the office contacted me. Well, the ultrasound, which was on Black Friday, revealed a nodule. So, I’ve been referred to an endocrinologist once again. The nurse who called me explained they may want to biopsy the nodule, which I’m a little nervous about, but getting to the bottom of the issue is really what I am grateful for! Getting my thyroid working optimally could actually help me lose weight and be healthier. So, if the means to get there are this twisted path, so be it.   
6. Of course I am thankful for all the traditional things like my health (I mean, I still consider myself mostly healthy), a warm home, my beautiful children, my family, having a job (and income), dark chocolate, and a decent sense of humor.

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Poetic Justice

This might sound mean and part of me is not happy about it, but the other part of me views it as just deserts. I wrote about how Primero got angry with me and took off, flexing his newly attained “adult” muscles. Well, I came to find out he wasn’t exactly welcomed with open arms into his friend’s house. In fact, rather than putting him up on the couch or the floor in his friend’s room, the family had Primero sleep outside in their van. And, the weather has finally gotten seasonal, so it was down in the 30’s that night. They gave him a blanket and he put on all the clothing he had with him (so, his school clothes in addition to what he was wearing) and sent him outside to their minivan, which is essentially equivalent to having him sleep in the backyard; the van didn’t offer much shelter and even if he had been given the keys, the heater didn’t work anyway. Sorry not sorry, but if that isn’t the best life lesson for his snotty “adult” self I don’t know what is – I certainly wouldn’t have been able to come up with anything better! I mean, in reality he chose to spend the night freezing when he could have come home to his nice warm bed with his space heater and covers. It was his own hubris that kept him in that frigid van all night. When we finally talked about things I told him to remember this as the more difficult path he could choose for his life and how much it sucked sleeping in that van. Safe to say, lesson learned. Thank you Jesus for some poetic justice!

 

P.S. Yes, I am utterly outraged that this family would put my son outside to sleep when it was so cold! Who does that? I mean, our state just passed a law making it illegal to have pets outside when it’s so cold – and they put a kid outside for the night? Apparently, the friend has younger sisters and since my son is a young man, he is automatically a predator and could not be trusted to sleep in the same warm house as the girls. I guess it’s a good thing it wasn’t dangerously cold out or Primero would have learned a very difficult life lesson with frostbite….

Isn't it Ironic

Irony is speaking on the local community TV program about adopting a teenager when said teenager has decided he’s an adult and no longer has to follow the rules, thus left the house last night and didn’t come back.

 

Maybe it’s the impending holiday’s? Maybe it’s turning 18. Lately Primero and I have been on the outs. We weren’t fighting, per se, but we weren’t really getting along either. We’ve sorta been like two pieces of sandpaper, rubbing each other the wrong way. But, last night I decided to put my foot down and what I see as Primero shirking his responsibilities and doing things half-assed. I wasn’t really angry, just frustrated and because all the words I had been saying were not penetrating his brains, I took action. Primero did not take all the trash to the curb yesterday. He took some of the trash (see, half-assing it), leaving trash on our back porch. He refuses to take the trash out the night before, insisting he do it in the morning before he goes to school. Only, he didn’t have time this Monday morning. And, not only did he take half of the trash to the curb (and none of the recycling), he didn’t clean up the trash the dog pulled apart (because Primero put a trash bag with food in reach of the dog), and the trash he put at the curb fell over, spilling it’s dirty contents in front of the van. The coup de gras, was Primero not returning the trash can to the back of the house, which in the past has resulted in fines. I reached Custer-mode, I was taking my last stand. Legal adult or no, this was not going to fly with me. Because, while I attended a parent-teacher conference for Chica Marie and then ran a quick errand to the grocery store, Primero didn’t wash a single dirty dinner dish. I came home and you could stick a fork in me, I was done. Primero wanted to visit his cousin. I agreed. He asked to take the van. I said no, those privileges were revoked for shoddy trash removal. And Primero lit up like the fourth of July. How dare I make him suffer the consequences that have been a long time coming? How dare I refuse to keep letting him do whatever it is he wants to do? And, I don’t pay him to watch the kids or clean the living room, I’m using him! He smirked as I reminded him of the 9 pm school-day curfew. He was going to stick it to me and not come home. Taunting me he yelled over his shoulder, “And I’m 18 now, so you can’t call the police to come find me” as I had done before when he ran away from home. He text me at 11:04 last night, stating he would be home today after school, he was staying with a friend. Like I was his roommate and not his parent! I wasn’t angry until then and the rest of his smart-alec responses and then I was livid. So, assuming Primero comes home today, we need to have a very serious discussion about his intentions. He mentioned, during his anger-filled tirade last night, he didn’t want to be “here” in our home anymore. If that is how he feels he needs to know all the things he will be walking away from because I’m not going to support his half-cocked insanity where he things he gets to call the shots and I can keep paying for everything. No, sir, that is not how the world works. And, if he thinks his stunt last night has persuaded me to soften my stance, he is dead wrong. If anything, it has strengthened my resolve to not raise a disrespectful, irresponsible young man. If he won’t learn responsibility in my home, then he will learn it the hard way. I certainly hope he doesn’t choose the hard way, it would break my heart, but I am also not playing this “I’m 18, I can do what I want” game. Because guess what? I’m an adult too. I can do what I want too. Sigh. Eighteen year olds suck!

Broken Midas

The end of October I had a few bad days. I thought that was it, some bad days then back to our normal. Not so fast! The few days have stretched into a few weeks and as we prepare to give thanks this week I feel more overwhelmed than thankful.

Work - A total mess. A co-worker retired leaving two of us to do the work of three that used to be the work of 4 and 5. We keep losing co-workers and no replacements. Welcome to working for the state! And, rather than making some logical concessions, our supervisor seems to expect there to be little to no disruption to the level of work getting done. Can you say stressful?

Home/Family - Primero is already testing limits with being a legal adult. Of all the teen years, 18 has got to be the worst! Hubris come from legality. Things with Chica Marie, well they are what they are, although things with her mobile therapist got rough all of a sudden. At three Love Bug is still so needy. If he could crack open my chest and crawl inside of me, he would. He's a momma's boy through and through. But, sometimes Momma needs to breathe!

Finances - A mess I don't even want to talk about. And the holidays are looming. Gulp.

Personal Life - I just wrote a post about my angst, my inability to determine if I'm too broken to fall in love again or if this just isn't a fit. Maybe it's just left-over anxiety from all the other messes in my life.

When you're going through hell, nothing to do but keep on going. This too shall pass.

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Bring Back That Loving Feeling

When I fell in love before it was sudden; the head-over-heels free-fall into a passionate, romantic love state with my now ex-husband. I loved him wholly and fully without reservation, with the quintessential blind eye to all of his shortcomings, of which I now know there were many. This big love was taken and then used, beaten and destroyed. My ex cheated on me and then left me, walking out on me and the little boy we were supposed to adopt. I was devastated, so utterly broken and crushed. Still, I thought I could eventually get back that loving feeling, only now I’m not so sure. My carefully curated walls around my heart are seeming insurmountable and while I try to tear them down my terrified heart keeps plastering over them in a frantic, hurried pace. I want to fall in love again, it just seems impossible to let go and fall.

 

I started seeing my current boyfriend just before Valentine’s Day (this is significant because my ex left on Valentine’s Day) earlier this year. We saw one another a few times, were intimate, and then I ran. He was not my first tryst since my ex, not by far. I had two other failed attempts and too many first dates to recall. I had gotten quite good at being off-putting to chase many a suitor away with ease. Being a full-time parent made it even easier. So, I left this relationship in a bad way, thinking it was all over. Months go by and I think nothing of it, trying to find the next victim, er match, via online dating. Then, out-of-the-blue, he sends me a message. Curious, I agreed to meet him for drinks and suddenly we are seeing one another again. Only…. Only, I feel like I’m only partially in it. My apathy about this man and our relationship has me in a quandary. I keep pushing myself, keep making myself stay in the game (so to speak) because I fear if I run again I will simply stop trying. I keep torturing myself, trying to figure out why I have so little feelings about someone who is supposed to be my love interest.

 

I want to feel those amazing, romantic feelings; the ones that warm your insides and add a blush to your cheeks. I want to be excited and happy and IN LOVE. Instead, I am fearful, worried, unsure and untrusting. What I am really trying to determine is – is this just me or is this the wrong match? Am I so deeply broken that I cannot summon the courage to let myself fall in love again? We have been seeing one another regularly since August. And still, after 4 months, I am still trying to force myself to stick it out, to not get cold feet and ghost him. Partially, I’m worried that if I stop pushing myself I won’t ever get this far again and partially I’m trying to see if it’s just me or if we aren’t meant to be. This whole situation has me in such an emotional state. Logically, I know I’m making this harder than it has to be, but I just can’t seem to stop. I wish I could just kick back and have fun, but this whole thing feels more like grueling work than just having fun with someone. Too often I hear myself saying, “it’s easier to just be alone.” And yet, deep down, I know I don’t want to be alone.

 

When asked what I want in a partner, I said I want Toby from This Is Us; that magical, mythical man who is a perfect balance of manliness and gentleness, who drives you crazy and makes you love him like crazy. I want to date a fictional character from a TV show, this is the depth of my depravity. But, to me, Toby is just the right level of sweet and kind, yet not a push-over. He understands Kate’s neurosis and doesn’t let her wallow, but he’s not pushy or over-bearing. Toby brings out the best in Kate, he keeps her grounded. I need Toby in my life, but my fear is, that even if Toby showed up, I’d still be freaking out and keep trying to push him away. My therapist tells me it’s a process and I need to not try controlling everything and let things evolve as they will. Unfortunately, one of the saddest things I lost in the divorce is my ability to believe good things are meant to happen to me. In many ways, I have a real Eeyore complex.  

The Hard Way

I wanted a non-birth control way of helping my heavy, miserable periods. I did not like the only options from my gynecologist, which was either an IUD or the birth control pill. I had asked about herbal remedies and was written off as a non-compliant patient – bye Felicia! So, I found a Nutritionist (she’s also a registered nurse practitioner) who specialized in helping people with various ailments using more natural remedies; things not generally used by Western medical doctors. She tested a lot of things, including my hormones, cortisol levels, thyroid, and iron. The only thing that was clinically an issue was my progesterone level. Everything else, including my sugars, was either at the low end or the high end of normal, but within a normal, non-clinical range. And here is where the Western medical doctors and the Nutritionist part ways. She saw room for improvement in those not really too low and not really too high numbers. She gave me medicine for my thyroid, iron, cortisol (stress) levels, Progesterone, and Vitamin D. When I went to see the weight management doctor he insisted I didn’t have a thyroid issue, based on the tests done by the Nutritionist. My levels were ok for him. Yet, when he was feeling my neck he claimed to feel a “fullness” and ordered an ultrasound. The Nutritionist is sure the ultrasound will reveal nodules on my thyroid. She gave me a stronger thyroid medicine. We’ll see what the ultrasound reveals. This whole experience has been eye-opening to how non-personal our health care is – one would think, given so many flirting with the edge levels, a doctor would grow concerned, but none ever have. Not even the infertility doctor. He diagnosed me with PCOS and wanted me to jump to IVF, not seek to help me fix the mess my body was in. It actually makes me angry, but there’s no point because it’s in the past. Still, it seems so messed up! I’m glad to finally find someone who wants to help me get my hormones and other regulating systems in order, rather than slap on a Band-Aid to alleviate the symptoms.

 

When I explained to the Nutritionist about the medication the weight management doctor wanted me to take and how I would need to be on the pill to take it, she understood my hesitation. I don’t want to go screwing with my hormones now that I’m actually on a path to get them in order. Yet, she knew the doctor wouldn’t prescribe me the medication, couldn’t probably, unless I was using some form of medicinal birth control. Her suggestion? Get my tubes tied. The look on my face must have said it all, because she back-tracked. Is it insane to not want to do anything to permanently alter my body in that way? I don’t expect to ever be pregnant, but I just couldn’t pull that trigger to make it an absolute no. I suppose it’s some form of madness, but, to me, it would be like losing a leg to a disease and then cutting the other one off because it too might get sick, although it’s highly unlikely. My mind is probably warped, not like a regular, normal human being. I had my infertility taken from me, I just can’t turn around and drop that final straw to break the camel’s back. So, it seems highly unlikely I will take the medication offered to me. It seems, like so much else in my life, I’m destined to do it the hard way….

Overkill

When I went to see my family doctor for my adoption physical (it’s the only time I see my family doctor, honestly), he referred me to the weight loss clinic connected with the local hospital. Reluctantly, I went to the first appointment which was last week. During the screening phone call before the appointment, I was asked to decide if I was interested in the medication option or the surgery option. Really, I’m not interested in either options, but the medicinal route was less invasive and permanent, so I chose that option. During the appointment the doctor asked me a lot of questions, took some measurements and spoke to me about the possible medicines they prescribe. After listing the medicinal options, he went on to explain they ask that I am not trying to get pregnant while taking the medications and, because there are potential birth defects, they ask that I use two forms of prophylactics. As the doctor droned on and on about this, I heard myself quietly saying, “That seems like overkill for someone who’s infertile.” The words hung there in the air between us as their meaning penetrated the doctor’s mind. I say a flash of “did not compute” in his eyes before he mumbled, “Oh, you’re infertile. Oh, ok I didn’t know…” See, he heard me say I found out I had PCOS when I was going through infertility. I answered his “how many kids?” question with the answer, three. He assumed, incorrectly, that the infertility treatments resulted in three children. But, he was wrong. Painfully wrong. But, to my surprise, I didn’t feel the stinging of tears behind my eyes when I spoke the words that were in my mind. I felt detached, like I was stating any other true fact about myself, not one that causes me so much angst. Mostly, I just wanted him to stop talking about getting pregnant. It’s such a ludicrous thing and he just kept talking about it, as if getting pregnant were some easy thing. No, sir, it would take a miracle and I stopped believing in those a long time ago.

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Turning 18

Unbelievably, tomorrow my dear sweet Primero will be 18 years old and legally an adult. It’s hard for me to swallow, having a fellow adult in the home, but there is also a bitter-sweetness about it as well, knowing before too long he will be off on his own. I know this is a feeling most parents encounter when their off-spring reach the age of majority, but it’s extra-poignant knowing we’ve only known each other for the last 4 years. I think back on the 14 year old Primero on his first weekend visit with me. I was uneasy, not knowing what to expect from a teenage boy. I figured there had to be a movie we could enjoy watching and junk food is usually welcomed by ravenous teenage boys and, luckily for me, my game plan worked. We had a great time! In fact, we had such a good time that Primero came back to my house every weekend until he moved in officially. There was something serendipitous in our well-matched personalities; somehow it seems it was meant to be.

 

Now, that young, quirky teenage boy has grown into this amazing young man and I can’t believe I blinked and here we are on the cusp of adulthood. Just a few weeks ago Primero and I managed to snatch a few minutes to ourselves and he mentioned some anxiety about turning 18. For so long he had been bragging about becoming a legal adult, but I sensed there was an undercurrent of worry. I told him turning 18 wouldn’t change anything, his home is still his home, he is still expected to go to school and do all the things he needs to do. He expressed having had rather unattainable expectations for himself to achieve by the time he turned 18. Probably a left-over from his past, but he felt he should be all out on his own by the time he was 18 and I said that isn’t always the case and said how none of the kids in my family, including myself, were ready to be out on our own at 18. I think it settled him to know he wasn’t suddenly expected to take care of himself. It’s so sad to know, if he had stayed in foster care that might actually be the case. It’s the beauty of family; always having a place to hang your hat.

 

So, to Primero I wrote: “It’s hard to imagine this day has arrived so quickly. Technically I have only known you for the last 4 years and, much to your consternation, I’ve tried jamming a life-time of living into these short four years. I just wanted you to know how proud I am of you and the amazing young man you are and the grown man you are becoming. I know, even though I will always worry (it’s in the parental job description), deep down I know you have a good head on your shoulders and a big, beautiful heart in your chest. You are amazing and it has been such a privilege watching you grow and flourish these last four years. I am so grateful and blessed that you took a chance on us being a family. I can’t wait to see all the wonderful things you will do as an adult. I love you. Keep being amazing you!” And I only cried a little while writing it….   

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40-something Pregnancy

When whining about my very bad day on Tuesday, I mentioned receiving a surprise pregnancy announcement by way of invitation to a surprise baby shower. Let’s face it, hearing about any pregnancy still leaves an empty, gnawing feeling in my gut, but finding out someone I considered a friend didn’t tell me personally but let me find out via a group email, well that added an extra sting to the announcement. Yes, I am making this all about me because this is my blog. Please don’t think I’m so vapid in real life!

 

So, the shock, especially in the midst of a rotten day, really hit me hard. And here is why. This co-worker has fluctuating weight and she carries it mostly in her tummy region. About a year ago she had lost some weight but recently she seemed to be gaining it back. It happens, right? Now that the cat is out of the bag, her tummy looks rounder than normal, with a fullness that does look like pregnancy, but probably only because that’s what I now know it to be. It hurts that she didn’t tell me herself because I thought we were friendly enough for her to confide in me. We’ve talked about a lot of other things. She told me something before and asked me not to tell anyone and I didn’t. I find it especially painful because she wanted me to adopt her nieces baby, telling me her situation wasn’t stable, which I thought was alluding to her recently splitting from her long-time boyfriend and moving into her own place. That would have been a good time to drop the P bomb on me, no? Why let me find out a month later via mass email from a supervisor? I just don’t understand…

 

I wasn’t the only one totally floored by this announcement. The entire office was a-twitter about this, everyone asking if anyone else knew about it because it appeared next to no one did. The reason, I’ve been told, that she kept her pregnancy a secret was because this is her fourth pregnancy – she has two living daughters and one son who passed away as an infant – and she didn’t want to take anything away from the first-time mom-to-be who announced her pregnancy at the start of her second trimester. One of the biggest reasons everyone in the office was so shocked by this pregnancy announcement is because of her age. This co-worker’s oldest daughter is in her 20’s. In fact, when I first read the email, I thought the baby shower was for my co-worker becoming a grandmother until I re-read the email various times and it became clear she herself was pregnant. I overheard a younger co-worker expressing shock that she could get pregnant. The supervisor interjected, “What? She is the same age as me, 43 and I could still get pregnant!”

 

Is it possible to get pregnant in your 40’s? Yes, it is. A different friend of mine had a baby just before Love Bug was born and she was 42. Still, the audacious claim the supervisor made had me cringing and slinking down in my seat. I just celebrated my 36^th birthday last month and I’ve been trying to convince myself I’m past the point of infertility, even if I weren’t infertile. But, my co-worker friend is 7 years older than me and she got pregnant without really trying. When I had my blood tests done by the Nutritionist one of the hormonal tests indicated I was perimenopausal. The Nutritionist told me whichever ovary was tested just doesn’t work. She wanted to test again at another point in time to see if the other ovary works. For whatever reason, it seems easier to consider my age as a factor than the other mess. Maybe because I’ve been told losing weight is the magic cure and it’s something I’ve failed miserably at doing. Still, staring at the mythical 40-something naturally pregnant by accident co-worker makes me want to retch. And cry. A lot. It makes it harder to give myself an out based on age because it seems infertility will chase me into the 4^th decade of my life. Yippee.      

Bad Things Come in Threes

Today is the kind of bad day that just makes me ache and hurt all over. I should have seen the omen last night, although I don’t know what good it would have done me. They say bad things come in three’s; my day said, “hold my beer” and set out to prove that wrong, drastically wrong.

 

Last night I was making a new-to-us casserole. I found it on another blog and wanted to give it a try, mostly because it means dinner will be ready when I get home (Primero is tasked with baking it) and we can get out earlier for trick-or-treating. The casserole required crackers to be crumbled and spread on top. While doing this I accidentally dumped some crumbs on the floor, so before proceeding with the recipe, I swept them up. The last flourish for the casserole was to sprinkle poppy seeds on top of the casserole. I grabbed the poppy seed container from the cabinet and, I don’t know how it happened, but ended up knocking the lid off while also knocking the entire container on the floor. For whatever reason, seeing the floor darkened with tiny poppy seeds gave me the giggles and so I grabbed the brooms and swept them up. Alas, I would soon be cured of the giggles.

 

Yesterday was a very boring day for me. It was our job fair at work and I was tasked with manning our table and very few people stopped by to chat about our services. So, I sat and did nothing for the majority of the afternoon. The one thing that bolstered my humdrum feelings was knowing that night was my favorite episode of Dancing with the Stars. It was the Halloween team dances and they are always so much fun! I know, it’s a dumb thing to be excited about, but honestly my day was simply that boring. Plus, as an added bonus, Primero said he was going to watch it with me and he’s been so teenager-ie lately he hasn’t watched a thing with me at night after the kids are in bed, so I was glad he might join me. But, as the butterfly flaps it’s wings setting forth a hurricane, it seemed the poppy seeds spilling emitted bad juju. Our best guess is that when the DVR message popped up asking if we wanted to record the show, Love Bug ingeniously turned it off, thus not recording the show (the Voice was also not recorded but I just can’t get into that show, it requires too much of a time commitment). I was devastated. Primero tried to work his technological magic, but no dice. We watched The Fosters instead and my only consolation was that Primero watched it with me. That and I can watch Dancing with the Stars on Netflix or Hulu or something tonight.

 

This morning I had to get blood drawn for the Nutritionist, which meant not eating breakfast (I had to be fasting) and rushing out the door trying to get one child to school, get my blood drawn and drop the second child off at daycare and I was really hoping to make it to work on time. The morning was going pretty well, it seemed like this was all possible. I had my arms and hands full carrying my purse, work bag, Love Bug’s Halloween costume, my water, the car keys and Love Bug to the car. I asked Chica Marie to carry the mini pumpkin cupcakes with cinnamon cream cheese icing I had made for Love Bug’s daycare party and put them in the car. As I was floundering out of the house, trying to convince Love Bug to walk to the car and put on his jacket, I heard the cupcakes fall. I lost my mind, raced to them, yelled at Chica Marie and slammed open her car door. I tried to salvage the cupcakes that I could, raced back inside to the leftovers I was going to keep for us (thank God I made a double batch!) and back to the car where I couldn’t get the van door to shut. I struggled with it for a good 5 minutes before the neighbor came out to help me close it and I’m pretty sure it is irrevocably damaged, off the track or something like that. I was sobbing as I dropped Chica Marie off at school late and raced to the lab for my blood test, arriving 20 minutes late. I had to text my boss because I wasn’t making it to work on time.

 

I arrived about 20 minutes late to work. I put in a request for the time and about an hour later my boss called me. In the snarkiest voice possible she explained, as if I were a simpleton, I didn’t need to use my annual time if I was only going to be 15 minutes late. Add this to a hectic day trying to learn new tasks because a co-worker is retiring the end of this week – and I hate these new tasks we’ve been assigned – plus, my period started this morning, so I’m crampy and grumpy. And the coup de gras? An email for a surprise baby shower at work for a co-worker who I thought was my friend but never told me she was pregnant. In fact, this is the friend who tried to get me to adopt her niece’s baby. I nearly burst into tears reading and re-reading the email to make sure I understood what it was saying. Worst. Day. Ever.

Hare Today, Prune Tomorrow

Sometimes parenting is all about being clever. One night last week Love Bug was enjoying his bubble bath but I was ready to get him out. Sure, I could have scooped him up and lifted him out without his consent, but do you know how much a wet, squirming, angry toddler weighs? Hoping to avoid a soaking wet wrestling match, I tried making up a goofy song to get him out of the tub. He giggled, but continued playing with his rubber duckies. I tried the usual mom requests to get him out of the tub, still trying to keep the peace by not demanding or getting angry with him. Feeling thwarted, I sighed, “Love Bug, if you don’t get out of the tub you’re going to turn into a prune.” His eyes got big and he repeated, “A poone?” Seizing on the moment I replied, in mock seriousness and concern, “Yes, a prune. Are your fingers all wrinkly?” He looked at his fingers, worry furrowing his brow, “Yes, Mommy! Look! Poones!” he cried, deeply disturbed at the state of his little fingers. “Oh no, it’s already happening! You better get out quick!” And with that, he willingly lifted his arms for me to scoop him out of the tub, abating the aforementioned water wrestling match. When I posted this exchange on Facebook a concerned friend worried the incident might make Love Bug weary of bathing, but the prune technique worked a second time with no lasting fears of bath water. I’m sticking this in the W column – a win for mom!

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Different Adoption Journeys

Last night when I was giving Chica Marie a bath, after finally having an evening where we weren’t horns locked in a dual to the death, I sensed it was an ok time to broach a difficult subject with Chica Marie. Ever since she found out, from her sister, that her grandmother had petitioned to adopt her, Chica Marie has been very out-of-sorts. On the one hand, she doesn’t want to leave the comfort and stability she has come to rely on yet, on the other hand she very much loves her grandmother and sister and would love to live with them. It’s not a position I would want to be in as an adult, so imagine how much harder it must be for a child. But, the real driving force behind so many of the outbursts and negative behaviors has been fear. She is fearful of being shoved out, pushed along, unwanted. So, she has been lashing out at me, not me but me the mother figure. She was calm last night as I rinsed the soap from her hair. I waited until I was done and she could look at me and I told her, “Can I tell you a secret?” she’s big into hearing secrets, so I knew this would get her attention. “Chica Marie, I never said I didn’t want to adopt you. I never wanted you to go anywhere, I never wanted you to leave. I love you and I very much want you to stay a part of our family.” She mentioned the conundrum, of wanting to be adopted by both me and Grandma. “The good thing is, there are so many people who love you and none of us are going anywhere,” was my response. Chica Marie seemed more settled after her bath and cooperated while I did her hair. This is such a hard time and the behaviors have been grinding me down as the weeks drag by. I feel like I do so many things wrong, but last night I felt like I made some small progress and that felt good.

 

Bolstered by my conversation with Chica Marie, I thought I would try chatting with Love Bug. It’s not that adoption isn’t discussed so he’s unaware of it, but I’ve never had a direct conversation with him about it. I know a three year old won’t understand, but I wanted to give it a try. “Love Bug, do you know you have another mommy? A first mommy who grew you in her tummy?” I tried broaching the subject while tucking Love Bug in bed. He took my hand and held it to his cheek, “You my mommy, Mommy. Because you am.” Bless his little heart! Love Bug and Chica Marie have such different adoption experiences I get whiplash trying to meet each one where they are at in the whole scenario. I feel like I fumble around a lot, but my heart is in the right place and I hope that will mean something as they get older.

Between a Rock and a Very Hard Place

Our adoption case worker was over at the house on Saturday. She doesn’t usually come over on a weekend, but she is leaving this week on a medical sabbatical until the beginning of December. She had to come out and that was the only time that worked with both of our schedules. She explained to me that she had called and spoken with the county case worker to get a clearer picture where things are at for both the kids adoptions. The adoption case worker’s proposed plan, which she said the county case worker liked but would have to clear with her supervisor, was to finish up with the finalization for Love Bug asap (so maybe December) but keep it hush-hush. Then, when it comes time for Chica Marie’s adoption, to make it a big celebration of the adoption of both of the kids. This is my list of the pro’s and con’s on this whole scenario.

 

Pro’s:

• Obviously, getting Love Bug adopted the sooner the better is not something I disagree with, so this sits in the pro column. There’s really no reason to hold him up, the county has done that long enough and it makes me less fearful knowing it’s a done deal.
• Not worrying about Love Bug’s adoption means less paperwork and less distraction from Chica Marie.
• Perhaps, at some future date in a different plane of existence, the children can be celebrated individually becoming part of the family (ok, so this is a sarcastic pro).
• Maybe Chica Marie would like having her own adoption date, one that is different than Love Bug’s.
• Love Bug is oblivious to what is going on, so the difference is lost on him.

 

Con’s:

 

• Never did I consider adopting one sibling without the other and this concept breaks my heart into a million pieces.
• They are asking me to lie to my child, something I am loathe to do. Lying to Chica Marie is not going to help our relationship.
• In one of a multitude of what-if scenarios, I worry about being at the doctor’s office with both kids (say, they are both sick at the same time, a totally plausible possibility) and there are questions about Love Bug’s name change due to his adoption. His insurance will have to change, so it’s totally possible there might be questions and Chica Marie is wicked smart and incredibly observant. She will ask questions and then I am forced to lie again or reveal the painful truth.
• Let’s say the above scenario never happens, we live happily ever after until both kids are grown or near grown. Now Chica Marie finds documents of Love Bug’s adoption, that happened before hers and without her knowledge. Doesn’t that sound perfectly awful?
• The whole miss-matched adoption could cause strife between the two kids, if it were to come out as mentioned above.
• There is the possibility of losing the adoption subsidy if the children are adopted separately because they qualify as a sibling group and I’m not sure if they would qualify alone. It’s a reality that we need those subsidies to help us financially and the loss would definitely be felt negatively.

Balancing Act

I’m troubled. I feel like our family is out-of-whack right now, as a consequence of all the craziness of the past two months. I feel short-tempered and frustrated too much of the time. And, the kiddos have been reacting to the stress as well. I want us to be coming into the holiday season emotionally prepared because the holiday’s tend to be hard on us. I want to feel less fractured and more cohesive as a family. I wish I could whisk us away for a family weekend, something to take us out of our norm and push a reset button on things. Alas, this isn’t financially feasible. So, I have to try a different, less dramatic tactic. I think, since a grandiose family bonding weekend is not in the cards, I will have to divide and conquer.

 

I’ll start with Love Bug because he’s the easiest. I know what he needs to set his world right and that is to spend time with mommy chilling on the sofa, playing silly games and giving and getting lots of kisses and cuddles. Just this simple time with him tends to lessen his tantrums and angry toddler-ness. Sadly, when I’m stressed and trying to use chores (the things I can do, the things I do have control over) to over-compensate, my chill time is one of the first things I let go. But, Love Bug needs that time with me and so to hell with clean dishes, my priority this week will be quality Love Bug time before he has to go to bed.

 

Primero is also easier, meaning it doesn’t take much for us to iron out the wrinkles in our relationship, but as my go-to guy to watch the kids, getting time away just the two of us is challenging. The kids have a visit with their grandmother coming up, so this would be an ideal time for me and Primero to spend time together. The difficulty will be getting him away from his friend, who is with us every weekend. I’ll have to set this up, prepare him ahead of time and maybe, if that doesn’t work, intervene with the friend. The visit is the weekend before Primero’s 18^th (YIKES!!!) birthday, so maybe that can be my excuse to have him to myself? It’s worth a try! Usually, I allow Primero to decide what we do and he often chooses going to the movies. That might not sound like quality time, but we have the car ride there and back, so there’s time for us to chat, which generally works some magic.

 

Chica Marie is the toughie. I have to find a project for us to together, but it has to be something simple that she doesn’t find frustrating. She has decided, after going to the CHOR fall festival as a witch, she wants to be an angel for Halloween. Sure, I could go buy the fluffy feather wings at the costume store, but wouldn’t it be more fun to make them? So, this will be our getting-on-the-same- page project. I’ll do some prep work, to grease the wheels, and she will be so proud to show off her creation when we go trick-or-treating.

 

For myself, honestly, if I can get the house in order, it helps me to feel more in order. So, I’ll keep working on that. It helps me to write out the things I want and need to get done, and I’ve already started on that task. Being able to check tasks off my list is settling for me and knowing the house isn’t a blazing disaster also helps me find some inner peace. So, this is my goal for this week, sprinkled around the other things I’ve mentioned with the children. Getting a good night’s sleep and maybe another soak in the tub should also help me re-balance and restore myself emotionally.