A Few of My Favorite Things

Pretty much everything is bringing me down right now. And Chica Marie just got suspended from school for punching a child. She’s in kindergarten! But, I don’t want to talk about all the things that are bugging me (like my really big house purge that is taking so much longer than I wanted and resulting in things piling up in every room except the one I’m cleaning out, which just so happens to be my room because I don’t ever put me or my stuff first – wow, what a run-on!), rather I would like to remember the things that make me glad.

 

Love Bug is the quintessential toddler at times; ridiculously adorable most of the time, contradictory most of the time, and occasionally a temper tantruming Tasmanian Devil. Mostly, he is impishly cute and I cannot get enough of his grins and what I call his “big boy” facial expressions. Also, I wish there was a way I could play him telling me “it ‘nowing, Mommy!” because it is quite possible the most adorable thing you’ll ever hear. Speaking of highly adorable, let me share this story from church this past Sunday. Somehow we managed to get there just a few minutes early. Chica Marie had already asked if she could sit with Miss Pat, my co-worker friend, and I said she could as long as she behaved. After we hung up our coats by the front door she delightedly skipped up to the front row where my friend usually sits. Love Bug, seeking to find the seat with the best view of the drum set and drummer, chose the very seat my friend sits in, by the inside aisle. As Chica Marie was hugging Miss Pat, Love Bug plopped himself down in her seat and asked me to start the music. The seats alongside my friend were already claimed, so I sat behind her and the children. Love Bug sat like an angel, purely enthralled in the praise band playing and singing. Chica Marie danced a bit then sat down with Love Bug draping her arm around him. If only I could have taken a picture! It was such a precious sight! After a few songs, Chic Marie leaned back to show me her hand where there was a miniscule cut on her knuckle. To soothe her inner hypochondriac, I gave her a squirt of hand lotion. It was a bigger squirt than I intended, so I took some with my finger to use on my own hands. I had barely slipped the hand lotion back into my purse when Love Bug was showing me a nonexistent scrape on his hand. I gave him his own squirt of hand lotion. Not to be outdone in sharing, he gave some of his lotion to me and then tried to give some to the lady behind his chair. She had her eyes closed in worship and so I gently caught his hands before he touched hers, but the gesture was so sweet, with his little grin as his chubby hands offered her some of his lotion.

 

Last night Love Bug wanted my full attention. I had just finished washing a mountain of dishes after making dinner (chicken noodle soup) and prepping dinner for Wednesday (potato soup). I had my phone and was catching up on emails and Facebook but Love Bug had other ideas. He told me once to “turn off phone” as he plopped on my lap. I didn’t listen so he said, in his sing-song voice, Mommyyyy, turn OFF phone.” I smiled at him but continued scrolling, so he deftly grabbed my phone, turned it off and laid it on the couch behind me, then grinned at me until I tickled him and he squealed with delight. It’s sort of sad that my toddler needed to remind me to turn off my phone and spend time with him, but I’m glad eventually listened and spent several gleeful minutes with my precious little boy.

 

For the first time ever Primero is going to make honor roll. He is getting all A’s and B’s right now, which is such a big deal for him. He is also keeping up with his homework and class assignments (well, he missed one for history but had a strong enough grade to still eek out a B) which is also a very big deal. It’s like a switch was flipped and now, all of a sudden, he’s taking school seriously and putting forth the effort I’ve always known he was capable of doing. I couldn’t be more proud of him!

 

Chica Marie is enjoying her karate class more this session than the previous one. For the first time this past weekend I had to leave during her class. I usually stay but this week I had to run Primero and his friend to get haircuts, leaving Chica Marie in the class alone for a few minutes. I worried she might start acting out. When I got back (with Love Bug, who I usually leave home with Primero) I found her jacket where we left it but couldn’t find her boots. I asked a mom sitting near us and she said my daughter had left. I started to panic until I saw her walking back in the gymnasium. She had gone to the bathroom and had put on her boots as I have told her to do since the bathroom is not nearby. She sauntered into the room so nonchalantly I almost had to laugh at myself. She rejoined class and was able to pick back up with no issues.  I was so glad she didn’t meltdown because I wasn’t there!

 

Other things that make me happy, in no particular order – when one of the cats cuddles all warm and fluffy in my lap, crockpot meals, the new wreath I made for our front door with peacock burlap, when there are no dirty dishes in the sink, 3 day weekends, my son knowing I will do what I can to help his friend in need, freshly made guacamole, when Prancer does her business in the grass and not the back porch. These are a few of my favorite things.

Life's Not Fair

It's like I’m on fire and rather than dousing the flames the county and CHOR just explain why they can’t use the fire extinguisher to help me. I am beyond angry yet there is no point in wasting my energies in righting this wrong. No one with the power to do anything cares and no one who cares can do anything. CHOR tells me there is another family dealing with the same thing, but they can’t do anything about it. That actually makes me more angry – que sera, sera? Um, not when it’s your life in limbo! Trust me, if this were you, you wouldn’t have the same nonchalant feelings about it. The county case worker assured me it will happen in March because they gave a court order with no more continuances. I mean, unless the county decides to continue it because the moving around has only been because of the mom and her attorney the last two times. The court date, as I understand it, has been moved 5 times now. FIVE TIMES! Oh well. Nobody cares. Three little children are living in limbo, their lives on pause, having to have every damn decision drug out until every effort is made to contact their unreachable mom no matter how emergent the situation? It is what it is. It’s happened to other families and it will continue to happen because the lives of these children don’t really matter they are just faceless numbers to disassociated, compassionless bureaucrats.

The TPR hearing was scheduled for today. It didn’t happen. It was continued again. This is the fifth time the court hearing has been moved since June 2016. Some of the reasons have been the GAL not being available, mom’s attorney being in the hospital, and today’s reason du jour – mom’s attorney has a big case this week and couldn’t make it to court today. You know, because this little case is so less important. I emailed my CHOR case worker and asked who I can complain to with the power to do something because how can this keep happening? Why aren’t these children important enough to get this taken care of, to make it a priority? Chica Marie has had 3 birthday’s with me, in foster care. She has spent half her life in the system. Love Bug has spent his ENTIRE life in foster care. Luckily, he has been in the same home the whole time, so he doesn’t know he’s in foster care. Chica Marie was only in two homes, which is a good thing for her because she so needs the stability and continuity and if she had been in a lot of other homes she would probably be a total behavioral mess (more so than she already is). These children matter. The powers that be need to get off their high horses and see these children. Nothing will change until they give a damn.

Regrets

I wish I could say I live my life without regrets. I certainly aspire to do so, but there are a few things I wish I wish I could do-over. One of those things is how I handled myself when Love Bug first came home. Don’t get me wrong, I was totally smitten with this baby and I could not have loved him more. But, I was scared, no terrified. I was scared he wouldn’t stay, like the other baby placements I had previously. And I let that fear keep me from doing the things I might have done had I not been so frightened of losing him. Because I knew I wouldn’t be having bump pictures or grainy ultrasound pictures to foist upon friends and foes alike, I desperately wanted to do a newborn photo shoot with all those cutesy little Ann Geddes-esk poses and props. I even talked to my photographer friend about doing it and she was game. But, I was too fearful of doing the photo shoot and having to hand the baby back to his mom that I never got around to do the pictures. And now I regret it. Sure, I have my amateur photos of baby Love Bug and some are precious, but it’s not the same. I wish I had the hindsight I have now, in knowing that even if baby Love Bug didn’t stay and become my son, I would still cherish the pictures and it would have been equally as nice for his mom to receive them as well.

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Beginning Again, Again

I just found out last night that in addition to Chica Marie losing her TSS worker (who she loves) her kindergarten teacher will also be changing. Holy changes Batman! This won’t be easy on her. I’m hoping the new TSS worker can begin quickly (it’s not sounding like that’s going to happen) so Chica Marie can be semi-adjusted before the current kindergarten teacher shifts into her new position as school librarian. This is stressing me out a bit, so I can’t imagine how poor Chica Marie is feeling. Good thing home life is stable for Chica Marie because school is going to be a hot mess for the time being!  

Facebook Pregnant

My younger cousin, who just got married in August, is going to be a father. His wife posted a picture of their new puppy sleeping and captioned it “I wander what sort of human my parents are getting me?” and then titled the post, “I guess we should make it official” and she tagged her mom and my aunt. In response to one of the comments she stated she was only about 6 weeks along but hoped to have a more accurate reading at an ultrasound scheduled for next week. I found this on my wall just after scrolling quickly past a former co-worker’s daughters gender reveal (she is also a newlywed) – they’re having a boy, in case you wanted to know. I’m not sure why this pregnancy announcement is getting under my skin. I mean, I felt more apathetic finding out my ex had a son on January 8^th; ok maybe not apathetic but more resigned. Reading the Facebook post I got the familiar kick to the gut feeling and was immediately sorry I had been scrolling along so haphazardly. I’m sure my cousin and his wife will be good parents, not that that has any bearing on fertility, I guess it was the seemingly easy and nonchalant way they conceived. It’s like, yawn, yeah I’m preggo. I’m just glad the holidays are over but I’m not looking forward to the baby shower. Sigh.

Losing Our TSS Worker

My institution was correct (see yesterday’s post), Chica Marie’s TSS worker is leaving. She is taking a better job that offers her health insurance. I totally get it, but it does suck for us. She has been so helpful in making this school year a success for Chica Marie and I really felt like she was finally starting to get somewhere with this child. Not only that, but she got me. She understood why I was upset about lying, even little unimportant white lies. And, she didn’t think me getting upset over Chica Marie pulling out her hair style as some unimportant issue to not get worked up about. If I thought it was an issue, then it was an issue. She kept apologizing to me last night and I told her she needed to do what is best for her. Does it suck for us? Yes, yes it does. Will we be able to move on? Of course we will. I just hope we find another good TSS worker, someone who stays firm with Chica Marie, yet loves on her when she’s made progress and someone who supports me in trying to mother a child with difficult behaviors. The TSS worker plans on coming over tonight to tell Chica Marie. Her last day is Friday.

Rainy, Dreary, Blah

As I was trying to get comfortable in bed last night I heard Primero’s conversation with his friend. I promise I wasn’t eavesdropping. He was talking, very loudly I might add, in the living room despite being told it was time to go to bed, and I couldn’t help but hear him. At one point he was talking about a friend’s mom he knew from his childhood. He was close with her and even called her mom. My drowsy mind told me to ignore this conversation, mostly because it wasn’t about me, but also because I knew it would hurt me. But, I wouldn’t listen to my mind, drowsy or not. You know how science has proven that the last thing you think about before you fall asleep becomes a very strong memory? Ok, so maybe I made that up, but often times the first thing I think of when I wake up is the last thing that was on my mind before I fell asleep. And so today’s memory has not been a great one. My mind keeps spinning and spinning the same question around and around in my head, “Why could Primero call that other woman “Mom” but was resistant to the point of defiant when I suggested he call me Mom?” I would love to lie to you tell you this doesn’t bother me at all but, last memory notwithstanding, it bugs the hell out of me. I try not to dwell on it but it’s sort of like trying to ignore an itch – it never really goes away. Add to this the fact that Primero always refers to me as his adoptive mom, never just mom, even to people who know the story. I probably won’t mention anything to Primero because it will probably only result in him getting angry, but it hurts. It slices me right through the heart.

 

Today really hasn’t been a stellar day all around. When I got into work this morning I discovered that a large stack of pretty, colorful notecards a new customer had given me had been stolen from my desk. This isn’t the first time someone has taken something from me and the item wasn’t expensive but I still feel violated. Why can’t the things on my desk be left alone? At lunch I walked next door for a $5 lunch pizza combo. They are supposed to be “hot and ready.” I waited patiently for 10 minutes of my 30 minute break until I became frustrated. The young lady who took my order had disappeared so I drummed my fingers on the counter until someone else came out to assist me. I was the only one there, so it wasn’t like they were swamped. When I got back to the lunchroom with my hot pizza, the room was freezing, barely a few degrees above the outside temperature. I ate quickly and returned to my desk where I discovered a cryptic text message from Chica Marie’s TSS worker. She asked me to call her tonight, stating she would rather talk than text. I am assuming, since nothing was wrong and she never had any issues texting me about issues in the past, this means she is leaving. I text the mobile therapist, testing out my assumption and she asked me to call her after I call the TSS worker so we could, “work this out together.” At least the day matches my mood. It is rainy and windy and blah.

This is Us

This week’s episode of “This is Us” slayed me. I tried, unsuccessfully, to not sit and sob for the last 15 minutes of the show. There was just so much of me, of my life, in that show. (If you aren’t caught up on the show or haven’t started watching it, this post will contain spoilers, so stop reading now.) This week really isn’t any different from previous episodes in which I feel like layers of my life are being revealed to me. But, this week was hard because of two painful story lines – the infertile couple whose marriage is falling apart around them and Dr. K struggling with the loss of his wife. I was the infertile couple and I did try to bring a child into our life only to have him rejected. Only, instead of asking for a do-over and working things out, my ex left. No happy ending with pie and coffee for us. Seeing Dr. K alone in his house talking to his dead wife reminded me of my grandfather’s passing and how hard it is on my grandmother. She too made mention of wanting to join him after expressing how hard it was to be without him after 62 years of marriage. Thankfully, my father is more supportive than Dr. K’s son Peter, but the whole thing just made me ugly cry. I love this show, but it is so emotional to watch! In the pool episode when young Kate is first made aware that she should be ashamed of her body because she was heavier than the other (mean) girls – I’ve felt that. In the episode when the mom goes to visit Randall’s biological father and he is so excited to have an opportunity to spend time with his son, only to have her vanish – I wept because adoption is hard and painful and it’s sometimes hard to share a child in an open adoption. I cried because I wished my children’s mothers would be as over-joyed to spend time with their children as Randall’s father (and they might be and I just don’t see it). When Rebecca expressed tension in thinking there were biological family who could lay claim to her child, I understood this, knowing my children were not mine (and the little two still aren’t) and would never be mine alone. The depictions of Kate struggling with her weight, of her feeling less-than because she is heavy and of having to always fight for her self-worth in a society that says women her size are worthless – yeah, that strikes home in a big way. This show is so much me, it leaves me raw and also, strangely, aching for more. I’m happy to see a TV show presenting adoption in a realistic way. I’m doubly glad they are presenting the nuances of a transracial adoption. The story line is woven together very well, with so many realistic subplots and convincing actors. If you haven’t watched the show and I haven’t ruined too much, I highly recommend it. Just watch with a box of tissues.  

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

Collective Memories

You know how families have collective memories about certain things or events? It could be an odd sentence or phrase that only family insiders get, or the mention of a particular place, time or relative that conjures up the same idea. I could be wrong, but I feel like all families have this and it is what makes them unique. I believe it might also be the thing that makes new foster placements or adoptees feel like outsiders – they don’t get the references or the lingo. Sometimes, the original happenings regarding the one-liner or why we all roll our eyes when someone mentions Aunt Gladys and the full moon, are forgotten and just the group response is understood.

 

On the day my grandfather passed away my family shared in some of these memories, using the unintended time together to begin to heal from our loss. After we wept and hugged one another, after the funeral home completed the paperwork and took my grandfather away into the cold night, we sat and remembered when. I accidentally revealed a secret to my cousin regarding the time my grandparents puppy sat their dog Charlie. They had left the dog alone in the house briefly so they could tend to the farm animals. It was after dinner and so some scraps were left on the table, but they pushed the chairs in and the dog was too small to jump up on the table, so they thought things would be fine. When they came home, less than 30 minutes later, the dog greeted them from atop the table. He had eaten every last morsel on the table, chicken bones, fat, left-over baked beans and the entire half pound of butter they had just put in the butter dish. My grandmother was frantic. She was told the dog could not have table scraps and she worried about what these food items would do to his unaccustomed system. So, she walked him up and down the dirt driveway until she was sure he would not meet his demise from his over-indulgence. She told my dad the tale the next day and he laughed hilariously, since it was obvious the dog was fine. He gleefully told the story to my family, swearing us to secrecy since my grandmother didn’t want my cousin or aunt and uncle to find her dog-sitting skills negligent. This was several years ago and I had assumed they had finally been left in on the secret. They hadn’t been, but they are now!

 

Primero has been with me long enough now that we have some of our own “remember when” events to share. We sometimes talk about how things were before the little ones moved in or how each of us perceived one another the first few times he came to spend the weekend. He remembers when the rotten transmission on my car left us sitting along the turnpike for hours, alternating turning the car on for warmth and music and trying to occupy our time. He remembers this time fondly, while I remember the headache and financial cost of the towing and car repairs. He also remembers us walking roughly two miles to the closest Redbox for movies more favorably than I. Still, it feels good to have our own shorthand that we share as a family. It makes us feel legit.

BFF (Best Friend Forever)

I had written earlier about Primero’s friend spending the weekend with us. When we were discussing his stay and the potential for him to spend the long weekend with us (they didn’t have school Monday for Martin Luther King day), I joked that it sounded like when Primero first came to visit. He came once and then asked to come back every weekend. I don’t remember what he said, but it sounded defensive, so I responded, “I was joking! I liked having you here, it never bothered me when you wanted to come over.” I’m not sure why Primero seemed defensive about my comparison, but I didn’t want him to think it was meant in a callous way. It was also around this time of year (January 10^th, to be exact) that I first met Primero, so the timing of it seems similar to me as well. The young man came over again all weekend and I think it’s nice that Primero has found a friend he can have over and hang out with. For so long it seemed like his friends would only have him over but not come over to our place. I think that Primero had a partial role in that because he didn’t want his friends hanging out with the little ones. I totally understand that. When I was a kid I didn’t want my friends hanging out with my sister, even though I spent most of my time with her when my friends weren’t there. She became so uncool when my friends came around, simply because she was 5 years younger than us. For Primero it is an even bigger discrepancy, so I’m sure some of that comes into play.

 

Primero and I had talked about another visit before he found out the “big secret” that his friend is questioning his sexuality. According to Primero, this changes everything. Now, I might not be the most savvy mom on the planet, but I was getting more than just friend vibes from Primero. Part of me chided myself for letting this boy sleep over in Primero’s room (and spend an exorbitant amount of time locked away in his room the whole weekend long, I might add) given that both of them might be interested in being more than just friends. But, I wouldn’t really want a girl sleeping over either and so where does that leave Primero? He can never have anyone not related to him sleep over simply because he is bisexual? In addition to letting go emotionally, I’m trying to get un-hung up on what may or may not be happening in Primero’s love life. I still remind him of safe sex at every chance I get but he’s at an age where he is more likely to become sexually active than ever before. Primero claims to not want to be intimate with a male and he reiterated his boundaries this morning when we were briefly discussing how he would act with his friend, who doesn’t know that he knows. But, I wasn’t born yesterday and I know how one thing can lead to another when emotions and hormones get flowing. I’d rather he be safe than sorry. Still, I question my decision in being ok with the two of them hanging out alone in Primero’s room. I remember spending alone time with friends, sequestering ourselves in our bedrooms to share secrets. But, those bedrooms were not far from our parents’ rooms and I wasn’t attracted to my best friends. Sigh. Like to many things in parenting, it’s really hard to know what is the right thing to do here! But, as long as they are being respectful towards one another and all the other members in the family, it’s hard to find a reason to stop allowing the visits.

Sad Story

It’s a sad story. One I’m sure is seen in duplicate all over this city and countless other cities and towns. There is a woman. She has a teenage son. She’s 8 months pregnant with her second child and being evicted from her one bedroom apartment she shares with her teenage son. Her boyfriend, the father of her unborn baby, is in jail for beating her. The father of her older son died a few years ago while in prison. Her mother’s health is declining, so she can offer little help. The woman has a few weeks to find a new place to live but has already begun feeling her body prepare for the birth of her baby. She went to visit her ex in jail over the weekend, pleading him to help. Her older son is hardly home, preferring to spend time with friends rather than stay at home. So much of their life is unstable, so much is unknown. How scary to think about giving birth to a baby and being evicted from your home while in the hospital recuperating. Sadly, this is a true story. And, what is even a greater tragedy; this is the sort of situation, instability coupled with domestic violence, is what can land kids in foster care. What help can one offer?

Blast from the Past

As an adult, have you ever met back up with someone you knew when you were a child? Through the magic of Facebook I have reconnected with people I knew when I was in grade school. As an aside, I was homeschooled from 8^th grade until graduation, so I didn’t really keep in touch with anyone from school or have the traditional high school memories made with them. Anyway, I had asked on Facebook if I knew anyone who was handy with semi-minor household maintenance issues and also willing to patiently teach me how to be more handy whilst fixing the problems. One friend joked that was how her mother met her father. My sister responded her husband would have time in 2018 (they just bought a house and he is doing a lot of work there). Then a friend I knew from grade school responded he would be willing to help me. So, we messaged back and forth about the things I needed help with and in doing so we discovered we were practically neighbors! He came over to check out the two things that were most pressing (the toilet leaking and the kitchen sink leaking) and said the projects weren’t as dire as I believed. He has been working on remodeling his house and talked with me about some of the things he has managed to do. I didn’t know it at the time, but when we were friends in grade school he had been helping his parents remodel and build their house, which is how he learned all his handiness. Not only was it great to catch up with someone I had known so long ago, it was also interesting to see how nearly parallel our lives had been. He is married for the second time and shared with me how he believes he might suffer from male factor infertility. He had tried to start a family with his ex-wife for three years with no luck. A few months after they broke up, she was pregnant with her new beau. He also mentioned his girlfriend in high school and early adulthood had been on the pill but had a medication she took for migraines that made her birth control less effective and only found out after they broke up and she wound up pregnant by her new boyfriend. For these reasons, he felt he “had a problem” but has never gotten tested, although he told his wife he would if need be when they started trying to conceive. It’s crazy to think, the boy who played saxophone behind me in the clarinet section of the 6^th grade band, might also be with me as the 1 in 10 battling infertility. I hope his antidotal evidence is proven wrong, but in the meantime we shall be fixing up the house a la HGTV style!  

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

Another Sad Good-bye

She hadn’t wagged her tail in two days. Not when I tried to comfort her and patch up the bleeding tumor. Not when I sobbed how sorry I was into the soft fur on top of her head, my tears dropping off her ears. Not when I spoke to her softly and tried to encourage her to eat or drink. Not when I cleaned her up after she had an accident. Not when she was crying in pain and I tried to soothe her. Last night, not too many minutes before she breathed her last painful breath, my sweet Canela wagged her tail when I gently stroked her head. It seemed like she wanted to reassure me just one last time.

 

Just after midnight her howl woke me for the fourth time. The pain she felt was nearly palpable. Her howl brought Primero up from his bedroom. We sat with her, unsure of what might transpire, wishing we could do something to help ease her pain. I tried to help her get comfortable because she was on her side laying on top of the huge tumor. She wouldn’t stay upright, choosing to stay in her uncomfortable position. Soon her breathing became slower, big gasps for air between prolonged moments of silence. Primero moved away from her, crying, “Oh no! Please don’t tell me she’s doing this. She’s dying right in front of us.” After she breathed her last breath, her eyes still open staring at nothing, we agreed she had howled to bring us to her so she wouldn’t die alone. She was quiet the whole time we sat with her. Primero and I wept together our shoulders shaking in unison. I covered her up and we agreed we would move her to the back porch in the morning. I couldn’t fathom leaving her outside alone all night. Love Bug woke up so I tucked us both into bed and slept fitfully until my alarm went off. After we moved her, I called my dad to ask him to take her to the farm and bury her next to their dog Max (they had to put him to sleep just after Thanksgiving. He was 15 and these two were the best dam dogs you could ask for) because they were buddies.

 

Canela was a wonderful dog. She was my first dog that was mine all alone and not a family dog. She was devoted to me and we shared such a special connection and loving bond. She has been with me through a lot of things in the nearly 12 years we were together. She was my confidant in Nicaragua, the only one who let me sputter on in my broken Spanish and never made me feel dumb about it. She was up for an adventure, traveling all the way from Central America to the US with me – in February no less! She hated water and rain but loved to run. And boy was she fast! She came home knowing all her commands in Spanish but soon learned them in English, becoming a bilingual dog. Whenever I spoke her name and she was within earshot, she would wag her tail. As a puppy she used to take naps on my lap. She slept by my bed in two different countries and three different houses for over a decade. I have never lived in my current home without her. It doesn’t feel right knowing she will no longer be there. No one could identify what breed of dog she was, but to me it didn’t matter. She was beautiful. She was a loyal and loving canine companion. My sweet Canela. May she rest in peace.

The Crime Scene

***Disclaimer*** Don't read this post if you are squeamish

I woke up yesterday with a cold sore starting on my bottom lip. I knew it couldn’t be a good omen. Primero called me when he got home from school. “It looks like someone was murdered in the living room,” he reported, sending me snap chat photos as evidence. Blood was smeared all over the floor, drips were splattered all over the area rug the dog beds were full of blood as was the small couch pillow. My poor, sweet Canela was the cause of this bloodshed. She has had a growing tumor on her front left leg since last spring. The vet told me it was inoperable and would most likely kill her, since it didn’t respond to medication making cancer the most likely culprit. The tumor has swelled and grown grotesquely in the months since she has seen the vet. I’ve wanted to return to the vet, to check again if more can’t be done for her. At this point, I was waiting for my income tax money so I could afford the surgery to remove the unsightly tumor. Unfortunately, things became more urgent with the events that occurred yesterday and last night. Primero determined it was the tumor that was causing the mess and put Canela outside while he cleaned it up. I let her back in when I got home and after cleaning up a few drips and securing a Thursday appointment with the vet, it seemed like the bleeding had stopped. But, it had not. I was in the bathroom when I heard her yelp. I hoped one of the kids hadn’t bumped into her. I was calling out to Primero to see what had happened when I heard Chica Marie exclaim, “Oh my God, Mommy Canela’s bone is bleeding!” (for the record, she calls the tumor a bone. Primero calls it a boil). I rush out of the bathroom to see a ever-widening pool of blood growing around Canela’s tumor. I quickly mop it up and try to cover the spot where the blood was coming from with a few cotton squares and some bandage tape. It holds for a little while but soon a new puddle appears. Before we go to bed, Primero and I secure a new bandage and some saran wrap around the tumor to keep blood from seeping out all over the place.

 

I slept fitfully until 3 am. At that point Love Bug cries to join me in my bed. Prancer, the smaller dog, is unsettled and the clickity-clack of her nails on the floor as she trots back and forth is driving me mad. I yell at her twice to go lay down. She doesn’t listen, so I get up to see if she needs to go out. I step out of my bed into something wet and squishy. Canela had made her way into my bedroom and the same crime scene spattering of blood was all over my bedroom rug. I can’t let it dry and soak in or I will never get it out. I have no choice but to clean it up as best as I can. I grab water and a rag and some paper towels and set to work. I get most of it up, but having the overhead light on wakes up Love Bug and he thinks it’s time to get up. He whines and tries to get out of bed, but I won’t let him because I don’t need to clean him up too. After scrubbing for thirty minutes I deem the rug saved and climb back into bed, exhausted.

 

Canela had stayed in my room all night, but fortunately the bleeding seemed to have slowed. I pasted another bandage over the weeping area and Primero helped me usher her out of my room. She didn’t want to lay on the wooden floor again, it was hard for her to get up. But, it makes cleaning up the blood easier. While I was doing Chica Marie’s hair I heard her yelp and when I went to check on her I saw she had pulled off the bandage, ripping open the forming scab. In what felt like a never-ending nightmare, I mopped up yet another pool of blood and affixed another bandage to her tumor, pleading with her to let it in place. The children had been given a two hour delay for school and I decided to go into work two hours late in hopes of catching a few more zzz’s. I felt awful leaving Canela home alone but there really isn’t anything I can do, other than try to keep her calm and stop the tumor from bleeding. I hope and pray there isn’t another mess for Primero to clean up when he gets home later today. I don’t know how I’m going to survive another night like last night. I wish I had the financial means to take her to the local emergency vet, but just walking in the door is a three digit bill. I fear I know what the vet will tell me and I don’t want to have to make that decision. I’m guessing she will be disinclined to remove the tumor because it might just grow right back, putting us in the same spot. And, it seems that a quality life is not compatible with the tumor and I don’t want to make Canela suffer.

 

Canela has been with me since she was 5 weeks old. I got her from a neighboring community when I was in the Peace Corps. I brought her home with me because I couldn’t fathom leaving her behind. I called her my Nica Princess. She has been my constant companion for nearly 12 years. She is so well-behaved and so attuned to me, I really couldn’t have asked for a better dog. She was the first dog that was ever all mine. I cannot envision going forward without her but, sadly, dogs don’t live forever. I know her life expectancy has been vastly prolonged being with me than it would have been had she stayed in Nicaragua. She has had a good life. I just wish it could go on a little while longer.

Work in Progress

Primero had a friend sleep over all weekend long. The young man came home with him from school on Friday and didn’t go home until Sunday evening. He was quiet, but seemed nice enough. Primero has been friends with the boy’s girlfriend for about a year now, but only recently became friends with the boy when they broke up. He found out last night, from the ex-girlfriend, that the boy is questioning his sexuality and this has thrown Primero into a total tizzy. I try to remember what my teenage dramas were, but I just can’t seem to recall. Before the unexpected revelation Primero was asking for the boy to come back again this coming weekend. I suspect their friendship might become something more, but only time will tell. I feel the need to stash more condoms in Primero’s bedroom, although the last time I bought him some he used them as balloons…

 

At one point, when Primero was asking for the friend to spend a second night, I said to him jokingly, “Won’t his mom miss him if he’s here another night? I’d miss you so much if you were gone all weekend!” To which, Primero replied, “I know, that’s why you’ll never let me sleep over at my friend’s house for more than one night.” Well, it’s not like he ever asked! But, it is something I struggle with, knowing that Primero will soon be flying from the nest. I think I would have a hard time dealing with my first child leaving, regardless of the situation, but feeling like I have had such a short time with Primero makes it so much harder. He’s doing the right thing, he is seeking his independence, I just find it’s hard to let go, hard to allow that natural separation to occur when I’ve worked so hard to build an attachment and belonging. I guess the first step is recognizing it right? I don’t want to be one of those controlling parents who end up pushing their kid away because of their own needs for attachment. Still, it feels like just yesterday Primero moved in and I’m not yet feeling ready to let go. I’m a work in progress….

Be happy Mommy

“Be happy, Mommy!” or it could be, “What happen, Mommy?” It’s hard to tell! But, Love Bug’s speech has come a long, long way so despite the fact that both utterances sound the same, I call it a win! He has also started doing this crazy adorable, crazy annoying thing where if I’m talking to someone and he wants to interrupt, but I ignore him, he will lay his hand on my cheek and turn my head to face him. Utterly adorable! Love Bug is through and through a toddler now. The word “no” sends him into hysterics, his food choices vary between “Candy, Mommy!” to “Chicken soup?” and there are only one pair of shoes he will wear – the ones that are the hardest to get on his feet! Last week, with our schedule being out of whack from the holiday’s, he decided he no longer wanted to easily be put to bed. For several nights I would put him to sleep following our normal routine and he would call to me stating he was “all done sleep” or he was “ready to go” to unknown destinations, but certainly not to sleep. He will still tell me, “No, no bed time” when I tell him it's time to go to sleep, but last night he didn’t crawl out of his bed and declare he was “all done.”

 

Other cute things he does: when we drive past Chica Marie’s school he will call out, “Hellooo!” in this cute sing-song voice. He will also say “Hi” to random people when we are out and about using the same cute ‘Hellooo!” If he sees birds while we are driving he will call out, “Birdie! Birrrdie!” like he is trying to call them to him. He kisses the cats regularly and recently convinced the most snuggly one to take a nap with him as his pillow. When I am making dinner, he insists he must sit on the counter beside me and “supervise” what I am doing and hand me utensils that I don’t need. He has broken or lost all of my wooden spoons, so I need to replace them. He calls them forks, and loves tapping them on things around the house or banging them on his drum. He also asks me, at least 100 times per day, “Could you turn it up?” either for the TV or music. I was working on getting him to say please, so I would ask him what the magic word was and he started saying, “Magic word!” So, instead of “Could you turn it up, please?” he would say, “Could you turn it up, magic word!” Yeah, toddlers are hella literal. When my throat hurt and I couldn’t talk above a whisper, Love Bug would whisper to imitate me or move his mouth as if he was speaking but not make a noise. Despite his neediness (he would still rather spend his time attached to my hip than not) and semi-frequent temper tantrums, Love Bug is a joy and it is so exciting watching him learn and grow.

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Ringing in the New Year

So, we survived the New Year’s. Primero went to his uncle’s place. I had been waffling about going or not going. We had a really nice time on Christmas Eve after a disastrous Thanksgiving, so I was feeling better about going, but I’ve had this sinus cold I cannot shake and so felt it was better for me to stay home with my germs and the little ones. Primero came back home around 11 pm. I didn’t tell him he had to, but I guess he felt he needed to be home for midnight. Love Bug fell asleep around 10:30. I had also fallen asleep and was woken up by him crying because he wasn’t in his bed. I tucked him in and finished watching Finding Nemo with Chica Marie. We drank sparkling cider, as is our tradition. Primero came home but, as was his latest hobby, he was on the phone with a friend and not really paying much attention to ushering in the New Year. Well, except Mariah Carey’s horrendous performance – Woah! Chica Marie and I watched the fireworks at the Pagoda from her bedroom window. She brushed her teeth and I tucked her in. I stayed up a little longer with Primero and Love Bug woke up in time to ring in the New Year with New Orleans (we still had the TV on with Ryan Seacrest). Primero had mentioned going back over to his uncle’s place but he didn’t push for it. His uncle mentioned on a live Facebook post sometime around 5-6 am that it was a new day so Primero should ask to come back over, but he didn’t. Maybe it’s age, but I’d rather call it pragmatism. I see no need to stay up all night long only to sleep the entire day away. I don’t sleep well enough to begin with and I really can’t sleep during the day, so I’d rather call it a night right after midnight than stay up. We spent New Year’s day in the house doing pretty much nothing. Primero didn’t want to take the tree down yet, so that remains on our to do list. I’m glad the holidays are over!

That One Thing

I think, as parents, we all have that thing, that one thing that bugs us even though it’s seen as no big deal to everyone but us. My one thing with Chica Marie is her hair. I follow this group on Facebook which was created for white adoptive parents raising children of color. The theme of the group, in addition to culture and race issues, is hair. As white parents of children of color we are judged differently for how our children’s hair looks and how healthy it is. For black women, their hair is a source of pride and should be treated as such. Chica Marie’s mother was also big on making sure her girls hair was well taken care of and she was helpful in finding some products to use in their hair. So, you can’t tell me anything dealing with her hair is no big deal and I shouldn’t sweat something so small as a messed up hairdo. Because I know it is more than that, much more. And, because I want my daughter to take pride in who she is, to love her hair and the rest of herself just the way she is. I’m not going to tell you I’m the most fantastic hair stylist or that I have fully mastered caring for her hair, but I have come a long way. I still can’t cornrow to save my life, but I can do intricate twists and ponytails that make for many admirers of her hair (including compliments from her mom, which is very important in my book). So, for her birthday, Chica Marie asked to have her hair out, with a little pulled back along the front. Generally, I don’t let her hair out for several reasons, 1) it is not something encouraged by women of color because it causes damage, 2) her hair gets very tangled very easily and she does not like having me comb the knots out, and 3) she is always messing with her hair. I can probably count on one hand how many times I have left her hair free and most of those times it is for a special occasion. Well, her birthday is a special occasion, right? And, she is turning 6 and should be able to spend a day with her hair free, right? I’m sure you have already guessed the answer is not yes. I almost fell over when I picked Chica Marie up from daycare that Thursday. Not only was the free hair a big puffy, frizzy mess, but she had also pulled out the front of her hair and then tried to replace it making it more of a mess. I was irate. The daycare staff, one of them being a woman of color, tried to tell me it was no big deal. They suggested I just put her hair up in a ponytail and they would replace it when she took it out. NO! No, no, no, no, no. First of all, that is not teaching her squat about listening to me and second of all it won’t help keep her hair protected or worse she could get a permanent bump in her hair from constantly wearing it the same way. I wanted to cut it. I wanted to take a big scissors right then and there and give her a very short hairdo. I was so angry and disappointed in her. We had made plans to go out to eat at a pizza buffet (her choice) for her dinner and her TSS worker was going to meet us there as a surprise. We were late because I had to fix Chica Marie’s hair. Luckily, the TSS worker understood how I felt about Chica Marie’s hair and she didn’t tell me it was no big deal and I should just get over myself it’s only hair. She admonished Chica Marie for messing with her hair and made her apologize to me. She promised to work on having Chica Marie not touch her hair in school and didn’t think simply tying it back in a ponytail was the solution. It felt good to be validated and not have my feelings about it brushed under the rug. I’m sure others feel the same way as the daycare teachers, it’s no big deal, but don’t you have just that one thing? That thing that bugs you even if it doesn’t seem like a big deal to someone else?

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