Quid Pro Quo

There is a person I have been helping, well really I’ve become a sort of safety net for them. And I don’t do it to get anything from them or because I expect some sort of reward or compensation. Still, I figure, if there is something they could do to help me out, they would be willing, simply because I’ve been helping them. A sort of lopsided quid pro quo, right? So, I need some help this weekend. It’s not even for me, really, it’s for me to help a different person. The person I’m helping this weekend asked the other person for the favor and was told “no.” Apparently, this small favor, really the only thing that has been asked for in all the months of helping, is too inconvenient. Is this making any sense?

 

I was livid. I could not believe this person would be so unappreciative, especially when most of the things I do are highly inconvenient for me. I plan on texting this person myself and asking for the favor, in hopes that the response was perhaps misinterpreted by the other party. If not, if the request is denied, then I need to seriously reconsider the level of assistance I offer this person. My good intentions are not indefinite and I don’t think what I am asking for is really all that arduous of a task. If they can’t be minor-ly inconvenienced to help me why on earth should I continue to do the massively inconvenient things I do for this person? The fall-out could get ugly, but if they choose to burn this bridge then so be it.

Three!

Tomorrow is Love Bug’s third birthday. Holy cow, where has the time gone?! Some days, I feel like it was just yesterday that I was awkwardly strapping him into the car seat at the hospital. And other times I feel like I can hardly remember those times (other than the severe sleep deprivation!) because it seems like Love Bug has always been with us. I look at him in amazement thinking how he has gone from the tiny, needy baby to a strong and funny toddler. I delight in his personality, which is equal parts loveable, goofy and still demanding. Love Bug has epic meltdowns over the tiniest infraction and very much fits the term “threenager.” Still, when he is lovey-dovey my heart melts into a gullible little puddle and he’s just my sweet little boy. Often times, after his meltdowns, he will want me to hold him so he can wrap his arms around my neck and gently grab chunks of my hair or pat the back of my neck. He is a momma’s boy through and through and every day when I pick him up from daycare he runs full throttle into my arms. He gets upset if other kids come over near me, telling them hurriedly “that’s my mommy" with the emphasis on *MY*. He is a smart little boy and his vocabulary has gone from next to nothing to long, wordy sentences with facial expressions and inflection to match. He will be a story-teller that’s for sure! Mostly, I am humbled by the great blessing and responsibility at being his mother. Our bond is very special to me, in a different way than it is with Primero and Chica Marie. I cherish my little boy and every year I’m blessed enough to be in his life. Happy Birthday Love Bug!  

Facebook Find

I think I have mentioned it before; I am an unabashed Facebook stalker. Sometimes this natural curiosity in me has caused me some heartache, but mostly it just satisfies the nosey Nelly in me. Apparently, Facebook has taken notice of the folks I’m not friends with but tend to stalk the most – my children’s mothers. At least once every few weeks Facebook suggests I befriend Primero’s mother. But, yesterday Facebook indicated I might know someone with a new Facebook account. I was shocked to see a picture of the little one’s mother posed in a selfie pic with a man posted on Sunday. Honestly, my first thought was, “she’s alive!” which is so sad, but valid. Voraciously, my eyes sucked in the information for my brain to begin computing, registering and reacting. This new account is the third one I’ve seen. It looks like she created it last August but only recently updated with some pictures. Of course I jumped right to the man’s page to see what I could see about him. It looks like he has two young daughters. She only has about 50 friends on this page and her mother (the kids grandmother) isn’t one of them. It looks like one of her sons is her friend and I’m only guessing this because he has a name that isn’t too common. As I jumped around, gathering this intel, I observed that their mom looks fairly healthy. Briefly, I flirted with the idea of sending her a message but decided not to. I’m friends with her mom now on Facebook, so she has a way to find me, just as I found her. If she is healthy and doing good I don’t want to derail her with reminders of the painful recent past. I’ll keep an eye on this new page for future updates. Perhaps there will come a point where messaging her might make sense. I wish I could find some of my previous foster kids on Facebook, but they are all too young. Still, I search for the names of their adult relatives just in case they created accounts that might give me a glimpse into how the kids are doing. I wish I could see them now, how big they’ve grown, the smiles I remember from when they were small. It is such a sad thing, to love a child intensely but to never get to see them grow.  

Ch-Ch-Changes!

There is a great upheaval going on at my job the end of this month. People who have worked in my office for longer than I have been alive are going to be let go due to changes in labor and industry laws. There will be new people taking over their jobs, making for a lot of changes for those of us left behind. Granted, in the grand scheme of things, the changes for those of us who still have a job are nothing compared to those who are being let go, but still who likes changes? In addition to all the new faces I will be seeing, my desk is also being moved to a different corner of the large cubicle farm in our building. My desk will be different, as in different set-up, different storage options, heck even a different color. I’m fairly Zen about the whole thing, again, considering there are so many who are moving on into the unknown of unemployment. But, my new location will put me cattycorner across from a newly married, newly pregnant, oh-by-the-way-it’s-a-healthy-baby-boy co-worker. Go ahead and pour some lemon juice in that cut while you’re at it! She has just started showing but most people in the office have known for a while that she is expecting. I overheard another co-worker announcing it’s a healthy baby boy, since the pregnant co-worker gave her the results to shove in an envelope until the father could be informed. The other day, she was walking past my desk, talking to her friend and I heard her complaining about none her pants fitting anymore. Girl, that happens to me and I’ve never been pregnant! I know it doesn’t sound like it, but I do like this co-worker. She’s young and spunky and seems to do a good job. Her desk looks like it belongs in some Martha Stewart cubicle magazine, but I guess that’s because she isn’t mandated to display certain things on her desk. Although I think I’m managing ok with the whole thing, I dread moving near to her desk. I might need to invest in some head phones if she spends a lot of time talking about the baby and how she’s feeling and whatnot. On good days I’ll be fine. On less-than good days I will want to throw heavy things at her head. It’s hard not to resent, just a little tiny bit, the ease at which she moved through the life stages where I stagnated and nearly suffocated – engagement, marriage, baby. Just like it’s supposed to be. But, if I hear how she didn’t think it would happen so fast or that they weren’t really trying or some other blather, I don’t know that I will be able to hold my tongue…  

Bad Adoptive Parents

As an adoptive parent I tend to take exception with less-than stellar adoptive parents. I know of a story of two local adoptive parents who really shouldn’t have become adoptive parents. The father has two adult daughters and he wasn’t really involved in their lives while they were growing up. He’s married to a woman with several children of her own and they had a 7 month old baby they were going to adopt. The baby was placed with them by the parents, who are mentally challenged and unable to care for the baby. I don’t really know the legalities here, but I’m assuming the adoptive couple has been granted guardianship through the biological parents. My understanding is the adoptive parents mostly have their 13 year old daughter watching the baby while they work, under the guise that the 13 year old is attending cyber school. Evidently, it must be time for them to legally adopt the child and the parents were told they needed to have mental health evaluations (not sure who mandated this) as does the adult daughter who lives with them. Supposedly these evaluations will cost $1,700 per person and, in addition to not having the money, the adoptive parents decided they no longer want to care for the baby because she doesn’t sleep through the night. From what I heard, it sounds like they are going to contact Children and Youth Services and have the baby taken away.

 

This story makes me want to throw things! How did people like these two get a beautiful baby only to turn around and shove her away because of inconveniences? How did this happen? Not only are these people unfit adoptive parents and just down right rotten, but I’ve heard that they speak poorly about the child’s ethnicity and basically push her care off onto the other children living with them. They disgust me! I’m certain the little one will find a home, being young and adorable, but the fact that she had to live with such horrible human beings is awful. This is what adoption shouldn’t be, this is what happens when uninformed people do something on a whim. I pray the little one quickly finds a home where she will be cherished or perhaps her biological parents can find a way to care for her with services or other help in place.

Ugly Moments

Epic Mom-fail. That was last night. I had a shit day at work and was so looking forward to just a mundane evening at home. The child prep case worker was there for Chica Marie, so they chilled on the front porch while I prepared dinner with Love Bug. His latest thing is “helping” me make dinner. Usually, he does this to get closer to the cabinet that holds the treats, but last night he was adamant about helping me make the less-than illustrious dinner of turkey sausage, a pack of Knorr noodles (the last pack we have, and in keeping with our whole foods choices, it will be the last, although this makes me sad because those suckers are a good last-minute side dish choice…. Damn you convenient processed foods!), and unshelled edamame.

 

Love Bug and I ended up eating alone too, since Primero was sleeping on the couch and Chica Marie was still outside with her case worker. We were mostly done when Chica Marie came stomping into the house. I went outside to talk to her case worker who declared she had had quite an attitude during their session. She was still maintaining her stance on not wanting to be adopted and wanting to live with her grandmother. So, when I went back inside I tried talking to Chica Marie. First, I asked why she had an attitude with her case worker and she just shrugged. I asked her why she didn’t want to be adopted and what other options she thought might be more acceptable than adoption. She declared she didn’t need a mommy or a daddy and would be fine on he own. In her bedroom of course. I tried to reason with her, in a lighthearted way but our conversation really didn’t go anywhere.

 

While I was trying to reach Chica Marie in the kitchen, Love Bug invited himself into my bedroom and tore apart a cabinet where I keep my Mary Kay products. He left a trail of destruction from the door to the other side of the bed and it was only when he brought me my necklace that I realized he was in my bedroom. I immediately became incensed. I thought he was sitting with Primero in the living room and instead, while I was trying to get through to one kid, he was destroying my things. I yelled, I screamed, I told them I wanted them all to go away. It was one of my ugliest moments.

 

Met with indignant teenage defiance, I fought with Primero and we ended up dumping our personal things on the floor, literally. After putting my items back into the decrepit cabinet twice (the shelf fell, angering me more), I angrily finished washing the dishes and went to hide in my room. I was sitting on my bed staring at the contents of the drawer Primero upended on my floor when I heard Love Bug ask Primero for chocolate milk. I remembered we had very little milk and thought I should probably go to the store to get some. On my short drive there I contemplated not going back home. I wondered how far I could get before the van died or I ran out of steam. I figured I would head west, since it was the direction I was the least familiar and less likely to run into someone I knew and I could just stay wherever the van left me and just start over there. At the grocery store a young mom with a little boy, a little younger than Love Bug with a head full of fluffy curls, was in the check-out line behind me. Her son was so quiet, I kept staring at him, wondering if he was real. He dropped his football and I eagerly waited for him to start wailing, screaming for its return. He pointed to it and called “ball” but he didn’t lose it, he didn’t meltdown or throw a temper tantrum in any way. I left the grocery store thinking, “not my kid.” Love Bug does not sit quietly. If he had dropped his ball, he would have screamed his head off until he got it back. What am I doing so wrong that my child, who is older than that little boy, cannot sit for a moment so I can buy the damn groceries? My sense of defeat was profound. I cried on the way home. Sad, lonely tears running unchecked down my cheeks. I didn’t bother to wipe them away.

 

I wanted to run. I wanted to disappear and forget about everything. But, I got the milk and a few other things and went back home. I gave the kids a bath, I did Chica Marie’s hair, I put the children to bed. Primero text me while I was at the store, but I didn’t respond. I took a shower and that’s where the guilt hit me. I wanted these children, they were the answer to my prayers. This is what I asked for! I so desperately wanted motherhood! Of course, my version of motherhood always had the help of a loving partner. And, I certainly thought there would be plenty of mundane moments, I just didn’t think my personal space would be so violated, so obliterated. I’m not my own person anymore. I have no sanctity. My person, my personal belongings, my everything is no longer just mine. It is for my children to use, to explore and to trample, to invade. I wept in the shower, just because I needed to feel something and because I felt awful. I’m a terrible mother. After fighting so hard to get here, I wonder if I should have believed the thoughts that told me God didn’t want me to have children or He wouldn’t have made me infertile. I’m undeserving. I look at a well-behaved kid in the grocery store and wonder if my biological child would have been more prone to sitting calmly instead of losing his shit over a dropped toy or some other minor infraction. I’m guilty of thinking the what if’s. I’m unworthy because I cannot love every minute of every day and all I want is my stuff to remain untouched. I’m a terrible mother because sometimes, after a really shitty day at work, I just want to be left alone.   

The Things that Keep Me Up at Night

I don’t have a whole lot to say about any one thing in particular, so I’m just going to do a bullet list. Here are The Things that Keep Me Up at Night:

 

• Sunday morning Love Bug took of his diaper and threw it away without me knowing. He followed me into the bathroom, having a fit because I was not holding him. As I was doing my business, he decided to follow suit, which is how I learned he wasn’t wearing a diaper. As I mopped up the floor and bathed him I, again, reminded myself I really need to get on the potty training bus. To date, all I’ve done is buy him his own little potty and had him sit on it a few times. He has zero interest, so I’m going to have to find some way of motivating him. It just seems like such a daunting task.
• Primero was hurt again by a young man he befriended and began developing feelings for – that is until the boy’s mother heard from a different students father that my son was bi-sexual and the new friend was prohibited from spending time with that “faggot.” Primero, being the amazing, mature young man he is, asked to meet the boy’s mom and have her get to know him before judging him. Keep in mind, this new friend has had more than one run-in with the law and is still serving probation with the juvenile court system. The boy’s mother said my son would not be welcome in their house, but he could attend their church, to which I said, “the hell you will!” I encourage Primero to attend church, but I would not want him going there for them to pick him apart! I just wish Primero could find a nice boy who has decent parents who can accept their son for who he is and not make my son their scapegoat. Primero is too good at picking out the closeted guys with judgmental parents. I know I can’t stop any of it from happening, I just hate seeing him get hurt again and again. He’s a good kid, he deserves better than that.
• Our foster dog had his first meet and greet with a potential adoptive family. The volunteer who took him said it went well, but the family was worried about how their older dog would handle the younger, more energetic dog. I haven’t heard anything back yet, so I’m guessing it’s a no-go. Hopefully another family will pop up for Mocha. He has successfully ruined both the front screen door and the back screen door at our house. I’m looking forward to getting them fixed but not before he moves on.
• Chica Marie is still not enrolled in a summer camp. My carefully constructed plans toppled like Dominos, one right after the other. I need to revisit the one camp who said they wouldn’t open registration to new members until June 5^th. Camps are so expensive, it’s hard justifying the costs, but Chica Marie needs to be somewhere with more structure and things to do. Daycare just can’t offer her those things. But this whole mess has me stressing out!
• The adoption case worker was out to our house last Thursday. She was there forever and once again the whole Chica Marie adoption was dredged back up, only she wasn’t satisfied with my answers and wanted to dig deeper. She also told me, if I’m frustrated I’m working too hard. She talked about how she dealt with her daughter, who has some behavioral special needs, and how a now-defunct CHOR program for troubled teens taught her a lot in regards to ignoring behaviors she didn’t like. I found it both helpful and grating because I feel like I keep walking the same roads yet never reach a resolution.
• Primero has failed his driver’s license test 3 times. That’s three times I have taken off of work to pick him up and take him to the DMV for the test. Once we drove to the neighboring county’s DMV which is an hour drive one way! He had to renew his permit because you can only fail 3 times per permit. He is scheduled to take the test again on July 1^st and I’m so glad it’s on a Saturday so I won’t have to take off work!
• I’m hoping to do a mini vacation the end of summer but I worry about the timing in relation to the little one’s adoption for financial reasons. I remember with Primero we went two months before receiving the first check for his subsidy. That money helps us greatly, it’s what I use for us to do fun things like go out to dinner or get Redbox, things like that. As a single mother, the stipend is frankly the only way I could manage with the extra mouths to feed. So, we shall see. Perhaps we’ll do a staycation and just hang out at the pool.
• We are doing so-so in our whole foods endeavor. I’d give us a C grade. It is so, so hard to break from the convenience of processed foods! But, we are trying and there is certainly less junk food in our house, with the exception of what Primero eats. I encourage him to make healthier food choices, but he is adamantly opposed, preferring canned ick over home-cooked dinner. Still, I did get him to eat a plate of Brussel’s sprouts last week. I roasted them on the grill with some olive oil and sea salt then drizzled some pecan praline balsamic vinegar over the top – yum!
• Love Bug is such a momma’s boy! Primero accuses me of spoiling him because I give into his whims. Sometimes I wonder if Primero is jealous. Love Bug lives up to his nickname here, giving hugs to his daycare teachers and case workers that come over to our house. He give me hugs too, wrapping his arms around my neck and nestling his head under my chin like he did when he was tiny. I know that’s his happy place, where he feels most safe. At night, when he’s going to bed, he grabs ahold of my neck tightly, smooshing my cheek against his whispering for me to sleep with him. It’s the hardest thing to resist, so I give him lots of kisses before gently pulling away and letting him fall asleep. So many times I wish I had had this kind of relationship with his sister. I think it might ease some of our troubles if I had memories of her chubby arms pulling me towards her for one last hug and kiss. But, by the time she moved in with us, she was already the wild-child she is now, so we have to just deal with what is.  
• I’m reading the book “You Don’t Look Adopted” by Anne Heffron. I can’t say I love the book, it skips around too much for me. I’m about half-way done because I mostly only read it during my lunch break at work. The most recent section I read was about her brother. She wrote that he wasn’t really her brother, they weren’t biologically related and she didn’t feel a connection to him as a sibling. It broke my heart. I know it’s hard for Primero to be so much older than the little ones, but I sincerely hope he considers them siblings. I think he does Love Bug, but I don’t know about Chica Marie. The little ones love him like a big brother, there’s no question about that. I just hope they maintain a connection as they get older. I guess it sounds strange, since I’m mostly estranged from my own brother. But, that wasn’t really my choice and I would fix it if I could. I have recently appreciated my bond with my sister because I’m pretty sure no one in the world gets me as much as she does. And I don’t think anyone is as real with me as she is. Sure, Primero has Esperanza and Hermano and Mr J and his younger sisters. And the little ones have one another and Mini Momma and all their older siblings, but I want them to also have one another because only the three of them are in our home as siblings and only the three of them will get what that’s been like.
• Grandma contacted me about a sibling get-together for all of Love Bug and Chica Marie’s brother and sisters. It’s going to be held the first weekend in July. I’m both nervous and excited to go to the picnic. I met one older sister one time when Grandma brought her along to a visit but I’ve never met the older brothers. I hope it will be a positive experience for all the kids.

Gender Reveal Re-do

I think 3D ultrasounds are creepy. I know most people think they are cool and spend extra money to have them done, but they just skeeve me out. I’m sure my cousin and his wife will have one done, they seem like the couple to do that. But, they will most certainly have it done now. Let me explain why. As soon as possible they found out the gender of their baby. They had a huge gender reveal party (ugh!) and everything was BLUE, BLUE, BLUE because they were having a boy. They chose the name Kane Alexander and she started referring to him by name in all her Facebook posts. Well, lo and behold, she goes in for a regularly scheduled ultrasound last week and Mr. Kane is now a girl! No boy parts, just a va-jay-jay. So, he is now she and her name is Inaya Sarai and I haven’t heard if they are going to re-do the gender reveal party (I think not), but the whole thing just reinforces my resolve to not attend the baby shower, should I be invited. Because it’s not enough to be happy and blessed with an easy pregnancy, but you have to make a big deal over the gender too? Bahumbug!

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