Facebook Stalking

A few weeks ago I had written about discovering old messages on Facebook messenger. See here. Stupidly, I decided to Facebook stalk my ex to see how things were going with him and his new "wife" (I'm not sure if they actually got married or if they just call one another husband and wife - it's common to do that in Nicaragua. They even have a word meaning more than boyfriend but not really husband). I knew I wouldn't find anything I would really like to see. My past searches revealed their relationship, their trips to Nicaragua, the cars they've bought and various other odds and ends they made public on Facebook. What I saw certainly caused me pause. From a post on August 13th, my ex posted, "Bendicciones de Dios porque ya viene junior en camino" - "Blessings from God because junior is on the way." October 16th was their baby shower for their impending son. Too late, I clicked off his page and tried to distract myself with something else. My heart was pounding and my stomach felt queasy. I'm a fool for letting my morbid curiosity take ahold of me, for snooping into something I really didn't even want to know. Eight years after we began trying to start a family, he is going to be a father.

I should be happy for him, right? I shouldn't begrudge him the very thing I had so desired. I wish I were that gracious, but I am not. I had secretly hoped he would be as infertile as me, never being able to father a child. I felt righteous in my wish to curse him, given how awful he was to me. He had actually told me we might have stayed together if I had been able to give him a child. At the time that off-hand comment gutted me, made me loathe myself and my defective reproductive system. Now, I realize not getting pregnant with his child was probably a blessing in disguise. He might have stuck around, but I have no illusions that he would have stayed loyal. While at one time I believe he would have been a good father, I learned in the short time we parented together, he didn't see child rearing as his responsibility. Sure, he liked kids, but he shirked responsibility and felt it was a woman's duty to change diapers, feed children and keep up with household chores. I certainly won't forget the night I begged him to stay home, to not leave me alone with a young child who had been in our house a matter of days. He callously ignored my pleas and selfishly went out drinking with his friends. Maybe he had matured in the 5 years since then. Or maybe she thinks the same about the division of labor between a husband and wife. Regardless, they will soon be parents and I need to keep myself from Facebook stalking them in the future.

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

The Name Game

Despite TPR being maddeningly elusive, the imminent adoption of the little ones has been on my mind since the meeting with the school two weeks ago. The county case worker indicated no rush to address adoption with Chica Marie during that visit, even after I expressed my desire for the discussion to begin sooner rather than later. I’ve been reticent to start the discussion mostly because things always feel so nebulous to me, but also because I view this as being the case workers ball to start rolling. After all, they are the professionals who have been taught the best way to say these types of things to a child. And, if my experience with Primero counts for anything, this is how it should be done. Still, no one but me has bothered to float the idea of adoption past Chica Marie. No one has bothered to check in with her, see how she views this whole thing or try to explain how it works in child-like terms. Just me. And I have said so little to her. I guess I’ve been waiting for the “right” time and viewed TPR as that measuring stick. But, as TPR continues to change and the goal of adoption remains the same, I’ve gotten brazen and have begun talking with Chica Marie about adoption. Luckily for us, she has seen adoption through Primero so she has seen that nothing, as far as the day-to-day life stuff, changes. Still, adoption to her is not something she can understand.

 

From past experience (when we had a fateful discussion about her mommy not being her legal mommy anymore, which she took to mean dead and could not stop crying about it), I decided to talk about names, rather than adoption itself. So, I explained first how Primero changed his last names, taking his second last name from his bio mom and adding my last name. Chica Marie promptly told me she hated my last name. Undeterred, I explained how Love Bug was going to keep his first name and change his middle and last names. She got more agitated, vehemently declaring she HATED my last name. Resolute, I forged on and asked her about changing her name or keeping her name how it is now, just using my last name instead. She had a fit, screaming she hated my stupid last name and didn’t want that name. She wanted to be called by the nickname her sister gave her, Butt-butt. Er, no. That is not happening. Abandoning the last name debate, I asked her about her first name. I suggested it is hard for people to know how to pronounce her name and thought perhaps we could switch her first name and her middle name or spell her first name differently or get a whole new name altogether. She opted for a brand new name, forgetting about her anger over my last name. Nothing I suggested appealed to her and other than the offensive nickname, she had no suggestions. Our conversation came to a halt when I realized the time and instructed her to prepare for a bath. This conversation was last week and we have not yet resumed negotiations. Primero, frustrated with Chica Marie’s indecisiveness, told me to just pick a name and forget about getting her consent. I would rather it not come to that.

 

There are a lot of schools of thought when it comes to changing the name of an adopted child, just as there are a lot of considerations. I wish it were as easy as it is for people having biological children, just pick a name and go, but it’s not. I have mourned many times the loss of naming my own children. I won’t get to use the names I had so lovingly picked out when I first started this journey. If we had been able to conceive naturally, and had a girl I wanted to name her Alice Adelia after our grandmothers. A boy would have been named Emerson Antonio (the middle name Flaco’s middle name and keeping with a tradition my parents started in giving the son the same middle name of the father – Love Bug is getting my father’s middle name). I won’t have an Allura Brielle or a Branson Nathaniel. No Henry David, no Molly Marie. It makes me sad, but I’ve given up dreaming of ‘what could have been’ and force myself to stay in the ‘what is’ camp.

 

I am not a fan of Chica Marie’s name and I really have an aversion to names using apostrophes, yet if she expressed a desire to keep her name as is, I would honor that. Unfortunately, Chica Marie is hard to pin down and while she pitched a fit over losing a last name she doesn’t even know (she can spell her first name but does not know her last name), she expressed no attachment to her first or middle name. After some more consideration, I have come to the conclusion that I am going to give her three options. Option number one is to keep her first and middle name as they are and add my last name. Option two is a slight deviation from her first name, keeping the first syllable but changing the ending and keeping her current middle name. The third and final option is another deviation from her original name, keeping the first syllable but changing the last and adding a new middle name. Even though she didn’t seem concerned about it, I thought it would be best to keep her first name with the same letter so we can keep using her nickname and not have one huge change all at once.

 

To my surprise, when I showed Primero the choices I had made his first question was, “what does she have from her mom?” Taken aback, I said in the first option, she retains her first and middle name that her mom gave her, in the second option she keeps her first name, it is only the third option that is a total change. I asked if his suggestion was I give both the children their mother’s last name as a middle name and he said no. Our conversation ended before I could ask him if he thought the name change felt like I was trying to cut ties from her mother because that is not my intent. And, if that is how it is perceived, then I’m not changing her name, just the spelling (I just find that apostrophe insufferable!). I guess I just need to sit with this more and wait for Chica Marie to find her voice on the matter.

Seasonal Transitions

Today is the coldest day since winter ended last spring and I forgot to put on a coat. Fortunately, the children are wearing jackets and I’m dressed warmer than I was yesterday. Still, I was chilly dropping kids off and getting to work this morning. I’ll need to dig out some fall jackets and stick them by the front door so I remember to wear them. The seasonal transitions always seem to take me by surprise. I guess I’m not much of a planner. My goal this weekend is to dig out my fall/winter clothing. I changed over my shoes (I have so many that they cannot inhabit the same closet all year and so roughly half of them get tucked away each season in what I dub the bi-annual shoe migration) but I never got around to doing my clothing, mostly because the weather kept fooling me with warmer than expected days. I just bought the little ones new winter pajamas over the weekend because it was getting too chilly to wear the summer ones they had.

 

Esperanza visited last night, coming over right after Primero got out of school. She was there when I got home. Primero and I had a therapy session and I asked our usual baby-sitter (Mr J’s girlfriend) to stay with the kids. Esperanza said she would most likely leave before we got home but she ended up staying. I took her home just before going to bed last night, although she seemed reluctant to leave. I think she was having a nice time reminiscing with Primero and it felt like old times. Those types of visits are hard to quit. While she was there I pumped her for information regarding her ex-friend with the car loan. I have some data I can share with the lender and Esperanza reached out to the friends older brother in a plea for her to take are of this issue. Apparently, she is living with her boyfriend in Florida and not working. Whatever. Not my problem.

 

During the visit a discussion came up regarding Hermano’s baby. According to Esperanza, some family members question if the baby is actually Hermano’s son because he doesn’t look like him. This tiny baby, just two months old this weekend, doesn’t look like Hermano and so mustn’t be his child. Primero also told me the baby was autistic (which made me mad because no one could possibly know this about a newborn) and now that he has Down Syndrome (which is used to accuse the child of not belonging to Hermano because there are no instances of Down Syndrome in his family – the ignorance in all of these suppositions enrages me). Basically, how I see it, Hermano is done playing daddy and is now trying to disqualify himself based on undetermined paternity. The irony is that CYS and his foster parents begged him to get a paternity test before agreeing the child was his and he refused, insisting he knew the baby was his baby. Now, he has broken up with the baby’s mother (again) and questions the baby’s paternity. As I told Esperanza and Primero last night, Hermano’s name is the one on the birth certificate so he is the legal father of the baby and therefore responsible for that child. I don’t feel sorry for him and I don’t feel sorry for the girlfriend; who I feel sorry for is the innocent baby they created and brought into this mess. The cycle of broken homes has now turned into this latest generation. Where will it end?

 

This morning Primero was pumping me for information on custody disputes. He said his younger sister (not the youngest, but the one in age just after him) has been asking to move back in with her step-father (the man she thought was her father for most of her life) and younger sister but her aunt (related to the other assumed biological father) wants her to move to Florida to live with her biological father. There are questions over who has legal custody of her, since her mom removed her from her step-father’s home and placed her with her paternal aunt, but still retains custody as far as anyone knows. We talked about how long her step-father had raised her and how she felt connected to him. We also discussed how her wishes would need to be considered since she is over 12 years old. Still, I told him it would be a complex case and there were a lot of outcomes, should it be taken into a courtroom for a decision. Primero seemed very concerned about the issue, I’m sure because he worried about losing a sibling to such a faraway place. I know he and Esperanza tried contacting their mother about the whole thing, but were unable to reach her. I hope the situation resolves itself in a positive manner.

The Golden Rule

In my attempts at being helpful and kind, I sometimes turn into a doormat. I have three very clear examples where my good will and generous acts turned right around to bite me in the arse. Yet, I foolishly keep putting myself out there to help people because I try to live by the golden rule – “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Except, this only works when the others are also living by that rule and I find that not everyone follows this creed. In fact, some people are much more “do to others before they can do to you;” a sadly adversarial approach to life. Listen, I am not a perfect person. I know my flaws all too well, trust me on this. I am just trying to better the icky parts of me just like everyone else in the world. Sometimes I get it right, but often times I am wrong. I could feel stupid and foolish for the things I’ve done to help someone that have caused me harm. I could sheepishly quote, “fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me,” but then I’m dipping into the angry kool aide that I try to avoid. The world has enough angry. The world has enough get mine and who cares about you. Call me a fool, if you will. But, I can look myself in the mirror and be ok with me, warts and all simply because I’ve tried; I have tried to make my own little corner of the world a better place. And I’ve reaped my rewards in the form of pain and financial peril. It gets hard to not get jaded after being burned so many times. Certainly, I am tempted to be a lot less helpful and more careful deciding who I choose to help.

 

Example one: After my ex left me we kept in touch and sadly kept fooling around because I was sad and lonely and pretty pathetic, actually. I don’t know if I was trying to convince myself he would change his mind, but we kept at it for some time. The December after he left (so, almost a year because he left on Valentine’s Day), he came to me and asked to borrow my car. I had made the last payment in September and he so graciously let me keep “our” car (note, the sarcasm), but he requested it to take a friend to work. I’m sure I guessed it was a lie, but gave him the keys none-the-less. I was living alone at the time, a pending foster care placement was in the works but still in their previous foster home this fateful night. I furiously tried calling my ex before I went to bed that night, angry that he hadn’t returned my car by the required time. Somehow I fell asleep only to be awoken by his call. He wasn’t forthright in telling me what happened but as I pressed for answers the true story slowly emerged. It was only when I saw my car that I realized what had happened. Instead of taking my car to drop a friend off at work (or, perhaps in addition to), he went drinking with the neighbor’s wife. The night was cold and a misty rain was falling. He let her drive my car and she was going too fast. She took a curve too fast, slid, lost control and smashed my car into a guard rail. Then, because they left the damaged car sitting, it was impounded an hour away from where we lived. My car was totaled. And not my ex nor the woman driving my car gave me a penny towards replacing my car. Sure, the insurance gave me money because I still had full coverage on it, but a good used car was hard to find for the amount of money they gave me. I got a lemon and then replaced it with another lemon because I have bad car luck.

 

Example two: I had been helping Primero’s sister her senior year of school. Because of a fight they had, things between her and I got strained and then very bad. And from that point on I was subject to cruel text messages, accusations, and her (nearly successfully) trying to drive a wedge between me and Primero. This whole time and even up to the present moment, I pay for her cell phone which had been a Christmas present. Even after all the vitriol, I helped Esperanza by allowing her to do laundry at my place and driving her to and from work fairly regularly. I don’t regret my decision to help her, I just wish all the nastiness hadn’t made things feel so sour. Our relationship has improved but lacks the warmth it had previously. I suppose I’m foolish but I’m not stupid.

 

Example three: The beginning of this year Primero and Esperanza’s friend from the CFA approached me for help. Her parents and younger sister had just moved to Florida. She was working 3-4 jobs and really needed reliable transportation. Would I co-sign a car loan for her? And, if you just groaned then you know where this story is headed. Now, 10 months later, the lender is calling me because the payment has not been made this month. I text the girl and she responded with, “ok thanks” yet the calls keep coming. Technically, I am on the hook for this money but I don’t have it for one and I really don’t want to pay for a car that I’m not driving (or even know the whereabouts). When I last spoke with the lender I suggested they re-po the car because I don’t have the means to pay the loan. This friend had a falling out with Primero and Esperanza so maybe she feels she is getting back at them, I really don’t know. Certainly, no good deed goes unpunished. I tried reaching out to her father via a friend of mine, but he also didn’t respond to me. Her mom used to be my friend on Facebook but she unfriended me and blocked me when things got ugly between her daughter and Esperanza (I feel I should note that I had nothing to do with the whole debacle so I’m not really sure why this happened and really, it’s only my guess). At this point, I can only hope she reaps what she sows.     

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

Good Job Mommy

The latest and most adorable thing Love Bug has learned is encouragement. He tells me ‘good job Mommy’ when I buckle him into his car seat, when I give him a fresh sippy cup of juice, when I tie his shoe, even when I yell at Chica Marie for doing something naughty, Love Bug tells me I’m doing a good job. It never fails to make me chuckle, his little words of praise for doing the smallest of things, although I suppose they are great things to someone who cannot do them.

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

Something Stuck in my Eye

Yesterday was not a good day. Things were going mostly well, until after the meeting with Chica Marie’s school and my car wouldn’t start. I thought maybe the gas gauge was broken and instead of ¼ tank of gas I had none. I decided to walk home and get the gas can we use to refill the lawn mower. Luckily, it had gas in it, saving me from a longer walk to the gas station. I carefully dumped as much as I could into my gas tank and thought surely the car would crank over and stay running. But, it didn’t. After several futile tries, I gave up and walked back home. I was home and Primero would be home soon, but I had no way to get the little ones. This was a problem. I began contacting people I thought could help me. Finally, I found my friend from work who promised to come get me after work. She asked me to meet her at the diner near my house. Primero helped me carry the car seats those 7-8 blocks and he waited with me until our neighbor drove by and stopped to see if we were ok. Knowing my friend from work was near, I told Primero to take the offered ride home and waited the last few minutes alone.

 

Once, I got the kids back home I decided to take my first ever Uber ride to my ASL class. I felt guilty about going, but I had paid for those classes and it ended up being a really fun class, which helps to keep me from losing my mind over all this mess. I called my dad during the break and he said he thought the fuel pump was the culprit and he moved the van from the spot it was at, since I parked in the bus parking spot thinking I would be gone before the buses got there. He suggested I use my AAA membership to get the van towed to the garage near him, which I did as soon as I got home. Primero, being the stellar kid he is, took care of giving the kids dinner (I had made taco meat in the crockpot and started warming some rice and beans from the night before), washed Chica Marie’s hair and put her to bed. He also helped my dad move the van. Love Bug was super clingy when I got home because he hadn’t seen me for much of the day. I had just convinced him to lay down in his crib when my phone rang and the tow truck driver asked if he had found my car. I dashed off, speed-walking the two blocks back to the school. I collected a few things from the van, like the stroller and gas can, and walked back home. I took a shower and sat down for a few minutes before it was time for bed.

 

This morning a friend drove over to my place so I could take him to work (he works at Primero’s school, so not too far) and have his car to get to work myself. At lunch I drove back to his work so I could return his car. After work I walked to the daycare, where I had stashed the car seats, to wait for my mom to come pick us up and take us home. It’s going to be a long weekend with no car. I have no idea how we will get the groceries we need and I’m super bummed I had to cancel my visit with my roommate from college. I’m hopeful the garage can fix my car with minor costs and time, but that just isn’t how it works for me.

 

I’m so tired of always having car trouble. I feel like I should be able to do something about it, but I just don’t have the money for a new car and can’t afford a car loan. It feels like when you have something stuck in your eye. You try to wipe it out and blink it away and when that doesn’t work you go to a mirror to see if you can see the invisible offending piece of hair or dirt in your eye. More blinking, more wiping, some tears and you think it’s gone until you walk away and that same irritation is there. Even if you get it out, your eye is still sore from the effort. That is pretty much how I’m feeling about life right now. I have this thing stuck in my eye and I cannot get it out. I probably don’t even make any sense right now because I am so, so tired.

A Day in the Life

I have read “day in the life” posts on other blogs and have decided to do one myself. I was hesitant to write it because it felt intrusive and too personal. But, then I realized I write an awful lot of personal things on this blog, so why not? And, I found a fellow blogger who was running a day-in-the-life post-a-thon, so what better time to give it a try? I have a link at the bottom of the page. So, here it goes!

This is a day in my life on October 12, 2016:

Participants:

Me - Mom and Foster Mom extraordinaire

Primero - teenage son, age 16
Chica Marie - Kindergartner, age 5
Love Bug - the little guy, age 2

Sometime before 6:20 am – I hear one of the cats knocking stuff down on my desk and yell for the cat to stop. Not long after this I hear one of the cats batting at my necklaces I have hanging in my room and yell at the cat to stop. Love Bug jabs both his feet between my shoulder blades.

6:20 am – My alarm sounds. It’s still dark outside. I roll over, grab my phone and hit the snooze button. I pry Love Bugs feet from under my back and close my eyes for 10 more minutes. I’m not a morning person.

6:30 am – My alarm sounds again and I repeat my previous routine, shifting Love Bug’s toes out of my kidney’s and repositioning myself for just 10 more minutes of sleep. I snuggle deeper into my covers, pondering what to wear today.

6:40 am – All out of snoozes, I turn my alarm off and drag myself out of bed. I walk into the kitchen to find a pile of dog poop and two puddles of pee on the kitchen floor. I turn the light on to clean it up. Then, I let the dogs out into the backyard, the crisp air dancing across my warm body. I use the bathroom and begin preparing my breakfast and gathering my lunch. I set out Chica Marie’s pills, get a sippy cup of juice ready for Love Bug and pour myself some coffee.

7:00 am – My alarm sounds again. It’s time to get Chica Marie out of bed. I go into her room, switch on the light and hand her the clothing I picked out last night. She says a groggy, “Good morning Mommy” and starts getting undressed. I resume eating my breakfast as Primero catches up on his social media.

7:10 am – Primero leaves for school after feeding the cats. Love Bug is now awake, demanding to watch SpongeBob on TV with his juice. I sigh, thinking he watches too much TV and drinks too much juice but those are pretty much the only things that keep us sane so I let it go. Chica Marie is now emerging from her bedroom and sitting at the table to take her pills.

7:20 am – My lunch is packed, breakfast is finished and I am now washing my face and brushing my teeth. Chica Marie joins me and I fix her hair while she brushes her teeth. I run the flat iron through my hair a few times and try to spray down the parts that are sticking out.

7:30 am – I find something to wear to work and cajole Love Bug into leaving the TV to get him ready for the day. He tries to hide from me under Chica Marie’s covers, but as always I find him and get him changed. I brush his teeth and comb his hair, then begin putting my make-up on.

7:40 am – Love Bug realizes it is getting close to go time and cannot fathom facing the day. He clings to my legs, crying for me to pick him up as I try not to stab myself in the eye with my mascara wand. I hand him his juice and tell him to watch TV with his sister.

8:00 am – My alarm reminds me we are running late and I yell to Chica Marie, “it’s time to go!” setting off wails of protest from Love Bug as I squirt a few drops of perfume on my neck and wrists, grab my phone and purse and head for the door.

8:01 am – Love Bug refuses to leave the house. As I holler for him to move, Chica Marie holds the front door open. I tell her to get in the car since I already opened the doors. I grab my work bag, purse and water and head for the car, calling to Love Bug I would be back for him. Prancer, the smaller dog, decides she wants to join the commotion and takes advantage of Chica Marie holding the door open. Prancer jumps in the van, expecting to go along with us. Her diversion distracts Love Bug who walks to the car with his sister and climbs in eagerly. I tug him into his seat and he babbles about the dog and asks me to turn the music up, please. I gingerly reach for the dog, knowing she tends to pee when you grab at her, and she tinkles on the notebook I used when I met with Primero’s school a few weeks ago. I carry the dog back into the house and grab a paper towel to soak up the pee.

8:07 am – There is no parking at our usual place, so I drive a little further and then park to walk Chica Marie to school. Love Bug walks with her, holding her hand. He says good-bye to her and then says good-bye to me, attempting to enter the building with his sister. I tell him he can’t go with her and he asks to be picked up. I carry him back to the car, strap him in and head out.

8:11 am – We are sitting at a red light and the van starts shuddering, then shuts off. It takes me 3 tries and several minutes to get it re-started. I worry what this means and vow to check the oil when I get home tonight.

8:19 am – We arrive at daycare. I walk Love Bug inside and worry if the van will start when I head back outside. Love Bug hands me his sippy cup and joins the other kids for breakfast. I say good morning and good bye to the staff, check the kids in with the finger scanner, and get back into the van. Luckily, it starts with no problem and I head the short distance to work.

8:28 am – I walk into work, greeted by the substitute security guard who likes to chit-chat. Fortunately, we don’t have a full staff meeting this morning, since I would be late. The morning passes by slowly, but eventually it is lunchtime.

12:05 pm – I sit outside for my lunch. My lunch buddy took a new job last month and so I’m on my own for lunches. I spend the time checking my Facebook, texting potential mates on the online dating app, and enjoying the peace and quiet. Too soon my 30 minutes are up and I head back inside for the afternoon orientation.

3:45 pm – I needed an afternoon pick-me-up and since our office is next to a Dollar General, I walked next door for a Reece’s Peanut butter cup. I mean, I need sweets like I need a hole in my head, but I don’t get enough sleep and chocolate helps to keep me from face-planting into my keyboard.

4:00 pm – Primero calls to inform me his bedroom is still infested with fleas. He also wanted to go over to a friend’s house but I reminded him Love Bug’s speech therapist was coming over and I wouldn’t be available to run him anywhere until it was too late in the evening.

4:30 pm – I leave work, remembering the car incident from this morning and worry about the van starting. It starts with no problem. I drive the short drive to pick up the kids. I get Chica Marie first, saving my arms and back from carrying Love Bug up the steps to get her. While talking to her teacher, she sneaks out behind me. When I turn to get her I see her tugging Love Bug up the last two steps into the school-age room. Love Bug gives the teacher a good-bye hug and we start back down the stairs, Love Bug reaching for my hand. I hobble down the steps, bent over holding Love Bug’s hand and telling Chica Marie to go slower. We pile into the car and Love Bug refuses to sit in his seat. After a melt-down, he accepts his waiting sippy cup and settles in for the short drive home.

4:55 pm – We arrive home and I usher the kids into the house. Primero is home, playing a video game. He tells me one of the cats peed on the couch cushion, so he has it in the wash. I immediately start a pot of rice, before unloading my work bag and giving Love Bug a fresh sippy cup of juice. Love Bug gets angry when I send Primero outside to start the grill. He is still screaming when his speech therapist arrives.

5:08 pm – Love Bug’s speech therapist comes in the house just as Primero gets the grill to light in a controlled explosion. Laughing, he asks me if his coveted eyebrows are ok. I toss him the tin foil to put on the grill and turn the rice down before heading into the living room with the speech therapist. Love Bug does good at first, but when he asks for the key to a Winnie the Pooh book and the therapist tries to tell him she didn’t bring either along this week, he has a melt-down. A new toy distracts him for a moment until he begins screeching about something else. I send Primero outside to put the marinated pork roast on the grill and Love Bug howls in protest. The speech therapist and I try singing to Love Bug and I sing his favorite song, the one I used to sing to him all the time while changing him. He calmed down enough to let me kiss him but then, inexplicably started another tantrum.

5:50 – The speech therapist is leaving, Love Bug has calmed down and is saying good-bye to her. That is, until I won’t let him stay on the front porch. I leave him with Primero so I can finish making dinner. I cut up the broccoli while the pot simmers. My favorite way to prepare broccoli is to steam it. I also make a pot of red beans. I go outside to rescue the pork roast. It got a little darker on the bottom than I would have liked, but it smelled delicious. I leave Primero to turn off the grill and take the roast inside on a plate. Chica Marie is having a fit about something, so I send her to her room where she rages and screams while I finish dinner. The broccoli is soft enough, so I take it off the burner and put a pan of ground meat on to cook. I’m going to put the ground meat in the crockpot to make tacos for Thursday night.

6:17pm – We sit down to eat. The pork loin is really good, Primero thoroughly enjoys it. Chica Marie actually eats all her beans and rice. Love Bug asks for seconds. I finish first and begin putting the left-overs into containers. I wanted to hurry so we could go to the store and get more flea control items plus pick up Chica Marie’s meds at the pharmacy. We leave the dishes for when we get back.

6:48pm – I wait in the car with pouting Chica Marie and screaming Love Bug while Primero escapes into the grocery store to find a flea treatment. He calls me for my opinion and Love Bug screams so loud because the music has stopped (I was using my phone to play music) that I’m sure my ear drums popped. I yell for him to stop and beg Primero to hurry.

7:08pm – I almost forget to stop at the pharmacy to pick up Chica Marie’s prescription. Fortunately, there is no one else in the drive-thru line so our task is quick and painless.

7:18pm -  We arrive home. I instruct Chica Marie to go inside and get her pajamas on while Primero and I put oil in the car. He uses his phone flashlight as I check and confirm the car was low on oil. Fortunately, I have a quart in the back, which I add after Primero and I wrestle the cap off. Love Bug watches us from the front door, pushing on the screen to break free. He demands chips as soon as I go back inside. I ignore him and go to the bathroom to put toothpaste on Chica Marie’s toothbrush.

7:30pm – I tie the pink silk head cover around Chica Marie’s hair. I had finally relented and put beads in her hair the other night and I was trying to keep it nice. Most mornings she wakes up with the head scarf stashed on the pillow next to her head. This does not help to keep her hair nice. I read her a short book and Love Bug comes in the room just as I am done. He hands me another book, but I saw all done and he screams. I tell him to say good night to his sister and turn the light out as I’m leaving the room to encourage him to make it a short ‘good night.’ I start water for the dishes.

8:05 pm – I’m finished washing the dishes and cleaning off the counters. I want to take a shower but Primero has been in the basement spraying the flea spray all over and also wants to shower. He used the entire can. Because I take less time than him, we agree I can go first. But, I need to change a whiney Love Bug into his pajamas first. I hand him his sippy cup of water that he sleeps with and try tucking him in but he is so dysregulated he cannot tolerate the normal good night routine and I leave him screaming in his crib to take a shower.

8:30pm – I am out of the shower after enduring a cold rinse because Primero started washing clothing he insisted was infested with fleas. He is folding the clean laundry he found in the dryer. I grab my ASL book to practice last week’s signs and to prepare my story about a farm for tomorrow night. Primero turns on Scream Queens. I play card games and check my email on my new laptop. I had contacted a previous co-worker about some essential oils company she joined and was reading about the virtues of using their organic offerings.

11:20pm – I realize it’s after 11 and get up to put Prancer outside. I don’t want a repeat of the mess I had to clean up this morning. While she barks at imaginary intruders, I brush my teeth and cajole Primero into turning off the episode of American Horror Story he was watching. I let Prancer back into the house, give Primero a hug and head to my bed.

11:39pm – Lights out, the day is over.

http://julia-transition.blogspot.com/2016/10/day-in-life-heads-up-for-fall-2016.html

Alphabet Soup and Infertile Cats

I had a three-day weekend because of Columbus Day. Saturday, as promised, we bombed the house to rid ourselves of fleas. We took 5 of the 6 animals to the local car wash where they have a room to wash pets, well dogs but it didn’t specifically say no cats, so we took them too. I say 5 of the 6 animals because we were missing a cat. The night before the living room was stuffy and I asked Primero to open the front door, forgetting the screen door was bent from when I fell out of it last year and so the cat escaped. We knew one cat had gotten out because after midnight, she showed back up meowing to be let back inside. We didn’t know the other cat was missing until we started packing them all up for the trip to get washed. Primero was worried she was hiding somewhere we couldn’t find her and would succumb to the bug bomb. I knew she was outside and, because we never got around to getting her fixed, I knew she was getting into trouble.

 

So, we left and drove the short distance to the car wash. We parked near the pet washing station and took the dogs and the kids into the soggy room first. There was a metal table in the middle of the room with a latch to hold the dog fast by their collar. Canela would not walk up the ramp so I had to pick her up, which she did not appreciate. We had already decided the order we would wash the animals so we set to work, washing Canela first, then Prancer the smaller dog. The kids splashed gleefully in the sudsy puddles and thought it was great fun. Next, we brought the cats into the room and began with the biggest cat, Brisa. She has the longest fur, which thankfully had been clipped short in the spring making it easier to wash. We then moved onto the kittens, even though they had recently been bathed at home. After all the animals were washed in the flea and tick soap, followed by an oatmeal wash, we loaded them back into the car and took a short side trip to Wal-Mart before heading back home.

 

Primero expected to see his cat dead inside when we reentered, but she was nowhere to be found. We spent the rest of the day cleaning the house until it was time for me to get ready for the concert. My cousin wanted to go see Rascal Flatts when they came to town, so we went together just her and I. She told me at the concert this was her first concert ever and I’m glad we got to go together. The concert was good and we had a nice time, even if I was pretty exhausted.

 

Later that night I heard cats fighting and then a single cat meowing. Primero was sleeping on the couch since he worried his room was not fully aired out from the bug bomb. I walked into the dark living room, listening for the cat. The meowing had gotten louder. I opened the front door and Primero’s cat, Harmony, came bounding inside. Shaking Primero’s shoulders I announced his cat had returned and he replied by asking if I had sprayed her with the flea spray. I told him he could do it in the morning and went back to bed.

 

I’m fairly certain this cat is now pregnant. I have been meaning to get her fixed, but she’s an inside cat and the timing never seemed to work out for us to take her. I had found a few less-expensive places and even called them to understand the process, but just never pulled the trigger. And now we will be stuck with kittens because I wouldn’t be so lucky as to have an infertile cat. There had been an orange and white male cat hanging around our house for ages. I would find him sleeping on the chairs we have on the front porch. I would hear him calling to Harmony when she was in heat. The chances of her not being pregnant are as slim as mine are to get pregnant. We still have one of Esperanza’s kittens to re-home and one we are supposedly keeping for Cousin, but I suspect we are keeping because Primero loves him. How did we become the crazy cat people?

 

Monday I decided to check off one item on my bucket list. It was simple and sort of strange, but I found I really liked it. The task was to take and post a picture of something representing every letter of the alphabet. Some things were very simple, B for Ball, C for Cat and I had to decide which P to use, Pumpkin, Polka dots (on Chica Marie’s backpack), Perfume, or Pillows (with a cat sleeping on top of them) – I went with Perfume since it was the most unique picture. Other letters, like Q and X were, as expected, harder. For Q I took a picture of the sign for Question in ASL and for X, thankfully my parents bought Love Bug a xylophone for Christmas last year, although I’m sure they didn’t have this in mind for it. Z was also tripping me up until I thought of zipper. It was a lot of fun, even if Primero did make fun of me, and I posted all the pictures to my Instagram account. I made some rules for myself to follow such as not using the same thing twice for two letters (such as using Primero for my letter A since his real name begins with an A and also B for boy or something like that), I had to take the pictures in order (this was really more to keep myself organized, but it also helped the pictures to capture more of the process of my day, which was neat), and I couldn’t use stock pictures or pictures of things I did not encounter during this day. I think it would be fun to do it again in a different place, like at the beach or zoo.  

 

Here is my list:

A – for Primero and Esperanza (who happened to be visiting at the time) – this obviously makes more sense if you knew their non-blog names, which both begin with A

B – for Ball, which also happened to be Blue

C – for Cat

D – for Drive thru (picking up prescriptions at the pharmacy)

E – for Eye (my own)

F – for Fish (it was Frozen and also what we had for dinner)

G – for Green (a picture of my aloe plant)

H – for Horse (a stuffed animal)

I – for Ice (this was my least favorite picture)

J – for Jump

K – for Kitchen

L – for Lock (on the front door)

M – for Make-up

N – for Naughty (Love Bug in time out for hitting his sister)

O – for Outlet cover (we have about a billion)

P – for Perfume

Q – for Question (the sign for Question in ASL)

R – for Red (a picture of the our laundry basket)

S – for Stop Sign (Primero went to visit a friend and I snapped a few pics of various stop signs then made a collage)

T – for Tub (when I gave the kids a bath)

U – for Up-stairs (this was also a tricky one)

V – for Videos

W – for Water (my Hint water, which is amazing!)

X – for Xylophone

Y – for Yogurt

Z – for Zipper

Injustice

“A new date was scheduled for 10/21 but now will need to be continued again due to the GAL not being available at that time.”

 

This was the response from the county case worker to the CHOR case worker’s question of when TPR was supposed to occur. The original date was in June, then it was going to be September, then October and now? Who knows! I understand the dates are dependent on the court, but for all that is holy, why didn’t someone think to ask the GAL about availability? People accused of crimes are promised a speedy trial by their sixth amendment; children who have done nothing wrong are not given the same promise. Instead, they are sent to languish in a system of instability indefinitely, their fate decided on the whim of an over-burdened court. I want to rage! I want to scream! I want someone to look at this mess and say, “That’s not ok and I’m going to do something about it!” But, all I can do it whine to the CHOR case worker and soldier on.    

Double Whammy

We have fleas. To be more accurate, the cats have fleas they are sharing with the rest of the household. As these things go, we now have a full-on infestation with ground zero being Primero’s bedroom. Our weekend plans now include two bug bombs, dragging all six animals to the car wash where they have a room to wash animals and then thoroughly cleaning the house top to bottom. Before acknowledging the swarm that is upon us, Primero and I tried bathing the two kittens we inherited from his sister (we had three originally and found one a home). We did manage to kill a plethora of fleas but we did not wipe out the entire horde plaguing our home. Primero’s plight is the worst, having the kittens sleep in his room each night, but I’ve dealt with a flea infestation before and know their tricks. Primero thinks we can get away with just bombing the house and all our flea problems will dissipate with the toxic mist. I know this to be untrue. To sincerely alleviate our home of all biting intruders we need a deep clean, flea powder and diligence in liberal reapplication. All bed sheets must be washed. All floors must be scrubbed. The couch, rugs, and any other upholstered thing needs to be vacuumed repeatedly until we can rest assured there is nary a flea among us. Ugh, I feel itchy!!

 

In other news (because you know, there can’t be just one thing going on at a time), I was in my Facebook messenger app last night trying to find a message I had sent to my former college roommate who is coming for a visit in a few weeks and well, I found something else. Have you ever stumbled upon something that you didn’t want to know but when you found out it was too late to un-know it? Sigh. So, that is what happened to me last night. I inadvertently found two unpleasant pieces of news when I accidentally and inexplicably found the “other” folder of Facebook messages. You know, the ones that don’t ping and show up, but hide in some mysterious back room chat that I had no idea how to find until last night? Yeah, those messages. From non-friends. The first thing I found was from a former paramour (I called him Montana on here). The message itself was fairly innocuous, just wishing me a happy birthday two years ago. It was his photo, that tiny little circular blob, that threw me for a loop. I had to take a closer look. My fingers made the click before my mind could make them reconsider. The picture was of this guy wearing a gray suit standing behind a woman in a white dress, his arms wrapped around her. Pretty obvious what that is, right? A five minute Facebook stalking session later and it appears they met last May and were wed this past June. This makes the second guy I’ve sort of dated who has found someone – a previous love interest had a baby over Labor Day. And I am still single. But, let’s not go there.

 

The second message I discovered was old, from June 2011. Again, I should have skipped it, moved on and not opened that can of worms. Again, I’m just not that smart. This was an anonymous message in Spanish alerting me to my then-husband’s indiscretions. They even copied a message he had sent to another woman commenting on how he liked her, etc. I know my ex was unfaithful but this was evidence of an earlier dalliance than I had known about. I was only clued in six months after this message had been sent to me. In the grand scheme of things it matters not, but taking it as a double whammy made my stomach hurt and my eyes sting. Is there any wonder why I’m still single?     

Lack of Support

I used to think I had an amazing support network, a whole host of people I could turn to when I needed help. Lately, I feel like I have no one. I don’t know if what I felt like was support in the past was just ethereal imagined support or if my legitimate support network has somehow dissipated. I certainly felt like I had support when my ex left. Now, if some calamity befell us, I’m not sure who I could turn to for help. I have three young women I rely on to baby-sit the kids when there is something I am doing and Primero is either not available, going along with me, or it’s too long a time for him to be alone with the kids (he reaches a limit after a while). Two of the three drive, one shares a car with her boyfriend (Primero’s oldest brother) and the other works third shift (my cousin). If something were to happen where I became incapacitated, I honestly don’t know what would happen. Primero could not be expected to shoulder the load and it would be very difficult to cobble together assistance from the three most reliable sitters I have. I used to think this is the part where family would step in to help out, but I no longer believe that would happen.

 

I haven’t actually spoken to my mother after our text fight two weeks ago. She text me happy birthday on Saturday but declined my invitation to join us for dinner, stating they had other plans. I doubt she accepted my apology and she certainly won’t try to see things from my side. The loss of my parents support is the most disheartening. Knowing I could not turn to them if things got really bad for us is a very hard pill to swallow. I erroneously assumed my parents wanted to be the kind of grandparents I had in my dad’s parents, my Nana and Pop Pop. Granted, my grandparents lived very close to my parents (they still do), just down the hill on the same farm, so certainly that made things easier. As children my mom would send us out to play and we would inevitably end up at Nana’s house to use her bathroom, grab a snack, settle a fight, or just relax. My grandmother loved having us over, baking for us, playing card games with us, taking us for nature walks around the farm. My grandfather would take us with him on the tractor out in the fields. Almost every Friday night we went with my grandparents to get dinner and groceries – the same thing my parents would do, but it was somehow better with Nana and Pop Pop. We would sleep over at Nana’s place from time-to-time and when my parents brought me home from my tonsillectomy, we had breakfast at Nana’s. Monday nights were hectic so my grandmother would make dinner for all of us, giving my mom a breather. My grandparents were also tapped to provide transportation when they had three kids going in three different directions at the same time. Needless to say, we spent a lot of time with my grandparents and I have a lot of cherished memories with them.

 

Somehow, I got it into my mind that my parents would want to be the same kind of involved grandparents and for a little while it seemed to go that way. When we were initially going through the classes with CYS, my mother was indignant that she would not be permitted to baby-sit her grandchild without getting clearances. I know my mom was hurt when the little guy left three years ago. She had gotten attached to him and mourned the separation when he and his older sister went back to their mom. I know she was sick when Love Bug and Chica Marie were placed with me and that inhibited the bonding process (I have no memory of my mom holding Love Bug when he was tiny). I know both my parents have expressed how hard it has been to connect with Primero. I sometimes wonder how it all might have been if I were able to have a biological child. I wonder if my parents support would have diminished as much for a child they perceived more as theirs? I don’t know. I probably won’t ever know. I do know my mom has made mention on more than one occasion that the things she held onto for grandchildren are no longer needed since she won’t be having grandchildren. She has denied an attachment to all three of the children I consider mine and no amount of incredulous mouth-gaping sideways glances have dissuaded her from this idea. Given that the children aren’t viewed as “hers” I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised when support is lacking. I don’t know what caused this dissonance, why my mom seems unaccepting of the children who will be (most likely) her only grandchildren. I don’t understand what the issue it and can only speculate it has something to do with unresolved issues regarding infertility, maybe hers, definitely mine. For a long time I was waiting, holding my breath in anticipation, for my mom to fall as madly in love with my kiddos as I am. It hasn’t happened and I fear it might never happen. I feel like I am standing at a fork in the road; on one path I continue on, fighting and pushing my mom to accept my children as her grandchildren, on the other path I walk away and distance myself from my parents to preserve my relationship with my children. What a heartbreaking decision to have to make.     

Heaping Coals Upon My Head

Would this offend you?

 

Last Saturday the kids and I were out running errands before we had to be home for an ATT Installation. It was lunchtime and we were hungry, so we went to one of our favorite Chinese restaurants. The day was cloudy and a brisk wind kicked up from time to time. Having been accustomed to the warmer late summer days and being inside, I dressed the kids in summer clothes. Love Bug was wearing shorts and a tee-shirt and Chica Marie was wearing leggings and a short-sleeve shirt. I was dressed in capri pants and a ¾ length sleeve sweater shirt with flip-flops. Primero wore a sleeveless shirt and shorts. The restaurant was chilly, it seemed like they had the AC on to keep the cooks in the back cooler, but for the diners it was rather chilly. The restaurant was busier than usual and we sat at our usual table near an elderly couple. The woman had a white fleece jacket draped over her shoulders. Chica Marie was chilly when she sat down and also not having a very good day, having been in time out twice before we left the house. Now, Chica Marie has a flare for the dramatics, so of course she acted like I just walked into Siberia and plunked her down on a giant ice cube under a snow machine. She didn’t say a word, she just pantomimed how frosty she felt. The woman at the table next to us took it upon herself to fix my bad parenting and marched over to our table to plunk her coat over Chica Marie. She didn’t say a word to me, she didn’t even look at me. I was both angry and mortified and wanted to just get up and leave right at that moment. The waitress, who knows us and always chats with us, came over and put an arm around my shoulders. Sensing my unease she said, “She is a good person, a pharmacist. She is a really great lady trying to help.” I would not be assuaged. I found her to be rude and judgmental. Primero went to the car to seek out a sweater for poor frigid Chica Marie, before finding one in the diaper bag hanging on the back of his chair the whole time. He took the white jacket off of Chica Marie and handed her her own black sparkly hoodie. Primero walked the sweater back to its owner and I sat stone faced, my cheeks burning. When our food arrived I was too worked up to eat and just wanted to leave the restaurant posthaste. Even when I ate my meal as left-overs they didn’t taste good to be because of the memory of what happened.

 

So I ask, how would you feel in this situation? Was she a Good Samaritan, just trying to help where she saw need? Or, was she a nosy, busybody trying to make a point, whatever that might have been? One extra layer to add to this story is the difference in race – the elderly couple were white, I am a white mother with a Hispanic son and two black children. Did race play a role in this showdown? Have you ever been on the receiving end of someone’s “goodness” that really just felt like heaping coals upon your head?

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