Happy Halloween

Since we live in the bible belt, we had to do our Trick Or Treating yesterday*. Apparently if we did it today on sacred Sunday, it would invoke evil spirits or some stupid shit like that. Because nothing says Satan like kids dressed as Yo Gabba Gabba characters.



So if you're stuck home today too, here's some old Halloween related posts to peruse:

Halloween books for kids

Creepy mask for adults

Pumpkins through the years

*No joke, the city will "not allow" Trick-or-Treating anytime other than between 4-8pm on Saturday October 30th 2010. But it's okay to Trunk-or-Treat on Sunday October 31st 2010 at participating churches. Let's see if we get arrested, shall we.

First Hay Ride

Stream of Consiousness

My sister turned 31 and I made her a cake, per her specifications. Basically she wanted a tan colored cake and then have a whole bottle of sprinkles to throw up on it. Mission accomplished. It's a caramel cake mix with caramel flavored icing, compliments of Duncan Hines.



In other news,

Pumpkin Patch

Oh Stormy Day

Have I mentioned lately that I hate tornadoes? Well, I do. Hate them.




Pics are of the sky, pre tornado. The day felt odd. Unseasonably warm. Eerie. There was just an uneasy feeling in the air. And then, the sirens went off. Yep, hate tornadoes.

Southern Stereotypes

Last night's text message to my friend who is most definitely not southern:

"Was at funeral home and started to go out to eat but had to come home for daddy's teeth. Are we southern or what?! Thought you'd get a kick outta that."

Doing our best to reinforce all those stereotypes about southerners.

Birth Parent Contact, revisited

I recently wrote to someone about how I was contemplating contacting the BirthParents. I wanted to send them pictures but didn't know where to send them. I just kept feeling like they were missing out on so much of the kid's lives, and I didn't want that. But, I also didn't want to invite the drama back in. The time without any contact has been rather peaceful. I haven't been threatened since August. Oh how glorious.

Turns out I needn't worry. They contacted me.

Remember the text about the 250k settlement and moving to another state? Well, apparently that "fell through" as they say. BirthMom did end her probation here in a local city, but is still on probation in another city in this state. Until March 2011 which is conveniently when Baby#7 is due.

Do you remember all the threatening text messages, erratic behavior, etc from June and July (and all the months prior to that, if I'm being honest) when they claimed to be stable? When BirthMom allegedly went to the hospital for a mental breakdown. When BirthDad kept saying they were stable because they had their own place with electricity and they were both working, but really they were sleeping on someone's couch and only BirthMom was working. Yeah, they were already pregnant with numero siete then.

Anyway, the reason they contacted me again was to ask what they needed to do in order to keep this baby. I told them to get a lawyer. They asked how much mine costs. They said they couldn't afford that and would he, the lawyer, be willing to give me a discount. Essentially they want me to hire a lawyer for them. AKA they want me to give them money. I know, surprise surprise, nothing changes. But oh, by the way, how are the babies? Always an afterthought.

Since they were so stable back in July with their living arrangements and everything, I figured they'd still be stable now, right? Umm, wrong. They've moved again to another trailer park in yet again another county, this one doesn't have them on record. They just recently got electricity and water, but have been living without it. And as always, BirthMom is working while BirthDad is "looking for work". He was working "a good job" at McDonalds but was "only getting $100 a week" so quit because he wasn't going to be "treated like shit". BirthMom's at a new job but working consistently.

I reiterated that we wouldn't be doing visits again until they were stable-stable for at least a few months. And they couldn't tell the kids to call them mom and dad (for those of you just tuning in, we've had both kids since birth, and CPS didn't allow parental visits so they didn't start until after adoption finalization which was this year). And they couldn't bring other people to the visit. And they can't try to take the kids out of my line of sight, or give them milk based products as the kids are lactose intolerant, or give them soda as they are only 10 months and 2 years old respectively. The BirthParents didn't really agree or disagree, just remained silent and then changed the subject.

One week later BirthMom called crying. BirthDad got put in jail on an old warrant. They were driving in a vehicle with no tag, without insurance, and BirthDad's name came up when they ran his license. She was so upset because she didn't have $200 to get him out and he's her "other half" and she was "lonely" and couldn't "do this without him". And if I could just loan them the money, they promise to pay it back. And could I please drive the 2 hours to where they live to pick her up and take her to the police office to bail him out of jail. Hell to the NO was my answer, just in case you're wondering. Well then, could I help her "a little with some groceries or something" because she's "starving" and hasn't had "anything to eat in two days and won't get paid until Friday". And, to top it off, they are behind on rent and the landlord will evict them if she doesn't pay at least half by the 22nd of October. Cry. Cry. Cry.

I was very firm in that we weren't going to help them financially or in any other way. We are happy to send them updates on the kids, etc. That is when she decided to ask for a visit because it would "make everything all better". According to her, they haven't been able to get on their feet since I stopped letting them see the kids. If she could just see them, and if I would take them to see BirthDad in jail, she knows that they would be able to get through all this until the 250k comes through. Cry. Cry. Cry.

Perhaps I sound like a cold hearted bitch (well, in fairness I do have a heart of stone) but the manipulation is not going to work on me THIS TIME. Sorry.

Another time she called me crying because she was so lonely and just wanted someone to talk to (because you know, after 200+ days of not having my spouse here because he's in a war zone doesn't compare to her 2 days of being without her spouse because he's in jail, again). She said she didn't have "anyone else" just me and BirthDad. Forty five minutes into the conversation, which entailed her denying all the abuse and neglect charges of her first 4 kids and blaming CPS for beating her child and taking photographs to use to frame her, stating over and over that she was a "good mom" but people kept sticking their nose where it didn't belong, I heard laughter in the background and asked if she was okay. Turns out, she had been riding in the car with 3 other people the entire phone conversation. She wasn't alone at all. She has supports that are local to her, albeit people who are in the same situation. She even told me how they've been cooking her steaks for dinner to help "take care of the baby" (but remember she's starving and hasn't had a bite to eat in two whole days). I promptly let her go and cursed myself for letting her suck me into the drama. Forty five minutes of my life wasted.

Yesterday BirthMom had to let me know about her "medical emergency" wherein her sugar bottomed out because she hadn't eaten all day. After a trip to the doctor, she learned she probably has gestational diabetes. But of course, she didn't want to hear anything about my experience with GD or my current experience with Type 2 diabetes. She just wanted the attention and sympathy and help buying the proper foods she needs to eat "for the baby". The baby doesn't need to be getting all those stress hormones either, she constantly reminds me, like I'm supposed to give her whatever she wants so the stress will alleviate. And she also lets me know about the other people who are helping her out and have offered to take the baby if they loose it. The main person being her OBGYN. He wants to adopt it, only if it's a boy.

I don't have an emotional attachment to this baby. I would like to see the BirthParents get on their feet and get to raise this child themselves (mainly so they will STOP PROCREATING). I hope the 250k comes before the baby is born. Because if it doesn't, and they don't move to another state, they will most likely loose this baby too. CPS in this county will notify CPS in their current county, and with their record and current instability and lack of adequate means for caring for a baby, I think that county would step in and take the baby. But, it would probably go into a foster home there, not here. And they would probably be allowed to work a case plan, like they did with the first kids. And like that case, it will probably go on for years and years with them doing just enough to prevent TPR but not enough to get the baby back. And then they'll get pregnant again and forget about the other baby. Or they'll just adopt the baby to the OBGYN or whoever is giving them what they want at the time of birth.

Either way, I asked BirthMom to take care of herself. To not smoke or drink or take any medications not prescribed by her doctor. And to make sure she keeps her medical appointments and takes her prenatal vitamin. She replied that she hadn't had a drop to drink in over 3 years. Need I remind you that she admitted to drinking vodka in her orange juice with BabyGirl (whose only 10 months old)? That she couldn't wait to pop that baby out to go take a puff off a cigarette. That already while pregnant with this baby, she has taken pain pills and crazy pills without telling the doctor who prescribed them that she was pregnant. And, every time I have a chance, I encourage her to wait until her due date to deliver so that maybe they will have the 250k by then and she'll be ending her probation by then too. Really though, I just want her to stop inducing a month early which nearly proved fatal for BabyGirl. If they are going to keep this baby, I want it to be a healthy 6/7/8 pounder and not a barely alive 3 or 4 pounder.

Happy Birthday Daddy

If it weren't for you, I wouldn't know how to grow pot. Or roll a joint. Or tell the difference between Quaaludes and white crosses. I wouldn't know how to shoot a bow or clean a gun. I couldn't gut a deer or clean a mess of fish. I probably would have never learned to tie my shoes or count money, and dude I can finally tell time on a clock with hands. Thanks to you. By the way, I could have done without the drug education.

Some of my best memories of our time together was when we went frog gigging, arrow head hunting, and gathering fire wood. Those were our special times together because it was just you and me. I loved helping you work on the old 67 PanHead and can still recall riding across state lines with all four of us squished on that Harley, only one helmet to share. Oh that iconic flag helmet. The smell of grease can take me back to that time not so long ago (wait, it's been 25+ years ...).

I try and block out the motorcycle gang years. The Four Horseman. Just thinking about it all makes my stomach queasy. It was during this time that you began to hit mother. And openly cheat on her (or rather when you began to confide in me like I was your best friend). It was during this time that I simultaneously began to hate and fear you. So many nights spent hiding my sister under the bed while you destroyed mother's face. It was so hard to understand why she wouldn't leave you. Even harder to comprehend why you did it in the first place. All of that partying was not healthy for us kids to witness. We didn't need to see the wet tshirt contests, the stripping, the wife swapping, the orgies, the drugs. I still bare scars from this experience. I still struggle with these demons. I was glad you got out when they became the Devils Disciples. It was scary, wasn't it, the getting out.

I remember your Afro years. How in the hell a skinny redneck white boy was able to pull off a ginormous afro, I don't know, but you did it. I remember the long haired hippie years. I guess those technically came first, the hippie years. You cheated on mom for the first time that I know of when I was only 2 years old. We went to live with Grandmother for what was probably only a nanosecond, I'm sure. Then when you got back together, you did the afro thing. Shortly thereafter my sister was born and we moved into the old house with little indoor plumbing and plenty of rats. I hated that place, still do. Was glad when the termites took it down my freshman year of high school.

I'm jumping around in time, but you know that.

Every time you would befriend a coworker, you would take up their hobby. There was the guy who liked to arm wrestle, so we spent every free moment arm wrestling and attending social events where all the men arm wrestled and all the women drank mixed drinks. Us kids played with our lite brites and barbies. There was the guy who raised pigs, so we got one too. It used to get out of the pen and chase the mailcarrier, which was hilarious because the mailcarrier was in a vehicle for crying out loud. One of my school friends named the pig Penelope which made it hard when we spent all day grinding Penelope into sausage in the kitchen of that old house. Then there were the goats who ate everything, including beer cans and bicycle seats. It was cool when you had turkey eggs flown in, complete with incubators, and we got to help with them. When they first hatched we would sit with the turkeys in the corn crib and let them peck at our freckles. Then they grew up and became dinner.

There was the friend who had his own race car so we spent weekends at the drag strip getting high off laughing gas. The friend who grew ginseng. So we made trips into the woods hunting for plants which we then transplanted back home to grow. I'm sure we trespassed a bunch of times. The friend who went deer hunting. And dear god, why did this hobby have to coincide with my teen years? Weeks at a time spent in the mountains with no electricity and no running water. That is NOT the idea of fun for any female teenager that I know of, period. Though I admit that all of those hobbies were preferable to the dog fighting years. I dearly loved our pit bull and every puppy she had, so it pained me to see you fight her until she was a bloody mess. It broke my heart every time you shot one of my dogs. Oh gosh it was so cruel.

I enjoyed collecting coins with you. It was fun to see this side of you. I know it was hard for you to do certain things with us because you only completed 5th grade, but we enjoyed when you tried. I remember the Uncle Sam piggy bank, the set of encyclopedia Britannicas that we hid two dollar bills in, and at any given time could tell you how much money was stuffed into the curtain rods in each room of the house. I remember helping you build a fence for the animals. I remember working in the garden, shucking corn, shelling peas, boiling tomatoes to get the skins off for canning. Picking ice cream buckets full of blackberries and getting eat up with chiggars in the process. Daily walks down to the branch to throw sticks in the water. Summers spent camping, boating, fishing, hiking, and going to the zoo. There were lots of good memories.

Every morning for years I would wake up to Rocky & Bullwinkle with Boris and Natasha on the TV, followed by Gumby. I don't know if that was what you preferred to watch in the mornings, or if that was all that was on. Every night while eating dinner, we would watch Star Trek. You loved Star Trek. And Coors Light. These are the things I remember about you.

We rode the four wheelers to a party at someone's house and came home with a baby squirrel. You let us keep that thing in the house until it got older and then you meticulously fed it and checked on it every day down at the barn. The whole time it was alive, you didn't allow anyone to go squirrel or bird hunting on our property. Thank you for that.

Thank you for teaching me karate and boxing. It came in handy during fist fights with boys and with my sister. And for that one time the Senator's son tried to do something stupid at a party.

I don't know why I'm saying all of this. I meant to just tell you Happy Birthday!

I realize that our relationship is complicated. For every time you've called me a bitch, you've done something helpful like changing my flat tire or babysitting my kids. One time you'll fall all over yourself telling me how much you love me and how proud you are of me. Other times you'll refuse to say "love you too" when I say it to you. Or you'll complain about the way I'm raising my kids. Or why I won't just shut up and mind my own business.

Not a Valentine's Day has gone by that you haven't bought me a heart shaped box of candy. I think that must be your favorite holiday. One year for Christmas you gave us a card with a $100 dollar bill inside. It was supposed to be money for buying a pony. It was very, very sweet but nowhere near enough to purchase a horse. I still have the card though because it is one of the few times you've ever written a note to me. It's the only representation I have of your handwritting.

And that's more than you have of your father's handwritting. I can't image how you must have felt. How you must have reacted as a child watching your father blow his brains out. So much of who you are, is because of your raising. Yours was so much harder than mine. I feel as though I have watched you grow up. At times like I was parenting you. You needed it. You still do. Knowing this makes me have empathy for you. And most times I am able to appreciate all of the experiences I've had in my life, because of you. It has certainly been interesting. So thank you Daddy. I can't imagine having anyone else for a dad. Hope you are around for many, many, MANY more years.

Happy Birthday

I love you

Introducing Sparkles

Sparkles is the affectionate one. He, or she, hell I don't even pretend to know which anymore, will inch closer and closer until s/he is in your lap. Sparkles is all about the snuggles and ear rubs. S/he also has those sad eyes, like Malachi (soon to be renamed to something less butch).

Orlando Bloom Where You're Planted

Okay people, we've got to do this Orlando trip. You don't have to be a foster/adoptive parent to go. You don't even have to have kids to attend this retreat. Just email Corey and tell her you want to stay in the house with Yours Truly (yep, I'm going). We've gotta fill this baby up. And hey, there's even a scholarship fund, so no excuses!

My flight is booked. My deposit is mailed (literally, just today). All that is left now is finding someone to keep my brats wonderful children. Is it March yet?

My sister's pumpkin

We bought a pumpkin, but before we could carve it into a jack o lantern, the dogs ate it. My sister on the other hand, bought hers and carved it immediately. Then she proceeded to call 5 gazillion times until I went to her place and took a photograph of her mad carving skillz. Thereafter we got into an argument because when I went to check the mail (yes, in the dark) I stepped in cat shit where she dumped her cat litter under the mailbox! Her reply "At least it's not in the driveway this time." Perhaps I should perfect my own carving skills on my sister. Just sayin.

207 Days of Solo Parenting

Two hundred and seven days down, Only 158 more to go. Oh wait, in another month or so we'll have 12 days of wedded bliss cohabitation before resuming the count down. You know you're jealous.

Dude, Malachi's not a dude

Picture this: It's 1am Friday night / Saturday morning and you are dead asleep since you're suffering from the chest cold from hell that will not go away. Long gone are the days of partying until the sun comes up. Now are the days of going to bed with the sunset, waking every half hour to pee (or soothe a crying baby who also has said chest cold), and waking up with crusty boogers on the outside of your nose (feeling completely hung over, without the fun part of actually drinking). Oh so pretty. So anyway, dead asleep (as opposed to just pain dead, which you know may not be too far off) and you wake up to the nosiest burglar EVAR. You rush to investigate, gun in hand, sure to find a drunken thief trying to get your sofa out of the living room window, because really, what else could possibly be making all that noise? Only to find a dog orgy going on in your front yard. Dogs were hitting the side of the house. They were throwing the food pans around. One was up on the kid's slide.

You know that picture of dogs playing pool (or is it poker) smoking and drinking beer? It was like the afterparty for all those dogs was going on here at the house. And Malachi? He, err, she was the party favor.

I am forever traumatized.

So Malachi needs a new name. A girl name. And soon, we're gonna need a bazillion other dog names. Puppy names. I didn't even know 4 month old dogs could go in heat? I mean, he she has gained tons of weight recently but I thought it was because he she was not as active (since not being invited to play reindeer games). He She may already be baking buns in the oven? How did this happen!

I'm off to examine the other dog's private parts now. Watch them all three be knocked up.

Introducing Malachi

Malachi is technically my dog. TheDaughter brought Sparkles home from horse camp and I brought Malachi. The purpose was so they wouldn't whine all night long since they were barely weaned. Turns out Malachi "nursed" on Butterscotch's boy parts, so he didn't miss mom's teats at all. Leave it to me to have the gay dog.



Malachi is very sweet and minds better than any of the other dogs. He gets left out of their games, like Rudolph. Damn maybe I should change his name. They exclude him from playing chase. He has to eat last. He gets picked on and bit the hardest. And if Malachi has a toy and Butterscotch or Sparkles wants it, then he has to give it up. Doggie discrimination? It's not fair!

Bird-Like

Aww, baby feet are so cute! Except when your baby is half bird sporting a talon on each pinkie toe. Can't make this shit up.

Our Weekend

After a couple of weeks of relatively stable health, on Friday my resting heart rate was 80 bpm and I felt like poo. Drove to pick up Melissa for the weekend. Bought the dogs another chew toy (does anyone else remember Gumby?)in hopes that they would stop chewing the house. Seriously, they do more damage than a mound of termites.



Saturday was, as always, soccer day. I spent the entire game feeling guilty for neglecting to feed her a healthy and nutritious breakfast, and wishing I had a Canon 50D to better catch the action shots.



Sunday was spent at the zoo photographing big hairy butts, human hands on a squirrel monkey, and random strangers who kept walking into my shot. We had a great time.