Foster family goodness

Let me start by saying, I love me some family. This is why we foster family.

A few days ago I was struggling. Struggling with my foster Mom responsibilities. We have a foster kid on the weekends and he can be a handful.  He has some behavioral issues that I can't bend or mold them because he only listens to my husband. We can't discipline him like our own kids because he's not.

One of the big issues is the fighting between him and my kids. It was RIDICULOUS THIS WEEKEND.  My kids don't fight, they have a dyad that works well for them. My older daughter is in charge and my middle son follows. It works great.

But, when the foster guy comes it's contentious. They fight over the Wii, they fight over leggos. They fight because it's winter and can't go to the park. They fight over breakfast, lunch and dinner. They fight like brothers and sisters and it drives me nuts.

After one fight, I told my daughter to leave the room. If she's not in charge-she gets all worked up and starts to cry. I think the chaos of not controlling everything makes her world spin too fast. SHUT UP. I REALIZE THIS IS MY PROBLEM TOO. So I sent her to her room to cool off.

I brought the little foster guy up to her room and he apologized and she apologized. I said to him, "You can give Pancake a hug if you want." But my daughter was having none of it. So, I said to him, "You can hug me and pretend it's her." Then he said, "That's what I do with my Mommy. She's behind glass at the jail so I pretend to hug her when I see her."

OH MY GOD. SERIOUSLY. WHAT DO I SAY TO THAT?!!!

It crushed me and made me realize that I'm being way too selfish here. This isn't about me or my kids. There is no dividing line between my kid and my foster kid. We are all children of God. I need to share the joy and love I've been given.

And make the Wii disappear. That device causes way too many fights!

Hallucinating at the dentist's office

The wee babe, now two months, wakes up every 1-2 hours for food. He does this 24 hours a day. Needless to say, I am sleep deprived. Zombie sleep deprived.

However, life doesn't stop just because you have a newborn. There is laundry to wash, hungry older kids to be fed and root canals to canal.

Stupid root canals.

I woke up about 10 minutes before my dentist appt and drove half asleep to the office.  I knew I was in trouble when I got in the chair. I couldn't wake the frick up. I had been up all night with Mr. Thirsty. HEY. That's what we should call the new baby in this blog, Mr. Thirsty!

Also of note, my peripheral vision wasn't coming in right. Like tunnel vision.  Then I realized I hadn't eaten in over 18 hours. I should have pounded a coffee and a muffin before I left. Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

Anywho-they started by  injecting stuff in my cheek then laying me down to let it set up. Which didn't help. I started to have sleep dips when they left me alone. I started to panic. I needed to be awake so I could keep my mouth open. So they could do the flippin root canal.

At this point, I started getting giggly. Then, the dark outer edges of my vision started getting sparky. Yep, I was hallucinating sparks at the dentist's office. Then, my boobs started to leak. That special kind of leak that nursing moms get. Thankfully I was wearing boobie  pads and didn't leak through my sweater. Score!

At this point I decided not to fight it. If I was going to spaz out and go absolutely insane, I needed to let it be. So, I settled back with my sparks, my sleep dips and my leakiness.

Good times people, good times :)

Mr. Thirsty is almost ten pounds now. He was born a little sprout, five lbs five oz. He was little enough to warrent a week's stay in the NICU. I can't tell you how happy I am he's grown so much in two months time.

The past weeks have been such a blur. But I'm so greedy for all of this. I want to remember this blur, this tired, this non stop feeding. I cradle his head in my hands and just sob sometimes. We worked so hard to get him. Two years with two miscarriages and then his pregnancy took. I was so pukey for 5 months, then came the migraines and back pain.

His pregnancy was the hardest of them all-physically, mentally, emotionally. We won't be pregnant again, Mr. Hall has been taken care of. Which I'm not suppose to blog about so there Mr. Hall, I'm not blogging about it.

So all of this- the tired, the hallucinating, the happy happy booby buffet feedings-- I keep it here to read over and over and  remember years later. And for Mr. Thirsty to read when he is older too.

No penis was hurt in the making of this post

Sigh.

Been getting a number of phone calls about Mac. Mac is our first son, the curly blonde up there. He's a free spirit to say the least. He's dancing all by himself in that photo. There is no music playing. He's just happy and getting his groove on.

The phone calls are from school. He has a number of behaviors that are upsetting to the teacher/recess kid watcher person. Pushing, grabbing, chucking balls at others.

For Mac, like all boys, social justice is a big trigger. If someone cuts in the lunch line, takes a toy, sticks out a tongue. . . it's an act of war. And boys--being boys--respond physically. Hence the pushing, grabbing, chucking balls AND PHONE CALLS FROM HIS TEACHER.

These type of phone calls make me crazy. The mommy bear instinct rises up and I get huffy about them. How dare they talk smack about Mac? He's a loving kid with goofiness galore. He has so much empathy and love. He's a good kid.

Also, what am I suppose to do about his behavior AT SCHOOL? I am home/at work. NOT THERE. I can't do anything about it. So I sympathize and comfort the teacher on these phone calls. Kids are nuts.

TEACHERS DESERVE COMBAT PAY.

Then after I comfort the teacher-- I discuss the situation with Mr. Hall. He's better with this type of thing than I. He suggests a number of things and they are tried. But we still get phone calls. It's a work in progress.

Mr. Hall doesn't make a big deal about it. He is very calm and reminds me of the penis bite . . .

This one time, at dinner with couple friends, the mom leans in, almost in tears. These are good friends, NORMAL friends. The mom leans and tells me about a note she got when she picked up her little boy at day care that day.

She said, "They said he pulled another boy's pants down and bit his penis." The boy was three.

so.

As long as we don't get that type of phone call, we should be ok.

:)

then . . . .this conversation happened

 

RING RING

 

 

ME: Hello

 

THEM: This is Katie from the brown county vet's office, we just wanted to let you know, we have your prints.

 

ME:   Prints? (I'm cornfused. I didn't have any photos taken recently)

 

THEM: Yes, this is the vet's office, we have prints for you.

 

ME: (I'm still confused. Why is a vet's office calling? My husband is a veteran. But why would a veteran's office be calling about prints of photos?)  I'm sorry, who is this again?

 

THEM: Brown county veterinarian clinic. We have Prince for you.

 

ME: OH!! PRINCE NOT PRINTS.

 

This is Prince:

 

(But wait. Prince died a week ago. It was quick and easy. My husband took him in and that was that. So why are they calling now?)

 

ME: I'm sorry, my husband had taken him in last week. Um, Prince had passed on.

 

THEM: Yes, and we have him.

 

(At this point I am so confused. I am picturing my cat was left in a freezer for a week and they want us to pick him up. I start to think about the movie Pet Cemetery. THE LAND'S GONE SOUR!!!!)

 

ME: Um,  I'm so sorry. I don't quite understand. Mr. Hall had brought him in so I'm not sure what . . . um. . . was he sent somewhere?

 

THEM: Yes, and we have his ashes for you.

 

 

NOW IT ALL MAKES SENSE. They have his ashes because Mr. Hall sent him out to be cremated.

 

See now, if they had said, "We have Prince's ashes" in the first sentence, I would have totally understood. Instead it took like 10 minutes of me NOT UNDERSTANDING what the hell.

 

Which is ok. My brain is mush from nursing our new baby every two hours. I'm nursing him while I'm typing this for land's sake!! He won't stop eating!!!

 

We had Prince for over 15 years. I highly recommend a Siamese. They never get fat or too friendly. They also don't shed.

 

Sadly, Prince will never get to know our newest boy. He did get plenty of Mac love though.

 

RIP Prince Albert in a Can Hall.

You will be missed!!

 

In other news, our second son is here

 

This is our second son. He was born little and not without complications.

 

 



 

The complications were little too. They only required a week in the NICU.

Then he came home to the waiting arms of these guys.

 



His brother and sister.



 

I would say more but I'm only sleeping 2 hours at a time. I sleep and nurse our son. Sleep and nurse. And nurse and sleep. I don't really have words lately. Just a sense of joy, relief, happiness, crazy spasm happy tears and absolute thankfulness.

 

I am blessed beyond belief.

 

Thank you Jesus for all that we've been given.

 

Amen.

 

 

parallels

When Mr. Hall and I started dating, I went to 'adiamondisforeverdotcom', picked out a ring and emailed it to him. We'd been together 3 months. I was making sure, in no uncertain terms, that he knew what I wanted. I wanted him to be my husband and to start a family.

I was a pushy broad.

Now that we've had the little foster kid in our lives for 3 months, I find myself getting ancy. The birth mom ISN'T DOING WHAT SHE NEEDS TO DO. Which is fine. More kid for us. I get greedy about this kid. My love for him grows and grows.

I'm exchanging emails with his social worker too, updating her on our weekends. Telling her about this and that. I need to pull back though. I am starting to get pushy. I'm starting to hint that we want him full time, not just weekends.

She already knows this.

There are implications if he comes to us full time. It means the chances of his mom getting him back grow dimmer. So, with these emails, I've noticed I'm starting to lay groundwork, to appear perfect in case he comes up for adoption. Things are pretty dim for the birth mom right now. But, I need to stop that too. He has a family. Not just the birth mom.

I can't just want this kid and then he's ours. I need to pull back with my needs here. They'll overshadow what I'm doing, which is just being there for him. Being there to tie shoes, make pb+j sanwhiches and haul him out of target because he wants a candy bar and i said no but he wants it and has a big ol snot bubble fit about it.

Seriously, the kid screamed so loud I didn't hear right for half a day.

Accepting things as they come, with no expectations, is something new for me. Like when I had my two kids. I read volumes and volumes of how to be a mom type books. I planned out how I was going to be a mom before I was a mom. But, those guidebooks are bull. They're meant to scare you so you buy their products. Like yon helmet below.

BULLSHIT.

Then I realized something. After the target fun, I spent the entire morning scouring websites, rereading 'how to be a foster mom' books. Again with the parallels. I realized I need to stop reading and just give it up. Crap happens and it will happen again. Also, I can't shop alone with the foster kid. He listens to Mr. Hall a 1000 times better. I can let Mr. Hall take him shopping.

And I'll pretend that Mr. Hall told me BOTH TIMES not to over read, over analyze and over think being a parent/foster parent. God has a plan and I need to turn to Him. That's all I will need.

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST IN THE PARALLEL DEPARTMENT.

I am about five days out from my due date. Denial is no longer an option. The bassinet is built, the size 'n' diapers are bought and these dang braxton hicks grow stronger every day. I'm scared. Scared like the first trimester before you reach the magical 12 weeks scared. Only this time, denial is not an option. I have to face up to the fact that THIS IS HAPPENING. I have a baby in mah belly who is coming out in less than a week.

I will post his picture on facebook. I will accept visitors and well wishers into my home. I will feel his soft little head in my hands and hold him constantly. The miracle is happening and it's about time I started acting like it.

So, i'll pray. pray and let go and let God and let the joy and love bloosom out of control.

See ya'll on the other side.

:)

Where my life and Breaking Bad intersect

There is this episode of breaking bad, when Jesse Pinkman goes to retrieve money from a meth couple and finds a little kid at the house.

We have a little kid at our house on weekends, the foster kid. Mr. Hall and I bring him every where we go with our kids, like to the park. The park kids say to him, "Can your Dad push us on the spinning thing?" He says, "That's not my Dad. My Dad's in jail." Which, oddly enough, doesn't make me that sad. His dad writes him, calls him and sends his son pictures he drew.

"That's more that I got from my Dad", says Mr. Hall, whose Dad was never in jail, just in California.

That bums me out.

The kid's mom is not in jail. I think about her when I tie her son's shoes, watch him pet our kitty, tuck him in at night and make him pancakes. I think about what she is missing, like I'm stealing her moments.

All she has to do is simple things and she gets the boy back in her life. When I say simple things, I say REALLY SIMPLE THINGS. No heavy lifting required. But she's not. And so we get him on weekends.

He sleeps on the bottom bunk in my son's room. We're going to give him his own two drawers next weekend so he won't have to pack a bag each time he comes.

All of this is driving me a bit crazy. I'm starting to feel less of a babysitter to this kid. I'm starting to love him and put him in line with my kids, love wise. This is dangerous. He's not ours. He has a Mom and Dad. The kid wants to be with his mom. I want him to be with his mom.

So, I pray for her and try to hold back my judgement. I try not to bristle when his grandma comes and drops him off. Her pain fills the room and I feel sucker punched by it. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

So I hold the kid when he lets me. No stopping the love now, it's already out there.

MEANWHILE

There is a character named Hank on the show. He unexpectedly gets shot and is in the hospital. His wife fights the insurance to pay for his therapy.

Last week we got a call that my Dad is in the hospital. He dumped his motorcycle, broke a collar bone and nine of his ribs on the right side.

It's going to take a long time to heal from this. He's 72 and has the old bastard trifecta of diabetes, high blood pressure and obesity. They are weaning him off the ventilator in the next few days. The co-pay for the insurance is nutz and we are all struggling with this.

This is not the first time we've had hospital calls about my Dad. He's a big bull who is stubborn and not careful. He's broken ribs, nearly cut off his thumb and gotten subdural hematomas all within the last few years.

He's not careful.

Today he was alert enough to make facial expressions and gestures. It was weird and shocking for me. He wants the tube out. I wonder if he'll be a different person after this-the most severe of injuries. I'll love him no matter what though. I've long since forgiven him and have grown actually found of him lately.

Like I said to my mom, "We'll get through this as a family."

Meanwhile, the pregnancy on Breaking Bad produced a little love of a girl. I'm now 37 weeks pregnant and READY TO GO.

Yet another intersect.

so, my question is . . .


Where's the money Lebowski???

OH WAIT. that's a different show!! :)