I am NOT blogging about….

Out of deference to a couple of people whom I have been emailing about those little girls, I am NOT going tell you that I found out that this piece of shit mother has another child as well. A little boy, just a year old (meaning that he and A are not quite a year apart), who is also going to be placed with this same foster mom. He has been with a family member up to this point, but suddenly they decided it was too much work and and have said they don’t want him. This also goes back to my raving yesterday: how in God’s name did they decide they wanted him but not the other two? Oh, yeah. Different family, different dad.

And also out of deference to those same people, I am not going to tell you that B actually let me touch her hair this morning, and tapped me on the leg when I left. I of course had to bestow kisses to A and my sweet little Owen, and both of them needed prolific hugs, but somehow that oh-so-casual tap on the leg was just as sweet to me. I am not going to tell you that Jacquie and I picked out a pair of shoes last night for A, and the sweetest little outfit for B, when we were shopping last night, nor am I going to tell you that I have already gone through some of Owen’s old clothes and rooted out just a few things for Little Boy, C, who will be starting at the daycare on Monday.

I will tell you, however, that Foster Mom, T, is considering adopting the three of them. From what I understand, it is likely at this point that they will be separated; there are few families who want to adopt three kids, two of which are not yet potty trained. But T. wants them, all of them-and if there is ANY justice on the world, she will get them. She has tried to adopt several different fosters over the years, but has always been denied for one reason or another-at the last minute, a willing (if not particularly able!) family member has popped up, or the state has decided to give mom one more chance…but let hope that in this instance, things go right and T gets them.

And that’s really all I am not going to blog about today. I had a meeting in another town for work this morning to go over some changes to their policies, and it was actually quite fun. The Marketing Director is about 60 years old, and did this really funny skit involving an eagle costume, a stainless steel egg timer, and a flashlight, and then we all went out for lunch. Consequently, I am in the midst of a carbohydrate induced coma, and my creative juices are all being used to digest my lunch. Keep good thoughts in your head for T and those three babies; C is supposed to be dropped off tonight, so they will have the long weekend to start adjusting, and I will get to meet him on Tuesday. I will be sure to not blog about him, too.

P.S. I love you, XBOX!


There Will Be Time…

Talk about a knife to the heart; that little girl? The one about which I wrote on Monday? We’ll call her A. Now when I drop Owen off at daycare, she comes running up to me to be picked up. Also, this morning when I was kissing Owen goodbye, she cried out, “Me, too! Hug!’ and I had to go back in and give her a kiss and a hug. Her sister, whom I will call B, has the most beautiful brown, nappy hair I have ever seen in my life, and gorgeous brown eyes, and the sweetest, most delicate pierced earlobes you can imagine, finally smiled at me today, and told me that she snapped her pants up all by herself.

Yesterday, Jacquie was making some toast and I was wiping Owen’s disgusting nose and B, who is, I think, 4, was kind of wistfully looking at us and said, “My mom never feeds me.” And I did not stop to think that she was talking about her mom, not her foster mom, so I was kind of teasing her saying, “Oh, she never feeds you? Never, ever? I don’t believe that for a minute!” She looked hurt, and only later did it occur to me that maybe her mom really DIDN’T feed her. She certainly doesn’t look undernourished now, but they have been with their foster mom for about 6 months, so the most obvious affects would have been alleviated with good care.

I have found out a little bit more, too, not about the circumstances of them being taken away but what has happened in the ensuing months. Parental rights are in the process of being terminated, which has to be done before the children can be adopted. Mom is fighting the termination-but for only one child. She only wants B; she has said, “I won’t fight the termination for A if you will let me keep B,” as if A is some sort of bargaining tool. T, the foster mom, said that the fact that she actually suggested such a thing is simply more proof that she is unfit, and helps the termination proceedings greatly.

I keep thinking about this, in fact am obsessing about it a little bit. I cannot imagine how a parent can choose one child over another. I cannot imagine looking at my four children and saying, “Okay, I want you and you, but you other two have to go.” The damage that would do to ALL of the children would be lifelong and devastating. In trying in vain to understand this, I thought back to my very, very worst moments of hating my ex-husband SO much that if I saw him on the street I probably would have run him over without a second thought. I thought of my sweet Sam, who looks EXACTLY like his dad save hair and eye color, and cannot imagine taking out my hatred of his father on him. It just-I don’t get it. How can anyone, no matter what water is under the bridge, no matter what heinous things have occurred at the hands of the father, hate the child (I am not talking about the products of rape or incest, as that is a different situation and one in which I think abortion makes complete sense)? God, I am not naive; I know that things like this happen all too regularly. Mom makes poor decisions and sometimes doesn’t even know who the father is, then chooses to continue the pregnancy for whatever reasons, and then? Abandonment and heartbreak for the kids follow. I don’t get it, I really don’t.

And I don’t WANT to get it. I want exactly what I have: four kids from three different fathers (which isn’t as careless as it sounds, believe me!), four kids whom I adore and cherish in their own right. Regardless of who donated the sperm, they all share a common thread and that is ME. How can I love one more? I abhor Sam’s dad and I love Owen’s-but I could no more pick one of them than I could cut off one of my arms.

Either Dingo or JT commented on my earlier post (sorry, too lazy to go back and check the comments to see which one, plus hey, who couldn’t use a little shout-out?) about how maybe it is time for a career change, and mentioned something about Social Work and advocacy, and yes, I have thought about it. I went back to college at age 30 and Social Work was my ultimate goal. However, I found that going to school full-time (which I HAD to do in order to qualify for financial aid) and working full-time and being the single mom of three was too much for me, and I made the choice to stop going after three semesters. I know, I know, lots of other single moms go on to get their degree, my dear April being one of them, but at that time in my life, it just wasn’t something that I felt like I could do. And now, with a toddler at home again, I know that until he starts school I can’t even think about it. Not if I want to be the kind of a mom I AM.

However, it isn’t just about the whole getting a degree thing-it’s about knowing that right now, my focus has GOT to be on my own kids. I can feel for and want to help and get angry on behalf of the millions of neglected and unwanted kids in the world. I can (and often do, until I have to force myself to go on a media hiatus or plug my ears and sing Jesus Loves Me if someone starts talking about it) cry over the terrible things that happen on a daily basis, I can rant and rave about how we are a nation who does not give a fuck about our kids but would much rather fund a war to help a country who doesn’t want help anyway. I can expend a ton of emotional and physical energy on trying to fix this problem, but at this point in time, I can’t do anything tangible to help. I cannot sacrifice my children to attain some lofty goal of curing society’s ills. Because if all of my focus is on saving the world, who will save my children?

I leave you with this poem. A poem that in the dead of night has given me the strength to go on when I have questioned and wondered what happened to all of my dreams and ambitions. When I have been crying and heartbroken because this is not what I imagined my life to be, this poem has reminded me that having children is only temporary, and there is time. Time to enjoy and love and cherish and raise kids who will have an impact on the world, and time, later to make my own.

There Will Be Time
There is time still
for sitting in cafes in Paris
sipping wine.
Time still
for going to meet
the guru.
There is time still.
Now I am caring for eternity.
Carrying bodies soft with sleep
to beds of flowered
quilts and pillows.
Answering cries deep out of
nighttime fears.
Buckling shoes.
Opening doors.
My soul now is dwelling in
the house of tomorrow.
Tomorrow there will be time
for long leisurely conversations,
for poems to write,
and dances to perform.
Time still.
So I surrender now
to them and this,
knowing it is they
who will teach me
how to do it all.

Peggy O’Mara

In Which I Step Away From The Edge

April tagged me for a 10 Things meme awhile back, and I obviously haven’t gotten to it yet; I joked, because I just finished my 100 Things post a little while back and surely there aren’t 10 MORE things about me? Still-since I find myself endlessly fascinating and believe in my heart-of-hearts that you do, too, I will do this one as well.

1. If I won the lottery, I will be the first person to admit that you bet your ass it would change me. I believe I would become much more generous and kind, for one thing; I know SO many people whom I would like to help, but can’t due to my own lack of resources. And as much as I love my job, you can also bet that I would not be working full-time any longer. I have hear some people say that they would help out their family, but nah, I wouldn’t. I WOULD put some money is a trust fund for my sister’s kids, but I wouldn’t be paying off mortgages or giving anyone a lump sum. Too much water under the bridge. I would, perhaps, pay for a family vacation, so long as I wasn’t expected to go.

2. The word “anywho” or any derivative thereof? Makes me want to barf. Come on, people, not only is that not even a real word, but it makes you sound illiterate and ignorant. And it isn’t cute, either, or funny. Much like my use of profanity, I am sure. 🙂

3. I see kids sucking on their mittens in the winter and it makes me get chills and hurts my teeth. Even right now as I am typing this, I have the mental image of a kid sucking on a mitten and it hurts. I have no legitimate reason for this, it just makes me cringe.

4. Women who say things like, ” I don’t know, I will have to talk to my husband first” when confronted with making a decisions drive.me.insane. I can understand if you are making a huge purchase or deciding to take gramps off of life support, but otherwise? Grow a sac already and stop being such a pussy. You women give other women a bad rep.

5. Even though I love God and try to do what He tells me to do (often kicking and screaming all the way), church bores me out of my mind. I find it very nearly impossible to feel close to the Big Guy when I am nodding off and wondering if the couple in front of me did the wild thing last night or why-oh-why doesn’t that parent stop the booger-eating-kid from crawling under all of the pews? I used to love the Assemblies of God church because even though it was kind of strange and sometimes freaky, it was NEVER boring.

6. Consequently, even though we talk about God and pray every night and live a pretty “good” life, I have a hard time telling my kids they HAVE to go to church. Because if I tell them they have to go, then I also have to go, and-well.

7. Mr. Lady invited me to a potluck awhile back, and I am still in fucking awe at how she described me. The woman is a freaking genius. I like to hear how other people think of me (unless it is negative, because then I will write them off and pretend I never knew who they were. Because I am that good. And does sarcasm and self-denigration come across in the written word?), because very often they have an insight I don’t, and it is pretty cool to see.

8. I got a new button there on the right side of the page. I am hoping that it will help fund my trip to BlogHer next year, but I have only made something like, oh, 4 cents. Still, I am hoping to be able to go and meet April. I already told her my two criteria: we have to share a room and I will not clean up puke if she gets all liquored up and sick.

9. I finally pulled my bed out for the first time since the CSG incident; despite the irrationality of my fears, they were still there. But then the big old Harley jumped up on the bed next to, and armed with the dog and the pepper spray and the two bats and the phone and my cigarettes in case I needed to have a quick puff or ten to calm my nerves, I was able to sleep.

10. Despite my intelligence, I am sometimes really, really slow on the uptake. This morning, looking across the street at the cops washing their cars (because they don’t have anything better to do, like walk over here and give me the fucking paperwork for the Last Call Trace, but that is a story for another post entirely), I noticed that there were two big black signs on the garbage Dumpster that said, “POLICE.” I puzzled over that one because why would they need to mark the dumpster? Is it really likely that someone is going to sneak off with the dumpster in the middle of the night, which would require the police to do a yard-to-yard search in the daylight and they would recognize the dumpster because it is marked? But then I realized that they were the magnetic signs that were taken off of the police car while they were washing it.

There you have it; another 10 things that surely you could not have lived without knowing about me. I had three or four other posts in mind, and they are sort of percolating in the old brain today and may or may not show up another day. For today, for this moment, I am still looking over the edge, and these silly little things somehow keep me from jumping (metaphorically speaking, guys, don’t call the loony bin just yet). The small things, indeed.

The Black Abyss Beckons

Another self-pity kind of day here, and I am trying really, really hard to pull myself out of it. Taken as a whole, I have a pretty good life, and I know that. All of the kids are healthy and happy, school started without incident yesterday (nobody missed the bus or forgot their backpacks or anything of that ilk), we got the dog we wanted and Eli also got another pup, we have great friends, I love my job…the list goes on. So I hate it when even though I can acknowledge how many really great things I DO have in my life, I still sometimes feel like I am just too tired and beaten down to keep moving forward. Today is one of those days.

Steve and I got into a huge fight last night. Huge. One of the biggest ones we have had. See, he was complaining about how 15% of his check is now being garnished because of some student loans that he has never paid. And I laughed; inadvertently, without meaning to cause a fight, I laughed. Because I make half of what he does, there are five of us and I don’t get any financial help from anyone but him, and 25% of each of my checks is currently being garnished because of a bill of my ex-husband’s. In addition, I do not have a mother who packs my lunch every day, buys groceries for me, helps me out when I am short because I spend too much money on crap, etc…So yeah, I laughed, because he was trying to play this sympathy card that just doesn’t work for me. He also complained about the fact that he has to pay the car payment-which we agreed to in lieu of child support, as it benefited us both more to do it that way than to have him ordered to pay child support. I made a comment to the effect of him really getting off easy, at which point he blew. Totally and completely blew.

And while my rational mind kind of understands why he might feel like he is being shafted, I guess I really don’t. Using the Child Support Calculator for my state, his actual ordered support would be $415, plus he would also be ordered to provide his medical insurance, approximately 85% of medical costs not covered by insurance, as well ad 85% of the daycare for Owen. Adding it all up, it comes to $705 a month. So yeah, just looking at the the numbers on paper, I would have to say that he is getting off easy, financially. Add to this the fact that he has purchased a case of diapers three times in over two years, bought clothes one time (and actually, his sister bought the clothes, he just picked them out), and paid part of one doctor bill when Owen had to go get allergy tested at 8 months old. The bill which was still almost $500 AFTER insurance, the bill I am still making payments on because he paid less than $100. So, yeah, I would say that financially, he IS getting the better end of the deal.

He also brought up the fact that he has to ask permission every time he want to take Owen, that I won’t let him have Owen overnight unless he is staying somewhere with a family member, he “never” gets to see Owen, and maybe he should take me to court to get custody. And that just broke my heart and made me angry both. He hasn’t stopped to think that the REASON I put the no-overnight-limits on his visits is because last time he had the kids-my other three included-overnight while my dad was in the ICU in another town, he got totally fucking drunk and some really, really awful things happened. I don’t let him take him overnight because I don’t trust him to not drink, or have his PO stop by the house and do a search and maybe arrest him, or pass out and leave Owen running around with no supervision or care. In addition, Steve can see Owen pretty much whenever he wants to on his days off; 90% of the time he chooses to ignore the opportunity to spend time with Owen and instead goes and visits his family or goes four wheeling or whatever it is that he does. And God knows I understand the need/desire to have time to do what you want to do, but don’t then tell me that I am not letting you see your son. Just-don’t.

I don’t have the energy for this kind of hassle. I just don’t. And I am so angry and hurt that he is only thinking in terms of money, as if he should be considered some fucking hero for shelling out $465 a month. In the meantime, in addition to the things I provide for Owen on a financial level like, oh, diapers and food and daycare and clothes and such, I provide everything for that baby. Everything. I am the one who gets up with him, who takes him TO the doctor, who nurses him when he is ill, who is in the process of disciplining him and potty training him. What I get are comments like this: “Why doesn’t he know his colors yet?” instead of, “How nice that you have taught him to say thank you every time you give him something, or say please every time he asks for something.” I get the, “He is two, shouldn’t he be potty trained by now?” instead of “Wow, he is sleeping in a big boy bed and drinking out of a real cup!” And yet he isn’t there to help, or to be part of the process, through choices of his own.

I think one of the things that made Steve the angriest last night was that after a point, I said, “I am not going to fight with you about Owen anymore. I am just NOT, because it only hurts Owen in the the long run. If you don’t agree with the way things are, then you can take me to court and I can explain to the judge why you can’t be trusted. And I can have child Support Services order child Support from you and I can make the car payment myself. But I am not going to let you try to make me feel guilty or responsible for your poor choices.” For him, part of the fun is getting a reaction out of me, and when that stopped happening (to my credit, I think I only called him a a fucking dick once before I calmed down!), what was the use?

I still went to bed in tears last night, though, and today don’t really feel much better. It shouldn’t have to always be a battle. I shouldn’t have to explain to a nearly 40 year old man that these are natural consequences to his choices, nor should I have to explain that his child support-be it in the form of making the car payment or a cash payment-is not about him giving something to me, but about him helping to support this child. I should not have to question my decisions or my parenting or the choices I have made, because he clearly doesn’t have what it takes. And on a far deeper level, I should NOT have to be doing this alone, but due to the fact that he woke up one day-quite literally-and decided he no longer wanted to be in a relationship with me, I AM. I told you all I am whiny today, but it isn’t fair, and it fucking sucks. I just feel myself being sucked back into a depression again, and I am trying desperately to pull myself out of it-because I hate self-pity, and I know that there is nothing I can do or say to make Steve have a different attitude. Nothing.

So. Always something, right?

Not Just a Crush

I fell in love this morning; completely, totally, head-over-heels in love. This isn’t just a passing infatuation or a school-girl crush, but the real thing. And it is not with a male, but a female, which totally goes against the grain for me. Just totally. But this girl, oh. If you could SEE her, you would know exactly what I am talking about, and the line would be forming to become the object of her affections.

The problem? She is 18 months old. Jacquie (daycare provider/close friend extraordinaire) has a new family, though it isn’t a family in the “traditional” sense of the word. Mom is actually not mom, but a foster mom, so “her” children come and go fairly regularly. Right now she has a 5week old baby who is going to be adopted by a family member, and they are just waiting for said family member to be fingerprinted and have a background check so she isn’t going to be there long. And then there are two little girls, sisters, one black and one white, and it was the youngest one with whom I fell in love. She isn’t especially pretty, but very compelling. And I was talking to her, telling her how pretty she is and just talking like you do to little ones, and she ran up to me and lifted her arms toward me, asking to be picked up. Of course I did, and she just grabbed on and laid her little head on my shoulders as if she belonged to. I stood there and held her with Owen looking on in disgust, crying-because how can anyone give his up? How can anyone deny this little girl (and her sister, who is as cute as cute can be, but also much more standoffish; she has reason to be wary of adults, I am sure!) the love and caring she so deserves, and obviously craves?

I can’t pretend to know anything about their circumstances, or why they were taken from their mother and are now in foster care hoping to get adopted. But I have been around long enough to know that for parental rights to have been terminated, things had to have been pretty bad. They have been with this foster mom for about 6 months or so, which is GOOD ( I know this mom, and she is SO great!), but it just sucks that their little lives have already been in such turmoil.

God, I want her. Them. I know myself well enough to know that for a million and one reasons, it is neither possible nor practical, and that it is at this point in my life not even something I should be thinking about, wistfully or otherwise. I am also self-aware enough to know that I am a caretaker and I want to save everyone, and that my emotions were heightened this morning by the fact that school started and not one of my kids needed me to go in with them-they are outgrowing me, and of course that is bittersweet. So yeah, I am not stupid, I understand about transference and the desire to replace the children growing away with younger ones in order to feel loved and needed. I also know that I am struggling with the knowledge that Owen is, in fact, the last child I will ever have. So many different things combined this morning to contribute to this feeling!

It is strange, though, to be so drawn to a child, and equally strange to have one so drawn to me. I don’t as a rule enjoy other people’s children, and though I talk to them when I drop Owen off, it is NOT in my nature to want to pick them up. In fact, Owen has been going there for over a year and I can say with certainty that I have never picked up a single child there. So this little chickadee has something special, and I hope there is someone out there who sees her and her sister and falls in love just like I did. I hope there is someone out there who takes one look and decides to move heaven and earth to get these girls, to give the baby some love and to help that haunted, distrustful look to fade from the older one’s eyes. I hope….

The Fat Cop is in Trouble!

Before you read any further, please know that it was a false alarm. We think.

We have replaced both dogs that were stolen, with the dog about which I blogged yesterday (though I found out two rather annoying traits about Harley-she has no compunction about walking up to Owen and very delicately taking whatever type of food he might be holding in his hand, AND this morning Owen pooed on the floor we are beginning potty training thankyouverymuch and before I could get the cleaner she had cleaned it up for me. With her tongue) and the 6-ish month old mutt that Eli procured. My baby is an inside dog, mostly, and his little girl is an outside dog, mostly. Sweet little thing, quiet, already fetches, good dog. So last night at about 11:30, she started barking. It started out sporadically, and I thought, “Oh, great, we have a barker!” but then increased in both volume and urgency until it made me nervous; keep in mind that until then I had not heard a single peep out of her. Not even a whine. So by that time my baby was up and pacing and whining, Hannah was up, and we were creeping around our house with our bats and pepper spray like crazy-ass Ninjas. Then we both saw a flash of light that looked like a flashlight, so I said to hell with it and called the cops. They were already in the area so even while I was still on the phone with dispatch, the first car arrived, and within minutes two more had gotten there.

Turns out it was my neighbor coming home from work late. It was his dome light that Hannah and I both saw, and the poor man was just getting out of his car when the cop came and spotlighted him and ran his plates and stuff (that’ll teach him to not trade in his car on something different, as we all knew the old car!). They very thoroughly checked everything out, and did not at all make me feel like an idiot. Also, one of the guys responding actually knew what was going on, so I didn’t have to go through the whole story again. The other one with him did not-he has been on vacation and was told a little bit about it as they were responding to the call, but did not know any more than the basics. So we were talking and I told him that I was really reluctant to call and report anything after the last contact I had with the police when I got the threatening call, and BOTH their ears perked right up. “WHAT threatening call?” they both said, so I told them about the verbal threat AND the hang-up, and how the policeman who came to “take my report” was such an ass, and on and on. The one guy listened very closely, asked me when he came to the office and what he looked like and which car he drives, etc…(I hope it doesn’t count against me that I said ,”Well, he isn’t as old as I am but isn’t as young as you guys, he is tall and fat and looks stupid..”) And then the one said, “Well, I am the shift supervisor and this WILL be addressed. He never even made a report on this and since this is an ongoing investigation, EVERYTHING needs to be put on a report.” He also ‘fessed up and said that the reason he didn’t know anything about the situation was because he got back from vacation and didn’t read the back reports like they are supposed to-he gets major brownie points for honesty and accepting responsibility.

Sorry-I digress. Turns out that talking to the phone company is NOT, in fact, my responsibility (even though I did find out yesterday that there is a way to do it, for a fee, and the trace is forwarded to law enforcement), that Fat Fuck should have gone right to the phone company and apprised them of the sitch, as well as given me paperwork to fill out that would authorize my phone records to be turned over to the police. That’s it. No song and dance, no major courtroom drama (and who, I might ask, is the one who watches too much TV? Not me, that is for damn sure!) debating the legality of it, just-paperwork. Young Cop said that even if the phone company policy requires a subpoena, it is just more paperwork. They are going to be bringing by some forms for me to fill out today, and will beef up patrols again in the ‘hood over the weekend just in case it WAS CSG. Both assured me, though, that our area is still being patrolled more regularly than in the past, they are just going to up it a little more.

And hey guys, I might talk all tough on the blog, and I know I was all like, “I am not going to call the cops for anything anymore because they don’t do anything,” and I think it was Mr. Lady who told me to suck it up or something to that effect, and I listened. Because you are all right, it is foolish and stupid of me to take one bad experience with one ignorant policeman and let it make me refuse to call. It does me nor my kids any good to take the old-West attitude that I can do it myself. I can’t; I am tough and mean and could maybe, just maybe kick some ass if necessary, but in this case? I cannot defend my entire family on my own, and I am no longer going to feel too embarrassed or foolish or hysterical to call the police if I need to. With any luck, I won’t need to again.

Topicless Post

I got a new bra. Well, I got a new to me bra-so yeah, I am so wearing someone else’s undergarments. But she JUST bought it, after having been fitted for it and everything, got it home and wore it once and couldn’t stand it. So she washed it and passed it on to me. I am glad-I love it. I am wearing a white t-shirt today and damn, my boobs look GOOD, if I do say so myself. I HATE shopping for bras-I always end up in tears because nothing ever fits right, or they are old-lady bras, whatever. So this one I got is wonderful; I love it. It FITS! So I go look online and of course the ONE bra that I have found that I REALLY like costs $50.00. Life is so not fair.

And speaking of boobs and life being unfair: if I won the lottery, one of the first things I would do would be to make an appointment to get a reduction. Seriously. But I have never, ever once heard a man complain because his junk is too big. Or that he would just lop off a couple of inches if he could afford to. God has a freaky-ass sense of humor.

I have a Bad-Mom confession today, too. I let Owen get in the shower with me this morning because I thought he probably needed a bath; the stench emanating off of his sagging-to-his-knees diaper and the pear juice in his hair from his after-dinner snack last night had nothing to do with it-I just thought it was time. Since the last time I clearly remember giving him a bath was Monday night. So I get out of the shower and give him the detachable shower head to play with while I towel off and grab his shampoo. No shampoo. It is ALWAYS in the same place so I can just grab it off the counter. Gone. So was furiously looking around, searching for the damn $9.00 a bottle shampoo, nowhere. And then I remembered that I packed it in the bag for Steve to take with him when he took Owen. Last week. So this toddler has been IN a bath, he just hasn’t been, you know, WASHED in going on a week. I suck. I slathered him with sweet lotion and pretended he was French before taking him to daycare. And after work I will have to find the damn shampoo.

Just reading the paper and found out that a kid was shot in Tennessee at school-some kind of a dispute between two young boys that ended up with one of them dead. This shit? It pisses me off. It scares me. It makes me wonder why kids think that it is okay to resolve a problem using a fucking gun. And while I hold the child responsible-and yes, a 14 year old is a child, sorry!-I also can’t help but question what kind of parents the killer might have in order to instill in him the belief that shooting someone is acceptable and reasonable. No, it isn’t their fault, but isn’t there some culpability there? I don’t know the answer to that. This just disgusts me to no end. I look at my 14 year old and cannot imagine killing a person being in his thought processes- I can’t imagine that it would seem to him a reasonable thing to do. One if his former friends? Yeah-I can totally see it. Totally. In fact, this particular former friend scares the shit out of me-at 14. There is a REASON he is no longer welcome at our house. Anyway, I look at his lifestyle, HIS parents, and he comes from your typical two-parent, fairly affluent though not rich family, the kind of family that looks really great from the outside, but…I just don’t know. It boggles the mind.

My 14 year old has Freshman Orientation tomorrow, and then all three kids start school on Monday. I seriously can’t wait. Because the fighting and bickering and pestering is totally out.of.control.

There you go; just some little tidbits to start the day. No drama, no major happenings, other than that I found a way to get the calls traced so will go over the the phone company and cop shop later this afternoon or tomorrow morning, depending on my schedule. Yes, I am TOTALLY doing their job-do you think I can get a little sumpinsumpin‘ for it?