What are YOU looking at, PUNK?

So began one of my first conversations with one of our new foster daughters. Noooo, I didn’t say it, thank you very much. The four-year old did. I promise. From her car seat as I looked over my shoulder at her before driving off to find a daycare.

In case you were wondering where I’ve been, I have to say I think it was in the midst of a gustnado, literally and figuratively. Summer storm season is here, and so is, thankfully, some rain. But we’ve had plenty of rainbows, too, and that’s what I’m focusing on.

Last month, we received a call from CPS, asking us if we’d take a one-year-old girl. We were excited. This was it. What we’d been working for all this time! We made all the calls to our parents, friends, and whoever else should know, only to be disappointed the next morning when we got the call that we wouldn’t be fostering that child at all,  because of some snafu. Yes, Situation Normal, All Fouled Up.  (Okay, military guys, I know that’s not exactly the way it goes, but I’m a mommy now, and have to clean up my act.)

But the very next afternoon, we got a call from CPS asking us if we’d take a three, nearly four, year old girl THAT NIGHT, for an emergency placement. Wow. Talk about a tailspin. Of course we would.

At that point, the storm front came through.

I was already behind at work, but I overcame that and joined Mr. Man at home, where we waited. And waited. Finally, up the sidewalk, came our little girl. Hair a-tangle, dirty, with only the clothes on her back, and miserable. Evidently, the removal  had been quite a scene. We don’t have a complete picture, only what we can form from bits and pieces. I have a feeling getting a whole story will be difficult, and will probably never happen. Suffice to say, the child was in desperate need, and we were desperately ready to start giving her any help we could.

The caseworker stayed quite awhile, trying to smooth the way in the introductions, but really, how  can anything make it any better? Girlchild (as she will henceforth be known) had been plucked away from her Mommy and Daddy and didn’t understand why, but had some ideas in her head about it already.

The caseworker had to leave, and, already crying, Girlchild’s heart-rendering sobs shattered the tentative silence of the room that had been laying in wait, ready for a child to come live there. Her heart was broken. Mr. Man and I tried to soothe her, but nothing we said made  a difference. I held her sweaty little body as she bawled, red-faced and snotty, and clung to my neck. I felt  at a loss, while at the same time,  God forgive me for the fleeting thought, hoping the lice in her hair didn’t jump into my own. But I was incapable of hesitating, parasites or no. Her need outweighed my concern ten-thousand fold.

After awhile, she drew back, and took several hiccuping breaths.

“It’s my fault,” she said,  her voice matter-of-fact.

“What?” I asked,  not wanting to believe she’d said it.

“It’s my fault. Every time my mommy gets in trouble it’s because of me.” Hiccup.

“No, baby. It’s NOT your fault.”

“It is too.”

“No…”

More crying.

“My mommy doesn’t love  me.” Sob.

“Yes, she does. She loves you so much.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Why do you  think that?”

“Because she told me.”

THUD went my stomach. What could I  say?  “No, darlin’ your mommy does love you. I know  it.”  I hope I’m not lying.

Another thing her mommy said to her, according to Girlchild, came to light while she was with my mom the next day.

“My Mommy says I’m stupid. She doesn’t like me.”

“Why do you think that?” Mom asks.

“She told me.”

Ouch. Mom did her best to deflect this train of thought, and reassure  Girlchild.

A few days later, we get a call, asking if we will take Girlchild’s sister, Ladybug (so called because of a recent face-painting experience.) Ladybug is five.  All over the place. She’d been staying at a local assessment center with the two older siblings. Why she didn’t get placed with us at the beginning, I don’t know. (Get a running theme here? ‘I don’t know’ is a recurring phrase in dealing with this foster parenting thing, or so I am learning.) So the drama  was less when Ladybug joined our household. But it’s still a sad situation, for reasons I’m not at liberty to discuss.

I have so many things that I CAN share with you though. And I will. But over time. Time…such a precious thing.

So now, we have two little girls.

And the same week, we signed a contract to build a house. Yes, it looks like we are finally going to move. The builder, nee his assistant,  assures me that if we don’t sell our house by August, there will be an investor that will buy it. I just hope it all works out. I am afraid to get my hopes up, but BOOM there they are.

Oh, and did I mention the plague sinus infection/cold/whatever I’ve been fighting this past month? *COUGH*

AND our car club hosted a fundraiser for Relay for Life with PT Cruisers from 8  different states attending.

AND I still have both  jobs.

Not that I’m a whiner or anything, it is what it is.

I’m thankful for the girls, for however long we are blessed with them.

I’m thankful for the opportunity for a new home.

I’m thankful that I have work, to give me money which I’ve already spent.

I’m thankful  for Mr. Man, who has taken to this Daddy thing like a duck to water. What a guy.

I’m thankful for the new friends that we made, and the money that we raised to help battle cancer.

God is Great.

And with that, I am going to bed, y’all.

I don’t even know where to begin…

Things have been busy.

I haven’t blogged in so long, I think I may have lost my touch. I haven’t read many blogs either. Sorry! I’ll get back to you.

Let’s see…..

SUNDAY we went with fellow Cruisers to Palo Duro Canyon to cout out photo ops for our upcoming Cruising The Crossroads PT Cruiser event. In a convertible. Soooo fun. Makes me think I would like to have one…not happening.    When we left the Canyon, we were invited  to a cookout hosted by a local builder. Long story short,we were shown a house and signed a contract, builder wants to buy ours in a trade. UNLESS we have someone  else they send our way wants to buy it first. Otherwise, they’re interested. Now…the financing circus. If  one way doesn’t work, then we’ll go another way.  if that doesn’t pan out, they’ve offered to build us a smaller one…right now, we’re waiting to hear from the mortgage company.

MONDAY we gat a call from our Foster Home Developer saying now that we were licensed, she wanted to have a home  visit and go over some things and answer any questions we might have.

WHAT? We’re LICENSED? Who told us? We’ve been waiting for two weeks to to find out the answer to the Big Question. So there we are, folks.  Paper in hand, WE ARE NOW OFFICIALLY LICENSED FOSTER-TO-ADOPT parents! Now we wait. Our Developer askedif we strictly want to adopt, or are willing to foster, too.

We’ve been asked this before in the course of our journey.

Today, a difinitive answer came to me, and  I can only explain it as a True Calling. “FOSTERING, TOO” popped up in my mind, as clear as daylight. I think, and so does Mr. Man, that this is something God wants us to do right now. I haven’t felt something  this strong in this way since I was baptized.

I don’t throw these thoughts or words around lightly.

We know it’s not going to be  easy. And we know there will be difficulties along  the way, but no one promised it would be a smooth road.  We don’t know what situations we will find ourselves in. What we do know is the children need someone to stand for them, and take care of them when their families can’t. Or won’t. We’ll be sad when we have to relinquish custody of  children we come to love.

But when the time comes, we’ll be able to build a forever family.

Oh, also on Monday, I had the privilege of seeing the brilliant Maya Angelou speak. I KNOW, she deserves a more respectable mention than my off-hand one.  But I plan to post another blog on that wonderful experience later.

Today, Mom and  I went to Sears to get the baby items we have on layaway. We were told not only did they not have that, but we were told the order had been  improperly prepared,the items were un-orderable, and basically, their attitude was too  bad, too sad for us.  We were  treated terribly,and couldn’t even get a manager to help us. The only thing they could do, they said, was mail us a check in two weeks. When we said we guessed they weren’t too eager to keep business, we were told with an attitude like ours, they sure didn’t. The fact is, we entered into the transaction in good faith, they defaulted, and we’re S.O.L. The salesperson spoke to both me, and  my mother, in such a disrespectful manner it was beyond infuriating.

We did get some kid stuff from a yard sale across the street, though. The neighbor know what we are getting into,and gave us a really good deal  on a lot of really great stuff!

Now, we’re stuck waiting again, for the next step in the adoption journey, and what we hope will  be a final answer  in the house stuff…

A Child Like Me?

I wanted to share this poem I came across today, written by Lisa J. Schlitt:

With saddened eyes and head bent low,

It’s damaged goods most see.

With my unclear eyes and broken heart,

Who would want a child like me?

I watch her walk into the room,

From a distance I can see,

But dare I take a closer step?

Who would want a child like me?

And then I see her look my way,

She smiles so tenderly.

But do I even dare to dream,

She would want a child like me?

And then, as  if I spoke out loud,

She approaches cautiously.

I try so hard to once believe,

She will want a child like me.

But dare I once let down my guard,

And trust that she will see,

Hiding beneath this old stained shirt,

Is a beautiful child like me?

My smile, they say, lights up a room.

I’ll be as good as I can be.

Oh, please, dear God, let her want

A  special  child like me.

I feel her hand reach out for mine,

And within her eyes I see,

A single, tiny, shining tear.

Could she want a child like me?

And when she takes me in her arms,

With a warmth so pure and new,

She says the words I’ve prayed to hear,

“The child I want is you.”

Isn’t that beautiful?

Rain, Rain, come to stay…

We had a nice shower here this afternoon. Fortunately, the severe weather steered around the city.

That’s not the only good news. It seems our home study went well…and soon we’ll know something for sure about our potential approval for foster-to-adopt parenthood.

Things around here have been kind of slow the past couple weeks, thus the quiet blog.

Stay tuned!

Another Hurdle Cleared

Our home study seemed to go really well. The social worker was a really nice lady, and we felt comfortable with her. Which was good, considering some of the things we were asked, we never thought we’d discuss with anyone. Yes, they asked the SEX LIFE  question.

I’ll just say, we told her it wasn’t a source of tension in our relationship, and leave it at that.  You guys don’t want  to  hear about that anyway.

When she left, we had a good feeling. She said she had about 15 days to get her report filled out, and we’d know something after that.

I  hope it’s good news.

Nearer and nearer…

Well, Wednesday we have our home study interview. The case worker said it should take about 3 hours. We don’t think there’s three hours worth to us to interview, and  even she said our case appeared to be easy enough, since we had all our paperwork in order and didn’t have any ex-anybodies to investigate, or children of our own to interview and investigate. I’m not too nervous about this step. Mr. Man seems more concerned about this one. And I can see why. I mean, the big question is, will we be rejected after they interview us? Will we be found wanting, unqualified, not up to snuff?

Oddly,  I am calmer. I was more concerned about the city coming to give us a health inspection. As prehistoric  as it sounds, in this house, as in many, the housekeeping is mainly under my jurisdiction,  and who in their right mind wouldn’t  be jumpy at the prospect  of being put under the microscope?  But, as I said, the inspectors who came were very nice, professional, and put me at ease almost immediately. Oh, and don’t get me wrong, when the occasion calls for it, Mr. Man DOES step up to the plate. It’s just mainly my area.  Joy.

As you can see, we have pretty much prepared as much as we can without knowing who we’re going

to get. We have the room set aside, and two little beds all ready. The rest we can get as we go.

Unless the caseworker tells us differently.

Our oldest niece, AM,

on Mr. Man’s side, works for CPS, and says the people who are contracted to do the interviews are really nice, too. And the lady was cordial on the telephone. So, we’ll see.

Dodger and Hermione seem to know something’s up. They had to get in on the action as Mr. Man put together the beds.

Did I mention we had a blizzard Friday?

We sure as heck did. Or close enough that’s what I’m going to call it. They’ve been quibbling about the technicality of it, but it was what it was. We had a snow day at home, and it was glorious! I dreaded getting out the next morning and digging out my car, and was sure I’d be late to work, because let’s face it, I’m late on a good day, forget about getting up EXTRA early.  I also knew the snowblower Mom bought for the family  to share was deep in the bowels of our garage, where it’s sat, unneeded for a couple of years. Behind all the furniture and crap we’ve stored in there for that move we thought we’d have made by now.

My concerns were, as usual, unwarranted, even though I had to shove my door open and plunge into a drift that came up over my knees.  Wading through that, I swept a foot and a half off of my car, only to find a crust of ice beneath. You see, the blizzard sent a calling card ahead of time, in the form of freezing rain and sleet. Again, I was lucky. The ice practically fell off at the mere wave of the ice scraper I’d inherited from Daddy. I ended up having time to stop and get my morning Diet Coke with time to spare, since the streets, though slick, weren’t the worst I’d ever navigated.

By the afternoon, nearly ALL of the drifts and snowfall had disappeared, soaked in by the thirsty, drought-ridden earth where our hometown rests.  If I’d had more initiative, I would have gotten out of my pj’s  and  taken video of some very befuddled weenie dogs, or at least more pictures.

But no. I had a Lisa Kleypas’s BLUE-EYED DEVIL to finish. That woman can tell a story like nobody’s business. I’ve met her a couple of times, and she is not only talented, but gorgeous and sweet, too. *sigh*

Critique groups have been off due to Spring Break, but I look forward to them starting up again. Once I get our taxes done, I’ll be able to settle down to the WIP again. I know, that REEKS of excuse-ology, especially with the time I spend online, and here on the blog. But I can’t really count the blog, because this is kind of my unloading spot, where I send a good amount of my brain clutter into space, where  few actually care. (By no means do I download  it all. I don’t want to scare anybody.  But enough to help me sleep.) Besides, it’s not like I’m being real creative on here.

Most of the time.

I spoke to the crew in  OKC tonight. Everyone seems to be doing well, and Toddler was even a bit talkative tonight. I miss them so much sometimes, my heart aches. But we’ll see them soon.  And now that SisM has her blog, CHARMED LIFE, we can keep up with one another even more. Brother also mentioned an interest in setting one up. How fun!

I didn’t think I had much to say tonight, but I managed to fill up a page. I suppose I should sign off now, so I’ll have some reading time before I turn out the lights. Right now, I’m reading MONTANA CREEDS: DYLAN, the second in the new trilogy by Linda Lael Miller, another of my auto-buys. I’ll just have to remind myself to find a stopping place before I end up finishing it and cussing myself out when my alarm goes of after only 3 or 4 hours of sleep.

Wish me luck!

Falling Together

Well, things are falling  together.

This week , Mr. Man and I completed (to the best of our knowledge) our checklist of responsibilities towar becoming foster parents. Now,our specialist explained, she is sending our  packet off to the people contracted to do our interviews.

This week, the city health department inspected our home. Talk about daunting. I mean, I know I live in a clean house (despite the dust my MIL manages to find ) but the whole idea of having  official people inspect it had me in a tizzy. Mr. Man and I whirled around here the night before getting things in order. The inspectors who came were very good  about putting me at ease, and really very friendly. Mr. Man  had to work, so I met them on my own since my schedule is more flexible.

We passed 100%. YAY! I took great pleasure in reporting that to You-Know-Who. She’s not mean about it,  but seems to have no qualms mentioning something she notices. I handed her a dust rag, once. She hasn’t mentioned anything since.

Then it was the fire department’s turn. Had some frustration getting through to them, but I won’t bother describing that run-around. The inspector came, and I took the bull by the horns(Mr. Man, again, had to work) showing him the precautions  we’d taken and such. Turns out, he’s familiar with Mr. Man, who installs fire systems for a living and does a megaload of work at a local hospital, and various other places around town. With only two inspectors in town (may I agree, they are grossly understaffed for  a community our size) they are bound to cross paths.

We passed 100%.

So now we wait for the home study specialist to call us.

What a relief to have these things we’d put off over with! It was literally a load off our shoulders. One reason we’d put off the dreaded inspections was the hope we’d sell our home and just have to have a new  one inspected. But it didn’t happen soon enough. Funny enough, a woman came by yesterday and said she was interested in buying. Doesn’t it figure?

But interested and  actually moving on it are two different things. So we can’t get our hopes up.

Today, we’re getting the toddler bed. Maybe tonight we can put both beds together.

If I ever wondered if this was worth it…yesterday, a friend from work brought in her infant grandaughter, and I got to hold her. She was so teeny, a preemie, and everything about her was absolutely perfect!  And she fell asleep within a minute. WOW.

Weekend Lazies….

Slow day at the salon yesterday…so I came home early and updated some websites I maintain, as well as rebuild one for an author who’s hired me. I did have her files saved, because she hired me last year, but due to a malfunction, I had to start completely from scratch. So those two things pretty much took up the rest of my day.

Today was the first Sunday in forever that I haven’t had to work, so that was nice. Especially the sleeping in part, especially after that changing the clocks thing.

I should have gone to church. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone to church regularly. Not because I have anything against church, not at all. But it started about the time I got my second job, and the time Granny got sick. I am still a firm believer, and I pray and give thanks to God every day. My interest in practicing hasn’t waned, it’s just actually attending service that’s fallen to the wayside.

I don’t want to go back to the same church where we’d gone before. They are nice people, but it’s so small that it’s basically two families without a regular preacher.

Mom and both knew, too, that we wouldn’t want to go back there without Granny. Granny landed there because her second husband, a “retired” minister, preached there at least once a month, and after he passed, we just kept going there because that’s where she wanted to go.

Mom has been visiting a couple of churches, and has found one really close to the traditional way we grew up doing things. She doesn’t go every Sunday yet. I’ve often wondered if she would go more if she didn’t go by herself. Mr. Man, also a firm believer, hasn’t attended regularly since before we were married. He’s a lot like my Daddy that way.

We both agreed that when we have children, we want to give them the same firm foundation that we were given. We’ll have to see what happens. If church is done the way it’s supposed to be, it is an invaluable source of support as well as a place of worship. What better support can we have than support based in the loving Spirit of God?

******************************

Mom and I went to Target today and she gifted us with a baby bed. I used to find things I liked at WalMart, but the selections at the stores here in Amarillo have really dwindled. Not just in baby things, but in things in general. So disappointing.

Anyway, isn’t this one pretty? It converts to a toddler bed and a full-sized bed, so that’s good. We are still getting a toddler bed, too. We have been approved for two, possibly a sibling pair. Or we may just get one. It could be an infant, or anywhere up to a five year old. Or any combination of age or  genders. We don’t have anything yet, because really, how do we prepare for that? But we have to at least prove we have a room for them to call their own, and a place to sleep. Thank goodness for WalMart, since  it is affordable and open 24 hours.

Most new parents get a baby shower to prepare the way. But they know what they are getting– an infant. I had a girl in my foster class say once that a foster parent in her church was thrown a “foster shower.”  I asked my sister in law and best friend if they were up for something like that, and they said yes, but how weird to ask. It feels like inviting yourself to a  party or something. So I’m not sure I’ll go through with that.  Just for fun, though, I did go make shower lists at WalMart and Target.com and picked out bare essentials, basic clothes, baby items, toddler items, various sizes of kids clothes,  to have around just  in case.  If nothing else, we’ll at least have a printable list of gender-neutral items to shop for in the event of any new arrival. We picked Winnie the Pooh stuff too, because the yellow and green of it can be neutral (But I see the cute brown and pink stuff out now and can’t help but think it would be nice to use that, somehow.) I have a diaper bag. Mr. Man, knowing my love of Eeyore, asked if that was for the baby or me. Smarty pants.

And we have a  stroller, carrier, travel crib, and high chair on layaway at Sears.  Brother and Sis-in-Law left the car seat Toddler has outgrown with us last time  they were here.

I’m mailing the request for the home health  inspection tomorrow, and that is supposed to take place within 10 days of their receiving it. The very idea of having a health inspector in my house gives me the willies. I mean, I don’t live in filth by any means, and since we’ve been extra vigilant in cleaning house since putting our house on the market last JULY, it shouldn’t be any big deal. But still…

Also, we have to have the fire inspector here, too. Shouldn’t be  problem, since Mr. Man has this place fixed up with hardwired smoke and heat detectors (It’s part of what he does professionally.)

Then the home studies, where they interview you by what I imagine as turning us inside out, upside down and all that to be sure we’d be fit parents. Another look over of our house will be done then, too.

Then, assuming we pass muster, we should have our license.

I ran into a fellow classmate from our foster classes last week. She and her husband have a 7 month old baby girl that is healthy and happy, and they brought her home from  the hospital at 3 days old. They were told she’d be adoptable, but then an aunt showed up. But that situation seems to be subsiding, and they are hopeful again. They were even told they might expect siblings from the same source. She also said that it is an adjustment getting used to all the people poking themselves into their lives now, from workers to CASA reps, etc.  It’s all in the best interest of the child, she knows, but a bit overwhelming at the same time. They have, she assured me, decided that it is ultimately worth it.

Sounds like huge changes on the horizons for us, huh? I  like to think we are up to the challenge, though, after all the work we’ve put into it.

When Mr. Man gets around to putting together that crib, you can bet I’ll grab my camera. Of course, I want to help, but I’m usually more help to him if I stay out of the way.

On the Fringe of the Dark Side

Last night, Mr. Man and I went to the CPS building to take a required class for our foster parenting license. As we went toward the front door, we witnessed a young woman, obviously distraught, crying and agitated.

“And she’s pregnant again. How can they keep letting her…and now a baby is dead!” Is part of what we overheard.

We ducked into the building then, just as what we assumed was a CPS official tried to comfort the girl. Inside the lobby, the tension was thick, the anger and grief palpable. Out of respect, (and, I admit, a small sense of self-preservation) we try not to make eye-contact. But I couldn’t help sliding a surreptitious glance toward the small group of people. What was their story, I wondered.

Once in the classroom, we didn’t learn much more. Of course, propriety kept the officials from discussing specifics. What we did hear was that eight children were removed from a home that day, stair-stepped in age ranging from one to eleven. And the three-year-old was dead. And the mother is pregnant again.

The roomful of prospective parents groaned and immediately offered to take any of  the remaining children, even thought we all  knew it was a token offer, since most of us aren’t licensed yet. The Developer said we’d have to take the lice infestation, too, as a way of  letting us further know part of the horrible circumstances of this so-called home.

What a reminder for us that this probably won’t be a simple “Oh, look, someone  wants us to look after a baby and maybe we can adopt it”  type situation. In order for us to achieve our dream, something bad has to happen in someone else’s life.  And that’s a heartbreaking thought.

While we want to adopt, we know that by going the foster to adopt route, the very real possibility of fostering a child and then having to return him  to his family is a concern. The whole goal of protective services,  we were taught, was to heal families and reuinify them, if possible.  So when we do foster a child and end up having to give  him back, we hope to at least be something good in his life at a time when he needs it.  Our motives aren’t purely selfish.

It promises to be a memorable, sometimes difficult, yet ultimately rewarding  journey.

UPDATE: The child’s death has been ruled  a homicide.

Closer still!

So, since the sale of our home seems to be taking forever, we’ve had our file re-opened at CPS. The home assessment lady was here yesterday, filling us in on the final requirements we have to take care of. The good news is that we’ve been recommended for up to two children infant to five years old, if they are siblings, in our current home. That is, if we are cleared through the home study. Which there is no reason to think we won’t. The way things are going, we should have our license by the end of February.

That seems fast by now, doesn’t it?

Well, I’m off to do paperwork that gets some of these requirements behind us.

Yay!

One week to go!

This week in our PRIDE class, the subject was sexual abuse.  Of all the classes, this one was the most difficult for us.  At the same time, it strengthened our commitment.  We both believe there is a reason God pointed us in this direction.  And since He brought us to it, He’ll bring us through it.   We have faith He has something special in mind for us.

Mr. Man and I want a family.  We want at least one of the children placed in our care to be the one we give a “forever family.”  The Developer asked if we wanted to  adopt or foster, and we said both, and emphasized that we really want to adopt.  She said we really should foster first to get the feel of it.  That’s okay.  It’s not going to be easy, giving a child back, but family reunification is the goal.

I overheard one of the other women talking about having her fingerprints done…seems she had a similar experience!  So it wasn’t  just me.  Others jumped in and commented,  too.  Cranky lady.  Next week, we have class on Tuesday and Thursday, and we’re done with that part! 

Still no more progress on that spare closet!  But there’s always tomorrow….

Finales

So, ’tis the season for finales. 

The rising heat and burning Panhandle winds signal us that the end of Spring is near.

This past week has sent my TiVo into a frenzy of recording.  This evening, I’m catching up.  Who will Betty (Ugly Betty) Suarez choose, Gio or Henry? (I hope she kicks Henry to the curb, personally.) 

Grey’s Anatomy ended way too neatly. You know something’s going to happen to Derrick. ‘Wait for me,’ he told Meredith.  Yeah, something’s going to happen to that guy.  And Callie going for Hahn, in place of McSteamy? Forget it.  Really.  Hahn’s such a bitch.  I guess that means that next season, they’ll do something to make me like her. And Alex? Poor baby. 

What about Horatio on CSI Miami?  No way CSI Wolfe is part of a hit.  I’m guessing it’s a staged event to somehow save Horaitio’s son.

NCIS? I was sad for Gibbs.  I’m also thinking there’s sparks between Abby and McGee.  And Ziva and Tony. Tony.  *sigh*  Love that character.  All those reassignments? NO WAY.

CSI–Warrick?! BOOM.   And now the mole is revealed. Who’da thought?

CSI-NY: Mac, c’mon.  You should know better.

Boston Legal–tell me you aren’t cancelled!  Shark– you too!

Desperate Housewives–The jerk got what he deserved.  So did that little twerp of Tom’s.  But jumping forward?  What the heck?

Criminal Minds–EEEK!

Oh, no, I just had a thought. (yeah, it DID hurt, thanks for asking.)  Do late night talk shows go on summer hiatus?  I don’t remember.  I hope not.  I would hate a whole summer without Craig Ferguson.

I watch a few more…I know.  Addicted to TiVo. Bloop-Bloop.  And?  So?

It’s almost the end of the PRIDE (Parent Resource Information Development Education ) classes, our foster parenting instruction.  This week was our class on discipline.  Next week : sexual abuse.  Lots of information has been presented to us about so many things.  I get the feeling it’s only the tip of the iceberg!  Three more classes.  We still have to take out CPR/First Aid course, get life insurance, home health inspection, home fire inspection, construct a will, take pictures of the interior of our home, get TB tests, health certificates, get home studies, provide copies of pet vaccinations…

Today at lunch, I went to WalMart to get some makeup, and browsed by the baby/toddler aisle, daydreaming.  I found the perfect theme!  Gender-neutral Winnie the Pooh.  Done in strong yet not loud greens and other earthy colors.  And it has yellow in it, which will go with the yellow I’m painting. Aye, I still have to finish painting.  But I didn’t buy the comforter and bedding.  We haven’t been approved yet.  I still have the folded baby blanket from when we were pregnant the first time, and it’s bad enough looking at that.  I’ll wait till we have more of a surety of something, this time. 

I went this week to get my fingerprints done for the DPS Background check.  *sigh*  All excited, I was.  After all, that’s the least of my worries, right?  Went into the office for the electronic printing.  The woman was cranky.  A jaded kind of cranky, not just a bad day kind of cranky. First, I notice she starts marking up my application like a pissed off substitute teacher on a rampage.

I don’t say anything about her marking through my middle name and replacing it with my maiden name, like on my driver’s license.  It asked for my middle name, I put my middle name. 

I do, however, ask what I got wrong when she marked off where it asked for my race.  I put Caucasian, fair complexion.  I SWEAR that’s what it asked for. 

“It wasn’t asking whether you were white, it was asking whether you were Hispanic, (stupid.)” Yes, the ’stupid’ was unspoken, but definitely implied in the tone.  Why were they specifically asking about Hispanic, and not any other race?  I’m definitely no ACLU member, but that seems kinda weird. 

I wanted to reply, “Then why did you mark it out and put ‘light’ instead of ‘fair,’ doo-doo head?”  Instead, I meekly chuckled and said, “Um, well, it was late when I filled it out.  I must have been tired.”

I gleefully presented my hands for printing on their little electronic screen, fully confident.   I ain’t scared of no background check…they won’t find SQUAT except I’m not very good with my checkbook and  I had a car accident a couple of years ago when a 16 year old girl stopped on the on-ramp in front of me.  No speeding tickets or otherwise, even.

“Don’t roll your hands.  Just let me do it,” says Miss Cranky.

But, I wasn’t rolling my hands.  Honest.

“Tsk-Tsk.”  She shakes her head.  “Do you have a lot of damage to your fingers?”

“Um, well, I don’t know.” I frown. “I’m a hairdresser and I do nails, and work at a grocery.  Anything’s possible.”

“They aren’t going to accept these.  They look like the kind of prints someone has when they try to alter their prints.” The accusatory tone singed my ears. (Okay. I’m over sensitive sometimes.  Maybe it just hurt my feelings.  Okay.  My EGO.)

“Well, I didn’t.  I have no reason to.” I thought for a moment.  I’d done nails that day. “I may have some glue residue left that I didn’t get removed.”

“Well, there’s 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…they just aren’t going to take these I can almost guarantee it.”

Whatever, I think. I will more than likely be asked to have them done again, but won’t face another fee.  No big deal, they gal’s attitude was just a bit of a bubble burster.  But that’s okay.  I’m still confident.  If I can get past the home health inspection, and fire inspection, I’ll feel even more confident of approval.  Again, the whole idea of someone INSPECTING our housekeeping…*shudder*

I made excellent progress on the spare room.  However, I DID open the closet door, then shut it again really fast.  I guess I’ll try to pump myself up to tackle that Sunday afternoon, after working at the market.  And maybe after checking e-mail…..

Another season ended this week.  Granny’s sister, L___ passed, 5 months after Granny.  5 months before Granny, another of her sisters, M___, passed.  Now there’s only one sister left.  *sigh*

Wanna hear something weird?

Tuesday night, Mom was sitting in the living room when she heard a swoosh-crash from the kitchen.  First, she blamed the dog, a Doberman-Rottweiler mix, who looked up at her from the rug like, “What? What’d I do?”

“Oh,” said Mom,  before going to investigate. 

Turns out, one of Granny’s candles, that Mom had been SURE to push away from the edge just that morning, had shot off the fridge and onto the countertop.

The next morning, she found out L___ had passed away Tuesday night.

Woooleeoooleeeeoooo!

Anyway, I have run on long enough here.  I need to wind down, I suppose, and get to sleep…