tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16380673086428074292024-03-12T15:26:30.750-07:00I So Cannot Make This Sh!t Upbeemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-80914419330105519062014-03-12T18:06:00.002-07:002014-03-12T18:06:57.844-07:00My girlies.....my sanity ( and none of them are really old enough for me to adopt, so I'm safe)Aaaaaahhhhhhh, Orlando. You make me whole again. Got home Monday night with my energy and love tank on full! Even that bit that goes beyond the full mark. Last year, I missed what is now BeTA and was then Etaam. I missed it because it is considered quite the no-no to miss days prior to or immediately following a holiday (Spring Break). It sucked. Big ol' dangly bits, miserable.<br />
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(Not my son.) <br /><br />
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I almost didn't make it again this year. Son, our radical, decided to pull a drama king event on Feb.4th which led to the E.R., psychiatric hospital, state psychiatric hospital, three days at an emergency shelter and would have been held at the CPS offices, sleeping there, living there, had we not taken him home while they looked for an RTC. I'm sorry, this is a seventeen year old, hairy-legged, tall boy on the outside but on the inside, it's a child who moves back and forth between about six and thirteen depending on the stressors. So, no, four placements in less than four weeks while waiting for a fifth one? Our mental health system, especially for kids, needs so much overhaul. Even up to getting on the toll way to head to the airport, I questioned myself. How could I head out to Florida for almost six days when my son could get "the call" about which RTC he would be sent to and I wouldn't be there? How could I leave my husband there to handle it? What if my son lost his shit and things spiraled totally out of control? You know what? I.am.not.super.woman. I am not. I am a person who has a limit on how much my heart and my brain can handle. I'd already hit it. I also couldn't stay home because if I did, my message to my son would be loud and clear.....happy anything, jack with it, ruin it and they will put aside their needs every time and jump through my hoops. Nope.<br />
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I needed my girlies. I needed my house girlies to hug and cry and most of all laugh. I needed the other girlies in other houses to hug and cry and most of all laugh. I needed to tell the stories of our travel through trauma and know that gasps would not be had, shrieks would not be heard and eyes would not look at me as if I'd sprouted an extra head. I needed to go somewhere that I could feel normal. (Meh, as normal as I'd ever want to be.) This was for me. This was for my tribe of moms who "get it".<br />
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The goodbyes just suck as we come from all over the U.S. and Canada. The goodbyes suck because as funny as we all know we are on facebook, or blogs, or email, there is so much more conveyed through a nod, a giggle, a guffaw and most of all, a look. These ladies are my sisters. I will never stop going to BeTA until maybe, they can't get my old body out of the nursing home. I declare we need a BeTA assisted living facility so we can all wag our finger at our radicals and their broods and cackle. <br />
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(Not me.....yet)<br /><br />beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-29271053317105410932014-01-27T19:01:00.001-08:002014-01-27T19:01:39.241-08:00Well now.......I guess it's kinda a good thing. (Oh wait, I cannot type kinda....so anal.) I haven't posted in a long while. One would think that my life must just be peachy keen. One would be so wrong, I could jack slap one. It's not been all bad just typical life with two teens where one is readjusting to life in a family and not in an institution...again. The year plus he's been home has been one long hop back on the roller coaster that is life with a kid with mental illness.<br />
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Still waiting on the outcome at his charter school concerning the latest call to the sheriff. He will be seventeen this week. That fact thrills me because, though I love him dearly, he's that much closer to eighteen. It terrifies me because we will no longer be playing the juvie card. This kid really expects all the niceties of life. I hated to tell him that in prison, in Texas, there is no air conditioning. Seriously, that is one of the multitude of things that would hurt my heart is to know he's suffering. <br />
beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-11554780483705083372013-10-13T14:37:00.002-07:002013-10-13T14:37:51.764-07:00Alone again....unnaturally In late spring, our son's CPS caseworker was transferred. That was the first change. Then, the next month, Disability Rights said they could no longer represent him because their grant had run out. Number two. At court in July, I sobbed, (not unusual for me) because "our" judge, who is such a huge advocate for kids with mental health needs, retired. It felt like all of our supports were giving way. Today, I read the mail that came from our local CPS office. They think that our son should be dismissed.<br />
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Let's look at the recent stats, shall we? He was released from an inpatient stay at a psych. hospital EIGHT days ago because he threatened to harm me and himself. He is to go before the committee to see if he will be allowed to stay at the charter school due to inappropriate behavior. We have no insurance coverage for him as he has been covered by Medicaid for four years now. <br />
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I'm guessing if he's dismissed on Friday (oh yes, of course, court with the new judge that doesn't know us at all is this week and his Attorney ad Litum just happens to have not been on the list of Parties/Attorneys/Child's Representatives to get this letter) that even his CASA worker will no longer be involved.<br />
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That's right folks, cut adrift. I'm so stressed out and terrified right now I could punch something. beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-23730576962558317102013-09-15T07:43:00.002-07:002013-09-15T07:43:21.413-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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With all the talk about the article about "rehoming" kids, my ire is up enough that I even feel compelled to get off of my lazy ass and post here.<br />
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XOJane who is an adoptee so I can see where her feelings would be big when finding out about this called anyone disrupting the "Scum of the Earth".<br />
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Here's my response to her:<br />
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<br />
As a parent who came very close to disrupting our son's adoption, I think
the Reuter's article shined a light that needed to be shined but was very
one-sided. I agree that there needs to be some kind of oversight. As
prospective adoptive parents we went through local, state and federal
background checks. We had extensive homestudies done by a social worker. We had
to have medical releases done that showed we had no diseases of mind or body
and anyone who accepts a child into their home should have the same. <br />
<br />
I know women who have had to make the devastating decision (they and their
husbands, their partners, or by themselves if single-parenting) because they
could not keep their other children (adopted and/or bio) children safe from the
child perpetrating on them what had been done to him/her in their bio
home/former foster home/orphanage. They LOVE their child but if they do not
make other arrangements such as psychiatric hospitalization, residential
treatment or finding another family that does not have other children, they
will be charged by child protection with a crime and risk all of their children
removed. <br />
If you have not been kicked in the face/choked by a seatbelt while your
husband was driving 70 mph on the highway/punched in the face until you had to
have xrays of your cheek bones and eye socket you cannot begin to imagine how
desperate a family can become. My husband and I adopted our son from an
orphanage in Ukraine
(we also had two bio daughters, one in Heaven since 90 at age 13 and one at the
time was 23) and one daughter at home who came to us through an open, domestic
adoption with ongoing contact. <br />
<br />
We did do due diligence. I am a teacher who loves to research and when we
were getting ready to make one of the biggest decisions of our lives, I researched
up the wazoo. Here's the problem: This child was walked into the room and even
though my researcher's brain had said: "ten to eighteen months old so he's
old enough that the it would be evident that he was neurologically okay
(particularly trying to avoid adopting a child with FAS for the sake of our
daughter, our oldest daughter had been born with Spina Bifida and her special
needs really, really impacted our second daughter. Amber was a blessing and a
privilege, don't get me wrong. We would learn much later how much guilt Heather
had about being "normal" and the anger she had that I had to be gone
so often to the hospital with Amber, even though they were as close as you can
get) and not so old that he would have a great amount of damage from being
in an orphanage.) Well, in Ukraine,
you don't know who you're going to adopt until you flip through books and go
and meet a child. This 3 years, 10 months old boy walked through that door and
his soul just flew into mine. When you are confronted with a child that needs a
family (this happens in foster care here too, all too often) where the facts
are twisted, the child's health is lied about, your head goes out of the
window. <br />
<br />
We tried working with two psychologists, three psychiatrists, I quit teaching
for five years to give him the mama time he had not had, borrowed against our
home to travel out of state for treatment, tried Oprah, Dr.Phil and even Ellen
Degeneres for help with no response, contacted my local representatives,
senators, governor, the president (Bush and Obama), their wives. Took him for
holding therapy (I was always in with him, it was not rebirthing or anything
like that), play therapy, sand tray therapy, one on one with a psychologist,
family therapy with a psychologist. Tried to find hippotherapy (horse therapy)
but none available. <br />
<br />
Our son abused and even killed animals, set multiple fires, tried to
sexually abuse his older sister. We had alarms on his door and windows. He was
stealthily fast and amazingly could wreak havoc within seconds. All the
while he was tried on homepathic remedies, changed diet, and finally,
psychotropic meds. He assaulted teachers, parents at his school, was arrested
at eleven for assaulting his teachers, spent three stints in the state
psychiatric hospital for children where he was exposed to even more trauma. He
was only eleven. We'd been working with therapists since he was four.<br />
<br />
Finally, at twelve, we knew he needed respite care. Again, we borrowed
against our home and flew him up to a women who'd been recommended to us for
temporary care to give our family a break. What pushed us over the edge? Our
daughter. Our son was what I call and excuse the words, a shit flicker. If you
told him to be in his room and not come out...he would put his finger right up
to the edge of the threshold of his door just to make his point. When our
sweet, loving daughter known in the family as Happy Hugger II (Amber was Happy
Hugger I) came flying out of the door with a broom over her head and our son
was laughing maniacally, we became afraid that she would get in trouble with
the law. That's why we made the heartwrenching decision that we could no longer
do this alone and needed a break. This lady was single (no partner for our son
to try to triangulate), no children for him to perp on, no animals for him to
abuse. They spoke on the phone and online for weeks to begin to build a
relationship with and he was excited to go. She and I had spoken at length
about doing what was best for him and for our family. If he was happier there
with her it would have destroyed me but my husband and I would allow her to
adopt him. She lasted thirty hours. My son and I ended up in Albany
Medical Center ER when he assaulted me and tried to assault the police where he
stated he would kill himself. The next day under the haze of Haldol (him, not
me, I wish) we flew home devastated because we had already visited with Child
Protective Services and knew what came next. Because our insurance would only
cover five days psychiatric hospitalization and of course, our deductible meant
that really they'd pay nothing. Because we did not have $450 to $500 per DAY
for paying residential treatment, we had no choice but to turn to the state. He
went into care on 9-2-09. <br />
<br />
This precious, hurting boy was no longer under our protection. We visited
him and he would punch me (he explained that there were two reasons for that: I
reminded him of one of the "care" givers at the orphanage who had
particularly abused him and he was afraid of my love, he kept trying to see
when it would end.) He destroyed a great deal of property at the psych
facility, assaulted many of the female staff, made a false sexual abuse outcry
against another boy, (he would do that at every facility he was at). He was
transferred after his thirteenth birthday to the facility for "Manifestly
Dangerous" teens in March of 2010. <br />
<br />
This has been too long but I need for you to see the depth of trauma that
some children can visit on their families as payback for those who abused them.
<br />
<br />
Where is he now? In prison? Dead? Those were our fears. <br />
<br />
No, he's downstairs sleeping in his room. It took three years, four
facilities, many court appearances, risking my livelihood if they had charged
us with RAPR (Refusing to Accept Parental Responsibilities) which would be
child abandonment which would have meant I could not teach but the D.A. said it
was obvious that we had not done that, we'd run out of resources.<br />
<br />
It took him deciding that we were not the people who threw him into doors
and walls, that molested him and that beat him all from two to three years of
age. It took him deciding he wanted to be a part of his family. Many of the
children who go from their adoptive family to another (I'm sorry, rehoming is
for pets and even that I don't like) have made no connection at all, they can't
because the people they trusted before are the very ones who abandoned them and
hurt them and they push, push, push so that if they are abandoned again, they
were in control of making it happen. <br />
<br />
Please do not paint all families who struggle with the same brush.<br />
<br />
Bitch, please think before you type. (That is for here, not on her page. My mother did at least try to raise a lady.)<br />
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Or a cursor that should go with a delete button. <br /><br />
beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-27883764157605796902012-07-21T15:07:00.002-07:002012-07-21T15:07:18.124-07:00A serving of Seroqu*l with a side of Lithi*mThe doctor calls it treatment. I am calling it chemical restraining. My son's in an RTC, hopefully for not much longer. It's actually a really good one. It's sad that we had to turn to CPS to pay for it but that is the reality. I think on my tombstone it will say," Remember, the brain IS an organ IN the body. The treatment of its ills should be covered the same." We're lucky that due to my copious amounts of documentation, we were not charged with RAPR (Refusing to Accept Parental Responsibility) and are actually in a co-parenting sort of set up.<br />
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Next Friday, we have our quarterly court status hearing. I've contacted my son's psychiatrist to ask why, if his dx includes: PTSD, RAD and Conduct Disorder, is he on two, very powerful Bipolar/Schizophrenic (the sero) drugs? Now, he has thyroid issues. Hmmm, very common side effect of the Lithi*m and not uncommon in the other. I understand from an advocacy lawyer that a few of his clients in the same place are on the same meds. What, are they getting them in bulk? Wondering what the doctor who told my son basically this," I don't have to listen to the judge. " Of course, being the radilicious teen he is, and even though he's come so very, very far, he still thinks he has to look out for himself. Still doesn't believe the adults involved will have his back. However, I'll sure as hell take it. To be able to drive, alone, with the
kid who once tried to strangle me with the seat belt....that's huge. <br />
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<br />beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-61306641063018465822012-04-10T17:32:00.003-07:002012-04-10T17:55:13.178-07:00You know you've gone back to work when....<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LxyHHKYhwVk/T4TWYrHv-YI/AAAAAAAAAWU/SvcjoJCUzC4/s1600/quotes-on-hope-1.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 221px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LxyHHKYhwVk/T4TWYrHv-YI/AAAAAAAAAWU/SvcjoJCUzC4/s320/quotes-on-hope-1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729940345302546818" border="0" /></a><br />You don't update your blog for over a month.<br /><br />Your facebook status goes blank for days or weeks.<br /><br />You have this eternally exhausted look on your face that shows up again at five a.m.<br /><br />So, here's where we are today....<br /><br />Picked up the boy on Thursday evening and will never, EVER do that again directly from teaching all day without one of those energy drinks. Ever.<br /><br />My son earned a $20 gift card to Wally World from his school at the RTC and he spent it all on baking supplies. He proceeded to make Cheesecake Brownies, Lemon cake, French Vanilla cake with chocolate frosting drizzled with white chocolate and Chocolate Chip cookies. He was the dessert provider for my family at Easter and I very much could see this kid going into culinary arts.<br /><br />He has come so far that I felt comfortable and confident in asking him if he was okay with the dogs sleeping in his room (they do when he's not here....Sam, the 96 lb. baby howls like his skin is being peeled off, so, for the neighbors' sake, I put them in at night). This is the same child who at one time abused these dogs, mainly Sam (who howled before we even got him btw) who had been abused.<br /><br />He organized the Easter egg hunt with his little cousins and was so patient in guiding them to where they should "hunt".<br /><br />This is the same kid who was previously banished from my sister's property....she now tells him she loves him and hugs him. He's helped her greatly clean up her property and even killed several scorpions in the process (the only time I've heard this deep-voiced boy squeal like a girl).<br /><br />I have to say, each time that I drive away after leaving him at the house he lives in (an RTC, they have house dads for the boys' houses and house moms for the girls) it is so hard and I am so grateful that I miss him. So many times in the past that I thought I wanted to just have him be a memory. So many tears shed over whether I'd ever have the hope of a future with him in it. So many times I just knew it, with certainty, that he'd be in prison and the only contact we'd have would be through glass. (Been there with him, you just cannot hug through a phone.)<br /><br />Now, they're saying the plan is for him to come home in October. He may need to go to either a half-way house (didn't know those existed for teens) or foster care as part of the transition. He's stressed about that. But today, I have faith in him. He's got this.beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-54007259902489489962012-03-08T14:51:00.007-08:002012-03-12T07:34:09.372-07:00Well, okay then<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B73VrBSUk3U/T1k7Mbj514I/AAAAAAAAAVw/3MX2oskA2V8/s1600/DSCN2236.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B73VrBSUk3U/T1k7Mbj514I/AAAAAAAAAVw/3MX2oskA2V8/s320/DSCN2236.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717666286666372994" border="0" /></a> Those crazy Canadians.....they're a little Looney.<br /> Justine, tackling two Radalicious boys and just didn't get enough, so she's getting one more in the female style this time. Roz, this woman is so damn mature, enlightened, grounded and she's only 27. She amazes me how well she has adapted to adding not one, but two siblings of the little guy they already had since last year's Orlando days. Unfreakingbelievable. Melodie, my beer drinking friend who has two daughters. One is a twelve year old drama queen who needs to come down here and move rocks. So she will appreciate her mama more. Amina, who I did not have the privilege of meeting but will definitely make sure of it next year.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZTC5IHIzdvQ/T1k7L4S5OZI/AAAAAAAAAVk/AiefsKviC6A/s1600/DSCN2233.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZTC5IHIzdvQ/T1k7L4S5OZI/AAAAAAAAAVk/AiefsKviC6A/s320/DSCN2233.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717666277199788434" border="0" /></a> Miss Amy, my roommate, such a love for her sons she has. Laura and I share a sad connection of having outlived one of our children. However, watching her with her two girlies, she's so good with them and such a giving woman.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r1qGnkljDM8/T1k7LRy9PjI/AAAAAAAAAVU/IKpKLOXeriI/s1600/DSCN2234.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r1qGnkljDM8/T1k7LRy9PjI/AAAAAAAAAVU/IKpKLOXeriI/s320/DSCN2234.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717666266865286706" border="0" /></a>Miss Desi who will soon be off to Kentucky (Rose, did you read that!). Lordy, she has the wit of a razor sharp comedian. She makes you laugh until you cry or feel like you'll puke. She is also raising a genius kindergartener who will someday cure cancer or build a robot dog that does what he wants it to do. Bless her heart.<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-18ihQdWUmCo/T1k7LOMxZ5I/AAAAAAAAAVM/W1SeYLm-DPE/s1600/DSCN2232.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-18ihQdWUmCo/T1k7LOMxZ5I/AAAAAAAAAVM/W1SeYLm-DPE/s320/DSCN2232.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717666265899820946" border="0" /></a>Mothering...4...Money aka S, who has more shit on her platter right now than she should. I love this lady. Even if her tits make mine look like pimples. Erica, new to our villa, but fit right in just seamlessly. Her son went through unspeakable things in his birth vessel's "care" but he has a mama now that will lay down her life for him. My baby girl Ali. She may talk like a skah mahshull, but she has a such a soft spot for her family. Loved hearing her talk to KenKen and Wubsy each night. She's wicked fun to hang out with even if we did go to bed by ten ....such old ladies.<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Vo0WPXKnxE/T1k7M9CuqmI/AAAAAAAAAV4/WO0Tcq6pi1w/s1600/DSCN2237.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3Vo0WPXKnxE/T1k7M9CuqmI/AAAAAAAAAV4/WO0Tcq6pi1w/s320/DSCN2237.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717666295654034018" border="0" /></a> I wish these were my tits. They are not, mine wouldn't even make one. That is a Canadian Looney coin down the cleavage of a Looney Canadian, so it works. And she's now picking up her third Radalicious kid...sending positive thoughts. Hang onto that coin Justine, you're gonna need it!<br /><br />Orlando, I heart you. You bring me into contact with such wonderful women and I only wish we'd had more time. For those that might be new to my blog...I'm going to try to add some links here so you can see how far my son has come and what a freaking miracle that is. <a href="http://withlovefromsumy.blogspot.com/2008/10/this-is-too-hard.html">http://withlovefromsumy.blogspot.com/2008/10/this-is-too-hard.html</a><br /><a href="http://withlovefromsumy.blogspot.com/2010/09/andhes-done.html">http://withlovefromsumy.blogspot.com/2010/09/andhes-done.html</a><br /><a href="http://withlovefromsumy.blogspot.com/2010/09/sometimes-i-feel-like-walking.html">http://withlovefromsumy.blogspot.com/2010/09/sometimes-i-feel-like-walking.html</a><br /><a href="http://withlovefromsumy.blogspot.com/2010/08/it-amazes-me-that-he-can-still-hurt-me.html">http://withlovefromsumy.blogspot.com/2010/08/it-amazes-me-that-he-can-still-hurt-me.html</a><br /><a href="http://withlovefromsumy.blogspot.com/2010/07/staplestheyre-not-just-for-paper.html">http://withlovefromsumy.blogspot.com/2010/07/staplestheyre-not-just-for-paper.html</a><br /><a href="http://withlovefromsumy.blogspot.com/2009/10/oh-geezwheres-my-highlighter.html">http://withlovefromsumy.blogspot.com/2009/10/oh-geezwheres-my-highlighter.html</a><br /><br /><br />These are just some of the old ick. I did not include the one where my face looks like Mike Tyson took me for a spin. Didn't write about when my son kicked me in the face and tried to choke me with the seat belt while my husband was driving 70 mph down an unfamiliar highway following an unsuccessful respite attempt. But, I think it's enough. Especially considering that big boy is sleeping downstairs right now. And, he left us this Saturday night:<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2fZEJ_7aHZA/T1398INOvhI/AAAAAAAAAWI/OhwGHyMKoiY/s1600/IMAG0033.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 191px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2fZEJ_7aHZA/T1398INOvhI/AAAAAAAAAWI/OhwGHyMKoiY/s320/IMAG0033.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719006311267352082" border="0" /></a>beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-421927568436706942012-01-20T07:03:00.000-08:002012-01-20T10:12:00.347-08:00Therapy and a sore butt!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b7pN5PEbC-Y/TxmuWLwgPMI/AAAAAAAAAUo/cu-cbwxLaYk/s1600/DSC_0102.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b7pN5PEbC-Y/TxmuWLwgPMI/AAAAAAAAAUo/cu-cbwxLaYk/s320/DSC_0102.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699778499550657730" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dO2EAjob0Bc/TxmuWS0CJoI/AAAAAAAAAU0/jAh2AkDdirw/s1600/DSC_0112.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dO2EAjob0Bc/TxmuWS0CJoI/AAAAAAAAAU0/jAh2AkDdirw/s320/DSC_0112.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699778501444511362" border="0" /></a><br />Nature is my therapist. No matter how rough, tough things get, she soothes me. I'm going to head out for my walk in a while and go to therapy again. I have discovered that I have to pursue my therapy on two feet, not two wheels.<br /><br />My son is a foster kid basically. Because we had to turn to CPS for help to get him into RTC, he receives gifts like other foster kids. Lucky him because there is no way in hell I'd have bought him Air Jordan shoes. He also got a gift card to Wally Mart. He chose a bike but he left it at home after the visit because the other boys at the RTC mess with his stuff. So, I rode it. And I walked it when the hills became too much. I just don't get the same therapeutic benefit of the nature surrounding me when I can't hear the birds chirping over my wheezing lungs. I can't focus on beauty if my butt feels like someone has welded forks, tines up, to the seat of the bike. I even thought of the word peri-anal on my ride. Good damn grief, how do those guys ride for miles? Are their testicles like little air bags?<br /><br />So, I'm heading back out, wincing as I walk (and I wore platform shoes yesterday to go to district offices.....my left knee is reminding me that we.don't.do.that.beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-71551488581991069632012-01-11T08:34:00.000-08:002012-01-11T08:46:57.668-08:00Gonna take some pichers.......<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UNdQjGVr3gY/Tw28oSz7YSI/AAAAAAAAAT4/Mak6kq7u7Uc/s1600/tired-woman-on-excercise-bike-thumb2698737.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 221px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UNdQjGVr3gY/Tw28oSz7YSI/AAAAAAAAAT4/Mak6kq7u7Uc/s320/tired-woman-on-excercise-bike-thumb2698737.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696416504123973922" border="0" /></a><br />of my body,only for me to see. I am determined that this time, I will persevere!<br /><br />I would be a liar if I said I didn't care about looking good. BUT...I care more about having 100% lung function, hopefully ending sleep apnea (jerked awake five times last night!) and eliminating acid reflux. It's cause my body is fat on the inside, not just the outside. <br /><br />Today, my butt is sore, my legs are sore, but my smile is a mile wide. Not only did I walk another four miles yesterday (took me 1.5 hours! but hey, least it didn't take me 1.5 days...) but I got paid to do it! Found money on the trail, asked every person I came across if they'd lost something. Nope! Now if only I could get paid each time, I'd be exercising at least three times a week!<br /><br />Picking up the boy tomorrow afternoon so that he can be present at CPS status court hearing on Friday. He's going to turn 15 at the end of this month. Thinking of planning a surprise birthday party but shhhhh, don't tell!beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-68589623835176382472012-01-01T08:39:00.000-08:002012-01-01T08:55:14.378-08:00Lame, but in a good way....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lpjox3c4j7c/TwCP1DW4DBI/AAAAAAAAATc/uY7DZ0zXOHg/s1600/DSC_0072.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lpjox3c4j7c/TwCP1DW4DBI/AAAAAAAAATc/uY7DZ0zXOHg/s320/DSC_0072.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692708070593399826" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qdbeR8QskWg/TwCP07ovRUI/AAAAAAAAATU/Yc4MjZklJPA/s1600/DSC_0049.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qdbeR8QskWg/TwCP07ovRUI/AAAAAAAAATU/Yc4MjZklJPA/s320/DSC_0049.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692708068520838466" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r9MTCAVWABk/TwCP1a30LjI/AAAAAAAAATs/-6xZuqpnF4w/s1600/DSC_0054.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r9MTCAVWABk/TwCP1a30LjI/AAAAAAAAATs/-6xZuqpnF4w/s320/DSC_0054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692708076905573938" border="0" /></a><br />I do believe I've eaten my way around the world while Santa did his thing. Polished off the last sour cream cookie with my coffee and then signed up at weight loss buddy. I'm so lame....on New Year's Day, how cheesy is that? But, I have to. For the last several years especially, I've allowed myself to eat and drink whatever I wanted "<span style="font-style: italic;">because of the stress". </span>It sounded good at the time. Now, I've hit over 200 lbs. and have back fat.....as in two rolls, each side. I am out of breath (not laying on the floor gonna die out of breath, but still) at the top of the stairs in my house. Yep, one freakin' flight. Go me! So, even though I'm joining the other lame-o's who start to plan for a healthier future on New Year's Day, I have to do this. Yes, I would love to put on a pair of pants and stop checking for all those socks. You know those socks, the ones that had to have, despite copious amounts of<br />Dow ny, become entangled in the belly, butt , hip and thigh area because those bulges can so not be ME! I would love to be svelte. I even like saying it and typing it because for now, that's a close to svelte as I'm going to get except for my index fingers. But svelte, as lovely as you are, you have nothing on smooth, as in smooth inhalations and exhalations that don't sound as if a 200 lb. Bull Mastiff has just climbed the stairs next to me. So, here's where the few of you that read this come in.....you're gonna poke my fat ass virtually. If in a post I mention something like going to a big ol' Texas BarBQue, you will simply comment SVELTE or LUNGS. If you want to be mean you could type Lardass. I would get it. See, my son is coming home eventually and I want to be able to keep up with his teenage self. I also don't want him to worry about my dropping dead on him (literally or figuratively) . His needs are not why I'm doing this though....I need to get healthy for myself. I also need to put up my "5K" picture from Orlando in 11. While I look for what will be my new wallpaper, here's a few pics from a successful, large family gathering on Thursday where my son did very, very well. Except for once getting snippy with me and you know what, I redirected his ass and he accepted it. Go him! And yes, go me.beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-45530175342029796712011-12-16T06:05:00.000-08:002011-12-16T06:25:46.100-08:00Getting Ready and this time, going for the whole enchilada<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V7AIJo9JxwY/TutSTHNe_aI/AAAAAAAAARw/NJlDR8VLSXA/s1600/633353856378125000.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V7AIJo9JxwY/TutSTHNe_aI/AAAAAAAAARw/NJlDR8VLSXA/s320/633353856378125000.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686729442791980450" border="0" />Our oldest , Amber, on her first Christmas. Born with Spina Bifida, the doctors told us she'd only live 24 hours. Ha! She beat that by thirteen years and six days. A total gift from God, a blessing and privilege to parent and simply a regular little happy hugging girl who happened to use a wheelchair. </a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KZRvWxju1lc/TutSTFmHxHI/AAAAAAAAAR8/aszwk5pmHis/s1600/633353875663437500.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 246px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KZRvWxju1lc/TutSTFmHxHI/AAAAAAAAAR8/aszwk5pmHis/s320/633353875663437500.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686729442358445170" border="0" />Oh what a sweet Santa. Amber had had her heel cord surgery done and Heather had made her appearance four months before. </a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u5Xjhuxbnp8/TutSTskJBBI/AAAAAAAAASE/kXNBP9SccNc/s1600/633353883355156250.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 313px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u5Xjhuxbnp8/TutSTskJBBI/AAAAAAAAASE/kXNBP9SccNc/s320/633353883355156250.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686729452819121170" border="0" />Amber was back in the hospital due to seizures so Heather was taken to see Santa alone. Not a good idea. Not at all. </a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oQWrVzzFgWg/TutST-XViuI/AAAAAAAAASY/6ELgciTYsjo/s1600/633353889949531250.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oQWrVzzFgWg/TutST-XViuI/AAAAAAAAASY/6ELgciTYsjo/s320/633353889949531250.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686729457597254370" border="0" />Okay, we're much more comfortable with the idea of the fat man in the red suit now. </a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lwYUctAF3Ew/TutSUxb5p6I/AAAAAAAAASg/lhPhKS7pn4s/s1600/AR20081010_001302.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lwYUctAF3Ew/TutSUxb5p6I/AAAAAAAAASg/lhPhKS7pn4s/s320/AR20081010_001302.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686729471306606498" border="0" />Hannah's first Santa pic. Six months old. It took two failed matches with birthparents before the just right, perfect for us and who we were perfect for child came into our family. </a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gHSCFsCr4Nk/TutSkkrZW7I/AAAAAAAAASs/eP7CZW34XOQ/s1600/DSC_0426.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gHSCFsCr4Nk/TutSkkrZW7I/AAAAAAAAASs/eP7CZW34XOQ/s320/DSC_0426.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686729742759844786" border="0" />Ummm, no.....I don't want to sit in the man's lap. Stranger danger! Stranger danger! </a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nkcGK29CiPA/TutSk43RBeI/AAAAAAAAAS8/K5o0PyzU-CQ/s1600/633451635146562500.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 243px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nkcGK29CiPA/TutSk43RBeI/AAAAAAAAAS8/K5o0PyzU-CQ/s320/633451635146562500.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686729748178339298" border="0" />Not much better this year even if Mama comes into the picture. Santa was ready though. Those are THE famous magic red jumping shoes. Surprised she didn't jump right out of the shot. </a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xsunFJcBFwk/TutSlZ38A1I/AAAAAAAAATE/wiv7DPsV-00/s1600/633353993175625000.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 285px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xsunFJcBFwk/TutSlZ38A1I/AAAAAAAAATE/wiv7DPsV-00/s320/633353993175625000.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686729757039526738" border="0" />Alex was home about a week before he got to meet the fat man for the first time. Hannah, an old pro. (By this time she'd already told me,"Mama, I don't need a baby brother any more...you can send him back now.") Boy, she must have had some kind of crystal ball about our future. Yes, he was already raging, just in Russian. </a><br />When Alex came home for Thanksgiving, as it was his first time in our home (we'd moved a few months after he left) and our daughter Hannah was adamantly opposed to staying home, she stayed at her big sister's house all the nights he was here. All four nights, I slept in Hannah's room to be near in case Alex got up, needed help or God forbid, went near the dogs. (History of animal cruelty, especially to the bigger dog,Sam, a rescue.) I was now the one who was hypervigilant. PTSD, I'd like to smack YOU upside the head!<br /><br />This time, Hannah is going to stay here for part of the visits (there will be two, I have to drive him back in the middle as six nights is the max) and stay at Heather's for part. Which, she'd stay there anyway for part of her school break....so grateful that even though there's almost seventeen years between them, they are so very close! She has agreed to think about going shopping with Alex, Heather and I so I count that as baby steps of progress.<br /><br />Christmas always leads to reflecting for me. Getting out all of the decorations after being packed away for almost eleven months is rediscovering treasures and with those come memories of better times. So, I'm throwing up old Christmas pics when the kids were little. Some sweet, some funny, and some very poignant.beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-33677980611935045722011-11-27T16:57:00.000-08:002011-11-27T17:06:19.707-08:00It's the little things...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x0OpPVEjngg/TtLebpeCU7I/AAAAAAAAAQY/3iApXawuY5Y/s1600/DSC_0312.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x0OpPVEjngg/TtLebpeCU7I/AAAAAAAAAQY/3iApXawuY5Y/s320/DSC_0312.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679846646637286322" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_pCP7fI6D_w/TtLebAYNZJI/AAAAAAAAAQM/vkab0R5DrWQ/s1600/DSC_0311.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_pCP7fI6D_w/TtLebAYNZJI/AAAAAAAAAQM/vkab0R5DrWQ/s320/DSC_0311.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679846635606992018" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uz-cK1EXaE0/TtLecG-W_pI/AAAAAAAAAQk/NfisoMo1Lp4/s1600/DSC_0354.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uz-cK1EXaE0/TtLecG-W_pI/AAAAAAAAAQk/NfisoMo1Lp4/s320/DSC_0354.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679846654557486738" border="0" /></a><br />The day to day things that you miss when your child is not living at home but at a facility. Going in and waking him up, seeing all the places at the table taken, watching him play with the dogs. Just little things. And, the little things that grate on your nerves because he's been gone for over two years....the continual changing of the car radio (THAT stopped pretty darn quickly though) the endless chatter and the manipulating or attempt to. All in all though, a really good visit. Even had all three of my Earth kids (one daughter is in Heaven and I feel like a liar if I said all three of my kids...I have four,truly) working on decorating the Christmas tree. True, the youngest daughter and the boy did not interact but as he said,"You know, she didn't get up and leave when I was near her." It's progress, tiny steps, and I'll take them.beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-23024785132768704142011-11-24T06:26:00.000-08:002011-11-24T08:02:17.997-08:00Ssssssh....he's sleeping....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qVn9ucIdyds/Ts5awiEWbrI/AAAAAAAAAP8/MASN1COHelQ/s1600/DSCN2105.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qVn9ucIdyds/Ts5awiEWbrI/AAAAAAAAAP8/MASN1COHelQ/s320/DSCN2105.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678575969986047666" border="0" /></a><br />...in his OWN bed! For the first time in two years, two months and twenty-one days (not that I'm counting) he slept in his own bed! I think it's appropriate for us that November is National Adoption Month in that our son has had two firsts: first time sleeping in a non- psych hospital/juvenile detention/residential treatment bed and first time back at home. I know these three days will fly, one already has but I intend to soak in as much of the goodness about this visit as I can.<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzqmpb9dSZpxaR05_Juk8s_RQva8aSfxaOl7KqpEe99cCxsOKfvsbKyC3AJFrEWrEcDUi71fP_oLGmlG21q7Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />Going today to see Joe's side of the family for Thanksgiving. They have all been pretty supportive of us as our family has gone down this roller coaster experience. I did add to the fb family group that I'd appreciate if those with children (meaning my sister in law with seven kids, homeschooled all...............I would have committed harikari, who oddly enough, people hesitate to have stay at their house because they lack social graces and destroy property...but, I digress) would prep them to come to Joe or myself if they have questions as to where Alex has been for the last two years rather than go to him. He's anxiously waiting to see them and anxious about seeing them. I get it. (Not a homeschool or unschool basher.....works for many people, just this one that thinks social skills are not important.)beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-89734999623835732962011-11-20T17:22:00.000-08:002011-11-20T18:16:46.171-08:00Raising Abel....Ya gotta read this!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZiIlm9A_JSw/TsmpsjwBWyI/AAAAAAAAAPc/5IUag5INiec/s1600/Carolyn_Nash1.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 278px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZiIlm9A_JSw/TsmpsjwBWyI/AAAAAAAAAPc/5IUag5INiec/s320/Carolyn_Nash1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677255388253215522" border="0" /></a><br /> I was privileged to be asked to review Carolyn's book on my blog. Wow, me, little ol' me, I feel like Sally Field did getting her award! Someone thinks I have something of value to offer! I was thrilled to say the least.<br /><br /> I received the book in the mail yesterday and after getting over my insane jealous feeling that this lady lives in California and I live in Texas, I ripped open the envelope and jumped in. Wow, oh my freaking, crap on a cracker, wow. This book has slightly over three hundred pages and I read it in about six hours. Riveting. Painful, funny, sad and inspiring, all rolled up in one.<br /><br /> That precious face you see on the cover? That is Abel...right after his first really big, "Hey, let me let you know the honeymoon is sure as shoot over, meltdown." I looked at his angelic face and thought of what I'd just read. Just kept flipping back to the cover and thinking,"How could they?!"<br /><br /> If you are parenting a child of trauma, be ready to have many ahha moments where you will be remembering your experiences while reading about theirs. There were so many parallels to our own son's behaviors and our family's experiences. The thing that was most helpful to me is reading that parts where mental health professionals treated Carolyn with kindness, consideration and respect and like they knew she wasn't crazy, permissive, lazy, etc. but was doing all she could possibly do. Validation, we so need that.<br /><br />If you are considering foster parenting, this should be a primer for you. If you can read this book and say, "Wow, that really is such a horrible experience for him but his mom stuck by him and they worked through it together. Yeah, I can be that for a child," then there is a child out there waiting, you've got the right stuff.<br /><br />I'm going to include a few quotes from the book that either just hit me like a ton of bricks or mirrored an experience I've had (and then hit me like a ton of bricks).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">p.24 This is the day Carolyn met Abel </span><br /><br /> I let myself out, walked slowly to the car, and started for home.<br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">Is he the one? Is he my son?<br /><br /> </span>I couldn't quite get my brain around it. I go, meet a child, play with him a few minutes and then he's mine for life? I actually tried to argue myself out of it,. I'd wanted a baby girl. This was a three year old boy.<br /> I started to smile.<br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">That sweet, sweet grin.<br /><br /> </span>I shook my head. He obviously had some issues. Did I want to deal with issues in my first parenting experience?<br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">The way his arms came around my neck.<br /><br /></span>I didn't even know whether he would be my son. What if he went back to his birth parents? <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /> His warm little body snuggling down in my lap.<br /><br /></span></span></span></span>Yeah, I was lost. There were no arguments that could cut through what had clicked and locked into place when I first saw him walk through that door. He was mine. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">p.105 The morning after revealing his birthparents had both molested him.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /> "Mama?"<br /> "Yes-a?" I said cheerfully.<br /> "I was telling the truth last night."<br /> I stopped and looked down at him. "I know," I said solemnly. "You were very brave."<br /><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">p.183 Abel is in third grade and keeps his room in a state where science could easily happen. Refuses to throw away an empty applesauce cup because it is his friend. </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />A week later I found the cup on the floor under his bed, little bits of dried applesauce still stuck to the inside. I groaned and reached for it, but as I picked it up, I noticed he'd written something on it in black felt pen: <span style="font-weight: bold;">I buleave in you</span>.<br /> I put it carefully back under his bed.<br /> I still have that cup.<br /><br /><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Finally, p. 249 The psychiatric hospital intake worker hears a condensed version of Abel's first three years of life. </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /> "You know," he said finally. "I've been doing this for 30 years and that's the worst I've ever heard. That poor kid."<br /><br /></span></span></span></span><span><span><span><span>With the help of her trusted therapist and Abel's therapist (along with others in education and the mental health profession that "get it") Carolyn has guided Abel through over eighteen years of therapeutic parenting. Reading about someone who is much older than my son and experienced even worse things than my son did </span></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">and he's not living on the streets, not in prison, not living in a mental health facility and alive...gives me hope.<br /><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span>beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-65140741941388208972011-11-15T17:57:00.000-08:002011-11-20T17:13:19.678-08:00Well, well, well......crap!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PyobVZS425U/TsmjbrDAxtI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/tieeEY0a5K8/s1600/633353914544218750.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 183px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PyobVZS425U/TsmjbrDAxtI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/tieeEY0a5K8/s320/633353914544218750.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677248501084374738" border="0" /></a> Heather and Amber, Happy Hugger I<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iw3ki0XPCLA/Tsmja-56yBI/AAAAAAAAAO4/E_EAm8bp3Is/s1600/633353944952500000.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 203px; height: 237px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iw3ki0XPCLA/Tsmja-56yBI/AAAAAAAAAO4/E_EAm8bp3Is/s320/633353944952500000.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677248489235073042" border="0" /></a><br /><br /> Heather with the child no longer "My mom's new baby."<br /> Quickly known as her little sister. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zyVxgfCYRVE/TsmjbBHiI7I/AAAAAAAAAPE/8RzEFB0ivVs/s1600/633353970789062500.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 198px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zyVxgfCYRVE/TsmjbBHiI7I/AAAAAAAAAPE/8RzEFB0ivVs/s320/633353970789062500.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677248489829049266" border="0" /></a><br /> Two cool girls.<br /><br /><div>One of my many catch phrases is ,"Well, crap on a cracker!" I don't know where I heard it but I know it does say it all.<a href="http://youtu.be/Zhoos1oY404"> I feel like the guy I watched way, way back when I was a kid who would twirl plates. </a>Though he was much more successful at balancing anything than I am. Seems I get one kid twirling away the way I'd prayed for, hoped for and another one comes crashing down. Had the first session with Hannah's old therapist (the one it was suggested we all go to when Alex went away two years ago) and that is one pissed off, ragey kind of girl! This makes me so freakin' sad! We have called her our happy hugger 2 as our first born, Amber, who used a wheelchair, could hug the tea-totalin' stuffin' out of you! And for the last two years, we'd seen that happy hugger come back. My husband even commented late last night that we might end up seeing Hannah move in with our older daughter, Heather, at some point just to get away. They are unbelievably close and I am so grateful for that! For a girl who said when Hannah came to us,"This is my mom's new baby," she rapidly changed her tune to,"This is MY little sister." There are sixteen years and eleven months between them.<br /><br />I started this post on the 15th, today is the 20th. It took a bit to find pics and boy, howdy, seems BOTH of my girls have major anxiety about Alex coming home. Due to an assault years ago, Heather has PTSD (geez, the family that freaks together...) and so she's had a few panic attacks about Hannah's safety. She also has so much anger at Alex for punching and hurting me. Fear for our animals' safety. Resentment that we sought out treatment for him (we tried to get her to go inpatient but she was an adult and refused, she'd blanked a lot out and I guess that's part of it).<br /><br />Sometimes, I wish I could go live on an island. By myself. With internet, books, beer and chocolate. I'd allow my friends to come visit but the drama would have to be left at the edge of the sand.<br /></div>beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-73262454448740687402011-11-11T12:29:00.000-08:002011-11-11T12:50:09.066-08:00I can do anything, I can do anything...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CO4wO5GFdlI/Tr2Js1SIDxI/AAAAAAAAAOs/xByegge6tpc/s1600/thumbnail.aspx.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 207px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CO4wO5GFdlI/Tr2Js1SIDxI/AAAAAAAAAOs/xByegge6tpc/s320/thumbnail.aspx.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673842508867047186" border="0" /></a>In just two hours, we will be on the road towards our first full weekend visit with Alex. I'm pretty damn stressed. I keep reminding myself that he's done well, very well with minor issues on our visits so far. Just wondering if he'll be able to keep things together. He does know that if the visit begins to go south, we just take him back. Yeah, right, I'm sure that would be no problemo. I know he wants things to go well, especially so he can come stay at home for Thanksgiving. His social worker called me this afternoon to let me know he was pretty wired up. Oybeemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-54240287502446156132011-10-19T18:27:00.000-07:002011-10-19T18:44:33.205-07:00At the risk of repeating myself...<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SoR1jGcm1pc/Tp984Gw9fqI/AAAAAAAAAOA/76JdySNKnCw/s1600/maxineonhalloween2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SoR1jGcm1pc/Tp984Gw9fqI/AAAAAAAAAOA/76JdySNKnCw/s320/maxineonhalloween2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665384159585861282" /></a><br />Our visit last weekend was fantabulous! I fear this "smoothness" will disappear once he is home. Right now, he's got a carrot dangling...if your visit in the RTC house goes well, your next one can be outside, without such close supervision....If your outside visit goes well, then next time, you can go off campus with your family...if your off campus visit goes well, next time, you can have an overnight visit....<div><br /></div><div>What happens when it's just us without a next level to work for? Oh, I hate that I project and have trouble appreciating the here and now. </div><div><br /></div><div>We did have a great visit except for the last hour when he was already making sad noises about the ending of it. We ate out, went to WalM@rt, T@rget, H@stings, Tr@ctor Supply, bowling, visited the big Sam Houston statue and got sundaes and Route 44's at Son!c. All of this in about five hours. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-68886362954634987112011-10-12T10:46:00.000-07:002011-10-12T10:51:14.243-07:00Stealing Thieving Robbing "Borrowing"In a good way that is. And I'm the thief.... Lynne wrote something that hit so true to the sweet spot that I am compelled to share. <div><a href="http://www.theaccidentaladvocate.org/2011/10/because-i-am-his-mom.html">http://www.theaccidentaladvocate.org/2011/10/because-i-am-his-mom.html</a></div><div><br /></div><div> It's been a while since I've hijacked a link so hope this works. Someone said to me that they thought my son was "doing his behaviors on purpose" to avoid living at home and being able to live in a psych hospital or an RTC. WTF? So, he's acting crazy on purpose to be able to live in a lockdown or the RTC where he is...away from his family....without the freedoms other kids his age enjoy. Well, if that ain't crazy, I don't know what is. </div>beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-58120235184894447642011-10-04T09:01:00.000-07:002011-10-04T09:22:21.139-07:00Paddlin' Along...<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pLsE9r6-884/Tosv6O57hWI/AAAAAAAAAN4/Rm8xSgKIuL8/s1600/DSCN2015.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pLsE9r6-884/Tosv6O57hWI/AAAAAAAAAN4/Rm8xSgKIuL8/s320/DSCN2015.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659670034201150818" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zooBQRcrWow/Tosv5m1za_I/AAAAAAAAANw/uGh9fLtF6Lg/s1600/DSCN1984.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zooBQRcrWow/Tosv5m1za_I/AAAAAAAAANw/uGh9fLtF6Lg/s320/DSCN1984.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659670023446424562" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2o0-UdtHeVw/Tosv5XuPpiI/AAAAAAAAANo/teNZl5lro1U/s1600/DSCN1983.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2o0-UdtHeVw/Tosv5XuPpiI/AAAAAAAAANo/teNZl5lro1U/s320/DSCN1983.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659670019388188194" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--OZHOSfS0J4/Tosv5M_xL0I/AAAAAAAAANg/cewul7Qgm9Q/s1600/DSCN1981.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--OZHOSfS0J4/Tosv5M_xL0I/AAAAAAAAANg/cewul7Qgm9Q/s320/DSCN1981.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659670016508899138" /></a>Not much to say.....got to take my boy OUT (gasp) on our own as if we were adults in charge both Saturday and Sunday. Felt great. <iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dztJ8q-W3EU96QgVe62VkSppnNDLMUbUMruyXEuGXm8cwQ38VqgJNr-ywT8C-rXHytRvNHJ9mOOH0PMOeVjRg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe> This video is sideways, I know, and it is LOUD! Cockatoo at the RTC where Alex is.beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-75843058503796039862011-09-26T07:19:00.001-07:002011-09-26T07:27:41.965-07:00I blame it on the free beer...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zp8dPdlqVM0/ToCKiGACUbI/AAAAAAAAANQ/BpSRMRs3yvw/s1600/DSC_0255.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zp8dPdlqVM0/ToCKiGACUbI/AAAAAAAAANQ/BpSRMRs3yvw/s320/DSC_0255.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656673450308293042" border="0" /></a>I was raised in the sixties....I think this sign says a lot of truth about the way we were raised.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EFf8InngyrM/ToCKh931rQI/AAAAAAAAANI/4kTbqBL23WU/s1600/DSC_0256.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EFf8InngyrM/ToCKh931rQI/AAAAAAAAANI/4kTbqBL23WU/s320/DSC_0256.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656673448126426370" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ob9KlSc0VhE/ToCKiZx7oNI/AAAAAAAAANY/oyVhae4azbM/s1600/DSC_0257.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ob9KlSc0VhE/ToCKiZx7oNI/AAAAAAAAANY/oyVhae4azbM/s320/DSC_0257.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656673455617843410" border="0" /></a>What you can't read is the beer label reads "Slosh" brand.<br /><br />Went to the Comal County Fair on Thursday night because for our business, we joined the Chamber of Commerce and they had a mixer. With free beer. And free food and prizes but mainly, free beer. So, since I didn't want to see the rodeo (can't watch animals treated like that...I can eat a cow but don't want to watch someone throw it to the ground...lame) I hung out near this guys booth that sold these signs. They spoke to me. It had been a really rough few days with a friend's daughter being in the hospital and knowing she was not going to survive this time and reading things that made me laugh out loud was very therapeutic. So now, my deck will have "art".beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-1295374682804923392011-09-13T06:44:00.000-07:002011-09-13T06:58:04.720-07:00I need to be more strict<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iJcy6-l6fa4/Tm9hY-yWbFI/AAAAAAAAANA/_wbfLUbXNxU/s1600/worlds-strictest-parents.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iJcy6-l6fa4/Tm9hY-yWbFI/AAAAAAAAANA/_wbfLUbXNxU/s320/worlds-strictest-parents.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651843139172199506" border="0" /></a><br />Words out of my son's mouth. Of course, each and every time he was consequenced (I go for the logical and connected type) he would fall apart.<br /><br />At the RTC he lives at, they are extremely strict. He convinced (manipulated) his CASA worker (because we turned to CPS to help pay for RTC, he qualifies for a CASA volunteer) to let him use her cell phone to call me. That is not supposed to happen. He admitted that he knew it but wanted to call me more than worried about the consequences. So, here is his.... he was "on the wall" for five days. That means, when he is not at school, at meals, in the bathroom, getting ready for school or bed....he sits facing the wall. No discussion with anyone. Just thinking. By yesterday, he should have graduated to the couch. All this for a phone call!? Are you kidding me? But...it works. Nothing like mind-blowing boredom to convince you to stop and think before making a decision you know better than to make.<br /><br />So, someday when he comes home again, I need to be more strict. Oh, and hire three men to stay with us for four days at a time to implement it...and the other four they rotate with. Guess I better start trolling Craigsl!st for bunk beds for all those guys.beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-13058509540541458992011-09-06T14:09:00.000-07:002011-09-06T14:36:48.356-07:00How in the heck did so much time go by!!!??<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BnDi_nOdbEE/TmaNKqYm_OI/AAAAAAAAAMw/3o5iv4J3o5c/s1600/DSC_0284.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BnDi_nOdbEE/TmaNKqYm_OI/AAAAAAAAAMw/3o5iv4J3o5c/s320/DSC_0284.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649357996898581730" border="0" /></a> What a difference in placement! Note there are no guard towers, no curving, barbwire fences and not even one electronic gate. I wasn't "wanded", took my cell phone AND a camera in. A freakin mazing!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IJYjbWGMgQ4/TmaNKbmV3OI/AAAAAAAAAMo/Ih3EonAjwqc/s1600/DSC_0279.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IJYjbWGMgQ4/TmaNKbmV3OI/AAAAAAAAAMo/Ih3EonAjwqc/s320/DSC_0279.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649357992929647842" border="0" /></a> If only this vehicle had an engine...ummm, no, no thank you.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3McTujJ6lV8/TmaNKdgHrdI/AAAAAAAAAMg/BQAuvirdc04/s1600/DSC_0270%2B-%2BCopy.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3McTujJ6lV8/TmaNKdgHrdI/AAAAAAAAAMg/BQAuvirdc04/s320/DSC_0270%2B-%2BCopy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649357993440423378" border="0" /></a> It's always good to not be the biggest a$$ in the area.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VbB8DORh-w8/TmaNKJfY9vI/AAAAAAAAAMY/xoiWFQgLyks/s1600/DSC_0277.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VbB8DORh-w8/TmaNKJfY9vI/AAAAAAAAAMY/xoiWFQgLyks/s320/DSC_0277.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649357988068652786" border="0" /></a> This feels one billion times better than it looks! I am wondering though what the heck is going on with my eyelids! Who is that old lady?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kcl0k4RBTZc/TmaNK4nUiDI/AAAAAAAAAM4/h2lPzEtCFmA/s1600/DSC_0240%2B-%2BCopy.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kcl0k4RBTZc/TmaNK4nUiDI/AAAAAAAAAM4/h2lPzEtCFmA/s320/DSC_0240%2B-%2BCopy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649358000718383154" border="0" /></a><br />I guess I've been in the job hunt trenches and needed to come up for air. Had another visit with the boy at the RTC. They both have gone wonderfully! The above cockatoo is hilarious! She kept us entertained and her language is quite interesting.<br /><br /> Still cautiously optimistic with the patent realization that my son is watched over by three adult males 24/7. Their program is extremely strict...get in trouble, face the wall. I swear this one boy has not moved since we visited in August! (A bit of exaggeration...it would appear he likes being restrained apparently ergo, in the chair, face the wall...no restraints.) I am thankful for all progress and hope that this time next year, he'll be home and that it will be do-able. Our daughter went for thirty minutes this time under duress but even though she refused to interact with him, she did tell my husband that she guesses I am officially the shortest member of the family now. So, even if she hates him, she considers him family, that's gotta be good right?beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-14219428603462654932011-07-29T19:34:00.000-07:002011-07-29T19:53:07.192-07:00Why do I do this?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QJCuE9ovOSw/TjNx24eguvI/AAAAAAAAAL4/xz6bSEMB0Rw/s1600/DSC_0046.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QJCuE9ovOSw/TjNx24eguvI/AAAAAAAAAL4/xz6bSEMB0Rw/s320/DSC_0046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634972746457856754" border="0" /></a><br />Next Saturday, we get to go see the boy at the new RTC. Their rules are that he had to be there 30 days before a visit could happen. They are very strict about a lot of things. Alex is like a lot of kids of trauma though, he needs to have intense structure and consistency. So, as we prepare for this first, monitored visit, I'm looking around for things to take him.<br /><br />Like many kids dealing with PtSD/RAD, he's younger in a lot ways than his actual age, which is 14. He loves Christmas! Not that he deals well with Christmas...not that hasn't done everything he could to ruin it for himself and the family, mainly himself. So, I'm looking around for DVDs that I can buy or download (legally without malware, spyware, etc.) to take to him. Why is it that I become the one who gets obsessed with finding stuff to take? Is it making up for not being there? Is it compensation for him having to live away from the family? Do I really think that material things equal love in his eyes? I really don't know what my motivation is. I guess I keep trying to figure out things that have made him happy in the past.<br /><br />I'm also looking for more and more frog or toad (that's one connection he and I share big time....love of those things, sorry Gala!) jokes and riddles. Here's one I put on one side of the package I sent yesterday: Knock, knock. Who's there? Toad Toad who? Toad you I was going to send you a package and here it is! Yay, now I can give up this silly quest of getting another teaching position and follow my talent in writing jokes to the big bucks!<br /><br />The tadpole in the picture is not the biggest we saw in the pond by our house...but it is the biggest we caught. Everything is bigger in Texas...'cept for rainfall, not so much.beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-61537889123240603672011-07-24T19:48:00.000-07:002011-07-24T20:07:40.837-07:00Grace<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Zo4jnIeYULw/TizdiP4LxWI/AAAAAAAAALo/Pk1oh00EBs0/s1600/DSC_0042.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Zo4jnIeYULw/TizdiP4LxWI/AAAAAAAAALo/Pk1oh00EBs0/s320/DSC_0042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633120814381122914" border="0" /></a><br /> She won over Uncle B, the birthday boy.....<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AT_RS9sH0d0/TizdhwRTBoI/AAAAAAAAALg/xaJE9QjtaLU/s1600/DSC_0028.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AT_RS9sH0d0/TizdhwRTBoI/AAAAAAAAALg/xaJE9QjtaLU/s320/DSC_0028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633120805896521346" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZRXbh5reUUg/TizdiQzvS0I/AAAAAAAAALw/YLWls7KV9X0/s1600/DSC_0029.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZRXbh5reUUg/TizdiQzvS0I/AAAAAAAAALw/YLWls7KV9X0/s320/DSC_0029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633120814630914882" border="0" /></a> Ahem, what are YOU looking at?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-phjaJfblhRg/TizaREMB5MI/AAAAAAAAALY/uO3LVQiR9WI/s1600/DSC_0040.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-phjaJfblhRg/TizaREMB5MI/AAAAAAAAALY/uO3LVQiR9WI/s320/DSC_0040.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633117220650476738" border="0" /></a> Ours was the first and up until now, the only adoptive family in my family. Despite our experiences with Alex, and maybe because of our experiences with Hannah, my little brother is now joining up. This is Miss Grace. She all but just fell into their lives. Grace's birth mom was taking her to the church day care and preschool that my sister in law teaches at. Over time, she was watching Gracie while her birth mom was working three jobs. It turns out that there are two siblings, full siblings, that were placed about four years ago with a relative. Their parents were not open to adopting Grace and so, she's joined the family. This is one incredibly smart and agile 18 month old. It appears she's a lot like her Aunt Sissy (me) in that she is a bit hyper. Funny thing is, there is sixteen years between my second and third daughters and the same between Grace and Kaley, up until now an only child. I hope these two are half as close as my Heather and Hannah are. Welcome to the clan, Miss Gracie!beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1638067308642807429.post-74471137716540227252011-07-15T05:56:00.000-07:002011-07-15T06:04:29.932-07:00Finally...pictures!I'm guessing it's probably due to HIPPA and the confidentiality laws that we have not been able to take a camera in with us (or a cell phone) since Alex has been in a state hospital. At the family day event in May, they took some pictures of us because I'd requested pictures of him. (If you knew me, you'd know that I am a huge photo nut...much to my husband's frustration.) He's got this funky Justin Bi*ber-like hair and is kind of in that awkward boy/man stage(the boy...not the husband,lol). He is now 5'8" and about 140 lbs. What a difference from the twelve year old he was when he left. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AwoPQIU3XwI/TiA5lhBbbfI/AAAAAAAAALI/DTwMIpDydfE/s1600/DSC_0003.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AwoPQIU3XwI/TiA5lhBbbfI/AAAAAAAAALI/DTwMIpDydfE/s320/DSC_0003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629562850895425010" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zDoRNJ-uR_Y/TiA5l3dn00I/AAAAAAAAALQ/_x9c1gpX5Kg/s1600/DSC_0002.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zDoRNJ-uR_Y/TiA5l3dn00I/AAAAAAAAALQ/_x9c1gpX5Kg/s320/DSC_0002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629562856919257922" border="0" /></a>beemommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08938594411342422060noreply@blogger.com0