The Annual Stalking of Bambi

Today is Testosterone Day in Ohio. More conventional people may also designate it as Orange Day, but I'm not real conventional. When you can sense it just by opening a living room window, it's T-Day.

I'm referring, of course, to Opening Day for deer hunting season.

It's guaranteed that if I drive anywhere in the next week, I will see several deer hanging from trees, dripping on garage floors, and lolling over pickup tailgates. (Especially the bucks. You NEVER put your tailgate up when you get a buck!)

Life demanded that I make an errand run today. My route took me past a house that is apparently a hot spot for hunters. Two mega-duty trucks pulled out in front of me, thick black exhaust rolling from the jumbo pipes rising above the cabs. Two more trucks waited for me to pass, so they could join the cavalcade. The drivers and passengers were sporting the universally recognized neon orange. One by one, they all turned the same corner. I envisioned fourteen overgrown boys piling out of the monster machines, smacking each other on the back, popping the lids off their Michelobs and reliving the take-down of the 12-pointer swinging from the tree in the front yard.

These men may or may not have surprised their wives with a bouquet of roses in the past fifteen years or spent a dime on a family movie night. Vacations to Disney or the Grand Canyon may be a foreign concept. But! By golly, they've had this week of vacation approved at work since the first of January. Every year. Without fail.

When I was in high school, all of my male classmates who hunted were allowed to take a free day on Opening Day. The notion of allowing the females the liberty to enjoy a day for shopping wouldn't have been entertained. Sure, the men were hunting and providing for the family. But we all know that's not why men pull on their boots and Carhartts and perch precariously in homemade tree stands in subzero weather waiting for the elusive stag to have an unfortunate meeting with the wrong end of a shotgun. The fact that the family gets a little deer jerky and enjoys a steaming pot of venison stew is a side benefit.

Several months ago, Tom brought home an eight point buck head that one of his friends at work had parted with. The friend was cleaning out the Man Cave. I'm not, by far, the best decorator in the world, but our house is not a log cabin or in the country. I wasn't thrilled with this monstrosity hanging on my wall. I appreciate benevolence, but...

Tiffany was even unsure what to think about it.




We recently came to an agreement, with the help of an acquaintance. This guy had reason to step on our front porch while the Thing languished in the bad weather, and upon noticing, he declared an immediate need for it. He desired to own it to the extent that he offered us his own deer, should he get one this year. When we didn't respond to his offer quickly enough, he increased it to include a really nice Pack-n-Play for Tiffany.

The Pack-n-Play is lovely girly colors and suits Tiffany perfectly. We're waiting for the call that will fill our freezer. And somewhere, there's an eight point buck hanging on a cabin wall, with a bunch of strong, tough Davy Crocketts beating their chests and telling fish...I mean...deer stories.

What Will $568 Get You?

In America, five hundred bucks will pay for a couple of annual trips to the vet for your dog, complete with vaccinations, heart worm pills, and flea medicine. If you're lucky.

In America, five hundred bucks will cover two nights and a tasty dinner on a romantic getaway trip in gorgeous Hocking Hills, Ohio.

In America, five hundred bucks will let you walk out of a chain-store with a pretty decent television set during Black Friday sales.

In America, five hundred bucks will buy you a really cute handbag. The matching cell phone cover and wallet will run you another couple hundred each.

In India...

Five hundred bucks will buy a surgical procedure so that a gorgeous little boy named Justin can walk.


Can you help? Do you know someone who can?

Sarah has links in her sidebar with information on donating (resources, funds or services) to her ministry. Prayer is always especially appreciated!

Thank you! ;-)

Hallmark, Please Take Notice or You're Fired!

My Circle of Friends includes many families who have adopted, or plan to adopt, one or more children. This is a BIG DEAL. Promise!!

So when I went looking for an Adoption card at my local Stuffmart the other day, I was more than a little perturbed that not ONE card celebrating one of the most momentous occasions in family life was available.

I found plenty of the general run of the mill cards...
Birthdays, anniversaries, marriage, baby showers, engagement announcements...

There were other celebrated events represented...
Bar Mitzvahs (obviously being mailed out of our county - our Jewish population isn't huge here)
New homes (yeah, THOSE cards are flying right off the shelves these days!)
Moving away (Think my neighbors would get the hint, if I sent one to them?)
Moving back (Apparently some people LIKE their in-laws)
New job (Ha! Unemployment rate in our county is the state's highest, at 17.5%)

You can also find some great cards for your pets to send to each other, your friend's mother's brother's uncle who treated you like one of the family, coming out of the closet, and having your gall bladder xrayed prior to surgery to remove your heart of stone, and apparently these occasions are all MORE IMPORTANT THAN ADOPTION! More power to ya! I just want a dang adoption celebration card. Guess I'll make my own! It'll be prettier, anyway.

We didn't know it, but my sister and two of my nieces were waiting outside the courtroom when we finalized our adoptions last week. When we exited the door, there they were with balloons and stuffed animals for Dylan and Tiffany, and Hershey's Bars for the rest of us. Had my younger sister been closer than 1200 miles, she would have been there, too. They both had pictures of my kids on their Facebook pages within hours. Now THAT's what I'm talking about! It's a big deal!

GRACE 2009

My niece's father is biking cross country soon, to raise money to support Wings of Hope Women's Prison Ministry. Go check it out!

Logically, Joe Loves Nancy

One of my more non-favorite parts of being a foster care provider is the dreaded requirement of Continuing Education. In Ohio, a foster/adoption home-study must be updated every two years, and in that time period parents must complete 40 hours of CE. Books and training videos can account for a portion of hours, but the majority must come from in-class training on various topics. It doesn't take long to figure out which presenters you like better, and which videos are always going to have cheesy acting. It comes with the territory.

I rarely look forward to attending the classes, because invariably they are scheduled when one or more of the kids are sick, the weather is gorgeous, or the snowy roads are hazardous. However, in addition to staying current on licensing requirements and gaining new knowledge, the friendships you build over the years are lasting and provide an extra source of encouragement. These are people who are walking the same road I am. They may have been on this journey for decades, or relatively new like we are. They might be our age and childless. They might be grandparents. They might be looking for a permanent addition to their family. They might be wanting to foster challenging teenagers with criminal histories. They might have been fostered or adopted themselves. Regardless of why or how they arrived at the decision to foster or adopt children, we have the same goal. We love kids, and we want to make a positive impact on the life of another human being.

It's such a joy to watch what's happening in other people's homes, and to see their dreams being fulfilled. It's wonderful to celebrate with them when they find out they've been selected to be the forever parents to a sibling group that's been living in separate foster homes. It's comforting to know that they're available to grieve with us if we get a diagnosis we weren't expecting, or have to watch "our" baby go back to the birth home. It's a small community where each situation is different, but we all "get it".

I spent this weekend playing catch-up on my hours, as our license is due for renewal in June. True to form, I was not gleefully anticipating this long session, despite the 9 credit hours, in part because of the chosen topic. Love and Logic was suggested to Tom and I several years ago as a training tool for our children. It was being offered at that point by a counselor we were seeing in regards to some challenges we faced with one of the kids. At the time, the professional basically handed me a thin workbook, mentioned a couple highlights, and said "Try this".

Glancing through the booklet, I nearly gagged. In addition to what I believed to be an insult to older parents, it looked like such a fat lot of hooey that I threw it aside and said "Choices?!? I'm supposed to give my kids choices?!? I'm the parent, they'll clean their room when I tell them to, by golly!" That was the end of MY experience with the Love and Logic curriculum.

But wait - now I need 40 hours of training. Love and Logic offers me 9. I can catch up with friends. I'll suffer through it.

This time, though, the concepts were being presented in an orderly manner by a seasoned speaker who travels across North America sharing these techniques with parents, teachers, military personnel, police officers, corporations, and numerous other groups of people. It was a completely different story this time. Now it made sense to me. Oh, there's parts of it that I could never in a million years visualize using in our own home, but much of it is just...well, - logical. We're already doing it, without calling it Love and Logic. Some of the techniques are obvious. Some are odd, but effective. I'm also trying to compare and, maybe, reconcile the concepts with a picture of Biblically-based grace. I can see how revisiting some of the material and fitting it into our family can be beneficial, but I'm certainly not planning to sell out to Love and Logic exclusively. The moral, perhaps, is that presentation can mean a world of difference.

But as mentioned, the fun part of the class is reconnecting with other foster and adoptive parents. One couple just started paperwork to adopt the baby girl they've had for fourteen months. One couple just met the two brothers they're going to be adopting. They're ten and five, and have been living in separate foster homes. The new mom and dad were heading to Menards following class, to pick up lumber to build a swing set. They weren't able to have birth children. Today was their 17th wedding anniversary and he had flowers delivered to his wife during our class. (What a smoooooooooth man...)

Then there was Joe and Nancy.

Sitting next to me, Joe and I talked extensively about our little boys. I assumed, because this couple looked older, that they had probably been foster parents for years. I was wrong. They've been foster parents for less than two years. Their first placement was a seven-month old little boy who shares our Mister D's name. Joe and Nancy are nearly seventy years old, and it is breaking their heart that they're "too old" to adopt him. They didn't feel right about being nearly ninety when their child graduates from high school, but they are oh-so-very happy with the adoptive parents who just this week got to take their baby home. They've cultivated a friendship with the new parents, and are now transitioning to becoming D's grandma and grandpa.

As the trainer was speaking, Joe made a comment to her about feeling like he's "done everything wrong for the last forty years!" When asked why, he replied with "I just wish I would have known these things back then!"

But I had been watching Joe, listening to him talk about his baby. Learning about birth children - he has four. His daughter is a school teacher who's birthed four children and adopted three. Seeing how Nancy turned to look at him and just smiled. I glanced at his legal pad where he'd been doodling the better part of the afternoon. In several different writing styles, he had written one word in lines down the paper...



Nancy

Nancy

Nancy




Joe, you've not been doing it wrong.

Attitude Tuneup Performed By Grandy

One of the blogs I follow is Grandy's Functional Shmunctional. The name caught my attention a year or so ago. I like blogs with weird names ever so much better than your ordinary Plain Jane-type. Susie Blathers On About Weirdness is more interesting than Sue's Blog. Call me crazy and dip me in garlic butter, but I'm just weird like that, I guess.

Anyway, a few weeks back Grandy started a weekly post called Sunday Stalker Spotlight wherein she interviews her followers and gives them a chance to talk about themselves. Ha! If there's one thing I'm good at, it's talking, so I rather enjoyed answering her questions. She was quite kind with the editing buttons and she let me ramble for a bit.

Grandy has a touch of the odd sense of humor that I find amusing, and while she's more succinct in her delivery than I probably will ever manage, she still keeps her topics varied. One of her recent posts was about having gastric bypass surgery. It made me stop and think about my attitude toward people and their health care choices.

I know several people who have had gastric bypass surgery, and before I read Grandy's story I would have been happy to tell you just what I thought of those people. Because my judgmental attitude can pop out at the most inopportune times, (with said attitude usually being accompanied by my unlocked and loaded mouth,) I could have railed for several minutes about how people should just go on diets and lose the fat. Then Grandy comes along, and tells us the multiple reasons she chose to have this type of surgery. She wasn't attempting to resemble Barbie - she just wanted to live!

So now how many of these people that I know have done the same thing? Sure, I'm betting that some of them might have had "lose 6 dress sizes" near the top of their list of "pros". I know that at least one of them wasn't enough overweight to warrant the surgery based solely on pounds, so her doctor told her to gain weight. I thought that was unethical, but now since learning more about the medical reasons why people might have the surgery, maybe gaining the extra 20 pounds makes sense.

Bottom line is - I'm not in these people's shoes. I don't follow them around all day to see if they're eating 100% healthy food. I don't know their family medical history, their stressors, their prognosis, or anything else about them. I can sit and watch the 450 pound man, carrying an oxygen tank, wheeze and puff up the 2 steps it takes to get to his table at Olive Garden. I can shake my head and think "Harumph! How many carbs is he going to eat today? No wonder he's so big!" - But my attitude stinks and it doesn't make me feel good inside.

So Grandy, thanks for inviting me over to your place. And better yet, thanks for encouraging me to reconsider how I view other people and remember that I just might not be seeing the whole picture. I'm going to work on living this lesson past today, and transferring it into other situations. I'm glad you're feeling better. And you just plain look good.

Yes, You Can Help

We're currently in a holding pattern regarding adoption. There's nothing we can do to hurry along any process that has to take place before these babies can have our last name. Only God knows right now if that's even going to happen. People ask us if we plan to keep fostering if the babies do become ours legally. They ask us if we would adopt more. Our answer is "We don't know". We won't say "No" to what God has planned for us. Whatever that is.

In the meantime, to keep my mind off what I can not change, I read other family's stories of happiness, sadness, hope, trials and blessings. I try to encourage people considering foster care or adoption. I try to make people aware of opportunities available for families who want to help in ways other than increasing their own family size, because that isn't for everybody.

Sarah's Covenant Homes in India is a new blog I recently found via one of my regular spots I visit. If you can visit her pages without feeling a tug on your heart, you might need a heart transplant. You might not be called to move around the world and run an orphanage, but if you want to help, you can donate through Sarah's website (see the FAQ section) or you can participate in fundraising opportunities with Kendra at Sugarplum Boutique. Browse that website - another family who's been blessed, and can't help but pass it on to others.

Not It!

I got tagged by Shelly.

Cool!

In elementary, I was never the first person picked for kickball, unless my best friend was a team captain. I was generally never the very last pick, which was the ultimate scourge. I was mostly somewhere in the last 1/4 of people chosen. Why? I wasn't overly athletic, at least for organized team sporting events. I'm not a competetive person, surprisingly enough - given my mouthy personality and all.

When it came time to play tag, I was nearly always the first one caught, because I didn't run fast. Besides, it was just so sweet to be caught by the boy I had a crush on. He'd buy me pixie sticks and jaw breakers - I HAD to let him catch me!

I hated being "IT". It took forever to catch anybody!

Now if I tag someone, they don't even have to run if they don't want to!

My choice:

Grandy - She's quite funny - even without her recent drug use. And she just so happens to be blogging every day this month. I can't commit like that!

Recently Overheard or Seen

I have a very hard time - OK, it's next to impossible for me to put on a front when I'm really thinking about the stupidity level of whatever/whomever I'm dealing with at the moment. I have learned that it is truly best if I RUUUUUUUUUN as fast as I can away from the situation, because otherwise I will wind up in very hot water.

Last week, I was (not surprisingly) sputtering about a conversation I'd had with someone and (not surprisingly) I was irritated. Last straw. Flabbergasted. Disgusted. Sitting on my hands so I don't punch someone. That kind of conversation. I was relaying this conversation to Tom, and also relaying (as if he doesn't actually know what I'm thinking!) what I was actually thinking.

His response...

"When diplomacy fails, it's good to be married to you."



-----

This week, following our wonderful election process, Tom and I ran into an acquaintance at the library. This guy and I have been debating politics for a year. We weren't in the library for a minute before we got wound up. The librarians, having been witness to our scuffles in the past months, laughed and told us that guns aren't allowed there, and neither is patron harassment. This goof dared to tell me I wasted my vote, because I didn't vote for McCain. (As he did, to keep Obama out of office - yeah, we see how THAT turned out!)

When Tom went to work yesterday, he was talking with this guy's wife (who works with Tom) about our library discourse.

"If your husband and my wife have many more political discussions, one of them is gonna wind up dead."

Her response...

"Oh please, let it be my husband."

Hey! The guy isn't all bad! He let us borrow his truck to bring home a fridge!


------

A neighbor stopped by last night. Bucky inhaled his taco salad and disappeared out the door. The minute he closed the door behind him, it opened again and in walked little Abby and her Mama, Crystal. Little Mister D. was happy to see Abby.

Later when Bucky came back in the house, he was standing staring into the kitchen cupboards because apparently the taco salad had worn off - it had been an entire hour, after all! We were sitting at the table, having a nice after-dinner conversation, and Crystal happened to say "I have a yard that needs raked."

Bucky's response...

"I have a wallet that needs filled."


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Savannah is so disgusted about the election results that she can't speak. Her solution?

Tonight, she raked the front yard. Then she dug around in our shed and found 2 large Ron Paul signs and 1 small one, and stuck them up in our front yard.

This empowered her so much, she took her rake and broom and cleaned up the very nasty neighbor's yard as well. (They don't like us. Not a bit. We don't really care. We ain't movin'!)

---------

Gabe has been working very hard at school. Everyone is trying to get him to use some basic modified sign language.

He can sign "Candy" and "Ball" fairly well. He waves goodbye to me every morning when he heads out the door to school.

One night last week, he was sitting in his wheelchair waiting for us to finish eating dinner. I noticed his hand was on his throat. (sign for thirsty) We asked him if he wanted some water. Tom gave him a drink, and the whole time he was drinking, he kept his hand on his throat. Eventually he turned his head away from the cup. When Tom tried to get him to drink more, he jerked his head to the side (always his cue that he's done). But this time, he also flung his hand away from his throat. He followed this with his hilarious guffaw/evil giggle.

Yeah for Gabe!!!



---------

Preston is quite quiet most of the time. He is a deep thinker, and often prefers to be alone. I don't get it! Tom does.

He decided to go to youth group tonight. When I picked him up, he told me...

"I talked to a couple people. That's pretty good for me. I'm not very social."



---------



Little Mister D. is developing into a very well-rounded boy. He's most assuredly into the "Why?" and "NO!" stages. Recently, after flinging crayons all over the place, he was told by Dad to pick up the flung crayons.

"NO! YOU pick up cwayons!"

Dad - heading toward D. with a determined look on his serious face...

D.'s response...

rush..rush...rush as fast as those short little legs can rush in cute little jeans to pick up the cwayons...

Is This Hereditary?

I highly doubt that my mother-in-law has ever been accused of being obsessed with Current Trends, Popular Fashion, or Keeping Up with the Joneses. She's happy to shop at garage sales and does not care that double knit hasn't yet made it's comeback. The first Thanksgiving that Tom and I were married, we had dinner at his parent's home. They used the good dishes. I would stash those dishes in the Rubbermaid camping supplies tub. She knows when Kmart discounts the almost-expired milk. She's thrifty, and pays cash for everything.

Shortly after we got married, I remember Tom telling me about a conversation he'd had with his mom. She was lamenting how automatic our society had become. This was in 1991 or 92. She said, "Pretty soon, you won't even need to talk to a real person at the bank. You'll just talk to a machine."

"Uh, Mom - they've had them for years. They're called ATM's. Automated Teller Machines."

She doesn't get out of the house nearly as much as we'd like for her to. One of the highlights of her week is to go with Tom and the boys to clean one of our churches. She always brings some kind of snack for the boys, usually a Little Debbie-type piece of junk food, sometimes a banana, maybe a candy cane. If she's been to the local business and industry show, or county fair, she'll bring pencils and writing tablets, rulers, and a flyswatter, along with every coloring book that every safety agency produces. During the 1/2 hour drive, the boys learn what meats are on sale at Chief, how Aunt Norma Jean is progressing with her chemo, how Aunt (name changed to protect the guilty) is wearing Uncle (name changed to protect the worn-out) out, what rebates Menards is offering, how mad Grandpa made her that week, and just how much she detests hearing what great sports scores various other relatives' grandkids are achieving.




Bucky likes to drink energy drinks, but if he does so, it's done in disobedience and stupidity. He learned the hard way that drinking a Monster at 9:00 pm is a great way to get a buzz that won't let you close your eyes all night. Making the trip to clean with Grandma and Dad one day, for some reason the conversation turned to caffeine and staying awake. Bucky said, "The only thing that keeps me awake at night is Monsters."

Grandma was very concerned. "Bucky! Do you have nightmares???"



Grandma couldn't be more proud of her grandkids. She gets irritated with Preston and Bucky, usually because they're trying to irritate her with stories of resisting the authorities, getting tattoos, or piercing their ears. But she thinks they're all that and a bag of chips, although she wouldn't have a clue what I just said! And she grew them a great Dad.

About the closest thing to being Hip that Grandma will ever be is that she has them.

Chocolate-Flavored Calgon

A little while ago, I posted a meme that included a question regarding any confessions I might need to make. I didn't feel inclined. Now I do.

Tonight, I took Preston and Bucky to a friend's birthday party, and due to the fact that gas is at a politically-charged all-time high, I remained in the town where this party was being held and killed some time. I visited the local Dollar General and bought 2 mixing bowls. We've been needing a few extras. They were a buck fifty each. I bought some shampoo for Bucky. I bought a bottle of water.

I drove to the park, and fed baby T. who was along for the ride. She's gorgeously beautiful and I wish I could share pictures of her - alas, I'm told by the state that I must not do this.

As I was feeding the baby her yummy formula, I indulged myself with the 2 other items I purchased at Dollar General.

Doritos.

Chocolate Frosting.

I had no spoon, so I had to use a straw. (I figured this wouldn't look quite so strange to the bicyclists passing through the park, as opposed to just simply using my finger - something I have been known to do.)

When I picked up the boys, I snagged a plastic spoon from Tracy, the mom in charge. Thank you, friend.

Bucky thought I was a little disturbed, and declared me to be in danger of developing acne and getting fat. At that very moment, I really didn't care.

Deanna is exiting the confessional now.

Did Anybody Else See the Partridge?

We have some lovely friends that we met courtesy of our local Ron Paul Meetup Group. They live a couple miles outside of town. Last month, their family vacationed while it just so happened to be raspberry season. We fed their 4 dogs and 12 chickens for 2 weeks, in exchange for berries. A very unfair trade, in my estimation! We did very little work, and in return got 9 jars of jam, and a few bags of berries in the freezer. Had I purchased the same amount at our grocery store, they would have probably been chemical-treated, AND cost me over $30!













This is the first time I've made raspberry jam, and I must say, the family was impressed. Mmmmmmmmmm...













So now with this second attempt at canning (What? you don't remember my first attempt? No one died, and as a matter of fact, I just opened the last jar today!) being relatively successful, I'm on a mission to save the world through the miracle of self-preserved foodstuffs! Ok, not the world, but my family will be eating more healthfully.









See this? This tree in our backyard is absolutely loaded with pears. Last year, we got none...count that...zero, zip, NOT ONE! single pear off this very same tree...Why, you ask? Because our backyard was also loaded with squirrels.













It would appear that the squirrels entertained themselves with cable television over the winter, because we haven't seen many around. Or maybe there's something in our trashcans that causes infertility.






Now if we manage to keep the blasted rodents out of the tree for a few more weeks, we should have plenty of pears to can, make jelly, and share with our berry friends.

(And if we could get rid of the mosquitoes, we'd go outside, pick up that bike, and fashion that lumber into the swing set for which it was intended, but that's another story.)

This Has Nothing to Do with Tax Day

While being rich and famous would have it's benefits, the circles I'd have to run in probably wouldn't allow my sparkling personality to shine. I'm much more at home with like-minded people where I can just be myself.

I doubt I'd fit in with polite society, although I do have a dog small enough to carry around in a Gucci bag. I think it's the idea of paying $742 for a pair of Sophia Loren-style sunglasses that boggles my mind the most. Mine are knock-offs from Dollar General, price - $3.00. I do have kids to buy milk for, ya know!

Alternative Assessment

I would just like to say to all you Yokels Who Leave No Child Behind that I think you're full of bahlowney.

I would further like to say to all you People Who Actually Care that I appreciate you.

Gabe's first progress report from his new school, where he is a star, shows quite a different picture than all the reports from his old schools.



He is learning sign language. He walks well with very little assistance. He is learning spatial awareness. He recognizes his name in print. He knows colors. He holds a cup by himself. He uses a spoon well. He attends to group activities for extended periods of time. He actively and appropriately participates in group musical class. He relates well to adults and children. He is liked and attended to by his peers. He expresses his opinion.

When the focus is on what Gabe CAN do, as opposed to what he CAN'T, his list of accomplishments continues to mount.

How's that for education??