And because I haven't mentioned it lately...
I like Ron Paul
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Chocolate Might Help, But Sunshine Is Welcome, Too
I bet there ain't too many people who tell their parents "When I grow up, I wanna be a Cheek-Swabber and DNA-Gatherer and Paternity-Checker Man."
I met one of these guys today, though. While I didn't bother to ask about the specifics of his job duties, I did learn a few things. I also experienced a level of humiliation that I didn't know existed.
The paternity of one of our foster children is in question, so I had the lovely experience of taking her in for testing today. Our county is relatively small and rural, so of course we don't have DNA testing readily available. All testing is performed once a month at the local social services office.
I was not prepared in the least for this day. There is no way I could have been, because it isn't something I've ever thought about. Our social worker wasn't even aware of all the details involved in the testing process. I learned that when paternity is being established, they test Alleged Father, Baby, and Alleged Mother. We know who the mother is. However, there have apparently been cases where the mother wants nothing to do with the father, so she won't bring her own baby for testing - she'll bring in a baby of the same age, knowing that the testing will be negative. To avoid court problems, they now test all people involved. They also take pictures of everyone. Including me! I attempted to move out of camera range, but the gentleman (and he truly was - bless his heart. What a job!) stated, "Oh no, ma'am. I need you in there, too." I half expected him to whip out a swab and say "Open up and say 'Ah'". (I would have done fine, as I'd had plenty of mental practice in the waiting room!)
I try extra hard to not be judgemental in situations like I was in today, but some days my imagination runs wild. I think I was hearing voices telling me to stand on one of the ugly vinyl chairs and scream "Doesn't ANYbody keep their clothes on anymore??!?? How drunk would you have to be to sleep with that person??!?" I'm not overly germaphobic, but my mind was playing evil tricks that involved antibacterial wipes and confidential testing.
Primal urges and drunken binges aside...good gravy, people - do you actually want to admit you had a tryst with that person?
In addition to my baby, there were 2 other babies, and at least 3 men, present for testing.
Their socks were dirty. They had sloppy clothes on. Jeans were half unzipped. Hair hadn't been combed. One man stated loudly, "This is the 3rd time I've had this done". AAAAAAAhhhhhh! I'VE STEPPED ONTO THE SET OF THE JERRY SPRINGER SHOW! I wonder if Steve is the person administering the tests today!
In the middle of this, I'm sitting there - holding a precious, beautiful baby. These people think I'm the biological mother. I felt dirty. I was angry that I had to be there. I had no say over being there. I just wanted to crawl in a hole and cry.
Maybe - No, I KNOW that the weather has got me down. It's the middle of April and we've had very few warm sunny days. I desperately need some sunshine and laughter. But once I get past the sheer horror of today, and get over the need to shower, and remember that my baby will NOT remember today...
I have to realize that the people I rubbed elbows with today are every bit as human as I am. That isn't something I want to admit, because then I have to admit that
I AM NOT BETTER THAN THEY ARE.
Our circumstances are different. Our cultures are different. Our value systems are different. Our decision-making processes are different. Our cleanliness levels are *WAY* different. But I am not better than them.
Being a foster parent has opened my eyes to sections of other people's lives that I have never had reason to even know existed. Some days, I just want to recede into my bubble and pretend that life isn't as ugly as it's currently appearing. I can not answer "HOW can people do that?" because I'm not those people. My reality is that I have two babies in my arms because there ARE people that "do that", so I put on my boots and wade the muck because on the other side of the road are children who need fed, and read to, and tucked into bed in a safe, warm home. And in the end, my comfort zone just doesn't matter.
I met one of these guys today, though. While I didn't bother to ask about the specifics of his job duties, I did learn a few things. I also experienced a level of humiliation that I didn't know existed.
The paternity of one of our foster children is in question, so I had the lovely experience of taking her in for testing today. Our county is relatively small and rural, so of course we don't have DNA testing readily available. All testing is performed once a month at the local social services office.
I was not prepared in the least for this day. There is no way I could have been, because it isn't something I've ever thought about. Our social worker wasn't even aware of all the details involved in the testing process. I learned that when paternity is being established, they test Alleged Father, Baby, and Alleged Mother. We know who the mother is. However, there have apparently been cases where the mother wants nothing to do with the father, so she won't bring her own baby for testing - she'll bring in a baby of the same age, knowing that the testing will be negative. To avoid court problems, they now test all people involved. They also take pictures of everyone. Including me! I attempted to move out of camera range, but the gentleman (and he truly was - bless his heart. What a job!) stated, "Oh no, ma'am. I need you in there, too." I half expected him to whip out a swab and say "Open up and say 'Ah'". (I would have done fine, as I'd had plenty of mental practice in the waiting room!)
I try extra hard to not be judgemental in situations like I was in today, but some days my imagination runs wild. I think I was hearing voices telling me to stand on one of the ugly vinyl chairs and scream "Doesn't ANYbody keep their clothes on anymore??!?? How drunk would you have to be to sleep with that person??!?" I'm not overly germaphobic, but my mind was playing evil tricks that involved antibacterial wipes and confidential testing.
Primal urges and drunken binges aside...good gravy, people - do you actually want to admit you had a tryst with that person?
In addition to my baby, there were 2 other babies, and at least 3 men, present for testing.
Their socks were dirty. They had sloppy clothes on. Jeans were half unzipped. Hair hadn't been combed. One man stated loudly, "This is the 3rd time I've had this done". AAAAAAAhhhhhh! I'VE STEPPED ONTO THE SET OF THE JERRY SPRINGER SHOW! I wonder if Steve is the person administering the tests today!
In the middle of this, I'm sitting there - holding a precious, beautiful baby. These people think I'm the biological mother. I felt dirty. I was angry that I had to be there. I had no say over being there. I just wanted to crawl in a hole and cry.
Maybe - No, I KNOW that the weather has got me down. It's the middle of April and we've had very few warm sunny days. I desperately need some sunshine and laughter. But once I get past the sheer horror of today, and get over the need to shower, and remember that my baby will NOT remember today...
I have to realize that the people I rubbed elbows with today are every bit as human as I am. That isn't something I want to admit, because then I have to admit that
I AM NOT BETTER THAN THEY ARE.
Our circumstances are different. Our cultures are different. Our value systems are different. Our decision-making processes are different. Our cleanliness levels are *WAY* different. But I am not better than them.
Being a foster parent has opened my eyes to sections of other people's lives that I have never had reason to even know existed. Some days, I just want to recede into my bubble and pretend that life isn't as ugly as it's currently appearing. I can not answer "HOW can people do that?" because I'm not those people. My reality is that I have two babies in my arms because there ARE people that "do that", so I put on my boots and wade the muck because on the other side of the road are children who need fed, and read to, and tucked into bed in a safe, warm home. And in the end, my comfort zone just doesn't matter.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Celebrate the Resurrection
1 Peter 3:15
But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.
"Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen!"
Luke 24:5-6
Happy Easter! Have a blessed day.
image from google
But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.
"Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen!"
Luke 24:5-6
Happy Easter! Have a blessed day.
image from google
Friday, April 10, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
It Must Be a Rhetorical Question, Eh?
Having worked at Wendy's in a former, younger life, I should know better than to buy chicken sandwiches at certain times of the day. My on-the-run sandwich/supper yesterday didn't come from a chicken hatchery. It came from a rubber tree, I'm pretty sure. I've discovered you can choke down lots of things, if the thing is drowning in pickles.
Do we really need Danny Lipford, DIY guru, telling us that all homeowners should have a hammer? Granted, not every home in most 3rd-world countries have a lot of use for hammers, but in developed nations, I'm thinking... Hmmm... if a bank will give you a loan for a house, you've probably considered purchasing a hammer. Finding that hammer when you need it is another story.
When did "burial expense" experts start making telemarketing calls? That was kinda creepy on my voicemail!
Why does my insurance company have NO PROBLEM doling out thousands of dollars monthly for medication, but they limit my chiropractor payments to $1,000 annually? We recently discovered that one of Gabe's seizure medications comes in more than one form, and this means a savings of over $1100 a month, merely by switching from "sprinkles" to "tablets". I suggest they let me have the savings for visits to my chiropractor more often.
Why can I always find chocolate bunnies in the Easter Candy aisle, but I have to search through 87 Walmarts to find a white chocolate cross?
Do people really write those letters to Dear Abby, or are they computer-generated? I realize America has it's fair share of dumb people, but if people are really as dumb as some of those letters indicate, would they be smart enough to write for advice?
How can anyone POSSIBLY watch enough TV to make it worth the $136/monthly bill I saw recently, belonging to a woman who has a male significant other that refuses to work?
Why?
Why?
Why?
It's a near-full moon. I live with teenagers. I have a 3 year old. Any or all of those facts might explain my grouchy, whiny, inquisitive attitude. I am SO not feelin' the love tonight.
Do we really need Danny Lipford, DIY guru, telling us that all homeowners should have a hammer? Granted, not every home in most 3rd-world countries have a lot of use for hammers, but in developed nations, I'm thinking... Hmmm... if a bank will give you a loan for a house, you've probably considered purchasing a hammer. Finding that hammer when you need it is another story.
When did "burial expense" experts start making telemarketing calls? That was kinda creepy on my voicemail!
Why does my insurance company have NO PROBLEM doling out thousands of dollars monthly for medication, but they limit my chiropractor payments to $1,000 annually? We recently discovered that one of Gabe's seizure medications comes in more than one form, and this means a savings of over $1100 a month, merely by switching from "sprinkles" to "tablets". I suggest they let me have the savings for visits to my chiropractor more often.
Why can I always find chocolate bunnies in the Easter Candy aisle, but I have to search through 87 Walmarts to find a white chocolate cross?
Do people really write those letters to Dear Abby, or are they computer-generated? I realize America has it's fair share of dumb people, but if people are really as dumb as some of those letters indicate, would they be smart enough to write for advice?
How can anyone POSSIBLY watch enough TV to make it worth the $136/monthly bill I saw recently, belonging to a woman who has a male significant other that refuses to work?
Why?
Why?
Why?
It's a near-full moon. I live with teenagers. I have a 3 year old. Any or all of those facts might explain my grouchy, whiny, inquisitive attitude. I am SO not feelin' the love tonight.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Freaky Friday
Talk about your Dolly Parton of the lip-plumping products!
Or some extreme photographic doctoring!
This showed up on my email page today.
Either way, I think I'll keep my own, thanks!
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