Beyond the play-by-play

Okay, so yesterday I offered a play-by-play of the past week's events; it wasn't very exciting stuff but needed to be done...sorry for the bore fest.

On to the touchy feely stuff...

Christmas Eve was my first outing since the surgery- it had been six days since the big day. Originally it was decided that we weren't going to join my family on the "Eve" and instead they would come over to our house Christmas afternoon to exchange present and hang out-- we all assumed I wouldn't feel up to going anywhere, but come Friday morning I was feeling confident that I was up for the festivities of Christmas Eve.

Side Note: I still can't believe how good I've felt throughout this process. I joked with Brett last Friday that I wasn't convinced that the surgeon actually did the procedure. I felt too good...and I was HUNGRY! Perhaps he just made a few incisions, scrambled my guts for a minute, stitched me back up and took an extra long coffee break. I had expected to not have an appetite for a long time but my stomach was growling and the clear liquids were NOT cutting it! Thank goodness for Tylenol with Codeine- made the hunger pains vanish!

Back to the point of this blog entry...Christmas Eve in my family IS Christmas. We have a spread that could feed an army- cold cuts, cheeses, olives, ham rolls (we'll get to those later) crudite, more cheese and crackers and pepperoni and dough balls (oh man! the dough balls!) plus 15 different kinds of cookies and the night is topped off with a huge pot of linguini with clam sauce. It's quite the occasion. It's kind of an open house sort-of-party, people stop by, eat a little, drink a little, talk a little and eat some more.

Before we left to head west to L-town, I packed a cooler with a can of broth, a clear protein powder drink mix and an eight pack of homemade Crystal Light popsicles. Oh and my pain meds...I was prepared! I had taken my meds at three o'clock and would be due again at seven- I was good to go!

When we got there, my sisters dining room table was already lined with food-- it was beautiful. My first glance was a bit emotional. I actually felt a little choked up knowing that I wouldn't be able to eat any of the once-a-year Italian delicacies...but I took a deep breath and said to myself, "you'll live, Andrea" and that was that. The mourning was over. I did find myself wanting to grab a piece of cheese or salami or SOMETHING a few times but that was only out of habit and because it was there. It was weird to NOT walk by the table and snag a cookie but it wasn't hard. There were a few times that I contemplated pulverizing a ham roll in my sisters blender- technically I was supposed to be on CLEAR LIQUIDS until Monday, BUT I felt like I was ready for some blenderized food-- but I didn't. When the dough balls (perhaps the best part of Christmas Eve) went in the fryer, I heated up my can of broth and sipped it spoonful by spoonful. It hit the savory spot and I survived the DOUGH BALLS!

My family kept giving me apologetic looks. They felt bad eating in front of me and were sorry that I couldn't enjoy the food with them-- but really, I was okay. I wasn't sad at all. I knew when my surgery date was scheduled that I wouldn't be eating on Christmas and I was okay with that...I still am. Eating is what got me to where I am now (or was, 20lbs ago-- yes, I'm down 20lbs since the two-week-prior liquid diet!) and I knew I would survive without dough balls- I'm living proof to show that it IS possible to survive with dough balls- it IS surprising, but true.

I made it the whole night sipping soup and sucking on my Chrystal Light popsicles- which happened to be a big hit with all the kids that were there- I was happy to share. I made it the whole night without temptation until JUST before we left. Remember those ham rolls I mentioned before? Remember how I thought about blending one up? Well, I didn't go that far, BUT I did squeeze the cream cheese out of one and swirled it around in my mouth for a minute- it wasn't even enough to swallow, but it sure was tasty. Who knew ham infused cream cheese could be so delectable?

The next day I decided I was ready to start my pureed diet. Brett made me four hard boiled eggs which I practically liquified with some mayo and calorie free honey mustard and I boiled a potato to make mashed potatoes. They were the best "egg salad" and mashed potatoes I'd EVER had! I finally finished off that egg salad this morning for breakfast and I still have half the mashed taters in the fridge. Crazy, huh?

So what HAVE I been eating? Well, eggs salad and mashed potatoes- two table spoons at a time. The hardest part is not drinking 30 minutes before, with or 30 minutes after eating. I'm finding that I'd rather drink water than eat and occasionally "forget" about the 30 minute rule. It's hard I tell you! HARD! Perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done! Okay, now that's an exaggeration, but it is hard. Actually, I'll tell you what's harder than hard...GETTING IN ALL THE FRICKEN VITAMINS THAT I'M SUPPOSE TO GET IN MY BODY IN ONE FREAKIN DAY!!! I've accomplished this ONCE so far. It seems near impossible. ---I know, I don't need a lecture. I'll try harder. I promise.

I guess that's all for now. So far so good. I feel fantastic and I have nothing to complain about. I will try to update at least once a week to keep track of my progress and document my journey.

Oh one last thing that you may find funny or disgusting or just plain wrong, but I'm happy to report that not only have I not thrown up even once (a common occurrence with gastric by-pass) but my bowels are working like the old pros they are- this makes me extremely happy!

One Week Post Op

Woohoo! It has been eight days since my surgery and I have (almost) nothing to complain about!

The night before the surgery was rough. Both Brett and I had a terrible time trying to sleep. We tossed and turned and talked and snuggled and tossed and turned some more. We tried to go to bed early since we needed to be at the hospital at 5:15 in the morning, but Brett finally gave up on sleep at about 12:30 and I think I finally fell asleep around 1am. Brett woke me up at 3:30, I jumped in the shower, got dressed, kissed the dog and we were out the door. I wasn't scared or nervous just anxious and ready to get it over with. There were short moments during the last couple of days leading up to that morning where I thought about changing my mind but come that morning I was ready with no hesitation.

When we got to the hospital we checked in- all my paperwork had been completed during a pre-op visit three weeks earlier- they gave me my arm band and I waited to be called back. We sat there for what seemed like an eternity, in fact they didn't actually take me back until almost 6:30 (I think). When I got to the pre-surgical area, they made me pee in a cup and change into a hospital gown. A bunch of people came in and talked with me one at a time asking all kinds of questions and eventually the nurse anesthetists put in my IV. After that, Brett and my mom were able to come back and sit with me until it was time for me to go back- which wasn't long. My surgery was scheduled for 8am.

The last thing I remember is someone putting an oxygen mask on me and that was it. I woke up some time later in recovery with a personality-lacking nurse attending to me. What would be a huge nuisance to me for the next several days was immediately apparent...GAS! Being the champion burper that I am, I immediately started burping- I could tell she was impressed even though she didn't get excited about it. I don't remember being in recovery very long before they wheeled me up to my room. I don't remember what I was saying but I do remember chatting along the way. I believe it was about 2pm.

I didn't feel much pain other than the gas- I'm sure the morphine played a big part.

Oh you know what I forgot to mention? If you've been following my blog for a while now, you know how much my ovaries hate me, so guess what? They didn't let me down, I got my period three days before my surgery and it was in full force come surgery day. --I had even taken provera three weeks prior to make sure I'd have a period prior to surgery, when I got it on December 1st, I figured I was in the clear for the 19th...WRONG! Seriously...only me!

Anyway, that afternoon was a bit of a blur. I remember meeting my awesome nurse, I remember my mom and Brett being there. I remember my mom leaving and a flower delivery and I remember eventually getting up to go to the bathroom-- I'm pretty sure I know what it's like to have a baby now...modesty is not an option.

I got up and walked the hall at some point with Brett- the nurse promised me it would help with the gas- she lied.

I slept pretty good that night, in between vitals checks. Tuesday morning I got up and sat in the chair for a while, went for a few walks and drank teeny tiny sips of water from a medicine cup. Brett stayed the night with me Tuesday night we went for lots of walks and I took a much needed sponge-bath. The next morning the doctor came in and gave me a clean bill and told me I could go home before noon. I couldn't believe how good I was feeling. I'd been off the morphine since the night before and had moved onto liquid pain meds- Tylenol with codeine to be exact. There was a brief period when I had gone too long without the meds and found myself in a lot of pain, needing to get out of bed so I could pee when the vitals-girl came around, it was no surprise that my blood pressure had spiked. The nurse came in and pushed some meds through my IV and I was ready to go! I finally got to leave about two hours later.

The ride home was somewhat stressful- I had taken a swig of the pain meds just before we left so the pain wasn't too bad, but it was raining and I was dreading a potential slam of the breaks...it never happened, Brett drove very carefully, but I stressed about it none-the-less.

The rest of the week I mostly just laid around, went for short walks and tried my hardest to drink the recommended 64oz of fluid, which DID NOT HAPPEN-- still hasn't happened but I'm working on it. I felt surprisingly good. Still gassy, very gassy, miserably gassy, but otherwise pretty damned good so good in-fact that I decided we should join my family for the traditional Christmas Eve Party tradition. It was the first day I had put on clothes, did my hair and put on make up in a week-- this is not unusual for me since I work from home, but it felt like a huge accomplishment. When we got to my sister's house everyone was surprised at how good I looked, claiming it looked like I had already looked thinner. The fact of the matter was that I actually weighed more that day than I did the day of my surgery. I had actually GAINED 11 pounds post op- I guess from all of the fluids they pumped in me. Come Saturday I had only lost nine of those eleven pounds so it was probably more that the stitches were pulling my skin tight making me LOOK thinner. :)

Today is Tuesday, it's been eight days since my day of days and I'm now down two pounds from the day of- 15lbs since I started the liquid diet started 3 1/2 weeks ago...I'm hoping the weightloss will pick up- I guess if you count the post op weight gain, I'm actually down 13lbs in one week, eh.

I had so much that I wanted to write over the past week but just couldn't find the clarity or motivation until now and now I feel like I'm missing the point. I do plan to blog more often about this journey- I know for me, reading other blogs has been incredibly helpful and if I can help someone else on their journey with mine I'd be a happy, happy girl.

So, I promise to post more...soon! Actually, I think I'm going to write a second one right now that isn't so boring and IS more informational for those interested in the "process".

Thanks for reading! Questions and comments welcome!

Stressballs! One week to go!

Today is Tuesday, December 13th and in seven days I will go under the knife! I love how dramatic that sounds!

I have been on a liquid diet for ELEVEN days! I'm so proud of myself. I thought these two weeks would be impossible but it's been pretty easy. In fact, these last couple of days I've barely had an appetite at all. I won't say that I don't miss or care about food, that would be a lie. But I've had literally NO cravings- temptations yes, but cravings, no. It probably helps that I've made every effort to avoid any kind of temptation- haven't gone to a restaurant, won't watch food commercials and try hard not to pay too close attention to people eating in movies or on TV, but I still live with a food-eater and some times his food looks and smells SO good! Last night it was saltines dipped in Ranch Dressing- a snack I would usually dismiss but instead it made my mouth water. I could taste the light and airy, salty, crunchy saltines with the sweet-savory tang of the Ranch. I looked at Brett and said, "one bite! just one!" But he didn't hand me one so I just looked away. Actually, I think I got up and washed some dishes.

You may be thinking, that if I can have this kind of will-power right now, why can't I just lose the weight without surgery. I'll tell you...because two weeks is doable, but MONTHS of this- no way! It's not sustainable- nor is it healthy. Three weeks from now I SHOULD (providing everything goes smoothly) be able to eat about a tablespoon of "egg salad" and let me tell you how much I'm looking forward to that! SO forward!

I've been doing a lot of reading of other people's weight-loss experiences on random blogs- I've found it's a good way to keep me focused on the prize. I'm immensely grateful to those who shared their stories- I am feeling more prepared for what's to come.

I know there will be many physical changes, which I'm SO looking forward to but the mental and emotional changes are, I think, going to be the most challenging and perhaps the most dramatic. I can already feel myself getting antsy.

Over the past few years I've created a bit of an insulated cell for myself- a very "safe" environment and have all but given up on things that used to make me happy. Acting, mostly. I haven't even done a show for three years. I've gone to a couple of auditions for things I barely cared about, but I haven't had the energy, confidence or ambition to actively pursue any roles. I thought that it was because I'd fallen out of love with it but I'm realizing now that I'm feeling hopeful about my future; that I just shoved my desires down so I wouldn't have to think about them.

These past eleven days have been quite eye opening. Sad and exciting all at the same time. I didn't realize just how much I haven't felt like myself in so long. I haven't felt truly happy in...a while. I mean, I'm happy, or at least, I'm not unhappy. But I haven't felt that feeling of pure JOY in a long time. I felt joy when the kids were here- but it wasn't pure joy. It was circumstantial joy. Even when I laugh, there is a feeling of literal (not figurative) weight behind my eyes, in my head and on my shoulders. It's physical. I can feel it. (Might just be the weight of being pulled down by the size of my giant ass- figuratively and literally!) But I didn't even notice it until just this week. I guess it's probably depression- the circumstantial kind, hopefully. So like I said, this is both sad and exciting...and a little bit terrifying- but I'm trying not to think about that right now. Okay, maybe I will- just for a minute.

I have two friends who had the surgery last year who have both recently ended their marriages. This scares the ever living shit out of me. I have a gypsy spirit as it is, and the thought of changing so much in this next year to the point of wanting to leave my husband is very upsetting. I know that they both had issues in their marriages long before the surgery and they say that the end was inevitable, but that doesn't make me feel concerned about my own. I love Brett with almost every ounce of my heart. (The other couple of ounces currently belong to Zooey Deschanel.) But I also know, like I said before, that I can feel change a-comin'. I'm getting antsy- not in my marriage, but in my job, my goals, what defines me. Are we going to survive? I have ZERO intention of leaving him...ever. But what happens if I decide that I NEED to go do "something"- like pursue the career that I've avoided for the last several years and he is unwilling to participate? Or what if I get so full of myself that I suddenly think I'm too good for him (I don't think that possible). Or what if I get so annoying that he can't stand it anymore or what if I turn into a complete emotional wreck and go crazy and have to be institutionalized or, what if, what if, what if?

THESE THINGS HAPPEN PEOPLE!

I talk myself down from these thoughts, reminding myself that there's really no way of knowing what the next year will be like. I tell myself, remember last December?

One year ago toady, I was sitting in a hospital room with my sister waiting for my nephew to be born- wanting so badly to be the one giving birth. Brett and I were preparing for our trip to spend the Holidays with friends and family in Phoenix and we had just spent that last several months preparing our home for foster children, 2 children ages 2-6.

My nephew will be a year old tomorrow, I no longer talk to my in-laws (the ones we were spending the holidays with), we ended up with 3 foster children, 7, 9 and 11 who have since gone on to be with their birth-mom and Brett and I have no interest in having children what-so-ever. ONE YEAR! Oh and surgery? Yeah, surgery wasn't even a consideration!

With all of this said, one year from now I'd like to be writing a blog about our recent trip to Costa Rica where we zip-lined and white water rafted through the rain forest, laid on white sandy beaches, shopped at the street-markets and swam in the ocean...Brett and I had an amazing time. Our new and healthy life together is everything we dreamed it would be...Oh and I have the best job in the whole wide world, _________.

The countdown begins

My surgery is in exactly 17 days and I'm so excited I can hardly stand it.

I started my liquid diet today, something I've been dreading for months but now that today is here I'm pretty okay with it. I'm actually not supposed to start until Monday but I decided to start today. I gained five pounds over the past month (might have had something to do with Thanksgiving and/or my period- who knows) that I need to be sure to lose before the surgery so I figured I might as well get a head-start.

It's funny...I thought that I would totally freak out having to give up food during this time but instead I'm finding myself excited about it. For the first time in my life I feel not just hopeful that I will lose weight, but confident that it will happen. There have been countless times in my life that I've tried to diet but other than a few pounds at the beginning I've never had much success. The lack of success led to feeling like a failure which quickly led to giving up and feeling even more like a failure, especially since giving up meant gaining back the weight that I had lost plus more.

My body is a mess. I have been significantly overweight for as long as I can remember. When people (doctors included) ask me what my goal weight is I tell them I have no idea. It's true, I really don't. Based on BMI standards I should weigh between 105 and 135lbs. The problem is, I haven't weight 135 since I was 11 years old! Do you think you could ever weigh what you weighed in grade school?! NO! So the thought of having an "appropriate BMI" seems pretty fricken impossible.

When I think back to a time that I was a "healthy weight", when I was super active (and the same height I am now) I think about 1990, when I was almost 14 and weighed 165lbs. I was still "big", still the "fat kid" (compared to others my age), but I was doing gymnastics five days a week and probably in the best shape of my life. I still had a dimple of cellulite on my upper left thigh but I was otherwise pretty toned or as toned as I could be. (My mom would always tell me my butt was so hard!) So I've decided that my ultimate weight goal is 165lbs, I don't know if it's actually attainable- like I said, I was 14 years old the last time I weighed that much, but I'm definitely going to give it a try. However, instead of stressing myself out over a number on the scale, my main focus is fitness. There are so many things I want to be able to do, one of them is a Mud Run- a 3 mile obstacle course...IN THE MUD! There's one in May 2012 which I think would be AWESOME, but since I have no idea how much weight I will have lost by then or more importantly what kind of shape I'll be in, it might be a little far fetched. I think I'll know better come February whether or not that goal is reasonable. Is it February yet?!

I had a little melt down on Monday. I have been seeing a therapist in anticipation of the surgery as well as other issues I'm trying to work through (ADD for one) and she told me during our visit on Monday that if I was going to be successful at losing weight I was going to need to be regimented. Anyone who knows me, knows that regiment is a like four letter word in my book. It's probably what I need most in my life (especially for the ADD) but it's EXTREMELY difficult for me to fathom and even more so, to implement. Grr! So armed with this bit of information I came home feeling like I was going to fail. There was no doubt in my mind. I mean, I had already been worried about it. For the past several weeks I'd been worrying that I was going to fail, that I'd be the 3% (or whatever the number is) that the surgery doesn't work for and that'd be it. It'd be one more failed diet to add to my list of failures. I was feeling depressed and stressed to the max, then when she told me that I'd have to be regimented it was like one more nail in the failure-coffin. So I cried...a lot. Brett was such a trooper, he listened, tried to be reassuring and of course laughed at me a little because well, that's what he does. I laughed a little at myself too. I knew I was being ridiculous but I couldn't help it. There's a LOT of pressure involved with all of this. Expectations for something that there's no way of knowing what to expect. (I DO NOT LIKE NOT KNOWING WHAT TO EXPECT!)

I finally decided to call my friend Kayce who had the surgery last year and she was able to talk me down. She has had INSANE results that I had chalked up to being "luck" but when she told me how hard she's worked, how she's stuck to the diet and exercised regularly I realized "duh! I can do that too!" I hadn't realized just how dumb I was being about the whole situation. I mean, I KNEW that it was going to be "hard", that's what everyone tells you, but I just thought they meant it was going to be hard to eat (or not to eat), not that the process was going to be hard work! Yes, I know how dumb that sounds and no, I did not think that it was going to be easy, I just didn't...I don't know, I just thought it was going to come down to luck.

Anyway, something clicked and I'm feeling so much better. For whatever reason, I have a tendency to make things more difficult that they need to be. Like, I am almost literally the one who goes around my ass to get to my elbow with everything in life, but once something clicks I'm brilliant. So watch out! My brilliance is about to SHINE, BIG TIME!

As for being regimented, I'm not going to stress too much about that. It will be fine. I'll get my protein in everyday and limit my carbs everyday and I'll exercise (when I'm feeling better) and I will be successful!

The weight I lose today and the next day and the next day will be the last time I EVER see those pounds AGAIN! And that my friends is the best feeling in the world!

Goings on as of Late...

Well, I'm less than five weeks from the day of my surgery (December 19th) and less than three weeks from the first day of the two-week-long dreaded liquid diet!

This whole surgery thing has sparked an array of emotions that I hadn't really expected. When I first decided that surgery was my best (only) option I felt at peace. It had been a long time coming. Something that had been mentioned to me by others but something that I wouldn't even consider because I didn't want to put off getting pregnant in order to have the surgery. Once we decided we didn't want to have kids that excuse no longer existed so I was free to do whatever I wanted.

At my initial surgical consult, I learned that I was going to have to do a three month doctor supervised weightloss plan but I wasn't going to be able to see the doctor for over a month from the day of the consult. So even though I had made the decision in May, had gone to the seminar in late May, had the consult the first of June...it was going be July 14th before I'd be able to start the required "plan"-- it seemed like an eternity.

Come September, we found out that our insurance was going to change as of January 1st and I started to freak out a little. I'd already done everything except my last follow-up visit and I was ready! So ready to get the surgery DONE! And I started worrying that the insurance company wasn't going to cover it. No Bueno!

I knew there was nothing I could do other than wait and be patient but that wasn't easy.

On October 14th, I went for my last follow up appointment. The doctor signed off on everything so that it could be sent off to the insurance company. While checking out, the clerk told me that they would send everything over to the insurance company the next day and that my insurance company usually take about six weeks to get an authorization so I could expect my surgery to be around the first of the year. WHAT?! NO! I explained to her that my insurance was going to change and that I really needed to get it done before the first of the year so she called the lady in the office who handles the insurance stuff and left her a message to call me.

That was a Tuesday. She didn't call. So Thursday I called her and explained the situation. She said that she was sending everything over that day and I'd probably hear something within 3-4 weeks. Grrrrr!

Not an hour went by that I didn't think about my surgery. Wondering if it was going to happen, knowing that it was completely out of my hands. It was up to someone who had never met me to decide if my surgery would be paid for and since it wasn't something I could afford out of pocket I felt like my future was in that person's hands.

For the past several months, ever since I'd decided to have the surgery, I felt like a whole new world had been opened up for me or at least WILL be opened up for me next year. As long as I can remember I've been living for, next year. I've been on a diet, trying to lose weight for all of my adult life, saying to myself "next year I'm going to go kayaking." "Next year, I'm going to ride the roller coasters and Carrowinds" "Next year I'll be able to buy that dress" "Next year...." I've been living for next year for 15+ years! And now, FINALLY NEXT YEAR WILL COME! Hooray for surgery! If it get's approved. Crap,what if it doesn't get approved? Then what? And what have I been doing for the past 15 years? How much of my life, the best time of most people's lives, have I wasted? I mean, I haven't just sat around and done nothing but there have certainly been MAJOR things that I have put off doing for as long as I can remember. And always living for "next year?" Yeah, that blows.

So I spent most of September and October feeling sorry for myself, realizing just how much of my life I've wasted. I'm still not over it but I am feeling more optimistic-- sort of.

I ended up get the authorization on Tuesday, October 25th. Just four working days after the paperwork had been submitted. HOLY COW! That's like record time! I was elated! It felt like I had just been cast as Mrs. Lovett in Sweeny Todd. A goal that I had set out to accomplish had been attained! I did it! It's really going to happen!

All day Tuesday I was beaming! As well as most of Wednesday, part of Thursday, some of Friday...by the follow Monday I was only barely beaming. As of today, I'm mostly beaming but the reality had certainly set in.

I'm not really scare of dying- the likelihood of that is extremely slim, however, it is major surgery and of course that risk is there. The way I see it, I'm barely living so that small risk is one I'm willing to take. Besides, if I do die, I'll be dead, I won't even know or care, it's my friends and family that I worry about. But only a little, because I'm not planning on dying. Moving on. What the realization/fear that has really set in is- failing. I've failed at so many diets and so many attempted lifestyle changes. I have so many learned bad habits and issues with food and since I've never been much of a self motivator, how will I do this on my own? How will I be successful? Growing up, I was never taught to expect to succeed. I was taught to expect to fail. Of course I was never told, "you're going to fail" but I always had hear the words of "the devil's advocate". Apparently my family has a direct line to Satan. This is not a bash against my family, this is a realization of the affects of negative thinking even though they meant well.

So now I'm working to try to over come these fears. I'm seeing a psychologist who is helping me to work through this stuff. She is taking a logical route. Telling me I should make a plan, set a schedule and get regimented. Until this very moment (literally just had an epiphany) I was fighting her tooth and nail. But she's right. For whatever reason, emotional problem solving is not my forte. At least not solving my OWN emotional problems. Instead of searching for solutions I search for answers. (Mom, I know you're reading this...you do the same thing!) The fact of the matter is, that it doesn't matter WHY I eat or WHY I do much of anything, instead it's a matter of HOW to fix it.

I suddenly feel better. Deep breath.

I'm sure I will have more ups and downs before December 19th but I'm going to try to focus on solving the problem with real, tangible tactics rather than looking for some answer to make it all make sense.

The End.

BBWs and the Men Who ? ? ? ? Them

A couple days ago I came across some pictures on someone's facebook page of a "Fat Acceptance Party". All of the pictures were of extra large women scantily dressed, surrounded my men who couldn't reach their arms around them. In the comments section below there were dozens, sometimes hundreds of comments from other men telling these women just how beautiful they were and it made me angry...

As a plus sized gal, I have been referred to as a BBW on many occasions. I have even capitalized on my stature a time or two for attention from men and for work as an actor. So don't get me wrong, I’m not saying that BBW's should not be proud or take advantage of their bodies in a healthy way. However, I have a real problem with chubby chasers (men who love BBWs) and I have an even bigger problem with the organizations who encourage the “chubbies” to deliver.

It has been a while since I was single, but I still remember it well. Going to the clubs and getting hit on by men—often. And internet dating-- a lot.

I guess I should start off by saying that growing up, my mom always taught me to be proud of who I was because that's why people would love me. She didn't go out of her way to make me feel fat or tell me so, but she and I were always aware of it. I know she meant well when she encouraged me to focus on my personality but it also made me very cognizant of the fact that no one would be "physically attracted" to me so I needed to make sure I had something to offer. This being said, it came as a HUGE surprise to me when, shortly after my first husband and I split up at age 25, I was suddenly attracting the attention of men- lots of men. Until then I was completely unaware that I possessed any sex appeal whatsoever.

Finally drawing the attention of men had me craving that attention more and more. I began posting my dating profile on several match-up websites, specifying my body-type as "more to love" and "pleasantly plump”-- the emails were flying in. I was getting the attention that my skinny friends always got, the attention that I always wanted. These men would present themselves like they were my knight in shining armor. Telling me how beautiful I was, and how they could "appreciate" a woman like me. It felt good-- until I realized what was really going on. CHUBBY CHASERS ARE LEGAL PREDATORS!

Now for my rant:

Men who like fat women are no better than men who don't like fat women- yet somehow they are applauded for their “ability to see past the fat”. Bullshit. The fact of the matter is that we are physically attracted to people before we are emotionally attracted to them and chubby chasers are no different. What makes chubby chasers bad, even harmful, is that they encourage not only an unhealthy lifestyle but they are the WORST about objectifying women. What's worse than that is that these women, who feel like outcasts in daily life, find tolerance and even acceptance in a strange underground community of BBWs and the men who love them-- If you look at pictures from one of the parties or conventions that these “fat acceptance” organizations offer, you’ll see more cleavage, corsets and skin than the trashiest of Halloween party.

These organizations say they are all about promoting awareness and acceptance and yet all they are doing is isolating themselves all while exploiting themselves for attention and...love? I don't have a problem with being proud of who/what you are no matter your shape, size, ethnicity, sexual preference or religion, but it bothers me that these women are being taken advantage of. They are blinded by the admiration and desires of men to the point of becoming completely unaware of what's really going on.

I realize that this may seem unfair- that I'm generalizing and making sweeping assumptions and accusations-- of course there are always exceptions, but you will not convince me that what I have to say doesn't hold true for the majority of the "large" population.

Sociologically (generally) speaking, women want to feel desired by men. We crave that attention to the point of requiring it in order to feel validated. Sociologically (generally) speaking, men are in control and possess all the power -- don't go getting all women's lib here! Tell me the last time one of your girlfriends fretted over whether or not the guy she met last night is going to call her. Now tell me the last time a dude did the same thing. Okay, moving on...as I was saying, women, generally speaking, feel the need to be validated by men, this makes them powerless and at the mercy of a man's desire. This is the TRUE foundation for BBW organizations, they just camouflage it as a way to promote acceptance. It’s not love, it’s a fetish. These women are being objectified.

It makes me sad for all of the overweight women out there who have not just accepted their “fate” but have embraced it and are using it to solicit (a deluded) love. It makes me sad that they will die young, deceived by a sexual fantasy leaving them to value their fat rather than themselves.

I’m not saying any of this because I think I’m better than anyone else. I’m saying it because I want women, especially overweight women to expect more for their lives. Organizations that encourage this lifestyle are doing a disservice and injustice for women.

“Fat acceptance” is a crock. Respect yourself and your body. Don't let it define who or what you are.

Mortality

I recently realized that my sense of mortality is holding me back. Not so much the dying part, but the aging part. I just turned 34 and leading up to this birthday, for the last few years in fact, I've been feeling like my life was almost over. I think a lot of it has to do with my weight and constantly feeling sluggish and unable to do the things I actually want to do but I'm also acutely aware of my mom at 40.

Leading up to my mom's 40th birthday she became temporarily disabled and temporarily bed ridden because of her back. My memory is foggy because I was young when it happened, but I do know that from there things got worse, more permanent. I don't remember how long she was laid-up, might have been three days, might have been a week, might have been longer. But I do know that she was in a lot of pain and that pain led to more pain which eventually ended up requiring spinal surgery and two knee replacements-- she has been on permanent disability ever since.

These days she gets around just fine, but she can't work long hours and still has certain limitations. I have never seen my mom run or jump. I have never seen her hike or kayak or canoe or swim in a lake, river or ocean-- I don't know if I've ever seen my mom sit on her knees. This has completely warped my sense of age and ability.

My mom has been overweight for as long as I've known her, she's been lighter than she is now and she's also been a lot heavier too. This is my normal. This is what I've always expected for myself. I thought being thin and fit and active was for others and I have always been jealous of that.

But not anymore. I WILL learn to live my life the way I want to live it. YES I WILL!

I have one more doctor appointment left in order to meet all of the prerequisites for gastric by-pass surgery and I can't wait! As long as the insurance company authorizes it: This will be my last summer wishing I could white water raft, my last fall wanting to go to Carrowinds, my last winter not going snow-tubing. Next year is MINE! I WILL do all of the things that I have been putting off for years because this is the year that I will start living!

I accomplished quite a bit these first 34 years, I can't wait to see what the next 34 bring!

LIBERATED!

Oh man! I never thought having a little piece of plastic/copper shoved up my hoo-ha could be so grand! I just got home from the GYN where my doctor delicately and close-to-painlessly inserted my brand new Paragard IUD!

I no longer have to stress about birth control and can move on with my life!

The procedure didn't feel good but now that it's over, I can CERTAINLY say it was worth it!

No more BIG, FAT lies!

I am almost 34 years old. For 27 years I have been overweight or at least aware that I was overweight. And for all 27 of those years I have done everything I could to keep it a secret. I know that sounds ridiculous but it’s true. It’s the one thing about me that I have tried to keep hidden for as long as I can remember, knowing full and well that it was impossible to disguise.

I tried to dress, as my mom put it, in flattering clothes; I participated in athletics, did theater, stayed active and pushed myself to keep up with my skinny friends. In my mid 20’s I somewhat embraced my “size”. I realized that there were men out there who sought “large women”. I went to clubs and danced, got hit on, felt attractive and even more so, I felt validated. (Which I later realized was just being objectified) Yet, even then, I wasn’t proud of my body, I hadn’t even accepted it, I just kind of pretended like it wasn’t what it was. After all, people were always telling me how beautiful I was and men were paying attention to me. I was getting roles in plays, perhaps being a little type-cast, but hey! At least I was getting parts! It actually seemed to be working in my favor.

However, the little nagging voice, the constant secret insecurity just wouldn’t let go. It was my deepest darkest secret that I never really shared with anyone, even my closest friends. People always thought I was extremely confident and often commented on how much they admired that confidence. And even when I’d try to tell them that I didn’t really FEEL that confident, they’d laugh it off and say, “well you sure can’t tell!”

I kept up this facade for about 25 years, maybe even 26 as it was just recently that I finally faced up to the truth. I am not only overweight, I am MISERABLE. Extremely miserable.

I am not living the life I want for myself. This has nothing to do with vanity, it has to do with lifestyle. I have spent so many years stressing over things, distracting myself with “how to get happy” – moving from house to house, city to city, state to state; making bad choices in men just to be with someone, having semi-annual career meltdowns, obsessing over having children; etc.. But now that I have found all of the things I have been looking for, now that I have found peace from those peripheral distractions, now that I am happily married, have had the same job for almost five years, own a beautiful home and have a “stable” life, I am still left with ME.

Over the last few years I’ve known five people who have lost a significant amount of weight. Their weight-loss has been astonishing; the transformation in their LIVES has been inspiring. Four of them have had weight-loss surgery and one, my dear friend was able to do it with Weight Watchers (because she’s awesome, that buggar!) Her drive, patience and determination are to be admired.

Gastric by-pass has been mentioned to me several times over the last couple of years-by one doctor, and a few friends who have seen the lack of success I’ve had with “diets”, but I dismissed it because I was so baby crazy and felt that my biological clock was ticking. I would say, “If I decide today that I want the surgery, it will be six months before I can have it, then another year, minimum, before I can get pregnant.” That would put me at 33, 34, 35, depending on how old I was at the time of the conversation, which in my opinion at the time was, too old.

Eh.

Well, now that I’m ALMOST 34, I’m still fat and still don’t have a baby (which, if you read my last blog, you know I’m TOTALLY ok with now) --I have NO excuses! So this blog will now shift to my current journey- getting rid of this shit that has in-truth been what has consumed me since 1984 when Cara, one of my fellow Brownies (Girl Scouts) came to school and told my class that I had popped her waterbed at her birthday party the previous weekend—that was also the day I found my sense of humor.

***

On May 26th, I went to the mandatory informational seminar which ended up providing a wealth of information and made me feel confident that Gastric Bypass is the right choice for me. I had my first consultation with the surgeon on June 3rd and started the three month insurance-mandated doctor-supervised weight loss program on July 14th. So far I have met with the fitness person, started daily injections of some kind of medication to help suppress my appetite (which seems to be working, yay!) and did an in-home sleep study on Tuesday. On the 6th I will hopefully go for my psych eval (providing the psychologist comes back from medical leave before then), the 11th I will go for an endoscopy and on the 15th, I will have my second-month doctor visit as well as a bone density and metabolism test- LOTS OF HOOPS! From that point on, it should be pretty easy sailing, just two more doctor visits and a couple of appointments with the dietician. I’m hoping to have everything completed by my last doctor visit on 10/17 at which time, providing everything goes smoothly, they will send off the paperwork to get the authorization for surgery.
If all goes according to MY plan, 2011 will make my 27th year of being fat, my last. A lot of boxes need to be checked between now and the middle of October, Aetna needs to be on the ball with the approval and my surgeon has to be willing to operate around the holiday season, but HOPEFULLY, 2012 will be the first time I’ve EVER accomplished that New Year’s resolution: LOSE WEIGHT! And start living the life I was meant to live, not the BIG, FAT lie that has become my life.

The Rest of the Story

So, most of you know that the kids went back to live with their mom more than a month ago. But what I haven’t shared yet, at least publically (er...semi-publically… okay, to those very few of you who read my blog) what really happened.
I have hemmed and hawed over writing this blog for several weeks now but I have to get it out. I want to be able to fall asleep at a decent hour tonight, without the perpetuating blog-monologue running through my brain.

Throughout the five months that the kids were with us I shared-- a lot. I shared lots of good stuff and some not so good stuff but I kept a lot of to myself. Not knowing how long the kids were going to be with us and knowing that some of their classmate’s parents are friends of mine, I felt like it wasn’t fair to share some of the real stuff we were dealing with. It was very important to me that no one passed judgment on them, that no one had any preconceived notions or anticipated any potential issues that would most likely never affect them directly. I wanted the kids to be accepted and given a fair chance; they deserved that. There were already many other preconceptions about them that people naturally assumed, they certainly didn’t need any more.

But as the foster-mom, I need to expel the stress and anxiety that I have experienced over these last several months. This is not me crying for attention or begging for praise, this is just my story. The story of what really happened…The rest of the story.

***

Just after my last blog, the one where I talked about the little one being removed for the night, things got remarkably better. Visits with the Grandparents were ceased and life was a lot easier. We had about three weeks of “great”! but at about the fourth week, things started to spiral out of control. The kids went a couple of weeks without seeing their mom due to communication problems and the little one being the most sensitive just kind of lost it. We had several days in a row that were difficult but not impossible-- there was definitely a shift in the little one’s behavior. We’d seen this shift before, but were able to manage our way through it, even though each new cycle was significantly more difficult than the last.

We should have known that this next one was going to be even worse, but it didn’t occur to me until it actually was.

It started with the cussing…AGAIN which led to time outs, which led to tantrums, which led to physical altercations which led to longer time outs and more hitting and door slamming and wall kicking and whatever-he-could-get-his-hands-on breaking, and spitting in my face and calling me names. The tantrums would eventually stop but as soon as he was done he’d immediately start looking for something to do to get in trouble. It was almost scary, the look in his eye as he walked around the house looking for something, anything to touch that he wasn’t supposed to- another child’s toy, our cell phones, fragile items, computers, ANYTHING, just to be told, “No!”.
We were careful about picking our battles, tried VERY HARD to use positive reinforcement as well as other tactics. We made excuses; taking into consideration everything that he had been dealt up to this point but there was only so much that we could do.

The beginning of the end happened on Saturday, April 30th. We had gone to the pool with some friends and the little one was benched for peeing on the floor (on purpose) at a public restroom earlier that day. I had made a deal with him, I told him that he could not swim that day as a consequence for his actions, but if he sat on the bench and made good choices, he could play angry birds on my phone while we swam. He agreed to those terms and when we got to the pool he sat down and followed directions- I gave him my phone and got in the pool with the other kids. I will never know if that was the right decision- I felt justified at the time and I have no regrets.

He was fine for about 20 minutes. He’d look up from the phone every once-in-a-while to see what we were doing and of course I glanced over at him twice as often. But then, as I was standing at the wall of the pool, holding onto the edge talking to someone else who was standing to my right, he walked over and stomped down on my chest as hard as he could. I heard the thump before I felt the pain and when I looked up he was running back to the bench. There were about 15 people sitting in the hot tub nearby and in unison everyone gasped. It was shocking to say the least. Brett and I immediately got out of the pool, dried off and gathered our belongings. Our friends who were with us (as part of this preplanned family outing) offered to stay with the other two while we took the little one back to the house and got him situated.

When we got to the house, he immediately ran from us, began throwing things, trying to break whatever he could. Brett finally got him in his room and tried to calm him down but he was unrelenting for almost 45 minutes. The pool was about to close and one of us had to go get the other two, so I left and Brett stayed home. He called our agency and told them what was going on. He asked that someone come to the house to help us as the child needed to be restrained but we were not licensed to do so. (I know the word restrain sounds harsh, but that’s what it’s called and it’s used to get a child who is completely out of control to calm down- it’s not like a straight jacket, just a bear hug to keep the child and others around safe) But apparently our agency didn’t feel that we needed them so they just told Brett not to be alone with him and “don’t agitate him”.

WHAT?!?! For real?!?! They are supposed to be there to SUPPORT us! To SUPPORT the children! The children are technically THEIR responsibility. I have no doubt that if the same call was made during normal business hours that someone would have been there immediately. But I’m guessing that since this was a Saturday evening, on a holiday weekend, it wasn’t the most convenient time.

(Needless to say, we will not be working with that agency EVER again.)
As the week progressed the behaviors escalated. Both Brett and I were being physically assaulted at least twice a day. By Wednesday I had bruises on my arms, scratch marks on my wrists, I’d had several things thrown at (and hit) my face, my hair pulled, I’d been spat on and called a bitch. Our house had turned into a crisis zone. And even though I held him when he was calm and praised him when he was good, it got to the point where it was dangerous; dangerous for us and him. All we could do was defend ourselves and I was so worried that I would hurt him in the process.

Our plan was to start therapeutic training the following week so that if he had been “leveled up”, to a therapeutic home, he could stay with us. But next week seemed so far away, it would be six weeks after that before we’d be finished with the training-- It became too much. Between not feeling safe in our house and the lack of support from our agency as well as the mental, physical and emotional exhaustion, I just couldn’t do it anymore. So I made the call, well actually it was an email, but I did it- I asked that he be exited from our home.

Even now, sitting here, writing this blog, two months after it went down, I’m still moved to tears. No matter how hard it was, not matter how bad he hurt me or what he broke or how difficult he was, I still loved him and the thought of him leaving was heartbreaking. How were we going to tell him? Who was he going to stay with? This is what people talk about when it comes to foster kids- kids bouncing from foster home to foster home. I was now part of the problem and no longer the solution. I was letting him down. I was sad; very, very sad. I still am.

It was Thursday evening, the night before Brett and I were to leave for the beach- our much needed respite weekend, and I wrote to the social worker:

“Please accept this email as our request for long-term removal of TG from our home. We have been physically assaulted multiple times each day, every day since Saturday April 30th. He has become a danger to us and we feel we are at risk of becoming a danger to him as we do not know how to handle his behavior except to defend ourselves. We have not and would not physically discipline him, however we fear that since we do not have proper training, we may inadvertently hurt him trying to defend ourselves.

TG is going to respite care this weekend and will most likely be okay in that home for a few days, however, it is my opinion that he needs to be in a therapeutic home or a home where he is the only child for now. We may reconsider taking him back into our home if/when we feel prepared to do so after completing therapeutic training and once he is being treated for and/or in better control of the issues he is facing.

This situation is very upsetting and disappointing. I can't help but feel that perhaps this could have been avoided had there been a more efficient response from DSS and NCH with regards to effective therapy, quicker assessments and more support.

We expect him to be removed no later than Friday, May 20th.

Thank you,

Brett and Andrea”

***

This was Thursday, May 12th at 5:30pm. It was after-hours, I knew it would be the next day before I got a response, all I could do was wait.

The rest of the evening we pretended like everything was okay. In fact, we pretended like everything was okay for the next SEVEN days! It felt like and eternity and yet, I didn’t want that day to come.

It wasn’t until the 11th hour, almost literally, before we finally got word on where he was going. The plan all along, ever since they came to stay with us was for them to eventually live with their mom. We didn’t know how long that would be, but she had been working hard to get things ready for them. Since the kids weren’t taken from her, since none of the charges were against her, there was really no reason to keep them from her except that the social worker wanted her to prove that she really wanted them which she did-- she got a house and a car and met all of her other requirements, she was the best candidate for placement.

When this decision was made, I felt relieved. I could handle telling them that ALL THREE of them were going to live with their mom, even if the little one was going first. (To give us the break and warm her up to being a full-time parent) That’s what it’s all about anyway, reunification. They were going to be reunified with their mom. We had done our job. We had prepared three children to be reunited with their family and even though it happened sooner (due to extreme circumstances) than we had expected, we had done it!

The problem was that the plan wasn’t decided until THURSDAY afternoon. We didn’t want to stress the kids out until we knew exactly what the plan was, so for seven days, we had to act like nothing was going on.

Thursday afternoon (May 19th) we sat the kids down and told them the plan: We have some exciting news! Your mom has been doing a really good job getting ready for your guys to come live with her and she is really looking forward to being together. So we talked to the social worker today and T is going to go stay with your mom starting tomorrow and then you guys (K and K) will be going the day after school gets out for the summer!

We tried to make it a positive thing. We wanted them to feel good about the transition. We thought that they would be excited, but they weren’t. The little one immediately started crying, saying he didn’t want to leave. The middle one was stressed because he was worried that his mom was going to let the little one play with his video games and that he would break them and the oldest one was concerned about leaving her friends and not going to the beach.

Looking back, I realize that we shouldn’t have been surprised by these reactions, but I don’t know, it was so weird at the time.

That night we let the little one pick what he wanted for dinner, he chose CiCi’s Pizza. We ate, came home, did our normal evening routine, and I tucked him in for the last time. That sucked ass.

Earlier that week, I think it was Wednesday, in all the stress of the situation, I got one last chance to just hold him. It was about 10pm, over an hour after they’d gone to bed-- Brett and I were sitting on the couch watching TV and he came stumbling into the living room, mostly asleep, and crawled into my lap. I just sat there and held him, and cried, hard. I cried a lot that week, when no one was looking and I was so grateful that I got to cry while holding him, without him ever knowing.

God, I’m crying now. A lot.

That kid had (has) a very special place in my heart. All three of them did, do and always will. They are precious, precious children.

I know that we made an impact on their lives; we showed them other possibilities, gave them the opportunity to learn and grow and to be loved whole heartily. I feel good about what we did and I’m glad we did it. I have no regrets. They will forever be a part of my life and will always be in my heart.

I am so blessed to have had the chance to love them. So, so blessed.

The details of the next day are too painful to recap. Even though I was dropping him off with his mom, it hurt- BAD.
I cried several times over the next few days but tried to stay positive for the older two.

The following three weeks were like night and day compared to the weeks, months leading up to them. Having just the two was effortless. They still gave us a hard time, were mouthy and didn’t always follow directions, but they were like different children.

While all three were with us, I NEVER got a free moment unless they were sleeping or I was out- alone. I know kids require a lot of attention, but this was constant and beyond normal. Neither Brett nor I realized until the little one was gone just how much all three of them constantly fought for my attention- I mean constantly. The therapist had pointed it out, but it had become my normal so it didn’t occur to me that it was actually happening. I just knew that I heard “Andreeea” about 75 times per hour- and I don’t think that’s an exaggeration. Ask Brett!

But when the little one left- a calm came over the house; the older two suddenly became independent and were able to occupy and entertain themselves, sometimes together, sometimes separately. I could actually go an hour maybe longer without hearing my name even once.

It was strange how the entire dynamic of our home changed, literally overnight.

Two nights before their last day with us the middle one chose McDonald’s for dinner and the last night, the oldest one chose Church’s Chicken. The last day school came, they said goodbye to their friends, came home and packed up their clothes and toys. That night, I tucked them in for the last time and the next morning I took them to their mom.

I’ve talked to them a few times since that day. They don’t have very good cell service where they live so talking on the phone is difficult, couple that with their limited communication skills and it’s VERY difficult to have a conversation. I am trying to stay in touch and hope to do so forever but I’m hoping that as quickly as we became a family, they are now doing the same now, only better, with their real family. So I am giving them some space, reminding myself daily that I did my job and letting them move on.

***

People often ask me if I miss them- This is a tricky question. I miss loving them. I miss seeing them. I miss the good times. But it was an INTENSE five months and there are a LOT of things that I don’t miss; the constant stress, for one.

If you follow me on Facebook, then you know how much we accomplished and I will forever treasure those accomplishments, but those accomplishments were pepper flakes compared to the daily challenges we faced and now that it’s all over, contrary to the end of many relationships- only remembering the good stuff, I mostly remember the bad. In fact, it’s not so much remembering as it is, just now recognizing just how hard it was. I spent five months trying to be positive, trying to make things good, trying to create an image for them and those who were part of their lives, that I rarely even admitted to just how bad it was.

***

And now the rest of the rest of the story…

I don’t know if we’ll ever do it again.

The truth is that we learned from them as much if not more than they learned from us. Having kids is hard- duh! Everyone knows that. But you don’t realize until you have three children who depend on you for everything to see that this may not be what you want forever, at least not for us.

I realize that we had a tough case. Trust me, EVERYONE told us that, constantly. Even the in-home therapist would come to the house every Monday, and say, “I don’t know how you guys do it. I gotta go home and drink!” Yeah, I know, she was high quality. Ha! But we did have an extreme case. One that burnt us out, big time! However, that’s not the main reason we are second guessing our want/need to have children and a “family”. We realized just what a sacrifice it is to have children and we’re not sure we want to make those sacrifices forever.

About two weeks into being full-fledged foster parents I realized, there are no guarantees. Whether you adopt older kids, babies or even have your own, there is no guarantee that you will not be bailing them out of jail when they’re 17 or giving them rent money when they’re 23 or visiting them in rehab when they’re 30. And to be quite honest, I don’t think that’s a risk that I actually want to take. I want to travel and see the world. I want to experience different cultures and lifestyles. Being a parent is one of those… which I can now check off my list.

I’m suddenly aware of my life and all that I want to accomplish- being a parent for the rest of that time isn’t on that list. Maybe for parts of it over the next ten years or so, as a foster parent, but at this point I have no desire to get pregnant, give birth or adopt. It sounds terrible when I say it out loud and even worse when I read it in type, but it’s true.

I have a whole new appreciation for parents and the forever-sacrifices they make. You are a special breed. (Breeders) And I applaud you! It takes some serious commitment and GUTS!

***

I realize of course that this could all change, and future blog title could be something to the effect of “Eating My Words”.

Recent Goings On

So as you know, things were going really well…and remember what I said about “jinxing” things.  Yeah, well—dot, dot, dot!

I don’t REALLY believe in the power of “jinx” but my life does have a habit of kicking my ass just when I’m feeling good about things.  I don’t mean this to sound pitiful.  It’s just part of life.  The best times come from getting through the tough ones. 

Three days after I wrote this blog things started going downhill.  Slowly, then crash, BOOM! 

Part of fostering is something called “shared parenting”. 

The idea behind “shared parenting” (spoken in a sweet fairy godmother-type voice) is to help the families build their relationship in an effort to prepare them for reunification. 

YEAH RIGHT!!! 

Shared parenting can pretty much be defined as: taking the kids that you love to weekly emotional torture sessions, resulting in mental turmoil that wreaks havoc on your day-to-day lives for a minimum of five days following said visit.  It is a TEST to see of the parents have got their shit together and a complete mind-#@&% for the kids. 

Our situation is especially fun because we are dealing with grandparents (who the kids lived with all their lives) and the mother who has been…around most of their lives.  The mother and the grandmother do not get along, so we have to have separate visits with each of them every week. 

Back when I said that things had gotten better, we seemed to have a handle of visits.  The kids have always responded well to visits with “mom” (I say “mom” because they don’t identify her as their mother) this is most likely because they are used to seeing her every-once-in-a-while, but visits with grandmother on the other hand result in complete turmoil for several days unless they are CLOSLEY supervised. 

So, like I was saying, things were going well.   Visits with mom were going smoothly and visits with Grandma were tightly watched.  This is until 3/23!  The visit was at a park instead of DSS or McDonalds.  She had lots of time to fill their little heads with whatever garbage she wanted.  The two older ones tend to blow her off, guess they’re somewhat used to her behavior, but the little one…not so much. 

This was the Wednesday before the Friday that we left for the beach. 

Come Friday we noticed that the little one seemed very withdrawn.  He suddenly detached from us- like overnight.  He had gone from being my “snuggle bunny” with hugs for no reason followed by “I love yous” to nothing.  It was like someone had told him that we didn’t love him and he shut us out. 

WE WERE AT THE BEACH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD and he could barely smile unless he was REALLY distracted by something.  It was pitiful.

The following week we had another loosely supervised visit which ended in her telling him IN FRONT OF ME (I’m sure to show me how wonderful she is) that JESUS told her that he was being bad.

WTF?!?!?!?!?!  JESUS?!?!?!?  HER?!?!?!?  Un-mother-effing-believable!

We were in the mall food court and he ran from her and hid in the restroom.  I was speechless.  All I could say was, “He’s a good boy. He’s doing really well.”  And she told me that she knew it needed to be said, she’s a little “witchy” and can sense these things.  She “raised him better than this” and she “doesn’t know where he gets this behavior”.

I wanted punch her in the face.

That night, unsurprisingly, things got worse.  He became exceptionally defiant and was trying to do and say anything he could to hurt our feelings and make us mad. 

We had court the next day, she came up and apologized to me.  I told her that we didn’t believe in recognizing bad behavior for no reason and reiterated that he was doing very, very well. 

BLOOD BOILING!!!

Friday the kids went to respite care.  Brett and I needed a break.  They had a really great time and asked if they could go back again soon.  This made me feel good.  Next time I don’t have to feel guilty sending them off for the weekend.

Sunday night was a little rough, but we got through it.  The little one was back to being defiant, but it wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle.  He was still trying to be mean, but we have thick skin.  Monday however was a completely different scenario.  Monday he lost his shit. 

The meltdown started about about 3:45, but 4:15 when the therapist got there for her scheduled visit, he was a gonner.  Completely irrational, couldn’t calm down, was--- I don’t know, just gone. 

She spent two hours trying to calm him down and nothing worked.  She recommended that we call the on-call social worker to be on stand-by in case he needed to leave our home.  She was.  He did.

I can’t even begin to tell you how painful it is to have a social worker come to you home at 7pm and take your (foster) child away, kicking and screaming “I don’t want to leave”.  Brett had to physically carry him.  All I could do is…nothing.  Oh my god, no words.

The plan was for us to pick him up the next morning.  It was explained to him that he just needed a break so he could calm down and get a good night’s rest.  I don’t think he believed us.

The respite family (mom) who had him that night called me shortly after he had fallen asleep.  She said that had wanted to call to talk to me but he’d fallen asleep before she was able to call.  He was exhausted. 

The next morning I picked him up and took him to school.  The first thing he said to me when we got in the car was, “I hate you guys”. 

That’s understandable. 

I said, “Well we love you very much and we’re so glad that you’re coming home today.  We missed you a lot, we just wanted you to come here for the night so you could calm down and get some rest.”

“I still hate you”

“Did you sleep good last night?”

“Yes”

“Do you feel better today?”

“Yes”

“Good!”

“Now lets back into that gold Saturn parked behind us”

Okay, that last part didn’t really happen.  Well actually it did, but I didn’t say it and it wasn’t on purpose.  Oops! 

Turns out it was a nice ice breaker though AND a good teaching moment.  I told him that I had to take responsibility for my mistake and went and knocked on the neighbor’s door to tell them what had happened.  I gave her my contact information and explained to him that I was now going to have to pay them money to fix there car since I broke it. 

I think he got it.  Hopefully.

Tuesday night wasn’t TOO bad and Wednesday night was pretty bad. 

Today we had a long conversation with the social worker about what needs to happen and the general consensus is (was) to have him “exited from our home”. 

I know in my heart that there is only so much I can do.  I realize that he may be more than we can handle, and that we may not be the right type of foster home for him, he may need to be placed in a therapeutic home.  I get it, but, but, but…

Brett reminded me that sometimes we have to remember that this is a job and that I can’t get too attached I told him that I knew that.  Again, I get it.  But this is different.  This isn’t about me being attached to him, this is about the BOND that we HAD. 

The social worker mentioned a possible diagnosis of Reactive Attachment Disorder (read about it, just a few sentences, it SUCKS and it completely unavoidable but almost always unchangable).  if this is in fact what he has, there is very little hope for him.  I realize that I can’t fix every child that comes through my door, but I certainly don’t want to be PART of the problem. 

I’m not sure what will happen from here.  I am happy to report that despite some bucking this morning, this afternoon we seemed to have the “old snugglebunny” back.  Not sure, how or why.  Although I’d like to think that it’s because he remembered that he is safe and loved in our home,  I know deep down (or not so deep) that there is an extreme possibility that no matter how much we love him, no matter what we do to tell him, no matter the ways we show him, he may never be able to understand what it is to be loved or how TO love, truly. 

Seven years old. 

Update, because it’s been a while.

I hesitate to write this blog because I worry about jinxing things.  Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds, but it’s true. 

Although every day is still a challenge, as I’m guessing it is in most families, we are certainly seeing huge improvements.  We are absolutely amazed at these kids and how well they are doing with daily activities.  We are perhaps even more amazed at ourselves with how well WE are doing. 

One month ago we were averaging 3-4 times outs per day with each of the boys.  That’s 6-8 total—EXHAUSTING!  These last two weeks we’ve averaged about 3-4 PER WEEK! 

The cussing has decrease significantly, which let me tell you, is SUCH a huge relief.  It still happens a couple of times per day, sometimes accidentally, some times on purpose, but 95% of the time it stops with a simple warning. 

For a while there it was CONSTANT.  Pretty much, if the boys were awake and not eating, they were cussing.  Not cussing AT us, just cussing and/or fake cussing.  What is fake cussing you ask?  Let me give you an example:

“cockcockcockcaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhck,cockcockcockcahhhhhhhhhhhhk” 

“cut it out, now”

“what?  I wasn’t saying a cuss!”  I was saying ‘cock’, like a bird”

“I don’t want to hear it.  Say it again and you’re going to time out”

seconds later

“crashit, crash it, cra shit”

“time out now!”

“I didn’t say a cuss!” 

“Go- now…now!”

“I hate you! You’re mean!  Meanie, meanie, meanie!”  (and on and on for several minutes, while throwing pillows off the time out couch")

UGH!!!

But now, like I said, the cussing is minimal and I’m also happy to report that time out is bearable.  Well, mostly bearable.  Better anyway.

Their communication skills have improved drastically and they are now able to speak real sentences, even paragraphs, which keeps their minds and mouth from wandering aimlessly to curse words. 

School!  Oh my gosh!  I am sooooooooooo proud of them!  They are doing insanely well in school.  The (now 11 year old) girl is making friends- three of them even came to her birthday party on Saturday.  She wants me to do her hair every morning and she is taking pride in was she wears to school.  She is learning to read and can do double digit math problems!  She is learning to count money and is getting the basics of multiplication. 

She is so smart and insanely athletic but man can she cop an attitude!  Woooh!  I mean seriously.  Ah, the pre-teen years. –I’m too young for this!  HA!

Emotionally, she is quite closed off but she has recently started laughing, like real belly laughs.  Like the boys she really only has two emotions:  happy and angry.  But she and I have really bonded the past few weeks and when I tuck her in at night she always gives me a hug and tells me she loves me.  *melt”

The nine year old boy is growing too, although, a little slower than the others.  He is figuring out that letters make sounds and that those sounds make words.  He gets so proud of himself when he can figure out how to spell things and his big huge smile just warms my heart.  He talks non-stop now.  NON-STOP!  Mostly about random stuff, but he’s talking.  AND chewing with his mouth closed.  THIS IS HUGE!  He gets frustrated really easily but  with a lot of encouragement he is find ways to complete tasks without just giving up. 

The little one, 7, is growing by leaps and bounds.  He has gotten 100% on his last three spelling tests and read almost an entire picture book to me last week.  I thought I was going to cry. 

My GOD he is cute and he knows how to work it. I have to remind myself to stand firm and not get sucked in by it.

The last few days he has been driving me CRAZY!  Getting into things he KNOWS he should be in to.  On Saturday, he took all of the food color that I had on the counter (I was making frosting for K’s b-day cake) without me seeing him.  He took it outside and squirted it ALL OVER the front walk-way.  I didn’t realize this until I went to clean up and noticed that they were all empty.  There were on the counter, where I had left them, but the BRAND NEW bottles were completely EMPTY!  I called him into the kitchen and flat out asked him if he had been playing with them.  He immediately apologized (in his cute little way) and I had to pinch myself to keep from getting sucked in.  I, of course, scolded him then made him write “I will not touch other people’s belongings” 10 times.  --Throughout the day he had also been caught with Brett’s watch, his sister’s RC helicopter AND the OLD food coloring, for which he had already gotten in trouble for that morning.  When he was done writing his sentences, I presented him with a bucket and a toothbrush and made him scrub  the (now kinda cool, but I won’t tell him that, tie dyed) sidewalk. UGH!!  We talked about the incident and he promised he wouldn’t touch other people’s stuff.  Well, at least not until Sunday when he was caught playing with my phone, Brett’s handheld GPS, my sunglasses and then this morning my keys as he was trying to break-in to the storage room to try to find god-knows-what!!!  UGH! 

Did I mention how cute he is?  Precocious, but cute.

***

So a part of the fostering stuff that you don’t really learn about in the classes is all the business/legal stuff.  Court dates, family visits, meetings with Guardian ad litems, therapists, social workers, etc., etc., etc.  This is truly a full-time job and can be quite stressful on us and the kids.  Understandably so.

We try to keep things as “normal” as possible and for the most part we operate just like normal family.  A “normal family” that has visits with “real” (birth) family twice a week and other extraneous people several times a month. 

We seem to have a good system in place, with lots of routine during the weekdays.  Weekends, which we all want to look forward to are often the most stressful because of the lack of routine and structure.  We are finding that when the kids have too much free-time all hell breaks loose so we are working to find a balance, it’s definitely getting better.

I’m just so proud of them and perhaps even more proud of us.  Brett and I both feel like we definitely made the right choice to become foster parents.  We constantly talk about just how lucky we are and how good it feels to KNOW that what we are doing is important, impactful and completely fulfilling.

Although I may never know what it’s like to be pregnant or nurse and infant, I certainly know what it’s like to be a mom…and I love it!

You may have noticed...

that I haven't posted anything in almost two weeks. This lapse in posts is partially due to a lack of time, but unfortunately, it's mostly due to the struggles we've been experiencing.

No one said this was going to be easy. We knew coming into all of that this that even though we had been through all of the training, had all of our inspections and meeting with social workers-- and talked it over...and over and over; we'd never be FULLY prepared.

Over the past few weeks we've established a comptlely different lifestyle. We knew this was coming. We didn't know it was going to happen so soon, but regardless, we knew. What we didn't know was just how much it was going to affect us emotionally. We had discussed the physical aspects of it. We talked about how we were going to be on someone else' schedule and we talked about the changes we were going to have to make to our home to make it more kid-friendly. But we didn't talk about how these physical things were going to make us feel.

When a married couple gets pregnant and then has a baby, they get nine months to prepare for the arrival (similar to us) but they also get a lifetime to establish personalities, likes, dislikes, routines, habits, etc. When these three kids arrived at our home three weeks ago, we knew NOTHING about them and they knew even less about us. It goes without saying that this creates exceptional difficulties, but to what extent?

Well let me tell you. Food. Ever time I grocery shop or cook, I have to keep my fingers crossed and HOPE that they'll eat our food. A common conversation in our home goes something like,

"This isn't the kind of _______ we have at mommom's house".

"Well what kind do you have?"

"The kind in the box"

External dialogue, "Oh, well I'll see if I can find that kind next time I go shopping"

Internal monologue, "Oh the BOX, that helps! ARGH!"

Details and descriptors are not a strength, even when asked LOTS of questions, the answer is usually "uh, iunknow"

This brings us to other "things" we're having to work through. If you follow me on Facebook, you probably already know that the kids FINALLY started school last week. You may also know that this is their FIRST TIME EVER in school. FIRST!! They are 7, 9 and almost 11. Supposedly they were "home-schooled" but it doesn't appear that there was any structure.

According to the kids they each had a TV in their room with a "game system" and that's what they did all day. This may or may not be the truth, but judging by where they are academically and how GOOD they are at video games, I'm gonna go with: LIKELY.

Symantecs? Another thing we are have to work through is making sure we're all on the same page. From "what do we all consider an apple to be?" (red, green, yellow, etc.) to "what do we all consider a game to be?" If you ask the kids, "what do you like to do for fun? The answer is, "play games". But if you say,

"hey, want to play a game?"
"Sure!"
"Okay, how about Go Fish?...Tic-tac-toe?.....Twister?........"
"Those aren't games! Those are BOARD games!"
"well then what kind of games do you like to play?"
"I dunno, game system games, like Wii and Play Station."

"Ohhhh, okay, right. I see now. Well let's try something different, how about ______?"

"We don't like stupid BOARD games"

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

This is just one example of the differences in our vocabularies.

Speaking of vocabularies. Words we take for granted such as "privileges" and "consequences" had no definition three weeks ago. Words smaller than those have been a challenge too. It can be so frustrating sometimes. Dealing with children as tall as me, trying to solve "big kid" problems with the vocabulary of a four year old, creates what sometimes feels like a brain teaser. Or at least patting your head and rubbing your stomach. It requires A LOT of patience.

Trust me, I'm NOT complaining. It's challenging, EVERY DAY, but the reward is worth it. Like I said, three weeks ago they didn't know "privileges" and "consequences", now, they are experts. :-) Baby-steps, one foot at a time.

So what's going on with school? Well, with a bit of hesitation and some necessary coddling, we've made it SEVEN days now. The middle one is having the hardest time. He's extremely shy on his own and he has zero patience for anything that isn't easy. He doesn't know what to do with praise and doesn't recognize accomplishment when he succeeds. We're working on it...SLOWLY.

The oldest one was anxious to start school and so far she is loving it-- thankfully! She has A LOT of work ahead of her, as do the other two. But she will be 11 in March and can't write her last name, add more than 2+2 and can't read a sentence.

The boys have the same struggles but at least they're a BIT younger. However, they all have more catching up to do than one person can even imagine. They are SO smart. All of them. So freaking capable! But only have the education/experience of a pre-kindergartner. Makes me sick to my stomach. I often wonder how many other children there are out there in the same situation.

No child should ever have to experience what foster children experience- bad home-life, being taken away from their families, sent to live with strangers, etc.,...but I think these kids are lucky. They have been given an opportunity to learn and grow rather than perpetuate this vicious cycle that some are unable to escape; Uneducated kids, growing up to be uneducated adults, raising uneducated children.

Although this is by-far the hardest job I've ever had, it's also the most rewarding and I'm so, so, so proud of these kids.

***

So why has it been so bad? Well, last week, Brett was out of town Tuesday through Thursday, which left me alone with the kids for three whole days. Alone on their first day of school, alone on their second day of school, alone on their third day of school. I'm still not sure how I managed, but I did-- bedtime and all. Pure adrenaline maybe?

The thing is, those three days weren't THAT bad. We did have one incident on Wednesday night that I thought for sure was going to end badly. Complete with a showdown in the Target parking lot followed by kicking and screaming the whole way home, followed a tantrum that included a knocked over trash can, books thrown on the floor and a broken cat-food dish. NOT FUN. Especially when you're alone, with three kids, that you suddenly realize, you barely know.

I don't remember how I managed it now. I think I've erased it from my memory. It sounds worse than it actually was. I never felt like I was in danger, but I knew I had lost control of the situation and I had no one to help me get it back.

Oh wait, I remember. After not giving in to the cat and mouse game the "tantrum child was trying to play". We finally went upstairs, where I closed the door, stood in front of it and when the opportunity arose, I grabbed the child, gave a big hug and said calmly, "I'm not going to hurt you. I love you. You need to calm down."

It had dawned on me that these kids are probably used to being hit when they are "bad" and that the fear was that I was going to do the same- hence the running away.

This was a proud moment for me. :-)

Over the next few days we had similar episodes with the same child, followed by "monkey see monkey do" behavior by another. Saturday afternoon culminated in an emergency call the social worker, behind closed doors, complete with lots of tears and a little hyper-ventilating, I told her I didn't know what to do.

The subject of removing the child was discussed as a potential plan for Monday. I shared this conversation with Brett who thought it might be the best solution. This was Saturday afternoon.

That night, when I crawled into bed next to Brett, I just cried. And cried. I couldn't bear the thought of sending one away. I couldn't even begin to think of that scenario-- packing up belongings, opening the door for the social worker, allowing them to walk in to our home and then leave with a child. Saying goodbye. What would I say?? How would I face the other two after the door closed?

NO! NO!NO!NO!

It makes me ill to think about it.

We knew something had to change. Brett and I talked about it, and talked about it and talked about it. We were feeling helpless, feeling like we had bitten off more than we could chew. The more we talked about it, the more we realized that behavior problems aside, we were feeling inconvenienced. We knew the moment we accepted the placement that our lives were about to be turned upside down but we didn't realize that we were going to miss all of the things we once had but never noticed before.

We weren't taking this frustration out on the kids per se, but the issues that the kids were presenting made our inability to be self-centered completely impossible. We couldn't wake up when we wanted, go to sleep when we wanted, eat when we wanted, watch what we wanted and even more, we couldn't NOT sleep when we wanted, NOT eat when we wanted, NOT WATCH what we wanted. Our lives had gone from doing what we want, when we want to the complete opposite- at the mercy of three young kids. Kids that were disrespecting, testing boundaries and pushing limits.

We quickly realized that although the children were being difficult, our attitude needed to change. That was Sunday morning. That day we spent the entire day playing with the kids outside. We had a picnic lunch and ate dinner on the patio. Bedtime was still a challenge, but we found joy in what we had accomplished during the day-- some serious bonding. Since then, we've still had the same challenges we had before, but I think we've all found a new respect for each other. The kids are trusting us more and we're enjoying being "parents" more.

The hardest part in all of this is realizing that my fantasy is very different from reality. At least for right now. I instantly fell in love with these three children and wanted them to instantly fall in love with me. I anticipated "having kids" would mean "being a family". I forgot that even though I WANT a family, these kids already have one. I'm not saying that we won't grow into a family, after all it's only been three weeks, but just like my definition of "games" is different from their definition of "games", so is our definition of "family". For that, I cannot feel resentful.

I have faith that it WILL get easier, it WILL get better. But for now, I just have to be patient. Accept things the way they are and work towards making them better.

Now if I could just figure out what kind of ice cream they ACTUALLY like...

:-)

Being a Foster Parent...

It's been a little over a week now since the two little boys came to stay with us and almost a week since their sister came too. Over these past several days a lot of changes have taken place. Changes in the kids, Brett, our home and ME.

The kids have certainly come out of their shells, so there's that. :-D

All three are incredibly smart and it's so rewarding to see how much they've learned and grown in such a short amount of time.

I can't go into much detail on here due to confidentialy restrictions, but I can tell you that everything we learned in our training has been extremely beneficial. There are so many things we take for granted; things that we expect kids of a certain age will know and know how to do, things that we consider basic, but children that have been in "situations"

For right now, I can tell you that we're seeing a lot of personality. A LOT! We have the beautiful, quiet, creative, future engineer who almost always follows directions every time they're given (I have experienced a couple of pre-teen eye-rolls though, I giggle on the inside); the comedian who also happens to be a great helper, extremely inquisitive and completely adorable; and the youngest- another comedian who, if allowed, would eat pizza and chocolate for every meal-- very affectionate, Spongebob-loving wild child.

Speaking of Spongebob-- I had never watched an episode until yesterday. I thought it was a kids show- WRONG! OMG, what an obnoxious little prick! Seriously. New rule in this house- NO SPONGEBOB! I haven't broken it to the kids yet, they'll figure it out eventually.

Rules, ah rules. It's so hard going from zero kids to THREE! You have to be quick on your feet! I have to be three steps ahead of three kids at all times- that makes like, nine steps.

I try to give an explaination for my rules. There have been a couple of times when it was "because I said so", but for the most part I give an explanation. I believe that's the responsibility of the parent. Even as adults we have rules but those rules aren't "because I said so". They are rules that are enforced to procect us. I believe that if a reason for a rule isn't given, the child will never understand the potential consequence and be have the ability to be pro-active in their decision making. Don't get me wrong, I believe in consequences and learning from them. (If you don't want to wear a coat outside, that's fine. When you get cold, you'll realize you need it.) But I'm not going to let a child play with a light socket and figure out that when you get shocked you die. Know what I mean? Additionally, it helps keep me in check. It's too easy for parents to become lazy and say "because I said so" just because they, themselves don't want to put forht any effort. If I don't have a good reason for not doing or allowing something (like I don't want to get off the couch) then that's not a good enough reason- for either of us.

So how is all of this affecting me? Well let me tell you. I couldn't be happier. Seriously. I know I'm honeymooning right now and will eventually need a break, but at this very moment there is no other place I'd rather be. As lame as it sounds, I finally feel complete. I have never felt so confident. All of the years I spent doing theater/films, even with accolades and standing ovations, they pale in comparison to how I feel now.

Not only have I found new confidence, but I'm becoming a better person. Before, my day consisted of rolling out of bed at 8:45, sitting at my computer till 5:30 or 6 with the occasional trip to the bathroom or kitchen. Cooking dinner, leaving the dishes to pile in the sink and plopping down in front of the TV-- on a typical weekday. Now it's non-stop! Remember that whole 9 steps ahead thing? Yeah, that takes A LOT of work! But I LOVE it! It's like a switch turned on inside my brain. My house is more organized than it's ever been. There's still work to be done on my desk and in my bedroom/bathroom, but all of the living spaces are completely functional. Everything has its place and "systems" have been implemented. I'm sure the logical explanation is that I'm being more active and more blood is pumping to my brain, but I prefer to think of it as magic. Whatever it is, it's making me feel like a better person and I like it.

I wish I could document every thought and feeling that I'm experiencing. But the best I can do is blog some highlights and hopefully, HOPEFULLY effectively express the unimaginable ammount of JOY I have.

I have a wonderful husband and three awesome kids.

Oh also, a lot of people have been wondering how long we'll have the kids. We should know within the next week if they're going to be here for a while. We HOPING the answer is yes. Since the ultimate goal is reunification with parents (or at least a family member) they may be going to stay with someone else, but we won't know for at least a few more days. If it's decided that they'll stay with us, they should be with us for a minimum of six months. I told the social worker, "six months, PLEASE give us at least six months, I KNOW we can make a huge difference in just six months". He seemed to think that was likely that they'll be with us for at least six months, but it's ultimately up to the courts since the, technically, the state has custody. So please keep your fingers crossed.

For now, they are OUR kids and will be treated and loved like they are going to be here forever. --More on that later.

Learning little lessons and making progress...

So the last blog I wrote was on Tuesday night. The evening of our first full day with two new boys. It is now Friday morning and we've had three full days of two boys and just added a third child to the mix last night...their sister.

We are officially the proud foster parent to three incredible children.

I really wanted to write a blog Wednesday night because so much happened since I wrote the one the night before- what a difference a day makes. All day I had been making mental notes of all the little things I wanted to remember. But by the time the kids were in bed, and Brett and I had a chance to unwind, I just couldn't find the energy to do it.

I tried again last night, but again, I was too tired. So I'm up early this morning-- I don't want to forget any more details of this amazing experience.

Wednesday morning, I got up early. Took a shower, got dressed and made coffee. (a lesson I learned in a book that I read last year- shower first!) When the boys woke up, they came downstairs all by themselves. I didn't have to go upstairs and give them permission, they knew it was okay to do it themselves. --progress! We had breakfast and then they played.

A couple hours later, while I was cleaning up the kitchen, the little one asked me, "what are you making?" I said, "nothing, I was just cleaning up, why? did you want something?"

Big grin, "mmmhmm"

"What would you like?"

"Peanut butter and jelly."

"Okay, come in here and we'll make it together."

Big grin, "okay"

It was another huge step in the right direction.

***

This whole foster parenting thing is definitely a learning process. I'm finding that I hadn't thought about things like: where are they going to put their dirty clothes? Hell, where are they going to put their clean clothes?! (mental note, we need to buy hangers and a dresser) What are our rules about where grape juice is consumed? Where do we now put three extra pairs of shoes- the living the room? Family room? Should I get a shoe cubby? Again, WHERE do we put the shoes? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

There are also other things I hadn't thought about. Like the first time we went somewhere in the car...

On Wednesday, I took the boys to Monkey Joe's. I told them about it in the morning. They didn't know what it was, so I tried to explain, "it's a big huge indoor playground where you can run and play and climb and slide! It's going to be so much fun!" They looked at me like I was crazy- I kind of took for granted that they knew what a playground was, but I'm not sure that actually do (did).

Okay, so- I told them about it all morning. And when it was time to actually go, I said, "put your shoes and socks on it's time to go!" in a very excited voice. They put their shoes and socks on, I gathered my things and we went to the garage. This was the first time we'd left the house since they had come to stay with us.

Not thinking twice, Brett and I buckled them in, I said to goodbye to Brett, got in the car and began to drive away. Instantly the mood changed. The boys had gone from rambunctious to somber. I asked them if they were excited to go to Monkey Joe's and they softly said, "yeah" with zero excitement. It was more like they were just saying it because they "had" to, in order to be agreeable.

I tried to lighten the mood a little bit with chit chat, when it dawned on me. They last TWO times they were in a car they were being taken away from the home where they were staying. My heart sunk. I tried to explain to them that we were just going to play and when we were done we'd be going straight back home. I tried to convince them that everything was going to be okay, but I quickly realized, their trust was something I was going to have to earn.

When we walked in to Monkey Joe's the boys were a little overwhelmed. They have been homeschooled all their lives and from what I know, they have never socialized with other children. So this was probably terrifying. I reminded myself that I had to be confident and assertive so that they will feel safe and secure. (I think I pulled it off well)

I paid for the admission, we got our wrist bands and we entered the chaos. When the boys feel uncomfortable, they cover their heads with their shirts- the little one will actually close his eyes. They did this when they first got to our house and have done it a few times since. I guided them through the (much larger than I realized) warehouse full of bouncy structures and told them that they could go play! "Go! Go! You'll have fun!" There were kids everywhere!

When we got to the big slide they expressed some interest. I pointed to the other kids who were climbing the rope ladder to the top and told them to give it a try. They hesitantly took on the challenge, looking over their should to be sure I was still there the whole way up. After they got to the top and then back down, via the slid, they were sold. They did it again, and again. After the third time I pointed to the other things they could play on and encouraged them to GO, PLAY. I went and sat at the table where I told them I'd be and they were off. I was a proud mama.

***

Before we left that day, I had put chicken and rice in the crock-pot so dinner would be done when we got home. I had never put rice in the crock-pot before, but I thought, surely, it would by just fine. WRONG! When I scooped it out of the pot and onto the plate I started laughing. It was a MESS! A disgusting, gluey mess! GROSS!

We all took a bite, Brett said it didn't taste like anything, and it really didn't, even though I had seasoned it with SnP, poultry seasoning, garlic and onion powder...The boys started eating it. I asked them if they liked it, they didn't say much. The decision was quickly made to go to McDonald's. The boys were VERY excited about their chicken nuggets and the toy in their happy meal.

After we got home and ate dinner the boys took their baths and put on their jammies. Then we hunkered down on the couch with pillows and blankets (much like we had tried the night before with Shrek II) and Brett read the first chapter of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. The little one fell asleep on my lap (BEST FEELING IN THE WORLD) and the older one asked questions about the story. We were happy, happy parents.