Several hours pass and we hit up the party store.  Greeted of course by the (why the hell are you bothering my txting with showing up at my job) employee mumbling something about “welcome to Party Universe blah blah blah”  Boog of course tells her we are here to get decorations for his brother’s birthday, that he was five yesterday just like us and now he’s not, asks her if she likes Sushi and then asks her if she has kids.

Yes.  He.  Did.

No.  She didn’t.

“Well then why couldn’t she get to work on time?”  he asked me.

Crap.

“Oh look, streamers.”

We got our Star Wars paraphernalia and headed to Target.

Boog shot off in the direction of the toys at 100 mph while Little Miss Sunshine strolled at the breakneck speed of a Hoveround.  We past the make up aisle and the girl asked me why they didn’t make a lipstick that lasted longer than a “Spongebob” (our standard measure of time for 15 minutes) while commiserating with her I heard the walkies  going on about a lost boy and “does he know his mommy’s name”.  Urging the girl to walk a little faster, figuring I was said mommy, we round the corner to find Boog standing in a hazmat zone having puked the length of the Lego aisle.

“He’s mine, thanks.” (you totally know that puke is not my domain inside a Target store right?  I am the mayor after all.)  And I hurried out of there with my ill child, at the breakneck speed of a Hoveround.  All while dodging two calls from CPS and the therapist, plus the knowing eyes of those with walkies judging me for not being more active in vomit clean up.

“Hey, I saw that look.  I’m the mayor around these parts, I totally have no power over you.”

Other than that it was a gorgeous day here in north Mexico.  Mid 70s and if Tech Support had the time to windsurf anymore, it would have been a great day to do so.  I feel the outdoor pool is within our grasp here shortly, (pending results of the skin cancer biopsy and a ton of SPF).

We ate cupcakes decorated like dogs and petit fours.   After of course a dinner of pork tenderloin and spinach.  (Felpsy’s choice)

Then we hunted for presents.  I would excuse my not wrapping birthday gifts as the “green” alternative buy you know that’s a bunch of bull.  But I don’t wrap birthday presents.  We scavenger hunt for them.  This year I let the twins give their own clues as to where they had hidden their gifts.  There was wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Finally it was revealed that they were “on my bed”.   When it got to be my turn I told him mine was hidden “not on top of my bed” to which a major fit was thrown.   “Fine it’s under my bed.”  Happiness.

Then a big fight where someone may or may not have ended up with a gaping head wound.

Blood.  Tears.  Timeouts. Chocolate.  Awesomeness.

Felpsy missed being a Leap Day baby by moments, or so I’m told since I have no official record of his birth.

Here he is showing off his killer smile.

I hope it wasn’t really the worst birthday ever.

love you baby doll.

On Thursday the twins had their Christmas program.  They are the oldest kids in the preschool, and you guessed it, they came almost last.  OK yawning.  I know, I love kids, mine.  Yours?  Not so much.  Ironic, I know, half of my children were once someone elses.

So, our morning started out with the Princess wanting to wear her program outfit.  Which was “Sunday best”, not suitable for a day at school with arts and crafts, so “no”.  Well, you’d think I’d told Paris her purse-a-poodle had to stay outside.  DRAMA.

She got to school where her teacher explained the same thing I had, that the program was not until night time.  Which appeased her two hour fit.  Why do kids believe anything that their teachers say?  I used to drive my mom crazy with “Mr. Martin said….”

Speaking of “Sunday best” we attend a church where the dress code is “dressed”.  Anything goes.  Really.  So, how much time and energy do you think I’ve put into dressing up the boys?  Less time than it took me to write this sentence.  So…..

I had to go shopping, and boy did Mommy score on some “Sunday best” ness for Boog.  I will be taking applications for his future wife.  Just email me.

Buying cuteness, was not enough, I would also wash it, and as button ups tend to do, the button holed side of the shirt got all wrinkly.  Meaning I had to iron.  I don’t.  But since The teacher thinks I’m a horrible foster parent, I decided to prove her wrong.  I might even use starch.  Nothing motivates me more than spite.  Boog was going to look good, because looking good is proof positive of good parenting.  I don’t care how many times the f-word was used in the process of getting him so darned handsome.

Of course the whole ironing process brought about many questions.  “what’s that? What’s it  do?  Why are you doing that?”  Blah blah blah, leave me alone, I’m trying to prove that I can fake it with the best of them.  Felpsy questioned as to it’s particular brand of hotness.  I said. VERY, don’t touch.  After completing the ironing, I unplugged the iron, wrapped the cord around it and set it on the counter.  Not a nanosecond after turning my back, Felpsy was headed straight for it.  That boy cannot fight the impulse to do the exact opposite of what he is told.

“Suit up babies.”

And we were off.  Everyone looking all Sunday best and what not.

Radical asked if he could play his DS during the program.  No, but Mommy can text.  (He has much better parents than I did.)

Turned out that DS playing would have been less rude.

Shortly after sitting down, I thought we had made a huge mistake.  Like sitting directly on top of a dead body type of mistake.  There was a foul and unpleasant odor.

Turns out the boys were having a farting contest.

I LOVE boys.

Kids did their cute thing.  Princess asked us about 10,000 times “Did you LOVE it?”  Yes, baby we loved it.

We were instructed to gather our kids after their performance and have them sit with us until the end of the program.  There were two classes after the twins’.  We made it through one.  Because upon hearing about the awesome farting contest he’d missed, Boog decided he wanted in.  But having been warned to NOT have a farting contest, Felpsy had to make up new rules that resembled nothing like a farting contest.  It involved sitting on each others hands so that noise would be unnecessary.  Did I mention how much I LOVE boys.

Despite their behavior we had to eat, and since it was the twins’ celebration they got to choose.  We went to “Pa Playa”  which is not the name of the restaurant.  But my Hispanic kids have been living with us too long.  Proven later when Felpys got a smidge of jalepeno juice in his mouth.  He thinks Medium Pace is too spicy.  This was about to kill him, until he found a new obsession.  I pointed out the jalepenos and told him that was the source of his discomfort.  He then touched it.  I then told him not to touch his eyes or nose or mouth until he washed his hands.  Guess who went straight for his eyeball?

We had a fine dinner.  And neither of twins ate theirs.  We then waited for the check.  And waited.  And waited.    I hate waiting.  I then sent Tech Support and the kids out to the car hoping that they would see an empty table and come running.  Before he left me he said “You will be paying right?”  Like suddenly I became a check skipper after 13 years.  Then I realized that he was probably verbally reinforcing to both of us that it was my responsibility to make sure it was taken care of .  Because as I mentioned earlier, I am easily distracted.

I paid.  I tipped.  I left.  Finally.

We drove around looking at Christmas lights, and came home and fought about going to bed.  I’m ready to just pile them three deep and hope for the best.  It’s exhausting.  I eventually win, but only until I go to sleep, they then quickly get themselves into the positions that they were fighting for all along.  So is it really a win?

The one advantage of not putting them into a pile is that when I put them in their own bed they feel they have to sneak to a community sleeping arrangement, therefore they are quiet.  If they start in a pile, there is usually a farting contest or an “I can say ‘weiner’ more times than you can say it before Mom comes in here and shows us her crazy face.”

One of these days I will feel nostalgic for this time,

and this is just a guess, but bail money will probably be involved somehow.

Tomorrow.

She would have a home.

Tomorrow.

She would have a family.

Tomorrow.

She would have the life that she dreamed of.

This Annie gets it.

Tomorrow.

I will get MY dreams.

Tomorrow.

These kids will be gone.

Tomorrow.

I won’t have to…

Tomorrow.

I will be Annie.

I love you tomorrow.  Where are you?

In the end, the lyrics change.

Tomorrow is only a day away.

Tomorrow.

Dagan turns nineteen.

Tomorrow.

Big Boy will drive himself to school.

Tomorrow.

Radical will enter his final year of elementary school.

Tomorrow.

Felpsy will enter Kindergarten.

Tomorrow.

The twins will begin their final year as babies.

Tomorrow.

Where did you come from?  I knew you were coming, I just wasn’t expecting you.

I have a child who isn’t.  I actually have two.  By this time next year, my role as the primary parent for Radical will have been filled by Daddy Awesome.  Radical will no longer need a Mommy.  He’s looking more to his father to teach him how to be a man.  Those babies they brought in the middle of the night are riding bikes.  Felpsy has made incredible progress from the wild child that they brought us.

It’s all going as it should.

I just wasn’t expecting it.

Tomorrow

they will not need me.

Yet

this morning as another tomorrow arrived, Hubby and I all cuddled up in bed, willing the world to wait awhile longer, I knew this story needed me.  That I needed it.

I am that I am because of this story.

They are that they are.

Tomorrow can wait.

Tomorrow is here.

Boog,  “Are we turning left?”

Felpsy, “No, right.”

Me, “No, actually we are turning left.”

Boog,  “HA HA!”

Felpsy, “Shut up.”

Boog, “No, you shut up.”

Me, “No, you both shut up.”

“Did we just turn right?”

I did the mature thing and did not respond to the rest of the conversation.

“No, we just turned the same way we just turned which makes it a left.”

“Where are we going?”

“How come we never turn right?”

“We turn rights on the way home.”

At which point we do turn right.

“Did we just turn right?  I thought we were going to the store, I don’t want to go home.  Can I get a toy?”

When will they get sound proof glass in mini-vans?  It’s for everyone’s safety.

I’m just saying.

I got my hair cut today, I took the Princess.  I went to a slightly fru fru salonish thing.  I don’t spend a ton on my hair, but enough.  Princess was very jealous of my shampoo – so I inquired if someone might shampoo her, you know to keep her occupied.  When the shampoo girl told me that it would be more than my whole shampoo, cut and style, I fuhreaked.  Point taken fru fru salon, my Princess is not welcome.

Need a new hair girl.

I will miss my hair girl.  She did a great job.  Princess was oohing and aahing and telling me how much “Daddy’s going to love it.”  Who could not want her in their salon?

I took Radical to the eye doctor.  Two hours later we had not been seen.  Ironic?  I think so.

But….

True story.  Someone stopped me in the hall and asked me where they could find my blog.  I swear.

We went door shopping.  Went to two places, one local, one national.  Neither had doors we wanted.  Nothing fancy, just a solid core interior door to reduce the noise level in Hubby’s office.

I could not get the grill going tonight, but had fun playing with fire.  I may need an intervention.

Boog informed me that he “can’t like hot marshmallows”.  I am a failure as a parent.  Who can’t like hot marshmallows?

Felpsy spent the whole day in time out.  But don’t worry, it was properly administered in five minute intervals.  ALL DAY LONG.

I’m going to bed, ‘night.

Hubby informed me his PDGA ranking went up, Woot!

Was grilled by CPS worker as to WHY Felpsy would put gum in his ear.  I don’t know, kids put things in their ears?????  Do you not have kids?  I do not know why that woman hates me, but she does.

Thankful that our agency worker is sticking around until we resolve this case.  He placed Felpsy, then did something else for awhile, thankful that he “popped in for a signature” while CPS was here.

I decided that Hubby needs to get me a new gift for my birthday 1997.  He got me a dog.  A dog who hates me.  A dog who just bit me for the second to last time.  Next time he bites me, I’m turning him into a diamond.  Guess that can be my gift.

Went completely off of contacts, if anyone needs Coke bottle lenses let me know, they are like -5.75 and -6.25 I will be getting LASIK in two weeks.

Preparing for summer.

Preparing for the possibility that hubby will be unemployed.

Squirreling away as much money as possible.

Have enough money to pay off car, buy a new roof, pay property taxes.  It’s killing me to not pay off the car, but with the likelihood that hubby will not be on any payroll until January I’m thinking it would be more responsible to save for any rainy day than it would be to pay off the car.  Did I mention it’s killing me?  But the payment is made through November, so at worst we’d only have to come up with two months worth of payments.

As I write this am 9 visits away from my best month ever.  I hope nine people read this.

Watched Un-broke Friday night on ABC.  The last bit was Samuel L. Jackson asking everyone to stand up and yell “I’m broke as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.”  The whole show was about how ignorant American’s are when it comes to money.  The two big boys were sitting on the couch looking freaked.  After an hour of listening to people explain they had 20 credit cards and zero savings, and would lose their house if they lost their job, they looked a bit worried.  Know what I yelled?

“We have three months salary in savings.  We have at least six months of expenses covered in the event of a job loss.  We have no credit card debt.”

Big Boy asked if that was true.  We had a discussion about how I had stopped using credit cards over a year ago, how we had one left for online purchases and we paid it off every month.  How because we didn’t spend every cent we brought in we were able to save.  Both boys looked relieved.

I saved the part about how we were possibly two weeks away from testing our budgeting/saving strategies. I’m not even sure we will tell them if we do become unemployed.  Our day to day will look the same to the kids.  Hubby has always worked from the house.  Why worry the kids?  Hubby will be back to work in January when his future business partner will be released from the injunction preventing him from working with Hubby.

For those of you who are new around here, Hubby is a computer geek. Does computer geeky things from the house.  I love having him around.  But him looking for work will look a lot like him working.

On the calendar for the first week of June.

My mom has a birthday.  Happy Birthday Mom.

Pre-op visit for LASIK.

Schools out.

Shop for sky lights for new roof.

Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork.

Plant corn along our fence line.  Figure out what veggies might work in the area next to the house where the kids aren’t likely to trample it.

New season of Burn Notice!  Can’t wait.

She is your stereotypical child welfare worker.  If you watch Law and Order or some other show where they have a disgruntled child welfare worker.  This is her.

If you are wondering what our parenting book looks like, it’s similar to the IRS code.  These are some of the rules we have to live by, or face citations.

We are not allowed to touch the kids as a form of controlling their behavior.  As long as the child can communicate that they understand the behavior/consequence they can be talked out of their behavior.

For example, if a three year old can communicate that the street is a dangerous place and they can communicate that they could be hurt in the street, they then understand the consequences of going into the street.  If said child would then like to play in the street, we are not allowed to escort the child out of the street.  We can not pick them up.  We can not hold their hand.  If they cannot be communicated out of the street, and they know the consequence, we cannot touch them.

But what if a car is coming?

Only if the car does not see the child in the street.  If the car can see the child and is proceeding with caution, and we cannot talk the child out of the street.  We cannot escort the child to the sidewalk.  Child understands the possible consequences of staying in the street.  All adults can see the child.   We are not allowed to intervene.

If that same three year old decides to use the couch as a toilet, we have to talk the child into going to the bathroom, changing their clothes,  blah blah blah.  We cannot even take their hand and lead them to the rest room.

If a seven year old, wants to be like his brothers and hang from a portable basketball rim, we are not allowed to put our arms around his waist and ask him to let go, this would be an improper restraint.  BUT if said child is hanging from said portable basketball rim and it falls on his finger and crushes it, we will be investigated as to why we did not intervene.  (True story)

I was recently informed that I am not to sit on the children’s beds.  This is their personal space.  We are violating their space when we sit on their bed.

No distinction is made between patting a child on their bottom, rough housing, and beating their arse.  Spanking is not allowed.  Period.

Children are not allowed in the master bedroom.  EVER.  (Cause of sex)

I was going to make a wise crack about the kitchen table, but it wouldn’t be true and some of you reading this are occassionally invited to dinner and I would hate for that to be weird for you, I guess it’s too late for that now.

If a seven year old wants to sit behind the car in the garage, preventing you from backing out, you cannot touch him.  You can not start the car and threaten to back over him.  You have to wait for said child to decide that he’d like to join you in going to school, or where ever.  Even if it makes all of your children late for school.  Even though you will be held legally liable for the children not being in school.

If same child does not want to get out of the car when he has a dental appointment?  Too bad, unless the dentist is willing to work in your car.  Even if it prevents all of your other children from missing their appointments.

When you get home and it’s 107 degrees outside and that same kid would like to stay in the car, you get to stay with him.  Even if you have to hire a sitter to watch the rest of the kids.

I’M SERIOUS IN ALL CASES PEOPLE.

All of the above have happened.  Many were investigated.

If a teenager is out of your sight for more than 20 minutes you are to report them missing.

Do you know how fast police will respond to a foster home that has multiple runaway reports when there is a missing child?  Not very.

Which is more dangerous, a teen missing for 30 minutes or a 5 year old missing for 45 and the police still haven’t shown?

I made a quip about not being able to say “no” to the children.  That is an actual recommendation.  “No” breaks their spirit.  I was once lectured by a therapist when I told Felpsy “No, you never point a gun at a person.”  I don’t think this therapist understood that this particular two year old, at the time, could possible have access to a gun were he to be sent home.  She lives in a world where people don’t have guns, and if they do they are locked up, ammunition locked up in another room.  She did not live in a world where people keep handguns on the coffee table.   And yet my telling him “NO” was doing him harm.

My favorite all time investigation against our home….

Not feeding the children in an equitable manner.

We had a 14 year old boy report to his therapist that he was only allowed to drink water, but everyone else in the house got soda, Kool-Aid, juice or milk.

Yes we were all sitting around drinking Kool-Aid and milk taunting this poor boy.

What he left out of his story to the therapist was that he was not allowed to MAKE Kool-Aid.  I got tired of having to bleach the entire kitchen because of all of the red stains left from spilled Kool-Aid dust everywhere.  He could drink as much as he wanted, he was just not allowed to make it.

He was not allowed soda because he was getting several disciplinary write ups at school as well as other irresponsible actions at school.  Even if he were allowed one, it would have only been one a day, but since he was not responsible, he hadn’t earned a special treat.

Regarding the milk, he had a “reaction” when drinking milk, he would get hives.  Now, I cannot claim he was allergic, as there was no “medical diagnosis” but I can report that when he drank milk he would break out in hives.

Of course, I was violating his rights.  So the brilliant solution that was presented to us?  If he can’t make the Kool-Aid, we can’t have it in the house.  Regarding the soda, everyone was to have equal access.  If I have a Coke at breakfast, I have to make Coke available to everyone at breakfast.

When I asked about coffee and beer, the worker told me that it’s illegal for kids to drink beer, so we would not have to share our beer.  And as for coffee, that’s an adult drink, so same thing.  And for the milk, we either had to let him drink all the milk he wanted or have a doctor diagnose him.  Fine, drink all the milk you want, but you get no Benadryl, because you don’t have a dx.

Do I think that these rules are ridiculous?  Yes.  Do I think there is any decent home that wouldn’t violate any one of these rules? No.

I live in a world where if you love children you discipline them.  Telling them “No” is loving them, if what they want is not good for them.  Telling them they can never play in the street and enforcing a serious consequence if they do, is loving them.  Kids could play on my street 23.5 hours a day and never come across a problem.  But it’s not a wise idea to let them.  There are at least three teen drivers on our street.  And many a car goes screaming by way too fast.  Am I going to take a chance with my kids?  I think not.  There will be serious consequences for leaving the sidewalk.  More serious than me negotiating you back.

This is why I suck.

And that I have a tub of chocolate frosting in my fridge with a spoon in it.  And no, I don’t share.

This morning I heard an interview about a guy and his girl who fought and worked in the war.  He in the Pacific fighting the Japanese and she building planes in Washington.  Very cool.

Now, their efforts afforded me the following today….

Took the little boys on a 1.5 mile walk this morning, had a breakfast picnic at the park.  Taught them the reasoning behind not feeding the seagulls until you are finished with your food.

CVS was again giving away lots of things, I took the opportunity to stock up on the Band Aids.  The kids love the Band Aids.  Also note, Band Aids is now marking their boxes in braille.  How cool is that?

I also learned today that Big Boy would like to die in such a manner that it requires a new law.  Luckily, sexting is already off the table.  I promised to fight diligently to avenge his death, thereby giving me a pass on parenting him any further.

Daddy took the kiddos to the pool, shocked, I know.  No, not really, we are always at the pool, and he is more than happy to take them so that I can have a zen moment alone in the house.  Upon returning, Princess was giving me the play by play where she mentioned “we had a great time, but we didn’t fix Boog’s heart”.

“Oh, really, what is wrong with Boog’s heart?”

“It keeps beeping.”

Well, actually that’s preferred.

Daddy also took all of the kids to the cemetery where we lay flowers on the graves of military men and women who served our country.  He’s such a good dad.

Felpsy fired Princess, from what I don’t know.  Princess took great offense and screamed.  When asked if she even knew what it meant to be fired, she replied,

“No, but he said it.”

We had a totally awesome meal, made by moi.

Everybody pitched in and cleaned up the kitchen and living room, so we could have a nice “burlaxing” evening.

Hung out on the driveway while the kids rode bikes and scooters, played ball and drew family portraits in chalk.  Fun times.

It was a great day, and I am so blessed to have this life.

Later, I’m going to appreciate it more when I watch the train wreck that is Jon and Kate.

I enrolled Felpsy in swim lessons.  The first three weeks the instructor told him not to jump in the pool.  It was three weeks of,

“Don’t jump in the pool.

Don’t jump in the pool.

Don’t jump in the pool.”

Then one day,

“JUMP”

Instead of jumping into the pool, Felpsy jumped up and down, because why would he jump in the pool after three weeks of being told not to?

Everyone in the placed laughed, out loud.  That was when he completely shut down as far as the swim lessons were concerned.

So, it was to the pool with floaties.  Luckily I had a helper.  But if you have less than three you can do it, one in each hand.

We tried vests.  The vest floated while the kid sunk, choking the kid in the process.

Arm floaties?  Same problem, their arms floated but they spent the whole time trying to hold themselves up above their arms.

We finally found thiswhich you can buy at Amazon.  We found ours at Target.

The thing I like about the Power swimmer is that it holds them in a position similar to treading water.  Their arms are free to move, and they aren’t struggling to keep their head above the top of the vest.

The other thing that is great about the Power Swimmer is that it has multiple layers of floatation in the front and back,  when the kid has mastered the level that it comes with, you simply take out a layer of flotation, making it necessary for them to swim harder to stay afloat.  One day, they are just out of flotation and are swimming on their own.

I used these for about six weeks total.  Felpsy was out of it in about a month, Princess was the last hold out.

We were also in the pool every day.  Yes, EVERY DAY.  I didn’t want to go once a week and have them spend half the time remembering what they’d forgotten.  But with that being said, it’s been about a year since I’ve had to be in the water with them.  They can dive off the diving board unassisted.  They go down water slides, and not just the ones in the kiddie pool.  Felpsy was going off of the high dive last year at the age of four.  Something I won’t do.

Another thing that the very old lifeguard said worked for us.  When I say very old lifeguard, I mean very old, she’s worked at our pool, and I’m not kidding, since 1972.  And if I recall, her kids were teenagers when she started.  That’s old.  But she once told me that we were successful because we were there every day, and we were willing to let them suffer a bit.  If they jumped in the pool, they were responsible for getting them self back to the side.  We let them struggle, but not to the point of danger.  She said the mistake most parents make is they don’t want the kids to fear the water so they do too much of the work.  Water should be feared.  It’s dangerous.  So, when our kids jumped in, they sputtered, we encouraged, no one died.  Although I’ve been lectured by many a grandma about water safety, so be warned.

There are other learn to swim programs out there.  An acquaintance  just spent several thousand dollars teaching two of her kids to swim.  I called twice to get someone to tell me exactly how much they charged for classes, but got hung up once and then told they could “send me something”.  What I do know is that it costs $12,000 to become an instructor soooo I’m thinking my $1,000’s estimate is probably accurate.

So, if you are  like me, and have more time than money, you can totally do it yourself with a little help from the Power Swimmer.  I gave ours away to other friends, I don’t know if they had any success with them or not, but I swear by them.