Hosting foster children is something we had thought about doing for a long time.  Big Daddy seemed to be more apprehensive about it because he was worried we might become attached  to a child that we would have to give back.  I was less worried about that because I expected from the start that it would be temporary and was OK with that.  I only wanted to be a safe port in a child’s stormy life until things calmed down.  In fact, I like temporary arrangements.  I love my two-month a year job.  I prefer open-ended contracts.  I figured we’d provide some fun for a child that needed to laugh and then he or she would return home after a few months.  I had no way of knowing how challenging and unpredictable this choice would be.

We had planned, and splurged, on renting the beach house in July.  One of the reasons was so the girls could see the ocean.  But all along, we never knew for sure if we would still have them by the time July rolled around.  We hoped…but that is the nature of foster care.  We rented a house that slept 8 just in case, though, figuring we wouldn’t have much trouble filling up the extra beds if something happened.  Then J came home with his horribly crushed leg…and with only a couple of weeks to go, we faced the possibility that none of us would be going on vacation.  We spent days keeping his leg iced, helping him with everyday life, and watching helplessly while he dealt with pain that even his prescription pain killers couldn’t dull.  The girls were so sweet, tiptoeing around quietly and trying to help by making ice packs and bringing him water.

Although we had to watch for what could have been gruesome developments, J’s leg seemed to be improving enough that we decided to make the long drive to North Carolina.  J stretched out in our old van that we luckily never sold while Youngest Son did the driving.  J’s girlfriend and my 15-year-old niece rode along with them.  Big Daddy and I took the girls with us in the SUV and we kind of followed each other.  We had a great time there–even though Big Daddy had to lose a full day at the beach shopping around for a competent repair guy–miles from the little island we were staying–to replace the muffler that had decided to fall off the van two days before we had to leave.  Meanwhile, Youngest Son had been struggling all week, long distance, to find out why his car was still sitting untouched and unrepaired back home when he had left it a week ago.  They still hadn’t gotten the part they needed and Youngest Son was stressing big time about having to start med school in less than a week with no car to get him there!  All of these annoyances were quickly forgotten, however, when Big Daddy took a call on his cell phone the night we were packing up to leave for home.  The guy that was watching our beautiful 7-year-old Boxer dog, Sky, called to tell us that he was rushing her to the animal hospital with what appeared to be Bloat, which is a twisting of the dog’s stomach and which we knew immediately was a very bad thing.  We waited teary-eyed and in stunned silence for further news, and our worst fears were confirmed when he called to say she hadn’t made it after suffering from two heart attacks, one while en route, and the other at the hospital.

RIP Baby Girl

We spent most of June having fun in the sun.  I was able to spend more time with Bonus Child while Bonus Baby had fun at preschool and we often invited  Bonus Child’s school friends over to swim.  One of her friends lived within walking distance and had a sister about the same age so it was a month of giggling and girl drama.  Middle Son J was away for army training for a few weeks but would be home before our vacation.  We were enjoying being able to spend some quality time with Youngest Son.  Things were going pretty well…until the s**t hit the fan.

The girls and I were home alone the last week of June while Big Daddy and Youngest Son were driving a U-Haul across the state to set up Youngest Son’s new apartment where he’d be moving in early August.  While they were there, we found out that Middle Son J suffered a serious  training accident.  He was told that his army boot saved his leg from being lost.  I don’t know how, I don’t know why, and I can’t believe they let him…but as bad as his leg was, he insisted on finishing up his last few days of training so that he wouldn’t have to start from the beginning at a later date.  This, of course, was not helpful to the leg.  Nor was the flight home which, with the fluctuations in air pressure, made his leg swell up to look like some giant purple melon ready to burst open at the seams.  But before I could even assess how bad things were, before he or Big Daddy or Youngest Son came home, our air conditioner croaked.  And it was the hottest week of the year!  I had to scramble to find someone to fix it so my injured son wouldn’t even be in more misery!

Not all of the “losses” we suffered were bad things. But even good changes are stressful.  Oldest Son left the frequently gray skies of Western Pennsylvania in May to join his fiance and her family in sunny California to start his new life there and help plan their wedding.  Youngest Son packed up most of his belongings to move into an apartment across the state in order to attend medical school.  These are good things, but major changes for our little nuclear family. 

Although we don’t go away on vacation every year, Big Daddy decided early in the year that we should rent a beach house since we may not all be together again for a while.  This was before we realized that Oldest Son would already be on the other side of the country–in fact, I don’t even think he realized it at the time.  But still–we knew our Bonus girls had never seen the ocean, and Middle Son J, his girlfriend Kathy, and Youngest Son were all able to come up with an available week in their insanely busy schedules to hit the North Carolina beach for some much needed rest and relaxation! 

It just doesn’t make sense.  I know I got careless last year when the girls came to live with us and whittled me down 10 pounds through sheer exhaustion.  I squandered that wonderful jump-start to a svelte new me by indulging in ice cream and other late night goodies as a reward for my mothering efforts.  The weight slowly crept back as we settled into a more normal slacker mom routine, but I was avoiding THE number (the number on the scale where I start to panic) by running here and there and kind of trying to eat healthy.

Unfortunately, while the body got soft and pudgy, the brain was losing serious muscle tone too.  I’d say something and Big Daddy and J would exchange glances.  Incredulous and sometimes worried glances.   I’d spend countless minutes each day trying to locate something that I’d just had in my hand moments before.    I’d forget why I walked into a room.  It was the same old spacy me — only magnified to the hundredth power.  And so Big Daddy gently advised me to start taking the fish oil capsules he purchased, the ones that cost a fortune and he quit taking because they gave him fish burps.  They’re supposed to keep you young and sharp, lubricating not only tired old joints but creaky old neurons in the brain.  I remembered that I used to take them.  I couldn’t remember why I’d stopped. 

Now that I’m semi-lucid again thanks to that daily infusion of miraculous omega-3 fatty acid, I remember why I quit taking them before.  I started gaining weight.  When I should be losing–or at least maintaining.  Just like now.

Normally, I would never ever suspect that a tiny capsule of fatty fish oil would make me fat.  But the facts say “check it out!”  A google search showed that others have inquired about whether taking fish oil might make them fat.  And each inquiry was answered using the reassuring spiel that not only does it not make you fat, studies have shown that it may help you lose weight.  Seriously, are these the same studies that tried to shove man-made global warming down our throats?

And I’m wondering why these other people posed this question.  Were they just curious?  Or were they exercising and dieting like crazy and still getting fatter like me?

So at least until Oldest Son’s wedding next month, I’m going to play it safe and lay off the fatty little capsules.  You may need to patiently direct me to the groom’s side, or help me find my misplaced keys, but at least I won’t be busting the seams on the cute little dress I’m planning to wear.

I used to post on my blog quite frequently.  That was when I had time to think.  It’s been almost a year that we’ve had our girls…about the time when my blogging (among other things) slacked off.

It’s been an interesting year.  We’ve seen many changes in both the girls and ourselves.  I thought I was going to die from exhaustion the first month or so…but the upside was I lost a good 10 pounds while still shoveling in my normal daily truckload of food that I so enjoy.  Some days, everything that could go wrong did.  Bonus Baby was a tiny hyper bundle of energy that got into EVERYTHING!  If it was within her reach, it got dumped, spilled, torn or broken.  She was dropped off with her sister with only the diaper on her butt–and I only realized this after the caseworkers left and I didn’t have a car seat yet to go out and get her more.  Luckily Youngest Son just happened to stop home on his lunch break so he got to watch her spit cracker crumbs everywhere while Bonus Child helped me figure out what size diapers to buy.  That first month also brought about a frenzied drive to a family visitation an hour away that completely slipped my mind until reminded about it a half hour before we were to be there and I had only a vague idea how to get there; hosing off poopie undies and finding little brown commandoes in the pool during the summer months of toilet training; finding Baby had puked in her bed one night and managed to get chunks all through her hair (blech); and Baby waking up the morning she was scheduled for surgery with a fever and me not knowing what the hell I was supposed to do because the one thing everyone had stressed was not to cancel this appointment–and no one was around to take my call so I could tell them she got sick overnight!!

Then there’s the age span.  My boys were all very close in age and could entertain themselves and be amused by the same things.  We got baby dolls and Bieber fever here.  And sibling battles and mom as referee are once again part of our family life!!

Despite all the craziness, there are priceless moments.  Bonus Baby has grown into a bright precious assertive little girl that sometimes has us doubled over laughing at her comments and observations.  Bonus Child, when not trying to get on my last nerve, is helpful, sweet and very loving toward me.  I never thought I’d have so much fun shopping for girl clothes, and the boys never thought they’d be buried alive in glitter!

Then there was last weekend.  No school on Friday.  Both had friends over.  Mom breaking up fights all day.  Them squirting the hose everywhere.  Getting in my car when they know they’re not allowed and throwing “caterpillars” (tent worms) in my back seat.  Sticky floors and door knobs throughout the house.  Baby dumping hundreds of tiny sticky pieces of candy all over their bedroom from her sister’s candy making kit while I thought she was taking a nap.  Dad and Youngest Son enjoying a lovely game of golf…while I have yet to use the tips I learned from the golf lessons I took last spring.

Sometimes I feel like I was led to this decision.  And other times (like last weekend) I wonder if I secretly hate myself.  We were home free.  We could sleep in, go out anytime we liked, and try new recipes without little people saying “yuck.”  We were done with homework, Scout meetings, and chauffeuring.  We were done catching every stinking cold that was making the preschool rounds.

Where is this all going?  I don’t have a clue.  Just be sure you’re very flexible if you plan to take in foster children.  Your life will be very unpredictable.  And busy.  And you just might fall in love!

Why the wait? 

Is it that money does indeed really talk? 

Are we to believe that someone in Mr. Obama’s position had that much trouble getting his hands on such a crucial document to dispel these disruptive rumors?

If  it does actually take that long for the POTUS to wade through red tape, what hope do we ordinary peeps have to access things we need, say like government health care, etc?

Does it take longer to produce a real birth certificate if you are really a U.S. born citizen, or to forge a convincing replica if you were not actually born here?

Is it better to have people focusing on the question of your origin of birth or honing in on the real issues of government corruption and pandering to rogue foreign leaders?

Now it appears we may need the extreme influence of Mr. Trump to get to the bottom of a new batch of questions. Although most of us Americans feel some degree of satisfaction that good has triumphed over evil and Osama bin Laden has gone to meet his 72 virgins–oh, wait–that’s for the good guys–we wonder why Obama has set himself up for more controversial questions.  Here are a few:

After almost 10 years of relentless searching, how does it happen that our most anti-military, foreign-ass-kissing president gets to claim victory for this military coup?

Why, after such an unbelievable feat being accomplished on his watch, would he so hastily dump the evidence into the depths of the Arabian Sea?

Is following Islamic burial tradition really going to deter these terrorists, who have nothing else on their agenda besides hatred and killing?

Why must we respect the dead body of the biggest mass murderer since Hitler while our young soldiers’ bodies are dragged through the streets and many of the victims of this monster could not even be recovered for proper burial in accordance with our traditions?

As Obama’s ratings plummet, was bin Laden served up as a sacrificial lamb by even more evil elements who wish to keep Obama popular and in power in order to preserve the one-world government dream?

In the scheme of things, bin Laden’s death is mostly a symbolic victory.  It will not bring the thousands of victims back.  It will not prevent countless others who have no jobs, dreams, or freedom to pursue more productive lives from joining terrorist groups.  Unfortunately, it will probably not keep my son and the children of other Americans from having to deploy to an insane lawless region of the world.  But I love to see good triumph over evil, and a villain delivered into hell where he belongs.  And I’d love Mr. Trump to continue asking the questions the rest of us want to know.

This tax season was both one of the easiest and at the same time one of the most hectic I’ve had, all at the same time.  I knew it would be a challenge with little ones in the house again and school closings and daycare issues thrown into the mix, but this part was considerably easier than I thought it would be this time around.  Unlike when my own kids were young, I had the convenience of an emergency sitter at home (Middle Son J was gracious enough to watch the kids when he didn’t have class) during those pesky two-hour snow delays and cancellations.  My boss realized I’d need some time off here and there to tend to the kids many appointments and took the pressure off by assuring me that things would be okay and in fact, office hours were now only 9 to 5 (except of course for him–when he was usually there before 7 towards the end and even showed up at 4:30 am one day!!).  Of course, I came in early and stayed late whenever I could, but it was nice to know it was not totally expected!

Having Easter fall after tax season is a nice bonus.  Big Daddy made the observation today that this will be the first time I’ll be home with him on Good Friday.  I will actually have time to shop for the kids’ Easter goodies myself and this past Saturday, I was able to take the kids to an Easter egg hunt.

Even though I started back to work this year later than usual (Feb. 28th versus the usual Feb. 15th or so),  I just barely got my own tax return done before the deadline.  Normally I have my own and all the kids’ (and their significant others) returns done before I even go back to work.  With homework and bath times, my evenings disappeared just as fast as the 10 pounds I’d lost reappeared on my gut and ass from stopping for fast food breakfasts every morning on my way to work : (

Bonus Baby adjusted great to the extra few hours at preschool/daycare while I worked.  She was always happy to see me when I came to pick her up, but never in a huge hurry to get out of there as we always had to stop by the infant room and see the babies before she would leave.  Her teachers got to  know her a little better and appreciate her funny and huge personality as much as we do.  We were informed that even though she’s the smallest one in her class, all the other kids pretty much follow along with whatever she wants.  She’s a little charmer, that one.

Bonus Child seemed to have a little rougher time.  She only had to stay an extra hour or so at the school for their after-school care twice a week but she claimed she hated it!  She missed having me around all the time and couldn’t wait for me to quit working.  I actually didn’t spend a whole lot less time with her except for the Saturday mornings when I worked, but she must have sensed how rushed I was and in fact, I didn’t push her as hard to study her spelling words when she balked and her grades suffered a bit.  I’m still amazed and in awe of full-time two-income families (or single working parents) with young children.  There are some successful ones, and I have no idea how they do it.  Thank God I have 10 months to recuperate!!

One of my sons is taking some required humanities classes at the local branch campus of the University of Pittsburgh.  My boys are all science majors and are not quite so enamored with the subjective subject matter of the social sciences, and I agree that without the right person teaching these classes, they can be opinionated busy-work courses.  One would expect that a distinguished and not-so-inexpensive college like Pitt would be able to find highly qualified professional people to teach these courses in a meaningful way (even at a branch campus).  But every week, I am becoming more inflamed over how our tuition dollars are being spent!

First of all, the teacher:  Almost every week, one of J’s teachers is at least 15 minutes late for class.  One week she arrived 45 minutes late.  Most of the students don’t bother waiting around after 15 minutes, but J has another class afterward so there is no point in him leaving.  The secretary just keeps popping in every 15 minutes to say the teacher is on her way until she finally makes her grand entrance.  Highly disrespectful and irresponsible, in my opinion!

Not only is she notoriously late for class, she has a PhD yet asked the class if  “as of now” was one word or three! WTF!!  She’s teaching COLLEGE!!  I know I’m a little priggish about spelling sometimes because I used to read a lot and it came easy for me, and I’m aware of some very bright people that are challenged by spelling rules, but if you’re teaching college or are an English major or journalist, you should be literate!!  Does she seem smarter than a fifth grader??  I think not!

The text book:  I can’t even believe it is a text book.  It is the most biased, left-slanted piece of garbage I have ever laid eyes upon.  By the way, I would be almost as incensed if the book (titled “Critical Thinking” by Brooke Noel Moore and Richard Parker) was this one-sided yet totally aligned with my own viewpoints.  It is just opinionated drivel and in no way teaches or exemplifies “critical thinking.”  It is laden with factual errors that J has in fact pointed out in class.  At every opportunity, it slams the GOP, Fox News, the NRA, and the war on terrorism but treats the authors’ opinions on these subjects as facts rather than opinions.  It is clearly an opportunistic attempt to brainwash young minds that may have not had a chance to form their own opinions on these things.  And this is not even a political science class!!  It is supposed to be teaching “logic,” one of those murky subjects that academia loves.

By the way, I asked J about a week ago if he would mind if I blogged about this awful textbook and unprofessional teacher.  I in no way want to jeopardize his grade or cause him any trouble in case this teacher somehow stumbles upon this rant.  He was fine with it.  As I was thinking about what I wanted to write, he texted me that she was already 15 minutes late for class again tonight.  Then, of all things, she called him up after class and asked why he looked so bored and didn’t participate.  He was so floored, because half the kids in the class were sitting there with their eyes half-closed, without their book, and unlike J, never offered an answer or opinion.  J has been to every class, hadn’t dozed off and was following along with his text book in front of him.  Despite the idiocy of the subject matter, he has scored well on every quiz.  Where did this clueless question spring from?

It makes just about as much sense as the next tuition hike.

We don’t do vacations every year.  When we decided to dig up our yard and put a pool in 15 years ago, we knew we’d spend most summers at home.  And we’ve been fine with that.  But this year, even though we’ll be heading out to sunny California this fall for Oldest Son’s wedding, Big Daddy wanted to spend a week at the shore with the family this summer.  It may be our last shot before the boys get too busy with life.  Youngest Son is heading off to med school in the fall.  Middle Son J will likely be deployed to Afghanistan or some other scary place next year.  We thought Oldest Son and his fiance would be able to join us, too, but they are planning to head out to California for good when she finishes her studies and student teaching in May.  Already it’s getting hard to plan these family vacations together!

We hope we’ll still have the girls this summer.  They’ve never seen the ocean.  It would be so much fun to see the smiles on their faces when they’re playing in the sand and running to the water’s edge.  If by some chance we don’t have them, though, we will then enjoy a calm relaxing adult vacation.  I’m nothing if not flexible these days.  Our beach house sleeps 8, and I’m sure I can find a couple of takers!  I’d love to take my almost-14-year-old niece with us because she loves the girls like the little sisters she never had and they’d all have a blast, but our van (that luckily never sold!) only seats 7, which we already have counting J’s girlfriend.  But who knows?  Maybe the boys will decide they don’t want to be crammed in one vehicle with the old folks and a couple of kids and drive a second car.  Maybe we’ll ask my mom and niece to come if the girls aren’t here.  Maybe Youngest Son will find the perfect independent sports-loving competitive non-possessive compulsively tidy young lady to drag along with us.  Who knows?  All I know is, after the winter we’ve had, I am more than ready for a week of this:

Photos courtesy of Ward Realty Corporation

Since there didn’t seem to be anything else on TV that conflicted with Idol this season, I decided to tune in just to see the auditions when sometimes hopelessly delusional wannabes perform comical renditions of songs hoping for a miracle.  And although I was never a fan of Jennifer Lopez, the other new judge, Steven Tyler, intrigues me.  He’s a funny, talented bad boy that brings me back to my college days when I first discovered Aerosmith and the raw sexuality of “Toys in the Attic” (on 8-track, no less!).  It was rock ‘n roll at it’s finest!!

Photo courtesy of whyfame.com

I may be hooked on Idol again, thanks to Mr. Tyler.  I don’t even mind JLo.  She hasn’t exhibited the diva behavior she is known for on camera, and her skin glows.  It makes me feel not so old knowing she’s over 40 and looking so good.  Veteran judge Randy Jackson has taken his role a little more seriously, and is actually making a few relevant comments, trying to become Simon lite.

They started the show last night with an “apology” scrolling across the screen in large letters for Mr. Tyler’s antics of the previous week.  He was classic Tyler last week, being outrageous rocker dude and uttering a few comments that were bleeped out.  He even offered up a poem about a duck–that rhymed.  It was hilarious.

I’m pretty sure the “apology” was a joke.  Steven Tyler has rescued Idol for another season.  I may even continue watching when the joke contestants are gone.  Could anyone really be offended by the antics of Steven Tyler?  If so, they should tune in to reruns of The Golden Girls and let the rest of us enjoy ourselves.  American Idol is alive and well without Simon, Paula, or Kara.  They have absolutely nothing to apologize for so far this season.