We're Still Alive and Kickin'

Wow!  I can't believe it's been nearly a month since I last posted here on the actual blog!  I've developed the habit of posting on the FB page every day, but when it comes to sitting down and writing a piece long enough to be "blog worthy," I just haven't had the time.

Bug has been with me for six weeks now, and in that time I have had every illness known to man.  Sinus/ear infection, upper respiratory infection, the flu, a stomach virus, and now bronchitis.  Up until last week, Bug at least had been perfectly healthy.  Then my little guy got RSV, so it's been a rough week for all of us.  Very, very thankful for an awesome Mom who has literally been camped out at my house since last Friday taking care of Bug, me, and Monkey while we've been trying to get over all of the sickness!  At least this time, I learned my lesson about saying "I need a break, already!"  You won't hear those words coming from my mouth this time around!  No sir-ee!!!  :-)

Bug Update - At 4-months-old, Bug has got to be the happiest, most content little guy I have ever met.  I always thought that Monkey was a happy baby, but he had nothing on Bug!  Bug smiles, coos, and babbles away from the moment he opens his eyes until he's asleep for the night.  Even with RSV and having to do breathing treatments every four hours, my little Bugaboo does his best to smile right through the worst of it.

He is constantly talking to his "friends" (aka. anything that has eyes ;-), and the one perk to him having RSV and having to elevate his mattress is that he has a great view of his "friends" on the wall.  Bug wakes up chattering away to Pooh Bear and Piglet until it's time to get up for the day.

He is always on the lookout for Mama, and will crane his neck in order to get to look at me from across the room.  He's trying really hard to roll from his back to his tummy, and will scoot in 360 degree circles in his attempts.  He's laughing out loud, and thinks that Mama is one funny, funny lady.  :-)

I can not get enough of this kid!  :-)

Monkey, on the other hand, isn't quite sure what he thinks of the new kid on the block.  :-)  He seems to be more intrigued than anything...  until Mama makes the grave error of actually picking up the baby.  Then Monkey comes unglued screaming "NOOOOO!!!" as he runs from the room.  :-)  For the most part, he tolerates Bug while he's in his swing.  He'll even go so far as to try to give the baby his bottle or share his cars.  He does not, however, like to share his Mama.  We've had some rough nights and some serious separation anxiety because of it.  Fortunately, Monkey's no longer a foster kiddo, so on one particularly rough night, my little guy just camped out in Mama's bed.

At almost 23-months-old, Monkey is a complete riot.  He talks non-stop, and never fails to crack me up.  His favorite phrases right now are "Come on, guys!" and "There [Mama or whatever] is!"  He is a bottomless pit when it comes to eating, has a total sweet tooth thanks to his daddy, and is constantly asking for chips, cookies, cheese, [gold]fish, chocolate, etc.  And his "terrible twos" come out when Mama says "no."  He loves to sing songs and will repeat everything that he hears.  He is still fascinated with Thomas the Train and has several episodes completely memorized.  Bedtime is still "our" time, where we cuddle and sing and giggle for 20 minutes straight before Monkey goes down for the night.  We sing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" in rounds and Monkey laughs his "crazy" laugh and tells me "I funny!  I goopy! (goofy)"

Yet another kiddo who I can't get enough of!  :-)

Things are very quiet with Bug's case.  He's had one visit with his maternal grandmother one week into being in care, but no contact with anyone since.  CPS has yet to locate his parents, and no one has bothered to call to ask about him since.  I have to admit, I'm having a difficult time getting into a "reunification" mindset when everything in me knows that my little guy needs so much more than a birth family who refuses to put him on their list of priorities.  This is the first case I've had where I don't think reunification is even remotely a good choice for my baby.  I don't think it will work, and I know my little guy will end up back in care.  The thought of sending him back to a family who chooses crime and other negative things over him terrifies me.

I'm frustrated with myself because I have always been a strong advocate for my kids' families.  I have always tried to give them the benefit of the doubt and do whatever I can to help them heal and make positive choices.  It drives me nuts when I see foster parents immediately stake a claim to their foster children and do everything they can to stand in the way of allowing a family to heal.  And while I would never purposefully stand in the way of reunification when there is even a remote chance of it working, right now, I'm just not willing to bend over backwards to make it happen when it comes to Bug like I have with all of my other kiddos.  Of all of my little ones, I think that Bug is coming from a place that just isn't safe and I don't want to send him back to that.  Not that I have a choice if that's what the State decides to do...  but I'm still (not so) secretly hoping that my little Bug will be my legal "forever."

A Blaze of Glory: Mishaps of the Culinarily-Challenged

I am not exactly known for my culinary prowess.  I give myself some credit.  I'm not the worst cook in the world.  I'm fairly certain that I could boil water if given proper instructions, but I will admit that the extent of my culinary genius tends to be along the lines of EZ Mac-n-Cheese with cut up hot dogs.  For the most part, if there are more than five ingredients or spices of any kind, I will probably screw it up.  I know this about myself.  I'll own it.  In fact, I'll even throw out a few examples of my culinary mishaps on the World Wide Web for all to see!  :-)

My first clue that I should probably not be let loose in a kitchen came one evening when I had the oh-so-brilliant idea to make myself some S'mores.  I had all of the ingredients, and they were calling my name!


This is what I wanted...

What I ended up with was something akin to a charred heap of burning rubble.  Apparently graham crackers catch on fire in the microwave.  Who knew?!?

After my microwave went down in a blaze of glory along with my S'mores, I was at a complete loss as to how I was going to eat.  I ended up doing what anyone would do in that situation.  I called my Mommy.  And darned if she didn't laugh at me when I asked her how on earth a person was supposed to cook hotdogs without a microwave!  Who knew there were so many different ways to cook a hotdog?!?

After I mastered the cooking of the hotdog, I must have mistakenly determined that I was a whiz in the kitchen because I just knew that I could tackle entire meals by myself.  I even decided that I would face my fears about raw meat head-on and cook chicken and use ground hamburger!  I sat down one Saturday afternoon and spent the next four hours creating a menu for the week.  It was a thing of beauty!  I have a slightly disturbing love of lists, so I was immediately digging this whole "cooking" thing even though I had yet to actually cook.

One trip to the grocery store later, having purchased items that were completely foreign to me like "EVOO" and bay leaves, I decided to hit the ground running and cook my first real "meal."  Lemon pepper chicken, steamed asparagus, and wild rice with waldorf salad for dessert... That first real "meal" turned out to be my last.  Apparently there is a timing issue that needs to be addressed when cooking several dishes for one meal. I ended up with rubber chicken, soggy rice, crunchy asparagus, and an apple for dessert.  Twelve years later, I have yet to muster the courage to attempt another full-fledged "meal."  Casseroles all the way for this single foster mama!

Some people might wonder why I choose to only foster infants.  One might assume it is because infants don't have nearly the amount of emotional problems that older children in foster care possess.  However, for me, one of the major deciding factors was the whole "you have to feed them" thing, and the thought of having to prepare actual meals with a variety of food groups scared the bejeezers out of me.  Give me an infant on bottles and baby food or toddlers who love Gerber meals and fruit any day!  That, I can manage.  I just really hope that when I finally am able to adopt, my kids enjoy a good ole casserole.  'Cause that's what they're going to get.  :-)

Changes...

Well...  Ready or not, here we go!  We are getting closer to Monkey's 10-month hearing, and it looks like he will be going home to his dad at that time.  Still not sure of the court date, but it will most likely be mid-late March. 

I have been taking off work to transport Monkey to his weekly visits for the past several weeks, and have had the opportunity to spend more and more time with his dad.  A few weeks ago, I posted about the possibility of keeping Monkey at night while his dad was at work.  I've been extremely guarded, and my initial instincts of thinking that it was The Invisible One's idea in the first place proved to be correct.

But...  I decided to offer to keep him.

(I know...  I know...  No lectures until you hear the whole story, pretty please! ;-)

Things I have learned and experienced first-hand over the past several weeks:

    *  While the initial idea of me keeping Monkey at night was The Invisible One's, his dad genuinely would prefer me to keep him. 

     *  Dad didn't know until this week that I was even considering the possibility, and he did do the work to find childcare for Monkey.  The fact that he did the work was a major deciding factor for me.  If he hadn't, I wouldn't have offered.  He had found a licensed, homecare, overnight facility that got really good reviews, and who would have kept Monkey overnight and through the morning so dad could sleep.  But when The Invisible One told him earlier this week that I had agreed to keep Monkey if his dad was okay with it, he was relieved.

     *  Dad and I had a long conversation after Monkey's visit this morning, and he told me that he was so happy that I offered to do this.  He told me all about the center that he had chosen, but said several times that Monkey doesn't know them.  He said that Monkey loves me, and he knows that I take such good care of him.  He said that he knows that Monkey is going to be sad when he leaves me, and that this would be easier for him.

     *  Dad doesn't want to have his daughters watch Monkey (like Scary CASA Lady and The Invisible One told me the other day) because of a strained relationship with their mother and school and work issues for the girls.  He said that his older daughter (who I learned is 26), is excited to help on the weekends, but can't during the week.

     *  Dad's backup is actually his brother who owns his own business and can be here if he's needed.  He told me that he trusts his brother more than anyone, and was trying to reassure me that Monkey would be in good hands with him if I couldn't watch him for any reason and Dad couldn't get off work.  :-)  Early in Monkey's case, they had considered doing a homestudy on his brother as a relative placement, but his parents decided against it because he lives about 90 minutes away.

     *  Monkey's dad has been nothing but kind, respectful, and appreciative towards me from the very beginning of this case.  He's kind of shy, and when he gets desperate, he will argue with his own toenails, but the more contact I have with him, the more I like him.  He has been steady, has done everything they've asked of him (and then some!), and really does seem to have Monkey's best interests at heart.  When we talked today about the logistics and details of how this would work, he promised me that I can depend on him and that I don't have to worry about him paying me or being late.  I honestly have no worries about any of that.  Monkey's dad has been so consistent over the past ten months that I'm inclined to trust him.

But I honestly think the major deciding factor for me has been in watching the interaction between Monkey and his dad over the past several weeks.  I remember the exact moment two years ago when I knew that Booger Bear was going to be okay when he left me.  His dad was on his way to pick up Booger for one of their afternoon visits, and I told Booger, "Hey Booger!  Daddy's coming to get you!"  His face lit up and he ran to the front door and waited for his daddy to come, all the while talking about what all he and his daddy were going to do when he came.  Over the past few weeks, seeing the interaction between Monkey and his dad, I see that same excitement and ease in Monkey.  He's not hesitant to leave my arms and go to his daddy.  In fact, today he was having a hard time deciding who he wanted, throwing himself from his daddy to me to his daddy to me!  Today was my definite "My baby's going to be okay" moment.  Babies have great instincts when it comes to people.  If Monkey loves and trusts his dad, I think I can give the trust thing a try.  :-)

So today, we worked out the logistics of how this will work.  Everything was going great until he said, "It would be from 8:15pm to 1:00 the next afternoon on Sunday night through Wednesday afternoon."  WHOA!  HOLD THE PONIES!  I HAVE TO WORK!!!   So, of course, I did what any woman about to lose her baby would do...  I called my Mommy!  Well, first I ran my idea past Monkey's dad, and he was comfortable with it, so I told him that I would ask my mom to make sure she could do it.  She said "yes."  She doesn't want to lose Monkey any more than I do.  :-)

The plan is for Monkey to be at my house from 8:15pm to 1:00pm on Sunday night through Wednesday afternoon and then from 8:15pm to 7:30am Thursday morning.  His dad is off Thursday-Saturday.  Monday through Wednesday, my mom will come to my house and watch Monkey when I have to go to work until his dad picks him up by 1:00 at the latest.  This way, his dad can sleep and Monkey is always with someone he knows and loves.  I'm just going to pay my mom out of what his dad pays me.  Heck!  I'd give her all of it if it means I still get to have my Monkey four days a week!  :-)

I'm still not completely committing long-term.  I told The Invisible One that I will do this on a trial basis while CPS is still monitoring Monkey's case so I will have a buffer there if I need it.  I don't anticipate any problems, but if for some reason things don't work, I'll know that CPS will still be there to make sure Monkey is okay.

There's lots more to tell, but this post has already turned into a novel!  Stay tuned tomorrow for an update on Monkey's mom and details from the last few visits...  In the meantime, wish us luck!  Big changes are coming our way, but I'm optimistic that everything is going to be okay.  :-)

The Sinking Mattress of Pain

"So what is this?" you might ask...  This, my friends, is how I spent the vast majority of my day today.  Laid up on the couch with the remote control, a 500 count bottle of Ibuprofen (Yes, I realize that it is not securely locked in the Fort Knox medicine tackle box, but seeing as I how I have no foster children at the moment, I thought I would leave it out in the open within arms' reach.  I am such a rebel that way.  Take that, CPS!), a heating pad, and an ice pack...

I've known for a couple of years now that I really do need to get a new mattress.  I've had the same queen-sized, double pillow top for about 15 years now!  And being single, no amount of mattress flipping is going to help get rid of the Grand Canyon-like crater in the middle of my bed from which there is no escape.  I can't tell you the last time I got a comfortable night's sleep.  Actually, I take that back.  It was last month when my sister and I spent the night at my grandparents' house, and I slept on an air mattress!  Best night's sleep I've had in a year!!! 

I'll admit that the thought crosses my mind every night around 2:00am when my back is in knots and I can't get comfortable that I really do need to take the money and get a new mattress.  But every morning when I get up and start moving around, the kinks in my back magically disappear, and I completely forget about The Sinking Mattress of Pain.  That is, I completely forgot about it until last week when the little kinks in my back somehow progressed into Giant Knots of Burning Fire that have only gotten progressively worse as time goes on.

I knew I was in trouble when I got to work one morning and the tele-recruiters were doing laps around me.  You see this picture of the overweight elderly woman on a walker?  That's not me!  That would be a fairly accurate depiction of the women who were passing me on the way into the office.  So yeah...  It's pretty bad.

I left work this morning after one hour of torture.  I couldn't even bring myself to go tell my boss in person that I was leaving.  I emailed him.  I didn't think that I could tell him that I threw my back out in bed and that my butt was going numb with a straight face.  Ordinarily, I would probably mess with him and make him as uncomfortable as humanly possible just because I'm a little snot that way.  (Fortunately, everyone at the office gets my sense of humor so surprisingly, I haven't been fired for it.  ;-)  Today though, I was hurting too much to think quickly on my feet.  Heck!  I hurt too much to be on my feet at all!  So I emailed him and ran crawled out the back door.

I made it home, and then did what any other self-respecting woman would do in my situation.  I called my Mommy.  (Yes, I realize that I do that a lot.  In fact, I do that so much that I have now created a blog label entitled "I Called My Mommy" for easy accessibility.  ;-)  I had good reason though!  This is a first for me.  I've never thrown my back out before.  My mom, on the other hand, does it all the time.  I just thought I'd go straight to the expert to see what works best to make it stop hurting!  I very much appreciate her advice, because it seems to be helping a bit.  I do not, however, appreciate her laughing at my sister and me because she is moving faster than we are right now.  Christy is about 98 weeks pregnant with twins, and I (as Ka-Diva put it earlier today) have a "broken" back. 

I made the mistake of mentioning that I can see how a cane would be useful at times like these to my mom, but politely declined when she offered me one of hers for the weekend.  To me, a cane is like a fanny pack.  Yes, they can be incredibly useful, and I often secretly wish I had one, but those are just two of those things that you let your mother be the proud owner of.  There is no amount of "bedazzling" that could make either of those things "young or hip."  I might be getting old enough to throw my back out in my sleep, but I refuse to admit that I'm old enough to use a cane or a fanny pack. 

So as I lay here like an invalid, alternating ice packs and heating pads, and single-handedly keeping the makers of Ibuprofen in business, I can only hope that I'll be able to move enough to go to the furniture store and replace my Sinking Mattress of Pain soon.  As it is, I've decided to take up residence in the nursery on the twin-size bed.  Watch me get a placement call too!  Those calls always do seem to come at the worst possible times.  "Sure!  Bring me a 9-month-old!  But you don't expect me to be able to carry him, right?"  ;-)

My Wild Ride (Part Two)

Yep...  I called my Mommy... (If you missed Part One, just click on the link.)

Most of my family had been on a cruise that week, and they apparently had just pulled into the garage when I sent out my "Mommy SOS."  (And by "just pulled in," I mean that they hadn't even closed the garage door or unloaded their bags from the car.)  After a quick potty break, my mom and aunt came over and took over holding Itty Bitty so I could get Little Miss bathed, changed, bottled, cuddled, and in bed. 

The one good thing about the situation was that Little Miss is a fantastic and predictable sleeper.  Her bedtime routine consisted of us reading a book or playing for a few minutes, Miss pointing to the kitchen indicating that she was ready for her bedtime bottle, pushing her bottle away when she was finished, giving me a quick hug, and then pointing upstairs to her bedroom at precisely 7:00pm.  We would walk in the room, she pointed to her crib, I'd put her down, she'd grab her own blanket, roll over, and usually was sound asleep before I left the room.  And the best part was that she slept until 7:00am the next morning!  That was the only thing that helped get me through that night with Itty Bitty who woke up every 1 1/2 to 2 hours to drink 2 measly little ounces of her bottle.

Somehow the timing of the feedings that night worked out so that Itty Bitty was fed and asleep just before Little Miss woke up for the day.  Things were all fine and dandy until Miss realized that the squalling one was still there.  Then it was back to the squalling two.  I somehow managed to get both girls dressed and loaded in the car to get Little Miss off to daycare.  She was hysterical enough with Itty Bitty in the house.  I wanted to go ahead and keep things as "normal" as possible for her, so daycare it was!  I had Miss in one arm with her diaper bag and my purse on that shoulder, and Bitty in her carrier in the other arm.  Thank God it wasn't cold or raining, or I would have been in a world of hurt!

I thought I could handle Itty Bitty okay as long as Miss wasn't there too, so I didn't call my mom that morning.  She ended up calling me and told me she was coming over.  And I'm soooo glad she did!  Itty Bitty was a nightmare in this angelic little body.  The nurses weren't kidding when they said that she's used to being held all the time.  What they neglected to mention was that she was used to being held and walked around with all the time.  Bitty was not content with being rocked.  She wanted to be walked.  And she let you know it in an ear-piercing, nails-on-a-chalkboard, make-your-ears-bleed, constant wail.

Mom and I took turns walking and feeding Bitty so she would stop screaming and the other one would attack the remnants of the natural disaster that seemed to have also struck my household in the 24 hours that Bitty had been there.  How is it possible that something so little can wreak so much havoc on a household?!?  In 24 hours, I had accumulated more dirty laundry than I had during the previous week having been pooped on, peed on, and spit up on multiple times.  I had moved all of my bedding out to the living room and slept on the couch during the few minutes that Bitty would sleep because every little sound woke her up.  My kitchen had been taken over by dirty bottles because Bitty ate every 2 hours.  It was scary bad.

It was abundantly clear to me in that first day that a single, trying to work full-time, foster mom really should admit to herself that taking on two infants (a 12-month-old and a newborn fresh out of the NICU) by herself probably wasn't the best and brightest idea.  I knew that the girls had a hearing on Monday and that they were probably going to be placed with their dad, so I only had to make it through the weekend.  I did something I had never done before...  I called my agency and asked if they could find a couple to do respite for Itty Bitty over the weekend.

I've always used my mom as my "official" respite care provider for babysitting my kids, and my BFF took on Angel for a few days when she was with me, but I'd never asked to use another foster family.  I'll tell you though...  It was worth it!  This angelic couple offered to come over and pick up Itty Bitty that night and keep her until Monday morning after I got Little Miss off to daycare.  Based on how Little Miss was reacting to Bitty, and how she was already reverting back to some of her previous behaviors that she hadn't done in weeks, I knew it was the best for her to wait until she went home to her dad's before bringing her little sister into the picture permanently.

Before my weekend angels came to pick up Bitty, my mom stayed to cater to the little squalling one while I tried to give the bigger squalling one my as-undivided-as-possible-in-that-situation attention.  Poor Little Miss...  She couldn't understand what was happening.  All she knew was that I wasn't all hers anymore...  And for a 12-month-old who'd never had a mom's undivided attention up until she came to live with me, losing that after 5 weeks was devasting for her.  I was able to get her off to bed a few minutes before those nice, nice people who I grew to love more than just about anything that weekend came to pick up Bitty.

I realize that my mom and I probably didn't display the most appropriate reactions to having Bitty leave for the weekend, but upon shutting the front door, we turned to each other...  Breathed deep, cleansing breaths, and exclaimed (in the words of my sweet niece)...

"And she's OUTTA HERE!!!"

(Stay Tuned for Part Three)

My Wild Ride (Part One)

The past couple of weeks have been one major roller coaster ride in Foster/Adopt Land!  I received a phone call telling me to go to the hospital to pick up Itty Bitty (Little Miss' baby sister) because she was finally being released.  In that same phone call, they told me that there was a hearing the following Monday and that the girls would most likely be released into their father's care. 

Itty Bitty was a cute little thing...  That is to say, she was a cute little thing in the 2 hours total that she slept during the time that she was with me.  I knew I was in trouble when the first thing the nurses in the hospital where she had been staying for the past 5 weeks said to me was, "We're so sorry!"  "What does that mean?" I asked.  "Well," the replied, "She's kind of been our little mascot for the past five weeks, so she's kind of been held 24/7.  But we've been working on self-soothing today!"  ... TODAY!?!?!  Great.

Little Miss was at daycare, so I decided to bring Itty Bitty over to my sister's house so she and the twins could meet her.  My nephew could take her or leave her.  He was more interested in his Wii game.  Although he did sing her a lovely lullaby rendition of Beyonce's "Single Ladies" in an attempt to keep her from crying.  My niece was all about holding her and being right beside her.  I call her our Little Mama because she's extremely nurturing and a great little 5-year-old babysitter.  :-)  She didn't leave Bitty's side for 30 minutes.  Bitty started crying again, so we did a diaper change.  ...And then she spit up...  All over the floor next to my niece...  That did it.  She was done.  As I packed up our things and put Itty Bitty in her carseat and she started squalling because she was no longer being held, my niece opened the front door for us and exclaimed...  "And she's OUTTA HERE!!!"  (She's in for a rude awakening in a few months when her new twin brother and sister make their grand appearance and she can't send them packing after 30 minutes.  :-)

I headed over to Little Miss' daycare where it quickly became apparent that I hadn't really thought through the logistical aspects of transporting a 5-week-old and a 12-month-old at the same time.  I loaded Itty Bitty and her carrier into the single stroller (because I wasn't about to buy a double stroller until I knew whether or not the girls were staying) and thought that I'd just carry Little Miss back out to the car.  Fortunately, the kind ladies at the daycare recognized that I had no clue how hard that was going to be and took care of loading Itty Bitty for me while I took care of Little Miss.

After the first 30 minutes with both girls, I knew I was in over my head.  Bitty was screaming because I couldn't hold her while I was getting Little Miss her dinner.  Little Miss was crying because there was this screaming thing stealing her Mimi's attention.  After her dinner, she had ravioli in her hair, desperately needed a bath, and was sobbing and clinging to my leg as I tried to comfort her and feed Bitty her bottle.  By the time Little Miss should have been in bed, we were nowhere near it.  I did what any self-respecting woman would do in that situation.

...I called my Mommy...

Changes

It's amazing how quickly things change in Foster/Adopt Land when time usually seems to stand still in that world.  Last Monday, after over two months of waiting to get licensed by my new agency, I was about aready to go over there and ask if they wanted me to write up the homestudy for them.  Then, the phone rang...

The program director at my agency said, "Tammy, I have a few things to talk to you about."  What then came out of her mouth absolutely sent me reeling.

1.  She had two pages left to finish my homestudy.
2.  She just emailed questionnaires to my personal references.
3.  She's hoping my references will respond immediately because...
4.  She needs to get my licensing number right away because...
5.  She has not one, but two babies for me if I want them!

She had very little information on the girls other than that the 11-month-old had been removed and placed in another foster home on Friday after some questionable findings with her newborn baby sister.  The other foster home was a brand new home and had no experience with infants.  Older baby was placed with them on Friday, and by Friday night, they were already asking to have her moved because they were completely overwhelmed and had no clue what they were doing.  She said that if I was willing to take both girls, she was pretty certain they'd be mine if I said yes.  They just had to check with the caseworker and explain that I was a few days away from having my licensing number, but that I'd already fostered before so I knew what I was doing.

I said, "No."

It absolutely KILLED me to say "no" because being single, it takes months for me to get a placement unless the children are already in care.  Caseworkers want couples or stay-at-home moms, so if I get my placements the "normal" way, it takes forever.  The Booger Bear came to me from another foster home as well.  But I had no idea how I was going to be able to take care of a newborn and a soon-to-be one-year-old by myself!  So I told the director that I didn't have two cribs and that I was a little concerned about being able to handle that on my own, so as much as it was killing me, I thought I needed to say "no."  Then I did what any self-respecting adult would do.

I called my Mommy.

During that conversation, I ended up pep-talking myself into calling my director back and saying, "You know what!  Let's give this a try!"  And as of right now, I am so glad I did!!!

On Tuesday, she called me back and asked how soon I could take the 11-month-old already at the other foster home.  She said that the parents were nervous wrecks and that she wasn't comfortable leaving her there anymore.  I said, "I'm ready for her tonight if you want me to take her!" 

I still wasn't licensed, but they moved her as a "respite" placement with the understanding that she would be an official foster placement as soon as we got my number.  Her foster parents were bringing her over to my house themselves because they had some things to bring with her.  And I opened the door to the most beautiful little girl ever!  Understandably timid and scared, but she came to me and let me take over.  She even fell right to sleep and slept over 12 hours the very first night!

At that point, there wasn't much information on her baby sister.  Just that she was, in the caseworker's words, "a whooooolllle other ballgame."  So I took my "Little Miss" and started to do what I could to make her comfortable and to get her used to me before our lives become insane again when "Itty Bitty" baby comes home...

Help! My Underwear Have Fallen, and I Can't Get Dressed!!!

Yes... Those exact words rang out from my fingertips in a desperate text message to my mother the other day. After taking a shower, I psyched myself up to get dressed, only to discover that my underwear had fallen off of the back of my wheelchair into the hallway and were completely inaccessible to me (the Naked Gimp). I covered myself the best I could for modesty's (well, my mother's) sake and endured her not-so-muffled snickering as she came in to save me.

This was only the first of many unusual, awkward, and embarrassing moments that I've endured since I ever-so-gracefully fell on the ice, screwed up my leg, and became temporarily wheelchair-bound. Over the past nine days, I have managed to do quite a few things that I never thought I'd have to fess up to. Although I have to admit, dropping my underwear and having to send out a plea for help via test message was probably the most mortifying. At least my mom was here, and I didn't have to send out a broadcast message to all of my friends and family. Now that would have been awkward! So what have I managed to do to embarrass myself?

Just last night, I ran over my own toe with my own wheelchair! For real. Fortunately (I think) it was on my good foot, but come on! Who does that?!? After my cursing the bleeding stopped, I couldn't help but laugh. I mean, seriously! How often does a person get to say that they ran over their own foot with their own body? I'm a moron.

I have somehow managed to become entangled in the wheels of my wheelchair more times than I care to admit. I've been wearing lots of pajama bottoms this week. I've had a rather limited choice of attire seeing as how I've got a big old half-cast covering the bottom half of my leg, and the only bottoms that easily cover it are the wide-legged pajama bottoms. Super comfy, but dangerous! I've lost count of the number of times my pajama legs have gotten all tangled up in the front wheel of my wheelchair. I've actually had a couple of nervous moments when I thought I might have to take off the pants in order to escape! So far, it's only happened within the confines of my home. I am, however, slightly nervous about returning to work tomorrow.

I've also learned over the past week that my apartment is not exactly wheelchair-friendly. I've also learned that, while I'm really good at getting myself into certain locations, I'm not quite as adept at getting out of them. I've somehow managed to get wedged between doors, trapped under the kitchen cabinets, and stuck in the alcove in my bathroom. I'm determined not to ask for help if there is any conceivable way that I can get myself out of the predicament, so I balance on my good leg and try manuevering the front wheels or doing whatever else I have to do in order to get out of whatever mess I've managed to get myself into.

You know... Now that I think about it, I think my wheelchair might have it out for me. I mean, I know I've put on some weight, but come on!

If my wheelchair's attempts to humiliate me haven't been bad enough, my own stubbornness to remain as independent as possible has certainly had its own share of blows to my ego as well. Things as simple as getting dressed in the morning or getting up from the toilet have become entirely new. How, exactly, do you put on underwear and pants when you can't bend your leg? Well, I'll tell you. It's called "The Lasso Technique." (Ahhh... the mental pictures... I'll let you figure it out.) I do believe I'll join the rodeo when all of this is said and done. How do you stand up from a low toilet when you can only use one leg? It's not pretty. And I'm fairly certain I'm going to end up needing knee replacement surgery in my "good" leg after this one heals. "How did you injure your knee, Tammy?" "Going to the potty, Doctor."

And then we have my little emotional meltdowns. I haven't had too many, but there have been a few, and the things that come out of my mouth when I'm having them make me question my sanity. "Why can't I change his poopy diaper?!? I want to change the poopy diaper!!!" "I want to go to work!!!" "I hate not being able to do my own laundry!!!" "I just want to go upstairs and see if the catbox needs to be cleaned out!!!" Yep... I've lost my mind. I realize I'm not used to having any help around the house, but this is ridiculous. I should be enjoying every second of this! Instead, I'm in tears because my mom is changing all of the poopy diapers and taking out my trash. I think I may need my head examined as well as my leg!

I'm sure there will be many more akward and embarrassing moments in the coming weeks. And I'm sure I'll be forced to write about them. Might as well entertain the masses at my expense, right? :-) In the meantime... Have a great week!

I Need a Break Already!!!

I know... I know... I start the New Year promising that I will blog more, and here it has been two whole weeks and NOTHING. In my defense, I think I have a pretty good excuse.


Isn't that pretty?!? That would be my leg. Fun!!! :-)

The past few months have been really hard in the foster care, home life, personal health, job world. I've had pneumonia and bronchitis almost CONSTANTLY since October, and even spent Sunday the 3rd in the ER because I couldn't breathe. By Thursday the 6th, I was at my wits' end. I've been EXHAUSTED from all of the stress of being sick and dealing with everything that had been going on at home. I had an appointment scheduled with my PCP to try to figure out why I couldn't seem to get over whatever has been going on with my lungs. And to be totally honest, I was really hoping they'd put me in the hospital just so I could get some rest.

... Be careful what you wish for...

The morning of my appointment (which also happened to be the coldest day of the year so far... 14 degrees, I believe), I headed outside with the Booger Bear in one arm and his diaper bag and my purse in the other. I looked around to make sure there weren't any wet spots or puddles that had turned into ice overnight, and the ground was completely dry. ... Or so it appeared... As I stepped onto a metal grate that covers a drainage ditch about 12 feet away from my door, I felt my right leg start to slip on a lovely sheet of invisible ice. "Mommy instinct" kicked in and I twisted on my left leg in order to keep from falling on Booger. Unfortunately, as I was falling to the ground, I heard (and unfortunately felt) my leg snap.

I knew it was broken, but as I sat there on the ground, I kept wishing it away. "It'll be fine. I'll just sit here a few seconds and the pain will go away." Fortunately, BB was fine and THANK GOD he didn't try to run away! He just stood there looking at me like, "Why are you sitting on the ground?" There was absolutely no one around, so I SOMEHOW managed to force myself to stand up and walk stagger back into the apartment. I dropped to the floor and crawled over to prop myself up on the couch and try to figure out what to do.

I had dropped my phone on the floor by the front door, and the Booger went and got it for me. He handed it to me and said, "Nana?" He was SO GOOD. He could have gotten into all sorts of trouble while we were waiting for help to arrive, but instead, he got some books from his bookshelf and shared his books with me until my mom got there.

I ended up calling my doctor's office since I was going there anyway, and just told them to add a probably broken leg and/or ankle to the mix. No sense paying for another ER co-pay when my doctor's office has radiology onsite, right? We somehow got BB and me loaded into the car, took Booger to daycare, and headed over to the doctor. Fortunately, they had a wheelchair. :-)

By that time, I wasn't sure what all I had hurt. I was pretty certain my leg was broken because it kept popping in and out of place and kind of crunching. When it was out of place, my toes would go numb and turn purple. But my ankle was really hurting a lot too, so I couldn't completely pinpoint the pain. Believe it or not, they actually did the exam for my breathing problems first. Then sent me for x-rays where I heard the tech exclaim, "Oh! THAT'S not good!" I ended up doing a breathing treatment while they called the orthopedic and set up an appointment for me and then put on a huge splint. PATHETIC!!!

At the ortho the next morning, we found out what I actually did. Apparently, when I twisted, I pulled the ligaments holding my ankle together which also happen to be connected to the smaller bone in my leg. The pressure from the twisting snapped the bone. The doctor said that the break is "inconsequential" and that it should heal itself in a few weeks. Pardon me, sir, but it doesn't FEEL that "inconsequential" to me! It kind of hurts like hell! And the "snap, crackle, popping" noises are freaking me out. The ankle on the other hand, is a doozy. Leave it to Tammy to come up with something weird. He said that in his twenty years of doing this, he has only seen an injury like mine maybe three other times. :-)

So far, the ankle appears to be staying intact, so he wants to wait for a couple of weeks before deciding whether or not to do surgery. If we do that, he'd be putting a bar in to hold my ankle together while it heals. Then we'd have to do a second surgery to remove the bar. As it is, I am to remain completely non-weight-bearing for 8-10 weeks. Easier said than done for a single mother of a 15-month-old!

Thank God for my mom!!! She's living with me for the next however long it will take, and is taking care of the Booger, me, and my house. She also watches my soon-to-be 5-year-old neice and nephew during the day! We've also had a lot of people offer help, and we'll definitely be taking them up on it.
So, I've been out of work for a week so far. Not exactly the "break" that I was hoping for, but I am at least getting some much-needed rest. :-)

(Now that I'm not in quite as much pain, I'll be blogging a lot. I have all sorts of good stories from this little incident! :-) I hope everyone else is doing well out there, and that you heed my little warning when I say, seriously, "Be careful what you wish for!"