Wednesday, December 31, 2008
It would appear that Baby Weepy has a brother or sister due in about 6 weeks.
Dear Lord, will these people never learn? get their act together? come to their senses? Learn better or simply say, "Hey, time to be an adult and take care of my kids". These are not young people, they are wayyy old enough to know better. Does the madness ever stop? But H*l* would freeze over before she would give this new baby up for adoption. God forbid, she let someone raise the baby that wanted it more than anything. I'll never understand this. Makes no sense to me. What do you think?
Saturday, December 27, 2008
May I compliment you on your workers tenacity in putting the toys in their boxes.
(Do you really think humans can take those things out?!)
What ever you pay your workers...they are worth every cent. They do their jobs very well.
It takes at least 30 minutes to take out all the wires and screws, staples and tape. As a bonus with every 30 minutes it takes to get the toys out, we get a 45 minute toddler meltdown. Because we can't get it out fast enough. So if we buy 6 of your toys, we have all day entertainment.
I think from now on I'm going to base what toy I buy for my child on how long I may think it will take to get it out of the box.
If you think this is an anti-theft devise, I do believe you are wrong. I think more people are apt to walk out of the store with it, then stand there and try to take it out of the box...the store would close long before they got it out. And for the nice people who don't steal, you could cut our price in half by saving all that plastic & ties & screws. I know you would save our sanity.
See ya same time next year.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
We all have a woman and her decision to be grateful to. No matter how we feel about how or why she came to her decision.
Our children have too. Or I should speak for myself & my children. I hope they can or will feel this way.
CLICK ON THIS LINK:
HAVE kleenex READY. You have been warned.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
It's that time of the year. On the nightly news, you hear of the terrible loss due to fires. A Christmas tree too close to the fireplace or a heater. It's always so terribly sad when someone has a house fire anytime, but at Christmas it's always more tragic. Especially if it could have been prevented. Go check out
www.BeFireSmart.com for some great tips on fire safety this time of year. As a bonus they are giving away a trip for 4 to Disney World! You can't go wrong. Go.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
As foster parents, we get angry when we don't know what the kids who are placed with us have gone through. Sometimes I think if I knew, I could help them.
After a meeting today. I got what I wanted. What happened. How it happened. What he went through. Endured. Survived. Why he crawls into the corner of the crib in terror. Why he sits in a highchair and is happy to watch others play. Why he eats til you no longer put food on the tray.
I don't want to know anymore. I'm beginning to think we or I anyway, do not need to hear everything. There are some things I'm finding, I don't want to know.
It sickens me to realize the damage one human being can inflict on another. It makes me want to throw up when that human is inflicting that damage on their own children.
If your not going to take care of your children. Give them up for adoption, so someone else who wants a child more than anything, Will take care of them.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Raise your hand if you know the answer & not everybody at one time...
How can I take care of this new baby
Knowing how old he is.
Taking him to the Dr, which is required,without having Med*caid (& you've not applied for it)
Having daycare for him (because you want return my calls about CAPs)
No idea why he's in care (they are not at liberty to tell me) hahahehehohoho, PLEASE!
No paperwork saying he's been placed in my home.
But I betcha when when the court says he has to have visitation with whoever, I better get my butt in gear and have him there when & where & for how long THEY say to. And they better be able to get in touch with me when they want.
*Yes, he has clothes & diapers,(good thing I was too lazy to put The Boy's last year's winter clothes away) but not when he got here.
I guess I'll just sit here til someone from there decides they need something from me.
By the way, I have no idea why any of this surprises me or grates on my last nerve. They do it every time. I think I always think they'll do it the right way "this time".
**added: A few of you have asked how The boy is taking this. He is his usual self. the world revolves around him. Thus the Baby does not exist. He does his thing and the Baby does his.Which is cry. The Boy said,"Baby makes alot of Loud noise!" Yep, he sure does.
Friday, December 05, 2008
We finally got a placement call for a baby. They are not sure if he is 18 months old or 2 1/2. Yea, I know big difference. Either way he is developmentally delayed. He CRYS all the time. His teeth are rotted to the gum line! How on earth that happened I don't know. they must have stuck a bottle with kool aid or juice in his mouth 24 hours a day. I've never seen a baby so young with teeth that rotted. Good Grief, he just got them all in, how did they rot so fast?
Of course they know nothing about him. No shot record, no medical care, and evidently no date of birth. He doesn't want to get down to play, he just wants to sit in a highchair and stare off into space. And will not touch milk. He has been given juice his whole life. He does eat pretty good though. He only weighs about 20 lbs. I don't see anyway that he could be 2 1/2. Of course they want him taken to the Dr right away, but can't seem to get their act together to put him on M/D. No Dr will see without M/D. It's a catch 22. Do your job, or the kid doesn't get the care they need so badly.
We shall see what they do for this little guy. Should be interesting. I'll keep you posted. and maybe a few pictures of him ( no face shots of course) He looks alot like The Boy.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
**My girls do so love our Christmas Traditions. But not as much as I loved creating them for Them. We had none in my family. When poverty is your world, survival is your reward.
My girls would have better. And boy did I create some good stuff. Some by accident, like Santa coming while we were at Christmas eve services to leave P.J's on the girl's bed. When the oldest was 4 I accidently left her Christmas Pj's on the bed before we left for church. When we came back she went in her room and said,"Look mommy, Santa left me pajamas." So EVERY year for 23 years Santa has left a pair of Christmas Pj's on each girl's bed for them to find when we get home from church. To this very day, after Christmas eve service, a 26 yr old little girl, a 22 yr old little girl & a 19 yr old little girl, runs up the stairs as soon as we get home to see what Pj's Santa has left for them. (This year our son & 2 MeMe babies will do the same) They never knew how they got there til just a couple of years ago. You see, Mommy always forgot her Bible EVERY year and had to run back in the house to get it. That is when mommy put 3 pairs of Pj's on each bed. A simple thing, but HUGE in a child's heart. Tradition. We have a few. Stockings that mommy & daddy make sure is personalized to each girl's personality. And 3 Advent calenders with chocolate inside** But I read this story and thought what a wonderful tradition and thought you would like to read it, if you haven't heard it already.
#Come back and share your Christmas traditions. I'd love to hear them! #
The Story that Inspired The White Envelope Project.
This story was originally published in the December 14, 1982 issue of Woman’s Day magazine. It was the first place winner out of thousands of entries in the magazine’s “My Most Moving Holiday Tradition” contest in which readers were asked to share their favorite holiday tradition and the story behind it. Woman’s Day continues to support this tradition and The White Envelope Project today.
“For the Man Who Hated Christmas”by Nancy W. Gavin
It’s just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past ten years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas--oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it--overspending... the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma---the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler’s ears.
It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn’t acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, “I wish just one of them could have won,” he said. “They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.” Mike loved kids - all kids - and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That’s when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition--one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.
The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.
As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn’t end there.You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more.
Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing to take down the envelope.
Mike’s spirit, like the Christmas spirit will always be with us.