Is it just me? Wait...don't answer that!

Sometimes I don't post for a week or two because I really don't feel that the thoughts in my head ever need to be set down for other eyes to see.  This has been one of those weeks.

I started a post about it and realized that some things are just too messed up to communicate.

As I've mentioned in other posts, I have worked for several years in the adoption world.  It's a crazy, beautiful, heart-wrenching thing and I have felt lucky to be a part of it.

But sometimes it just sucks.

For the past six months, I have been working with an addicted birthmother.  Working with addicted people is never a walk in the park, even if they're currently exercising some sort of control over the addiction.  Combine addiction that is not under control with pregnancy and you get a hot mess.

In the last nine days, I have been on a non-stop rollercoaster of emotions, stretched between a birthmom whose demons are in the drivers seat in her life and a terrified family who are already in love with the baby that joins them all together.  Watching a once-pretty woman sink to the lowest point possible to a human brings out all the compassion within you; but then you walk a few steps to the nursery and watch an innocent baby in the throes of withdrawal.  Compassion goes out the window for me and I just want to pick up the mom and shake the snot out of her.  How could you DO that?!  Why don't you CARE?!  I honestly cannot fathom an addiction so strong that it takes away your humanity, that it can make you look without pity on a newborn who is struggling to survive because of your own actions. 

 The nurses in the NICU told me that a baby who's detoxing feels like she's falling all the time.  Pats and jiggling motions, comforting to most babies, only make the withdrawing baby more anxious and frantic.  Imagine feeling as if you are falling backward down a tunnel that has no end.  No touch is comforting, no voice can soothe.  That's what this mom's pharmaceutical adventures did to her child.

And the hospital released the birthmom with 30 Percocet two days later.  Less than 48 hours after she left the hospital, she returned as a patient in the ER.  Handcuffed to her bed because she'd gotten high on her pain medication and had slammed her truck into a daycare bus loaded with kids.  Everybody lived, which is a miracle.

What's not a miracle is that the SAME hospital released her home 20 hours after the accident with a prescription for 60 Percocet.

There's nothing cute or funny to say about all this.  Not right now.  Maybe not ever.

The only thing that I can hold on to is the fact that the baby who is now just a few days old is set on a course for an amazing, beautiful life.  After a gazillion stupid-ass choices, this birthmother made one good one.  She gave life to her child and then she gave a GOOD life to her.

That's enough for me.

Full of Sound and Fury, Signifying Nothing

Well, howdy.

We had a massive wind storm last night here at Gilligan's Island.  As a couple of neighbors and I chatted in the den, the trees outside did their best to bend double...quite the show.  In the end, we got a bit of rain and a brief respite from the triple-digit temps of the day, so that was good.  Even better, we didn't lose power!

But if we lose power in the future, I now have a plan, thanks to Dante Shepherd over at Surviving the World.

Polka dot, polka dot, polka d--- DAMMIT!

This song will apparently leave my head...never.

Sigh.

At least Tank enjoyed the movie.

In Which My Head Explodes

I've been a bit busy lately.

There's the slightest chance that Shawn will transfer jobs and that this will necessitate a move to that state just south of Georgia that has a lot of oranges.

Like any normal person (bwahahaha!), that means that I've been in a bit of a tizz lately, what with all the dramatic worryings over the what-ifs involved.  The main worry is all the To-Do items on the Gilligan's Island house.  Holy crap, people...it's like I LIVE with a freakin' paintbrush in my hand; how can it be that so much stuff needs to be painted?!

So, anyway.  That's been what's up recently.

While I tried to work on a few things and also do my two part-time jobs, I have let Tank watch more TV than usual.  As in, WAY more.  And my descent into TV-parenting has been quite the education, let me tell you.  For instance, I've begun to ponder some of life's biggest questions:

- why do the kid voice actors on Dora the Explorer and Go, Diego, Go all sound like they're being squeezed?  I'm sure it's supposed to sound like ENERGY!  and ENTHUSIASM!  but it just comes off sounding like a boa constrictor got hold of them.  "And WE need YOUR HELP!"

- where are Dora and Diego's parents, anyhow?  She's always off tramping over mountains and rainbows and crap and Diego's swinging from vines over hostile terrain and rescuing God-knows-what kind of flea-bitten, diseased creature.  Is there no parental supervision in cartoons?

Hi, we're Dodo the Exploder and El Diablo.  We're here to shove Spanish down your ever-loving throat!




- when the HELL did Fred and Daphne and Velma and Shaggy hook up?  Was that really necessary to sell a friggin' CARTOON????

- I can't say anything bad about Kick Buttowski.  Kick actually kinda rocks.

- but Curious George.  Ohmysweetpantaloons, what the @*$&% is up with that damn monkey?!?!  He is the biggest f-up of all time and if I were that man in the yellow hat, I'd have tranq'ed his little monkey butt and sold him to an organ grinder.

- Super Hero Squad.  Easily the most annoying theme song of all time.  And with catchy lines like, "A Norse is a Norse, of course, of course", who could possibly resist?  ME, THAT'S WHO!

- which brings me to the point of all this which is that TV is bad, kids.  Bad, bad juju.  Leave that stuff alone.  Which is what Tank will be doing from now on, since he decided to jump me unexpectedly and rupture my spleen with a Hulk Smash.  I had only a split second after hearing him shriek, "HUK SASSSHHH!" to react.  I probably saved my large intestine, at least.

Here's hoping your spleen has a great weekend...

Trash to Treasure - Sweet Child O Lime

Here I am, broadcasting live from the Taj MaHell!  We drove up Friday night and our best pal/neighbor on Gilligan's Island drove up yesterday morning so that we could all get out on the river in canoes.  THAT was way less fun than anticipated.  The short version is that the water was about 3 feet too low, even with recent rains, and we walked more than we rowed.  By the end of the 3 1/2 hour trip, we could barely lift our arms! But, a bad time with good friends is still a good time, right?!  And Tank thoroughly enjoyed his first canoe outing, so all's well that ends well.

Tank, rocking the Personal Flotation Device.

I had to drop some stuff off at Goodwill the other day and just as I got there, the bottom fell out.  Rather than stand out in the rain getting my butt soaked while I strapped Tank back in his car seat, I decided to poke around.  I happened upon this little (about 10" tall) lamp and thought it had potential.

I snagged it for a whopping $3.99

Important first step:  make sure it works!

Next, tape up whatever you don't want painted:

Quick coat of primer (it dried amazingly fast in the hot sunshine!):

Then, a coat of color.  And then a second coat of color!

Here's everything I used.  I couldn't decide between the two appliques unti I saw them with the painted lamp base.  They were each $3.49 at Joann's Fabrics.  The lamp shade was $7.98 at WalMarxist.  Already had the fabric fuse.

After holding both appliques up to the shade, I liked the bird better,

although both were cute.

So, here's the finished product.  I have no idea what I'm going to do with it, but I just love the fun color!

We'll be loading up shortly and heading back to Gilligan's Island.  Hope your weekend was great!

A Good Day to Be Little

As a mom, I am always trying to find new ways to do it better.  Not to spoil Tank or try to create in him all the attributes I wish I had in myself.  Being a good mom--to me--is about just being there with him and for him.  So, I have a lot of little customs and traditions with Tank.

One is when he wakes up in the morning and I go into his room.  I tell him that I missed him while he was sleeping.  And then I ask him, "Is today a good day to be little?"  He always says yes.

It's my job and my joy to make every day a good day to be little.  Not to buy him everything he sees or to take him fabulous places.  For Tank, like all children, a grown-up's time is the best gift in the world.  For now, at least, a half-hour of Mommy lying in the floor playing Matchbox cars is better than a new toy...and I love that!

Having said that, it's time to admit that I am not above spoiling him a little! 

Today, we were going to take him to the beach, but the weather didn't cooperate and unusually high tides were expected to flood the road out to the beach.  So, we went with Plan B and took Tank to a pathetic little "carnival" that had set up in town.  It was really sad and the gray evening did nothing to improve it.  Ten old, creaky rides with the paint peeling off them and more lights missing than not were plopped down in front of the National Guard Armory and a sign that read "CARNIVAL!" directed us into a muddy parking lot.  We were one of two families enjoying the big event. 

But here's the thing:  when you're little, it's magic!  Tank didn't see the missing light bulbs and the peeling paint.  He wasn't mentally calculating the odds that the guy running the mini-Scrambler was wanted in six states.  To him, it was the biggest and best thing in the world.

And that's why every day is a good day to be little.  It's the lesson I try to take from Tank...to see things with new, less cynical eyes once in a while. 

To let the magic sneak back in.

Sniffing Too Many Paint Fumes

Well, apparently it's been too long since I've had a project going, because I'm starting to go a little nuts.

On Saturday, I convinced Shawn that we should paint the living room here at Gilligan's Island.  So, we hauled all the little stuff out, moved the big stuff to the center of the room and got going.  Honestly, it didn't take all that long.  In 4 hours, we had painted the walls and the trim and felt oh-so-self-satisfied when we took off that evening for a minor league baseball game and pizza.

The living room wasn't offensive, but its yellow walls just weren't working for me.  The room had been yellow when we moved in and I later painted it with a color called something like Navajo Sand or something...which turned out yellow.  I mean, EXACTLY the same shade of yellow as before.  Out of ideas, I left it alone for a while (four years) and just didn't give it much thought.

We had some paint left over from the Taj MaHell that I just loved...Gallery Taupe by Behr.  It's a great neutral that isn't too light, but isn't too dark either.  The living room doesn't get much light, even during the day, so I didn't want to go too dark, but I do like it when there is a discernable difference between the wall and trim colors.

I don't have any good photos of the room before, but here's a patch job in progress over the mantle...you can see the yellow paint:

Not too awful, but...meh.

Here's the room, after a couple coats of Gallery Taupe and Behr's Ultra Pure White in semi-gloss for the trim:

It's hard to really see it from these photos...today is rainy and blah, so that might be part of it.  But trust me, as much as we did NOT want to repaint this room, both of us keep looking at it and saying, "Wow.  I REALLY like that color!"

Here's a sample of the color from The Internets:

You heard it here first, folks:

I am excited about...beige.