Category Archive

This morning I walked out of my door into freezing cold. I almost walked into him or her. It was a little bird, on the sidewalk in front of our apartment. He was just sitting, and I almost walked into him. There’s no way something wasn’t wrong, because he didn’t fly away. I thought something was wrong and he was probably dying. I looked at him as I walked away, and as I drove away. I couldn’t think of anything to do. It is the circle of life that sometimes birds die, but I also felt like I should do something. I wanted to save the bird. I couldn’t bring it inside, because - well, her name is Rory. Bring the bird to the vet? I don’t think so. So I drove away.

And I cried. I cried. I thought- I don’t know what to do. I want to save you, or be there with you, but I don’t know what to do.

When I told co-workers I was leaving, I tried not to show how happy I was. I was so ready to be done. So tired. So burnt out. So, so, so tired.

Then I started telling my kids. One after one- I have something I need to tell you.

One after one, the next question was always the same.

Why?

It’s one thing to explain it to coworkers and foster parents. They may be sad, but they can understand. They understand burnt out. They get emotionally drained. They tell me you need to do what you need to do. I would nod my head and agree. It was time. I told myself you need to go before one of your kids or families pays the price for you being burnt out. My foster parents had a range of reactions- tears, lots and lots of questions, disbelief at my next move (insurance?!?!?), and understanding, compassion, and support.

It’s one thing to tell them.

It’s a whole other thing to answer why from my kids.

How do you tell them? How do you explain to a six year old that you can’t walk around carrying his pain anymore? The pain that he deals with personally every day- how do you explain that?

How do you tell a fourteen year old you can’t fight for him anymore? That you’re running out of energy and can’t fight his battles for him? How do you explain that you are scared that you won’t be able to fight the way you have for the last two years and that he will end up paying the price for that?

How do you explain to a thirteen year old that you are leaving, again, and that she’s going to have to have a new worker, again. How do you respond when she tells you how much she hates changing workers, and tells you that she tells you everything, and won’t have anyone else to do that with?

How do you help an eleven year old understand that you can’t finish the work you’ve started with her, because it’s time for you to go? What do you say when she asks why? I just don’t know.

I don’t know what to tell them. I don’t know how to explain that I can’t carry their pain and fight their battles anymore. I don’t know how to reconcile the fact that I can’t be there for them,  yet I ask them to live with their histories and their pain every day of their lives. I don’t know how to explain the personal toll that my attachment to them, my passion for helping them, changing their lives, has had. I don’t know how to help them understand that the toll has become too great, at least for a time.

I’ve always wanted to be a social worker. There’s never been anything else for me, besides mom. I knew I wouldn’t fit anywhere else. I just knew. There’s always been a passion inside me to fight for those who are helpless. The bird, the children. I’ve always wanted to rescue them. As I became a little more experienced, a little less naive, I realized that I couldn’t rescue them. But I could show them someone who cared, I could be someone who was willing to fight for them, I could advocate for them. If I changed their lives in some small way, if I saved one of them in one way, it would be worth it.

I feel like I’m not only leaving a job, but that I’m cutting off a limb. I feel like I’m walking away from a part of me that has always been there. People joke that I am going to the “dark side” and I don’t know what to say. I feel like I’m walking away from such a huge part of who I am, in order to save the rest of who I am. This is something I still don’t completely understand. I know on several levels that it’s time to go, that I personally need a break and a change. I know that I need to focus on other parts of my life right now, and that while I am still pouring my heart and soul into these kids I cannot focus on the things that I need to elsewhere. I know, but I don’t understand.

I know. It’s a lot of emotion for someone changing jobs. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe I’m overestimating the impact that me leaving is going to have. But I see the look in their eyes as they asked why. I hear the frustration they feel at finally finding someone they trust, only to lose yet another social worker. I feel the pain of having to say goodbye to someone yet again.

I feel guilty for causing any of them any kind of pain. It’s one thing to be the bearer of bad news, it’s another to be the cause. I know, I know I need to do what I need to do.

I want to save you, but I don’t know how anymore and I’ve run out of energy trying.

Why, indeed?

You know how there are just pictures you love? And they’re not the best, or the cutest, but you just love them anyways? This is one of those. I even saved it for the last day of daily Rory photos for that reason. I just love this picture. I think it’s because it’s got my family in it. On our beat up couch. I don’t know. I love it though.

Adios, NaBloPoMo. I can only hope I get a prize. If not, well I guess I got the satisfaction of knowing I bored people posted every day for thirty days.

I actually already have a post typed and saved for tomorrow. It’s more than five sentences/ fractions, too.

Almost done!! woohoo!

I have a friend who’s in labor. She’s been in the hospital for about 48 hours now getting induced. The baby’s still not here. I’ve heard from her husband, so I know all is ok, but man. I’m this anxious and it’s not even my kid- I can’t imagine being them!

Keep them in your thoughts. That’s all I’ve got for tonight, sorry.

Bittersweet Blog is holding a contest for a FANTASTIC photo printer. I want to win! I’m using a series that I posted a few weeks ago of Rory.

Rory under the blanket

You should go check it out! Some of the other entries are great as well!

You have to look closely, I know, but she’s in there. There’s a plate of shrimp that she’s eyeing. Shannon, rest assured: after this picture she got banished to the locked bedroom.

Questions Again!

Meredith asks: I’m here. Here’s a question, and maybe it is too personal. Knowing what you know about the social services system, would you ever personally adopt a “waiting child” to be part of your family? Adoption is on my mind a lot these days.

We would absolutely adopt, and will absolutely adopt. I feel very strongly, for us, that it is important to adopt from foster care and from the US. I do not mean that is the best choice for everyone. There are a few reasons I feel strongly about that. The first one is in regards to private adoption. I feel that there are couples waiting in line to adopt privately. If you go on any private adoption website, there are hundreds of couples with “letters to the birth mom”  up on the site. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for a child. Waiting to be matched. Waiting to be chosen. Don’t get me wrong- there is always some kind of wait involved in adoption. However, these couples are knee deep. I think it’s great on so many levels. It gives moms who feel that adoption is the best choice for them the opportunity to carefully choose the couple that she feels fits best. I don’t think it’s right for us. As far as international adoption- clearly there are more babies, toddlers, and children then there are families waiting, although you wouldn’t think that given, again, the wait times. But there are clearly children in the world that need families and homes. I am somewhat uncomfortable with two aspects of international adoption. The first is that if we went through with international adoption, we would be taking a child out of their own culture and history. Now, I don’t think this in and of itself is inherently evil. Again, those children need families and homes. I just wish all the money we spent on international adoption could go towards fortifying those countries to adopt their own children. Which brings me to my second point, and probably the most potent of all my reasons to adopt through the US foster care system. I do not feel comfortable adopting a child from another country when I know there are children here, in my own backyard, that desperately need loving homes. There are babies, toddlers, children and teens here. They all need homes and families that love them. I feel some kind of responsibility to extend our home and family to one or more of those children, when we are able.

However. We are young, and have never parented. We will likely not start with teenagers. Both of us would like to parent an infant. If we do not have our own biological children, or decide to adopt before doing IVF, we will get approved as pre-adoptive foster parents and wait until an infant who is legally freed is available. This is of course a wait. But those babies still need loving homes. (as do they all.)

After that? Who knows. Like I said, we are young and have never parented. I hope that we will continue on that path and foster and adopt more children, perhaps not all infants. But we need to take that step by step, and it’s obviously not all my decision, either. We need to see how things go and what life throws at us. We need to evaluate, each step of the way, where we are in life and as potential parents to children with special needs.

You asked about the social services system. It is so clearly broken it’s not even funny. I’ve had intimate encounters with just how broken our child welfare system is. I watch TV about children in abusive homes and the heroes wanting to put them in foster homes- and I cringe, thinking- what if the foster homes are no better? It’s a crap shoot at best. We try our best to make it better, and to provide children in foster care with loving, safe homes. But the truth is the system is broken and needs alot of work. And we are placing children with complex and unique needs into homes that often do not have enough support, and those folks are human too. The needs of the child welfare system, and it’s brokenness, are not going to determine whether or not we foster and adopt. Regardless of the system, those kids still need homes.

That said, there is a big caveat. I work in what we call “therapeutic” of “specialized” foster care. The kids in my program come with a history of many placements, dangerous behaviors, difficult behaviors, mental health histories, psychiatric medications, etc. They come with a variety of letters attached to their names: RAD, PTSD, ODD, ADHD. There is no telling what any child will grow up to be, and any child Khalil and I take into our home we will be committed to. At this point in our life, we aren’t ready to parent a child with those kinds of needs. Again- in ten or twenty years? Who knows. But now? We’re not there. So we probably wouldn’t parent through the specialized foster care programs.

There that is. My long and possibly very disjointed answer. The one thing I want to make clear: This is where Khalil and I are now, always subject to change, and our choices are not everyone’s choices. I very clearly feel that each person/ couple/ family tries the very best to make the choices that are right for them, whether it’s foster to adopt, private adoption, international adoption, or nothing of the sort. These choices are personal and private, and I would never dare to criticize another person’s choice.

would you mind? I’m trying to sit here.

It only took me 26 days to officially hit the wall. I know I kind of hit it yesterday, but today I literally  have nothing to say besides what I said yesterday.

Sorry.

Last week we had our first snow of the season. It was beautiful. People were already complaining, but we wouldn’t be true New Englanders if we didn’t complain about the weather. Most of it was gone in the rain later that day, and much of the state didn’t even get snow.

By Thursday, Thanksgiving, it was too warm to be outside with a coat on.

They’re playing. My husband, and the cat, that is.

After tonight, only five more nights of daily blogging. I seemed to have an easier time this year than I did last year.

Anyways. All I have to say tonight is: I am crabby. My reasons, they are petty.

I feel fat.

I am PMSing.

My fat pants? Are too tight.

When this this just melt off my body? When, I ask you??

Time for bed after a long day.

It’s days like these having a public blog makes me a little nervous:

Search Engine Terms

These are terms people used to find your blog.

Today

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The two that bug me in particular?

~cute fat girls (cuz I KNOW they aren’t actually look for the post Fat Girls Want to be Cute, Too, even though that’s what they found)

~social workers bullshit. I know they could have been looking for anything, but I hope they weren’t trying to complain about bullshit from social workers. Ahem.

Rory watches while we all go bananas over Pictionary.

Rory helped me clean the apartment.

When I went for dip we forgot, Khalil found a woodchuck and got really close.

Set out hors d’oeuvres. Thankfully, since when family came they were starving.

Table was set and ready to go, the food just wasn’t ready yet.

We sat down to eat…

and eat…

After turkey lows-

And highs!

My mother in law and our best friend’s daughter played an intense game of war, but it was not as intense as…

Pictionary, Round ONE

Time for Dessert!

The little ones were gone, the alcohol was flowing.

Just in time for round TWO!

David looking like, well, David

Brian after he decided to shake Sprite in a martini shaker.

Khalil doing what he does while I do what I do.

All in all, not a bad night.  

Is it wrong of me to be thankful that Thanksgiving is almost over?

Actually, we’re having a lovely day. Lots of family, friends, and laughter. It is as it should be, I suppose.

Mostly.

Yeah. She was sitting on the stool, and I put her dinner down, and she decided to eat it from the stool. I don’t know. Same stool you see here. It’s her stool.

My day, in bullet points.

~planned to get up at 6am and clean the house. Who did I think I was??? Got up at 7am and cuddled with the cat for an hour and a half. That’s more like me, anyways.

~went to work. Argued with various folks who I don’t agree with. Praised whomever that I only have a few short weeks there.

~had mighty plans to have everything- cooking, cleaning done by 8pm. See above re: who do I think I am?

~finally began cleaning after an hour of cuddling with the cat. again. I can’t find it in me to boot her off my lap.

~attacked our bathroom with Tilex. The mildew is gone, but I appear to have poisoned my husband. We had windows and doors open - the smell was that potent- for several hours, but he just went to bed feeling dizzy. I’m hoping there’s not something I should be doing, and I’m also hoping there’s not something wrong with me because I’m not feeling dizzy and I’m the one that had mildew remover dripping from the ceiling onto my head.

~finished cleaning and ate dinner.

~finally got my arse off the couch to blog. Must go cook now, and there are still two hours of TV left on TiVo to watch!! What to do??

~apologize on blog for horribly boring post. Is doubtful you will see generic “I’m thankful for” post on here this year. I’m thankful for three things: 07 is almost over, I have the kind of mother in law that is thrilled to bring alcohol to Thanksgiving, and the prospect of consuming said alcohol tomorrow.

OMG! The Date on my blog says November 21st-but I swear I hit publish on November 20th, I did NOT miss a date blogging. UGH.  I published for the 1st time (before editing) like 5 minutes ago, and it’s only 12:01am!! If I get d’q-ed for whatever awesome prize I’m getting….

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For the first time in my blogging 2+ years, I’ve been tagged for a meme.

It’s run rampant around the internets, but I ignored it, hoping that just once someone would tag me.

And they did! Someone found me on the NaBloPoMo randomizer and tagged away! I’ll take it.

The meme is 7 weird things about you. Shouldn’t be too hard…

The Rules:

• Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
• Share 7 random and/or weird facts about yourself.
• Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
• Let each person know that they’ve been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

1. The only reason I like lobster is because of the butter. I actually don’t really like the taste of lobster. Or shrimp, for that matter.

2. I eat my M&Ms sorted by color, in color matching pairs. If I have a bag of M&Ms and there are odd ones left over after I’ve sorted and matched all my M&Ms, I will give them away or throw them away. I will not eat them. Once I almost had an anxiety attack when Khalil tried to make me eat two M&Ms without letting me see the color of them. If I get M&Ms for the movies, I use my cell phone to match the colors.

3. I also like other colors, and sometimes numbers, to match. I prefer all one color, but if you have more than one please alternate them in a way that makes sense. I am not a huge fan of randomness. Perhaps this is why I don’t love abstract art.

4. When I get stressed, I count letters in my head in multiples of three. I also play this weird game with letters where I try to make words even up with letters that are tall and short and have all the vowels in them, with the vowels and consonants alternating.

5. I do not have a clinical diagnosis of OCD, believe it or not.

6. I can’t wear socks to bed. And it makes me NUTS to see someone with socks on the wrong way. I tried to fix Ellie’s strawberry shortcake socks the weekend I babysat for her, because they were on sideways and the toe seam wrapped front to back instead of going across her toes. It was bugging the hell out of me. When I tried to fix them, she told me that she liked them like that because Strawberry Shortcake was on top. A logic I can grasp, but I still had to do deep breathing.

7. I don’t love big social situations. An evening with 1 - 3 other people, like tonight, is awesome. I actually avoid situations with more than that. I have one group of friends I’m finally comfortable enough with to enjoy spending time in big groups with them. Otherwise, I hate it. I hate work lunches for this reason.

I think I’m supposed to tag 7 people, which should be… greaaaaaaaaaaat.

ok.

Khalil

Annie

Melissa

Kate

Through The Debris

Kenny

Elevated Umbrella

I’ve written about my job a few times before.

Leaving it is not going so well.

My mom said, and I think she’s right, that it’s amazing how quickly people ‘get over it’ once you leave. That there is lots of brouhaha when you are in the process of leaving a job, but that once you leave they kind of- move on.

I guess that’s supposed to be reassuring. And it is, in a way. I care so much about my kids and my families, that I don’t want them falling apart when I am gone. I want them to transition to different social workers and clinicians seamlessly, because I don’t want to be the cause of any kind of difficulty for them. My job for two years has been to support them and get them through the hard stuff.

I think that’s the hardest part. My favorite foster mom (yes, sorry, I have a favorite. I love most of them but I have a favorite) started crying when I told her that I was leaving. She asked me what she was going to do. I talk to this foster parent almost daily. She calls me for the little things- ‘what time are you bringing him home’ to the big things- ‘he blew up and walked out of the house. we need you’ and everything in between. She cried and told me she felt like she was losing her right arm.

If you have a good one, the relationship between social worker and foster parent is an odd one. I’ve said before, it’s a bit like co-parenting. They call to ask how to handle different and difficult parenting decisions. They call to share joys and praises- good grades, good decisions, good moments. They call for the difficult stuff- the days the kids are a mess, the days they feel like they really just can’t do this anymore. You, as that child’s social worker, understand the special needs of that child in a way their friends who are raising biological children do not. You understand the special needs and issues that are associating with raising children in foster care. You support the parents, day in and day out, through all of that.

We are there to understand when they say they can’t do it anymore. To be with them and encourage them to hang in there, for one more minute, hour, day, week, month. Hopefully, before anyone knows it, it’s turned into years. We’re also there when the cost on them is too high and they can’t do it anymore. We may get angry at them, but we do our best to support them anyways.

So yes. Will other workers be able to do it? Absolutely, I know that they will. I know that because the other worker’s families are as attached to those workers as mine are to me.

But they are my families. And with a few of them, I have spent 1-2 years pouring my heart and soul into those families and those children. You cannot pour your heart into the children without doing the same for the parents and the families, because they are who keeps those children together day in and day out.

I knew she’d be upset. I had a feeling I might cry. I know it’s a boundary thing, but we in foster care talk alot about boundaries. How they are just not the same in foster care, for all the reasons I talked about above. You get attached, and they do too. They tell me they’ll miss me.

I know I will miss them. I know that I need a break, I know I need to move away. My heart and my head need some time apart. I need to take some time to focus on myself, as selfish as that feels. I battle that constantly- how can I do this?

I know, though, that if I don’t, eventually I will be no good to anyone. I constantly use the analogy of a well with parents. Talk about their own wells and the wells of their children. If we as adults don’t keep our wells full, they will run dry. And we will have nothing left to give.

My well is dangerously close to dry. And before it dries completely and I have to cover it for good, I am going to take a break. Fill up my well, and come back- in one form or another- full and ready to give again.

I will miss them though. I wish they could understand just how much. I carry them all with me, and I think I always will.

Jessica makes her debut in my blog!

The worst part ever about NaBloPoMo??

The day when you’re in bed at 10:52 pm and realize that you still haven’t blogged yet.

Dammit.

Well, am still working on the website. Maybe it will be up by this time next year? After the WYSIWYG nightmare that I am in over trying to make a real website, WordPress feels like a breath of fresh air.

Otherwise it was a quiet day.

I love quiet weekends. Even though I’m usually bored by the end of the weekend, they recharge my batteries.

Have website name and URL for business.

Have gotten access to c-panel (the control panel).

Am totally lost. Determined to figure it out, but lost nonetheless. Will emerge sometime. I hope.

what? we’re wrapping presents? can I help?

let me check and make sure you got the tape on right over here…

not a bad job, if I do say so myself…

I’ll just,  um, watch this box for you…

November has typically been a hard month for us. My husband has lots of painful memories of November, and he usually struggles through the month. Every year it gets better, and we can breathe a little easier.

Right about the time he stopped needing to crawl into a dark corner for the month, it became my turn.

For a long time the grief, depression and anger subsided. I felt whole getting through the day. It felt a little bit easier. I could think of them without crying, without not knowing what to do with myself. I could talk about them.

Then I started realizing that I was having a tough time with all of that. It started getting tougher to get through the days. I started thinking about what happened more. I started getting more snippy and snappy and out of sorts and… sad alot. I realized it was the end of October.

I realized it was almost November. I told Khalil that I would like to crawl into bed now and come out in 2008. Clearly 2007 has been the worst year of my life. I used to hear people ask what was the best year and what was the worst year of your life. And I used to think I didn’t have a worst year. I knew there were years with best parts and worst parts, but not a whole year of best or worst. I now know what a worst year feels like. It’s when you feel like from the time the clock says 12:01 on January first, on through every day, you just can’t wait for the year to be over. It’s the year when every time you turn around the hits keep coming. It’s the year when you never really full like you can take a deep breath of pure air and just smile and be happy.

I now know what that feels like. This has been my worst year.

I realized a few things about November. First of all, it’s November. Which is always hard and I always dread.

The second thing I realized about November is this: the nightmare I called my life for six months started the day before Thanksgiving. That day I brought my grandma to the eye doctor. She had some loss of vision and wanted to get it checked out. The day is a bit fuzzy for me, but I remember being scared that she was not going to be ok. We didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of the brain tumors that eventually killed her.

Third, it’s the start of the Holiday Season. Halloween comes, and then it’s all about the HOLIDAYs! People start asking about Christmas shopping and what your holiday plans are. The truth is, I literally don’t know how to face the holidays this year. I’m sure when they come I’ll grin and bear it. But I don’t really want to. I want to, as I said, crawl into bed and just skip them. I’m not entirely convinced on why I can’t. That would be one way to get through the season. My memories of last year are tainted. My dad came on Thanksgiving. He was not feeling well, but my stepmom wanted to come and I wanted him here. He spent the meal time asleep on our bed, and then they went home. It was sad, and I remember feeling sad. I remember so desperately wanting him to enjoy the day with us. Christmas Eve came, and we always spend that with my dad and my stepmom’s family. It was fun, but it was a tough year because you could just see how sick he was. It was also Christmas Eve of 05 when we realized he looked sicker. So Christmas Eve 06 was a painful memory of how healthy he looked when we thought he looked so sick. Because now he really looked sick. But I remember treasuring being there. Christmas came, and we talked alot about Christmas. Because my mom, sister, and I were scared it would be the last one we would have with my grandma. And it was. It was the last I had with both of them.

This year is the first without them. And my life comes full circle. I’m heading back towards the day that started the hardest months of my life. And I’m scared to death. I don’t know how to walk through all of it. I don’t.

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I wrote this about a week ago, but didn’t post it. I’m figuring it out- you walk through it by putting one foot in front of the other. Every day. That’s the only way.

She’s in there!

Yes she is!

See!

Rory loves this game. I don’t know why. It’s the put a blanket/towel/sweatshirt over her and laugh hysterically at her getting out game. She will poke her nose out and then put it back in. Or if she gets out, she’ll walk around until you put it over her again. It’s hysterical, though, because when she lifts her head up the blanket goes up… well, you probably have to be there. Just take my word for it.

Halfway there!!! WOOT!

Questions from Baggage, Part Two:

she asks:

If you had a million dollars what would you buy? Do you like abstract art? What is a fear you have overcome?

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If you had a million dollars what would you buy?

For starters, a house. For me. Then one for my sister. That’s in the same town as me.

After that new cars. We’d invest alot.

I’d buy a year off, maybe?

This question is hard. What would you really buy?? Would I just blow it all on a million dollar house? Would I buy a reasonable house, reasonable cars, and retirement? Would I buy us some time off? oh- I’d definitely buy us unlimited amounts of IVF so even if the first one doesn’t work we’re not stuck with no options.

I’d like to think I’d do something charitable with it. I don’t know what though. Oh- I would buy my husband some rare comic books. I know what else! I’d buy myself all the camera equipment I need. And someone to build me a friggin website already.

It’s random, no? That’s my version of what would you buy free association.

Do you like abstract art?

I do not. I’ve never understood it. I like art that tells a story, or has a meaning or a purpose behind it. I’m not saying that abstract art doesn’t, don’t get me wrong. I just never understand what the story is. So it’s not my style.

What is a fear you have overcome?

At first I thought there were no fears that I had overcome. I mean, I have a fear of fire, and I watch Rescue Me, does that count? I’m not running into burning buildings though.

One that I overcame was the fear of people above me. I used to think of bosses and higher administration as some kind of higher power, I think. I was scared to share my opinion or disagree. I mostly did ok with direct supervisors but anytime someone above them said boo to me, I said, “Ok!”. In the last few years though, I have learned that in general they don’t bite. And if I trust my judgement, often they will as well. They are just people, too. What a weird fear, huh?

The other one I’m working on overcoming is my fear of my own creativity. I KNOW! These are so weird! I’ve never, ever, ever thought of myself as creative. I’m relational, and insightful, and fairly intelligent, but never creative. When you ask me for ideas of what to draw, my mind goes blank. Where people can look at fabric, or paints, or clay, or any other creative medium and see things, I see white. It’s always frustrated me, because I’ve always been impressed with people who are creative. I’ve always wanted to be an artsy-fartsy type. I admire people who are in touch with that part of themselves. I act a little disdaining towards it, mostly because I am jealous.

And then came photography. I don’t claim to be the world’s best photographer, but I like it. I love it. I love taking my camera and my mind seeing things that I can do with it. I love when it works, in the way that drawing never did. I could never get the pictures to match what my mind saw. Photography’s not like that. When I have the camera, my mind just starts seeing pictures. They don’t always come out the way I envision them, but sometimes they do. And those are beautiful moments for me.

A big piece in me overcoming this fear is actually doing something with it besides framing my own photographs and hanging them in our bedroom. To put myself out there as a photographer takes alot of guts for me. I feel like it says something about me that I have doubts about saying. It says, “you take pictures, and you’re good at it.” When people ask I tell them I’m learning, an amateur, or getting started. All of which is true.

But I love doing it, and I keep doing it. I’m proud of myself for that.

Today is the Season Premiere of ProjRun!!

So that’s what I’m doing. I debated answering more questions, but honestly I’m drained tonight.

Telling work I was leaving was bittersweet. I am SO HAPPY for the change, but I have some coworkers that I adore. I will miss them very, very much. My direct supervisor was wonderful. My director… nice, and complimentary, but made me feel sad and bad about leaving. I am going to give him the benefit of the doubt- I’m sure he didn’t mean to make me feel bad, but nonetheless I did.

I have a few days before I have to tell my clients and families. I am not looking forward to that.

I have a confession about the Rory photos: I don’t take them each day and then post them. They’re photos from the last two or so months. I kind of started taking more photos, and found that I love taking them of her. So these are all from the past few months. But not all from each day.

I still think she’s cute. Seriously. Who doesn’t love opening up my blog to a new picture of my cat every day?? I love it.

I’ll be changing my “About Me” page in about 4 weeks.

I’ll no longer be a foster care social worker.

*moment of silence, please*

I’m actually leaving direct care altogether, for a time. Not permanently, I don’t think, but who knows where life will lead? I need a break, I’ve been very burnt out. The first time I stated that I didn’t care about what happened with a situation with a kid, I knew it was time to go. The truth is that I did care, I do care. But I am at the point where not caring has seemed like a really great option, and I cannot do that to my kids. I won’t do it to my kids.

I’m leaving a job where I work about 45 hours a week, and come home at all kinds of crazy hours. (9:30 tonight). I will be going to a job where I work 8:30 to 5. Every day. With a lunch break. With a gym onsite. Yes, I will be working on what us in the mental health field think of as the dark side- an insurance company. But I’ve been promised I’ll still use my clinical skills, and I think I will. I also think that I will learn and grow in other ways.

At the very least I will get a much needed break from some of the total BS I’ve been dealing with for two years.

My co-workers and bosses know that I have been unhappy, and that I have been wanting a change. My clients know nothing of the sort and I dread telling them. I’m sure they’ll all be fine, but I have built of very strong relationships with some of my families and kids, relationships that we’ve worked very hard at in the last two years. I will miss some of them very, very much.

But it’s time for me to move on. At the very least take a break.

I’m very, very excited.

We watched Journeyman, which isn’t surprising as my husband loves shows about time travel. He likes this show, and I like it too. I also like watching something he likes for a change.

Then he insisted on explaining time travel to me, and something about if you die in the past that doesn’t mean you die in the future. This is a concept that in the past I had yet to grasp, and didn’t feel like getting frustrated. So I told him that I would only let him explain it one time if he helped me clean the kitchen.

So he did. Both. Explain it and help with the kitchen. He’s a good egg.

When we were done, I remembered that I had yet to post today. I asked him to go and do a quick “guest post” for me. He flat out refused. I said I still have to do the litter box, finish the kitchen, and post. I’m tired. Please just post for me.

He told me he’d clean the litter box instead.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Khalil does alot of household stuff. He cooks, grocery shops, and does the laundry. He hates to clean though, and that includes the litter box.

That guy that has his own blog won’t type me a guest blog post?? WTF?

He came back into the kitchen after cleaning the litter box, and explained that he holds the virtues of NaBloPoMo very highly and if I commit to blog every day for a month, I should be the one doing the blogging.

Harumph.

Still. He cleaned the litter box instead of a two sentence guest blog. I am not sure I’ll recover.

Today is Veteran’s Day.

My dad was a veteran.

He was an alcoholic too, but I believe that the war he served in had a huge impact on his alcoholism. There’s no way to say that being in the war = alcoholic = death, and no way to guarantee it wouldn’t have turned out the same way if he hadn’t served. But I believe it had a part. A big one.

Happy Veterans Day.

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I don’t mean this post to take away from honoring and thanking our veterans for what they have done for us as a country. I greatly appreciate all that veterans do for us and for our country.

Thank you, Veterans. Thank you, dad. I’m so sorry.

She’s under a footstool. She’s been going under there ever since she was a kitten and actually fit. Now she just thinks she fits. It’s funniest when she runs to get out from under the stool and it lifts off the ground as she goes flying.

Baggage asks:

ok..why did you choose your job? Do you like sushi? If you had a million dollars what would you buy? Do you like abstract art? What is a fear you have overcome?

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I’m only answering two today.

Why did you choose your job?

The long and short of it is that when I was in high school, and heading to college, I really felt like there was nothing else that fit, other than social work. I had a dream one day to run a home for babies infected with HIV/AIDS. I went into social work to somehow try and achieve that goal, and ended up doing what I do.

I still feel that way, most days. What I do in social work fits my personality. I love advocating for people, and I love the mental health field. I like fighting for the underdog. It makes me sad that I’m burnt out and needing a break from doing what I do best. I can only hope that taking a break will help me come back stronger and more passionate in a few years.

Do you like sushi?

No. I really don’t.

Except that yesterday, I tried posting from work and it didn’t work and I didn’t have time the rest of the day.

So today you get two pictures of her.

Annie  asks:

Me! Me! I have a question!!

Want to come write a paper for me???

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No. In fact, my friend, I do not. Especially not a paper on Communication Theory, which I suspect is the paper you are writing. I’m all set.

I wonder if folks who have been to grad school think that as much of it was total and complete BS as I did. I used to joke that when you get a degree in Social Work you are actually also majoring in the Art of Bull Shit. (don’t get me wrong. There is serious value to going to school for social work. You learn alot. Especially about things like how to diagnose yourself and everyone you know with some kind of disorder.) However, alot of social work school was just alot of making this up that sounded good.

Don’t you feel confident in my abilities now??

So no, I’m all set. I do want, one day, to head back for my PhD in The Art of Bull Shit, but that day is not today. Or tomorrow. Or anytime soon.

In case you were wondering…

The weight loss thing is not happening right now. As in, officially. After work yesterday I bought a bag of Cheetos and took them home with me. (Call me Britney.)

I just don’t care. I don’t know. I want to be skinnier, and not hate myself quite so much when I look in the mirror. But right now, how I look, what I wear, my health- none of them are motivating me enough to make good food choices or get off my ass and exercise.

Rather than make myself miserable by half-assing it, I’m just going to do what I’m going to do. I’m going to make some effort to not go bananas (i.e.: I didn’t buy the tube of cookie dough yesterday to sit and eat raw with a spoon. Go me with the willpower!), but I am not going to make myself nuts pretending that I care about weight loss when in all honesty, right now I just do not.

So there it is. I’m fully disclosed. I just don’t care right now.

To give you some perspective on where she is:

We picked the sexy 70s counters out ourselves. Ha.

I’ve literally got nothing.

Anyone have questions you want to ask? That’s what everyone else is doing.

This has never worked before- I ask people to delurk, no one comments… but that’s ok. I’ll give it a shot. Ask away. Ha. Aaaaaaaaaand either way, hopefully tomorrow I’ll have something interesting to say.

Halloween, only a week late.

The Saturday before Halloween we went to a party.

It was not a fun day, and we almost didn’t go to the party. I made these puppies, from scratch.

We went though. I was crabby and tired and not happy and I feel bad. We could have had a good time, but I was just not having it.

The cups came out cute though, no? Folks liked them, I heard.

The one in which my sister dies a little inside.

I’ve found her up there just sitting prissily. Of course the second I get the camera she moves.

So yesterday my mom said, “Can I ask you a question?”

I got a wee bit nervous at that and said, “You can ask whatever you want, but that doesn’t mean I’ll answer it” and we both kind of laughed.

She then asked if we are still “trying”. I wanted to be a smart-ass and tell her that no, I am in fact no longer trying to lose weight, I just don’t care anymore. Or say yes, we are in fact both trying to deal with the fact that we both hate our jobs and want new ones. I didn’t though. I answered her and told her yes, we are trying. It is in fact stupid to tell infertile people to not try, no matter what scary disease you’re not sure they have. Khalil and I both laugh about the day we sat at one of our many doctors visits. He more or less told us that we were not going to get pregnant without the help of IVF. After we told him the plan to start IVF sometime next year, when I’m cleared from the scary disease I probably don’t have, he then asked us what we were doing to prevent pregnancy. I wanted to tell him having sex seems to be working great for us. Can we just keep doing that?? I also wanted to tell him that he just. told. us. that we’re not going to get pregnant on our own. Was he listening to himself? At ALL?

So anyways. I told my mom briefly about that, and that yes, we were still trying. But that I had just gotten my period, so it was going- well, as expected, I suppose.

Fast forward to this morning. My mom and I are chatting and she appears to be getting even braver with the questions. She proceeded to ask me (and this is probably the fourth time someone has asked me this, including clients at work) if I put my legs up on the wall after we have sex.

I told her in no uncertain terms that I was not having THIS particular conversation with her, and she then told me that she learned everything she knows from TV. I love my mom so much, and I know that she cares. I know her asking is her way of saying she’s thinking of us and hoping things are going ok. I know it’s her way of telling me she cares what’s going on with me.

But I really cannot discuss intimate details of my sex life with my mother. I cannot. The internet, perhaps. Not my mom.

I know how she feels.

Today is one of those days that if I was not doing NaBloPoMo, I wouldn’t be writing. I don’t write when I feel off like this, and when there are long stretches of me saying nothing, often that means long stretches of me feeling off. (sometimes, though, I’m just busy).

It’s one of those days where nothing feels right, everything feels off. The fun stuff has a smudge of crankiness around it. No one else does things right and that includes me. Where I want to snip and snap and crank but there’s no one that deserves it around, so I stuff it as much as I can and it just leaks out around the edges. One of those nights where Khalil starts feeling edgey because I’ve bitten his head off twelve too many times in the last twelve minutes.

Don’t you know? The days when you feel on the verge of tears all day long for no good reason? The days where you are stressed worried and upset about everything and nothing at all, all at the same time? The days when you vascillate wildly between falling off the edge of a cliff and being in the middle of a calm lake?

It’s when he asks what’s wrong, and I answer with both nothing and I don’t know. Usually one right after the other. Nothing. I don’t know. Because the truth is nothing is often my way of saying I don’t know when something is wrong. But I truly don’t know what it is. If I’ve finally figured it out it doesn’t take me long to come out with it.

Often it’s the collection of small but overwhelming stuff. The apartment is a mess (really, I am dreading going to work tomorrow). I don’t want to  unpack (really, I’m worrying about them, missing them. Feeling badly that I left them). I have to pay the bills (really, I’m worried about a job. I hate mine and I want a new one). And then maybe some more that are yet unnamed. I don’t know.

It’s one of those days, and there’s a reason I don’t write about them. Ellie is at the age where she whines (I don’t know if there’s actually an age for that, or if you just have to be a girl, because I remember getting in trouble for whining when I was graduating from high school at 17). All weekend long Shannon and I told her not to whine. And posts like this sound like one. big. whiny. whine.

Would you like some cheese with my whine??

He’s ok, and that’s all that matters.

He wasn’t feeling well, and at 3:30 am he woke up again. He didn’t sound good (first moment of the “I’m not liking this” feeling), and I called my sister. She asked to talk to him, and after that tod me to bring him to the ED at the hospital she works at. I literally had one full second of full-blown panic, which I then reigned in to a very focused do-what-I-need-to-do mode. Which I did. I did what I needed to do and got him there.

He’s ok.

He had croup. He got a shot and some breathing treatments. I took Ellie home and we went back to bed, and later in the morning Shannon and Caleb came home.

And then I could take full breaths again.

He is ok, that’s all that matters.

That kind of has a nice ring to it, a nice symmetry.

I think the thing that I love most is just the playing. It’s Caleb and Ellie, to be sure. As we read the book Howard and the Purple Crayon tonight, Caleb got an imaginary purple crayon and drew all the things Howard (Harold?) did. After we read Fancy Nancy, Ellie told me that she’s not too interested in being fancy. She doesn’t know all the words, she said.

They love me for who I am, as they do everyone they meet. They don’t care what you look like, only that you treat them well. They don’t care if you have the right shirt on, only that you love them unconditionally. Patience is rewarded with smiles and with gems of sentences that come out of their brains. Not taking every moment seriously is rewarded with the joy of seeing what comes spontaneously from them.

Tonight we also read the book Caleb and Noah’s Ark (or something, I don’t feel like getting these books to check the titles. Sorry.) Caleb the Caterpillar brings his mate (who Ellie told me is named Kassidy in the book, although she is unnamed in the book) onto the ark. I asked Caleb who he would bring and he started giggling and told me Elizabeth. Apparently Elizabeth is a girl in his class and he told me, “Elizabeth is my wife”. Ellie then told me she is going to marry Harry from her class. I asked her if Harry likes her, too, and she told me he gives her funny looks and then she just smiles at him.

It’s all so uncomplicated and simple when you are eight and five. And wonderful.

As a fun addition, I’m going to try and post a picture of Rory every day. A’la Chuck. Only not on her own page, and only for the month.

I’m heading to my sister’s this weekend to take care of these boogers:

I think I’m inappropriately excited to be babysitting. I can’t wait to see them. I need some Caleb and Ellie time, some time to maybe take myself and my life a little less seriously, and just enjoy being Aunt Paige Who They Love for a few days. Even when they’re mad because I said no, you can’t have candy for dinner, and they tell me they want mommy. Or daddy. Or Uncle Khalil, or anyone who would say yes to such a reasonable request. I will love them and being with them even then. We’re going to see the Bee Movie, which should be fun.

Also, I will be figuring out how to continue with NaBloPoMo from my sisters house. See, she went all fancy and got a Mac. I have in fact used one before, but maybe twice and a very long time ago. I think they’re really pretty though and I’m looking forward to using hers. Hopefully not breaking it. All I want to do is make sure I get online to check my stats meet the NaBloPoMo requirements and blog every day. I’m looking forward to going.

As with last year, the only theme that I will have for NaBloMe  NaBloPoMo this month will be that I will start off my posts with the same title: the # of days we are in NaBloPoMo. Only this year I’m being extra fancy and adding: Year Two. I know, stop me now.

Look forward to pics of the kids, but not this weekend cuz no way am I going to try and attempt uploading them to my sister’s computer and somehow getting them onto my blog. So next week. I’ll try for another slide show, that was pretty fun.

I’m gearing up for NaBloPoMo.

So I’ve been trying to post more often.

And besides for complaining about my job more, all I can come up with is that I’m already running out of things to say. Two days before I start daily posting.

Oh, and I haven’t been exercising either. In case you were wondering. Things are going swimmingly.