Here in CT, we are preparing as best we can for the oncoming hurricane Irene. We've got our bottled water, candles, and basic supplies. We've cranked down the temp in our fridge and freezer. We're currently making a hot dinner, and planning 2 other meals made tonight that will be good cold in the next day or so.
For all my readers and friends in the path of the storm, we're praying for your safety as well as our own.
Til next squeak,
I've been told I have an inferiority complex. Yeah, no kidding.
So, having recently joined Facebook, that dubious joy of a site that allows you to find more people than you ever thought you'd lost track of, that ol' "gosh I'm a loser" blues really set in.
Honestly though, after finding an abundance of people (some I got along with, others I didn't, a few I hated) and seeing how successful they are, or how much they've changed, it's hard to not feel like a tool.
After all, I still live here in town. Actually, I live 2 blocks from where I grew up. I don't have any nifty careers to report. In fact, I don't work at all. I've got that distinct combo of letters attached to me that seems to others like an infectious disease- SAHM. I married a man who went to the rival high school. We met at a gas station. Nothing wildly fascinating to report there. We have 2 sons, and they currently attend the elementary school that I went to long ago. Being the low-brow, low-income shmucks we are, of course I'm hoping for more kids. We live a very simple life.
So last night, I went to bed feeling out of sorts. The boys were at my ILs for the weekend, and Mr. P. and I had a quiet night at home. Typically, I would add that kinda night is just how I like it. But today? Today I wonder how much is lacking in me.
Anyway, I've never been the sort to believe in things like prophetic dreams or the like, but I do think God talks to us whenever He can. If that happens to be our dreams (because we're too worked up and boneheaded during our waking hours to hear Him), so be it. Last night, God gave me a lesson in contentment.
We've all seen Back to the Future, right? Any geek will tell you, time travel is dangerous stuff. Change the past and you risk changing the present. But would you really want to change things? Seriously. Think about that for a sec. And remember the phrase, "The grass is always greener on the other side."
I dreamt last night that both Mr. P. and I had a chance to go back to our late high school days, and get a do-over. And not just like in a sci-fi book. We both knew and remembered each other, the life we shared, our kids, everything. Powerful stuff, let me tell you. Next thing I knew, there I was, in my old high school. Disturbing to say the least. All the people I had been grousing about, right there all over again. And yet, so much was missing. I was 15 again, but my heart ached for my husband. When could I go back home to our kids? What about all the things we needed to get done in the next few days? And then it hit me. Maybe Mr. P. wasn't feeling the same longing I was. Maybe he was deciding to take a different path.
Sitting through high school classes in a dream world. Meh. I never liked it the first time through in real life. Then lunch came. I tried to talk to my friends about what was going on. They asked if I needed to go to the nurses office and lay down for awhile. After classes were over, heading out to the bus, I stepped out instead to bright light.
And then I woke up.
Thank God.
When the Lord wants your attention, He'll get it, make no mistake about that.
While I was downstairs making my coffee and toast, I had time to enjoy the silence of the morning. Thinking about that wildly disturbing dream, I realized that although my life may not be what anyone around us wanted for us, it's all I could hope for. My kids are here and healthy. My husband and I have a great marriage. Yes, we may have a simple life, but it's more than enough for us. God gave us to each other, and gave this life to us for His purposes and for our blessing. While I may from time to time feel inferior in comparison to my contemporaries, I can rest in the knowledge that God doesn't look at us as "less than". He chose to give us so much "more than" either Mr. P. or I ever dreamed.
Take that, complex!
Til next squeak,
I've been thinking about this. How many people do you know who've had their kids put into foster care? If you're reading this blog, then right now, you know at least 1. How many parents do you know of who've had DCF/CPS called on them? How about an opened case?
Not many? Yeah, I didn't think so. Believe me, those of us who have gone through the wringer don't really talk about it. So...I've been thinking about it.
I don't know if your perceptions are like mine were, but when you think of a family who's gotten themselves enmeshed with the State, what do you think? Probably some ghetto family, maybe a single mom, seriously neglected kids at the least and some major issues with the parents. Now keep that image in your head. What about that same family, only after the case is closed? Now what's your image like? Kids still in foster care, Mom's rights terminated? Or maybe the family is still whole, but they've gone back to their old ways, proving this "lesson" hasn't taught them a thing?
Yeah, I used to be right there with ya.
Actually, after our own experiences, I could give you quite a few other hypothetical outcomes. But here's the thing. Not all families who've been through the system turn out like any of those scenarios.
Let me tell you about us. One thing we learned early on in our DCF experience was to claim your issues, and take responsibility. Yes, ma'am. It's not the state's fault you screwed up; it's not your mama or your daddy's fault; it's not because you didn't have everything in life you always wanted. Honey-child, it's YOUR FAULT. And if you can't admit that, claim it, and change it, well, you're gonna be spending a lot of time hollerin' at the wind. Speaking of which...
Another thing we learned was that no matter how fair or unfair, right or wrong, legal or illegal you may feel the Department's actions or rules are, well, they just ARE. You can take that to the bank. It's kinda like arguing with the wind. You can waste your time and energy screaming at it all you want. You can tell it to you won't be effected by it. But then again, you can't see it. You can't tell with any certainty whether it's coming at you from the north or south. You may think it'll come in a roar, but then it could always surprise you by whispering through your town. You just never know, and you can never truly control it.
Now if you are a thick headed kinda person (much like we are), it could go 1 of 3 ways. The 1st thing that could happen is that you don't learn those things I pointed out above. You spend the whole time trying to tell the state what to do, and ultimately, your kids are taken. After that? Well, Parent #1 is still ramming her thick head against the wall, screaming about how she was wronged and is gonna get her babies back...1 day. The 2nd thing that could happen is you could try to be thick headed with the state, eventually realize it's not getting you anywhere, "play them", and once they close out, go back to your old ways. How long do you think it'll be before Parent #2 gets another DCF/CPS case opened? Yeah, that's what I'm thinking too. Then the 3rd thing that could happen is you can take that thick headedness, channel it in productive ways against the state (the key here is the word productive), learn from your experience (ya thick headed doof) and make sure that once the case is closed, it never happens again.
I'm proud to say that we fall into the same category as Parent #3.
The one thing I've been really thinking on is that many people don't realize that there are Category 3 families out there. We do our best to make sure our kids are healthy, happy, and successful in school. We pray that God will give us the serenity to accept the things we can't change (like the DCF rules we will live by for the rest of our lives), the courage to change the things we can (like the situations that may have caused the case to be opened in the 1st place), and the wisdom to know the difference. (can you tell Mr. P. and I come from a long line of 12-steppers?)
All I'm saying is that when it comes us Category 3ers, give us a little grace. We're not calling you out on anything when we make comments about our parenting vs yours. Give us a little support. We still live each day in fear of that knock on the door. And give us your prayers. God knows us thick headed people need 'em.
Til next squeak,
Spiders. Bleck.
When you live in the ghetto, you find 'em everywhere. And when it's 1 am, you can't really shriek over it. OK, so I really shriek over the 8-leggers, but anyway, I digress.
1:30 this morning, I'm in the bathroom. Think of it as my tuffet. It sets the scene nicely.
Minding my own business, a SPIDER decides to invade my bleary-eyed privacy by crawling on my bathtub. I can't scream for Mr. P. or 1 of the kids to come save me. No, it's all up to me to save the day. Well, night in this case.
So I grab the nearest potential spider-killer...a can of silver sparkles temporary hair color.
Crap.
I can't really hit it with my kids' hair color (ewwwwww!) but I can spray it to death! Mwuhahaha!
I spray the nasty bugger but to no avail. Now I have a decidedly shiny creepy crawler running all over my bathtub.
Double crap.
Ever get stuck sitting on a toilet at 1:30am, trying to kill a spider with hair color? If not, let me tell you that strange things will run through your head. Like, "Is this how emo or goth kids kill bugs? Hmmm. Nah, they probably keep 'em as pets. Or eat 'em. Something strange, no doubt." Or, "This is the way we kill our bugs, kill our bugs, kill our bugs."
Argh.
Time to clean up and take care of this spidey lil menace.
So in the end, several little bathroom cups of hot water dumped in the tub did the job. I left a nice surprise for Mr. P. to clean up this morning.
Oh yeah, Miss Muffet I ain't.
Til next squeak,
Only in the ghetto can you get away with this at 9am.
I'm sitting here, laughing maniacally while blasting some seriously bouncin' tunes from a few years ago. Yeah!
Sometimes I revel in it. Just thought I'd share.
Til next squeak,
