I'll admit it, I was a MacGyver snob the first time I watched it.
By the second time, I was hooked.
Reasons Why MacGyver is Perfect
1. He can rock a mullet and hightops while still feeling good about himself
2. He's a vegetarian
3. He has a basketball hoop in his living room
4. He lives on the beach
5. He can fix anything with duct tape and candy bars, so there'd be lots of extra money
6. He could tutor me in chemistry
Because chemistry is why I am not posting.
Chemistry is evil.
And math filled.
But mainly frustrating.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Friday, August 23, 2013
Depressing Crap-ito
So, my blog is filled with nothing but doom and gloom lately. Rest assured, strange readers, I will return to random crap...after this post.
I've got an idea. Let's write this like a fairy tale. Maybe then it will suck less.
Once upon a time there was a very strange blogger who adopted the world's most beautiful little girl. Two years later, the birth mother contacted said blogger and asked if she'd like to travel to the land of Adoption once more and welcome into the royal blogger family another beautiful child.
Bliss filled the kingdom as rapid fire arrangements were made, from ordering cribs and swings, to hiring more than one lawyer. However, the evil State Law intervened and required a home study, a grueling gauntlet that requires a minimum of six months, and from which few exit alive. The royal family steadied themselves for the ordeal, determined to wait Heavenly Father's will and plan.
The birth mother contacted the kingdom once more, saying that things were far too difficult for her to keep the soon-to-be prince, and begging the royal family to take temporary custody of him so that her suffering could be shortened. The royal family contacted another lawyer, had paperwork amounting to $3,500.00 drawn up, and rushed to the magical airport, a mere four hours away, to pick up their child.
Unfortunately, the king and queen needed to work on their communication skills. Before the birth mother signed the temporary custody paperwork, the king and queen assured her that she mattered, and that if she needed to keep the prince-to-be, they would understand. She reassured them vehemently that this was what needed to happen, and that if she kept the boy she would be forced to return to a situation that she knew was bad for both of them. After spending time with the birth mother's sister and grandmother, the royal family returned home, exhausted but excited to start this new phase.
Three days later, the birth mother texted that she wanted the little prince back. Then she proceeded to get rude, making demands that the king and queen drive ten hours to an airport and meet her there at whatever time she chose to give the baby back. The king called her and asked what was going on. The birth mother had returned to living with the White Supremacist that was old enough to be her dad. She told the king that she had no high school diploma, no job, no way to provide for the little prince, and she didn't know what she was going to do in a month when things with the White Supremacist went bad again.
The laws of the land did nothing to protect the king and queen, so the king told the birth mother that she could come get the baby, but it needed to be within 24 hours. She said that she and the White Supremacist would be there the next day. She had already told the king that they could not afford to fly, so he asked if they were planning to drive. She said yes, and since the distance was at least 1,500 miles, the king told her they wouldn't be able to make it in a day and that the king and queen, who did nothing but cry, would have to turn the little prince over to CPS until she could come get him. She agreed.
CPS took the little prince, and called the birth mother with information about how to claim her child. The birth mother then started spam texting the king and queen's phones until the queen had to change her number and the king had to block her calls. She then started harassing the king and queen's lawyer, then called the king's place of business and filed a false police report, stating that the king and queen had kidnapped her child.
The End
Okay, for some randomness. I've never understood why someone would think that being white is so awesome. Don't get me wrong, I'm white, and I don't think there's anything wrong with it, but I've always felt like being white just meant that any uniqueness got bleached from the family lines over the generations and I'm just kind of an "Other" when it comes to having a race or identity. Heck, even Jesus wasn't white. It's just a catch all category for the left overs.
Plus, I think it's funny if people say I'm a cracker. I like crackers.
I've got an idea. Let's write this like a fairy tale. Maybe then it will suck less.
Once upon a time there was a very strange blogger who adopted the world's most beautiful little girl. Two years later, the birth mother contacted said blogger and asked if she'd like to travel to the land of Adoption once more and welcome into the royal blogger family another beautiful child.
Bliss filled the kingdom as rapid fire arrangements were made, from ordering cribs and swings, to hiring more than one lawyer. However, the evil State Law intervened and required a home study, a grueling gauntlet that requires a minimum of six months, and from which few exit alive. The royal family steadied themselves for the ordeal, determined to wait Heavenly Father's will and plan.
The birth mother contacted the kingdom once more, saying that things were far too difficult for her to keep the soon-to-be prince, and begging the royal family to take temporary custody of him so that her suffering could be shortened. The royal family contacted another lawyer, had paperwork amounting to $3,500.00 drawn up, and rushed to the magical airport, a mere four hours away, to pick up their child.
Unfortunately, the king and queen needed to work on their communication skills. Before the birth mother signed the temporary custody paperwork, the king and queen assured her that she mattered, and that if she needed to keep the prince-to-be, they would understand. She reassured them vehemently that this was what needed to happen, and that if she kept the boy she would be forced to return to a situation that she knew was bad for both of them. After spending time with the birth mother's sister and grandmother, the royal family returned home, exhausted but excited to start this new phase.
Three days later, the birth mother texted that she wanted the little prince back. Then she proceeded to get rude, making demands that the king and queen drive ten hours to an airport and meet her there at whatever time she chose to give the baby back. The king called her and asked what was going on. The birth mother had returned to living with the White Supremacist that was old enough to be her dad. She told the king that she had no high school diploma, no job, no way to provide for the little prince, and she didn't know what she was going to do in a month when things with the White Supremacist went bad again.
The laws of the land did nothing to protect the king and queen, so the king told the birth mother that she could come get the baby, but it needed to be within 24 hours. She said that she and the White Supremacist would be there the next day. She had already told the king that they could not afford to fly, so he asked if they were planning to drive. She said yes, and since the distance was at least 1,500 miles, the king told her they wouldn't be able to make it in a day and that the king and queen, who did nothing but cry, would have to turn the little prince over to CPS until she could come get him. She agreed.
CPS took the little prince, and called the birth mother with information about how to claim her child. The birth mother then started spam texting the king and queen's phones until the queen had to change her number and the king had to block her calls. She then started harassing the king and queen's lawyer, then called the king's place of business and filed a false police report, stating that the king and queen had kidnapped her child.
The End
Okay, for some randomness. I've never understood why someone would think that being white is so awesome. Don't get me wrong, I'm white, and I don't think there's anything wrong with it, but I've always felt like being white just meant that any uniqueness got bleached from the family lines over the generations and I'm just kind of an "Other" when it comes to having a race or identity. Heck, even Jesus wasn't white. It's just a catch all category for the left overs.
Plus, I think it's funny if people say I'm a cracker. I like crackers.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Adoption Aggravation
We were recently approached about adopting Fay's little brother, and
we couldn't be more thrilled. He's almost five months old and a
complete doll. Unfortunately, the adoption process is as difficult as
ever.
Because we don't need an agency to find us a birth mother, we thought it would be easier and less expensive to go with a private adoption. We retained a lawyer who reassured us that the process would be extremely fast and painless. He said all we needed to do was go to Tennessee and have the birth mother sign a paper relinquishing her rights to us, and we could bring the baby home. When we adopted Fay, we had a great deal of legal work to go through, as well as being required to stay in Fay's home state for two weeks while interstate compact was finalized. Needless, to say we were thrilled.
Then entered DCFS.
We discovered that our home state requires a current home study for any adoption. We approached the local DCFS office to have a home study done and we were brushed off. We called state headquarters and the director of the state was extremely rude to us and flatly refused to do a home study for us, even though we are in her area, even though the local office is willing to help, and even though the local office is two blocks from our house, because we're rural.
No kidding. Most of the state is rural.
We then contacted a private agency that does home studies and was told they would come do it for us, but it would cost a minimum of $4,000 with no cap on it. We contacted LDS Family Services, who did our prior adoption, because, although more than $4,000, they at least have a flat fee. The man over our area told us he could come on Tuesday to do a home study, and we were ecstatic.
Then he started backpedaling.
When he found out the state director of DCFS was mad at us (let me point out, we did nothing wrong, she was the one that was rude), he started waffling and saying there's no way he could do our home study on Tuesday because he needed to make sure that his working relationship with DCFS was really good because they handle the interstate compact. He repeatedly told me that he was going to proceed intentionally slowly to make sure that DCFS was happy. He also said he could do the home study, but not the six months of follow up visits required by state law once the baby was placed. He told us to ask DCFS if they would do the follow up visits.
Surprisingly, and rather illogically, they said yes.
Now dude is coming on Tuesday again.
I'm exhausted. And I have a cold.
Because we don't need an agency to find us a birth mother, we thought it would be easier and less expensive to go with a private adoption. We retained a lawyer who reassured us that the process would be extremely fast and painless. He said all we needed to do was go to Tennessee and have the birth mother sign a paper relinquishing her rights to us, and we could bring the baby home. When we adopted Fay, we had a great deal of legal work to go through, as well as being required to stay in Fay's home state for two weeks while interstate compact was finalized. Needless, to say we were thrilled.
Then entered DCFS.
We discovered that our home state requires a current home study for any adoption. We approached the local DCFS office to have a home study done and we were brushed off. We called state headquarters and the director of the state was extremely rude to us and flatly refused to do a home study for us, even though we are in her area, even though the local office is willing to help, and even though the local office is two blocks from our house, because we're rural.
No kidding. Most of the state is rural.
We then contacted a private agency that does home studies and was told they would come do it for us, but it would cost a minimum of $4,000 with no cap on it. We contacted LDS Family Services, who did our prior adoption, because, although more than $4,000, they at least have a flat fee. The man over our area told us he could come on Tuesday to do a home study, and we were ecstatic.
Then he started backpedaling.
When he found out the state director of DCFS was mad at us (let me point out, we did nothing wrong, she was the one that was rude), he started waffling and saying there's no way he could do our home study on Tuesday because he needed to make sure that his working relationship with DCFS was really good because they handle the interstate compact. He repeatedly told me that he was going to proceed intentionally slowly to make sure that DCFS was happy. He also said he could do the home study, but not the six months of follow up visits required by state law once the baby was placed. He told us to ask DCFS if they would do the follow up visits.
Surprisingly, and rather illogically, they said yes.
Now dude is coming on Tuesday again.
I'm exhausted. And I have a cold.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Kellin
Then I found Kellin.
Grinning happily, unconcerned with anything that might be going on, I immediately fell in love. I sent the link to Steve in Iraq, and his surprising response was, "Get him." I was flabbergasted. Really? My tough guy husband wanted the blind, but blissfully happy, dog? I sent a query to the rescue society, applied, and, miraculously, was approved to adopt Kellin, even though I told them we couldn't actually take him until my husband had returned from war. Several people had inquired about him, and we were chosen. It turned out to be far better than winning the lottery.
Steve's deployment was extended twice, and when he came home we were reluctant for him to return to his former job as a prison guard at the state's maximum security prison. Within short order, we received a phone call from the rescue society saying that if we didn't claim Kellin within the week, he would have to be put to sleep. We immediately picked him up and returned to Steve's former employment, even driving the U-Haul back to where we had lived while trying to line up a rental house without ever having seen it.
Because Kellin was completely blind, and had been since 6-months-old, I bought an overpriced "Wiggle-Giggle" dog ball that made noise as it rolled, thinking Kellin could follow the sound and have something to play with. Jake had destroyed it within 15 minutes.
Kellin had such confidence in his own abilities that he did not hesitate to do anything. Taking him on walks meant he went to the very end of the leash, swerved back and forth, and went as fast as he dared to. One day the front gate was left open and he managed to get out of the yard; he set off on his own walkabout without a second thought. When I went to let him back in and discovered the gate open, I looked around in panic only to locate him in the dead center of a nearby intersection, unwilling to move because the street was coated in ice. I'll never forget flying out of my house, screaming his name, barefoot, bed head and pajamas marking me as a loony,waiting for a car to mow him down, only to have Kellin give me a "happy dance" when I finally got to his side.
We often joked that, if Kellin could see, he would be the worst dog ever. He dug an unopened, expired box of cake mix out of the garbage when we went to church one day, ripped it open, and licked it into our beige carpet. Let me tell you, "funfetti" sprinkles do not shampoo out of your rug easily, and cake mix and dog drool mixed together, when dry, are sharp enough to cut through skin.
When Kellin would get a hold of something he wasn't supposed to have, all we'd have to do is say, "Kellin!" and he'd immediately start walking slowly, and silently. I don't think he could ever remember what it was like to see, and he undoubtedly thought he could sneak past us, since our only hope of locating him was by sound.
Speaking of getting a hold of "no-no" things, Kellin frequently swallowed inedible items (plastic rings off milk jugs, etc.) and would then vomit them back up. This happened so often, we actually had him trained to go outside to puke. Of course, if I wasn't on my toes that meant that he would puke in the corner right by the door, where it's so hard to clean up, but, hey, he tried. It wasn't his fault.
Kellin started having anal gland problems. The first time one ruptured, I thought he had been shot. Over the next year, every month I made an emergency trip to our vet in another state. Treatment after treatment failed, and the vets' office became increasingly callous and unhelpful. We sought another vet, also in another state, and found a real fruit-loop who wanted to "align Kellin's spine" in an effort to end the anal gland problems. Yeah, right. Uh-huh. At that point we turned to the new vet in our extremely rural community, and it was one of the best things we've ever done.
We discovered that Kellin had an extremely rare condition that caused his anal glands to be many times longer than they should have been. Our new vet, Robin, said that the scarring in his anal gland was so bad that she didn't feel comfortable attempting to remove it herself, fearing that she would make Kellin fecally incontinent. She sent us to a specialist a few hours away who removed them both, even though only one had ever caused problems--we weren't taking any chances. Many years later his non existent fecal gland ruptured again, but that's a story for another time. Kellin always was special.
Kellin had such an amazing sense of his location that he couldn't pick up on a floor's layout after only walking it once and he rarely lost himself. A ringing doorbell when he was dead asleep would cause him to pop up and "pinball" back and forth until he got to the door, but the rest of the time he would find his way so easily that I frequently forgot he was even blind. It was not uncommon for me to expect Kellin to do something, only to stop and go, "Wait, he can't see. He can't do that."
Kellin's first eye was removed when he got glaucoma, the second when his juvenile cataract grew so thick that it shifted and caused his eye to be unable to drain fluid properly. The only time I have ever seen that dog unhappy was when he was forced to wear the "cone of shame;" he removed his bandages more than once, and, let me tell you, empty eye sockets bleed. I think the cone caused the sounds around him to echo, throwing off his sense of direction. We were all very glad when the bandages came off, and the cone, as well.
Towards the end, Kellin developed arthritis and his hearing began to fail him. He would get lost frequently, even in our own home. The pain was so much that he would stand and shake, but he still had a huge grin on his face. The slightest bump would cause him to collapse, and it was an ordeal to get him back on his feet. He fell down my parents stairs. He got stuck in Fay's playhouse. Things were bad, but you never would have known it by his face.
Kellin taught me so much. He taught me that, no matter what life hands you, you still have exactly what you need to not only survive, but flourish. He taught me to love, to trust in the innate goodness of people. He taught me to never give up, even when everywhere you turn there's another obstacle blocking your path. He taught me that there is always reason to rejoice. I he taught me that being special needs just means you have an even greater capacity to succeed.
Jake
We took Jake with us to our first home after being married. Steve went to work, I took Jake for a walk, and, by the time Steve came home, that dog was officially mine. As Steve likes to say, Jake tried to kill him when he came home from work. From that day forward, Steve became known as "the bad man." Whenever Steve would tell Jake to do something, Jake would always come running to me like, "Mommy, Mommy, the bad man is talking to me." I loved it even more, knowing that Steve had trained him to be an extremely obedient hunting dog. Jake never went hunting with Steve again.
Three months after we got married, Steve was deployed to Iraq. I moved home with my parents, but Jake became an outside dog once more; Steve had labeled him as a cat killer, and my parents had two. My parents two dogs would come inside, and Jake would stand at the sliding glass doors looking heartbroken. More than once, the sliding glass door was left ajar and Jake would slink into the house, come straight to my side or my mom's, and duck his head like, "I'm a bad boy, I came inside." It wasn't long before we discovered that Jake had no intention of doing anything that might upset me, including killing the cats.
Steve came back from Iraq, and we moved to where we live now. Kellin was added to our family, whereupon Jake promptly cocked a leg and marked me as his territory. I was laughing too hard to be mad.
Jake loved to swim. When his arthritis set in, far too early in life, and he started to slow down, we waited for a nice, warm day to take him to the lake. On the way there, I told Steve that we should probably get him a life vest. Steve thought I was being overprotective, as is my usual stance. Jake chased ducks until he couldn't go any more, that day, and Steve was forced to jump into the lake and save Jake from drowning. A life vest was ordered the next day. Once we had the life vest, Jake would chase the ducks until he couldn't go anymore, then just bob in the water until he got his second wind.
Jake was always very protective of me, but he went through a faze where, when I would take him to the vet, I'd have to put him in a corner and block him in; he wasn't about to let anyone, or any other dog, get near me. I was his, and he made sure everyone knew it. Including the UPS guy, who never once asked for a signature the entire time I lived with my parents.
Losing Jake has been extremely difficult for me, even though I have been blessed with an overwhelming sense of peace, knowing that he is no longer inhibited by his slowly disintegrating body. He was my baby when I couldn't have one. He was my protection and my best, and only, friend for years. Even in his last days, when it caused him so much pain to stand up, he couldn't bear for me to get up in the morning and leave him. That dog would have done anything for me, including to live forever. He gave me far more that I could ever hope to return.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Big Announcement
In spite of
Evan: Book Two of the Destine series has been finalized and officially sent to the publisher!
Woot-woot!
Woot-woot!
Things That Bug Me
- Why does everyone think fried food is so bad? It's fried in VEGETABLE oil, people! Hello, one of the basic food groups?
- Speaking of which, how exactly do you get oil from vegetables? I want to know!
- Watermelon candy and grape candy taste nothing like the real thing.
- Why don't dogs ever get boogers? I mean, really, cats dog, horses do, cows do, people do, so why don't dogs?
- How do ducks have so many babies? A duck is tiny! It can't have 6-8 eggs in it at once, but the babies all hatch right around the same time. How?????
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