Evan Came By

Evan dropped by today. He doesn't have classes, but he still has to go to work and laundry to catch on.

He is just a college student, you know? He is working in his classes, having trouble with one room (suite) mate, getting along with others. He has a job, is thinking about his future, changing his major. (Maybe he will blog about it. Since he has been blogging I hate to write about anything he might want to write about.)

The point is that he is doing well and looks good.

I am really so proud of all three of the boys. It is good for me to see them and talk to them.

I really believe that we did the right thing with Frankie. I think that the best thing we did for him was allowing him to bring his desire to be a girl out in the open. We helped take away the shame so that he could express it and explore it.* I think that was a good thing. And I think that he really needs a sort of environment that we cannot provide him. I am glad that he left without rancor. It was all very civilized.

And yet still it drained me emotionally in a way I cannot explain even to myself. It has left Brian cured of any desire to have a younger brother and genuinely appreciative of a quiet and calm house. Though any of us might be feel differently if there were an actual youth in question, right now none of us are wanting for there to be a youth who needs us. (I am closest in wanting to want it, so to speak.)

So I feel good about what we did, and yet I don't feel "up to" doing it again. I can't quite explain it.

But it does me good to see Evan.

He, David and Carl are all such amazing young men. I am truly privileged to be part of their lives.

Quick Update

Evan was fantastic on the panel. I just followed his lead. I'm so proud of that kid.

Since Frankie has been going through every pen in the house trying to find on that will make his "Elvish" look they way he wants it to, we bought him some felt-tipped caligraphy pens and inexpensive "parchment" caligraphy paper to take with him. He seemed to appreciate it.

He's pretty relaxed about going. His only concern is whether they have time to stop at the store so he can spend the $10 "refund" Hubby gave him yesterday.

And now my darlings -- I'm going to go take a nap.

Kid Round-Up

I haven't heard from Carl in a couple of months. I'm officially teetering between annoyed and worried. I know it is not unlike him to drop off the radar for a while. Still, if you see him, tell him to call home.

Evan is doing very well at school. He is enormously busy and happy. He calls regularly, and stops by to get his mail. He is a college freshman.

David stopped by for a few hours today. We chatted and had our usual marathon of cards. I think I mentioned that he is the only one who will play cards with me. He told me that he and his roommate are planning on going to one of the state universities (not the one near here that Evan is going to) next year, so he will have to finish off his GED pretty soon. I'll believe it when I see it, but it is the first time he has been the one to bring up finishing his education and it is a positive step.

David by the way is completely supports the idea that I would upgrade Frankie's mp3 player to one that will play Netlibrary books. His sympathies are completely with Frankie. David knows what it is like to come into this house owning little to nothing and see all the electronics the boys have collected over the past decade. David also knows that most of the stuff was purchased with money given to them by relatives for birthday and Christmas -- except for the things that were bought by Grandpa during his summer visits of course. There are only a few things which they can claim to have "worked" for by saving allowance.

We'll see. I have a fair collection of audiobooks that he can listen to on the iPod several of which I purchased for the boys to listen to while traveling during the summer. Frankie is interested in listening to Eragon and The Eldest, both of which I have. so I think I will wait and see if he continues to enjoy the books and then make a decision.

Straight Mom, Queer Kids

Yesterday I read a post about seeking diversity at Peter's Cross Station. I left a comment there saying I was going to write my own post about it, but it got all jumbled up with how I feel about being a foster parent and about the feelings I am having particularly about Frankie's mom. But I want to try again, because sometimes when I read something written by a white parent of a non-white child I think, "Wow. Change a few of the nouns, and I could have written that."

Anyway, I gave up on it yesterday, because I could not keep focused. I'm going to try to write about what it means, to me, to be a heterosexual married woman rearing queer kids, about having chosen to parent queer kids, and that seems carries meaning and obligation.

It means educating myself about what it means to be gay or trans in this world, and yet holding back and knowing that I cannot figure out what it means to be Carl, or David, or Evan or Frankie in this world. But it is not just that. I cannot sit at home and read books and try to understand. It is not intellectual work, or not only.

Initially I thought it meant striving to form friendships with people in the GLBT community for the sake of my kids. I thought I needed to have these relationships so that I could get advice I needed and so that my children would have positive role models. So I put myself in places where I could meet people who could give me that advice and become those role models. For the most part it worked, and I have never sensed that the people I approached honestly resented that motivation.

But something happened along the way. First, some of the people I made attempts to get to know became friends. People that I simply enjoyed being with.

And the more fully I thought of myself as a mother to Carl, David, Evan, and now Frankie, the more my sense of my relationship to the GLBT community changed. In some ways it is just that I feel relaxed where once I would have felt awkward. And usually I have felt accepted. Not always of course. There have been times when I assumed that I would be welcomed and found myself wanting to justify my right to sit at the table.

But it is more than that. Where once I would have been an advocate for gay rights, now I am passionate on behalf of my children. Once I might have said that civil unions were not an adequate substitute for marriage, but perhaps was a compromise that should be accepted. Now I hear myself saying, "If it quacks like a duck and walks like a duck and turns into an egg when you cross state lines, it isn't a duck. It is a decoy to confuse and pacify us."

And I mean us. We are talking about my children, their potential spouses, and my hoped-for grandchildren.

Parenting children from a community other than my own has meant for me not that I need to diversify my world, so that my children will feel safer here. It has meant for me that I have to claim a space in their world. I have to walk where I do not fully belong. I have to learn to say, with Abigail Garner, "We are not allies. We're family."

As I said in the beginning, this post did not become what I expect it to become.

You see, it is something of a motivational speech for myself.

It is not enough to buy Frankie dresses and let him present as a girl at home. It is not enough to have a transwoman friend to invite into my home to answer his questions.

Committing to parenting him means more than that. It means taking a deep breath and walking with him into the Transexual Support Group meeting.

Because he wants me to.

"You're going to blog this, aren't you?"

Evan: "You're going to blog this, aren't you?"

Me: "I wasn't planning on it, but I could."

Evan: "No. That's okay."

Me: "You sure? I often get 200 visitors a day. People all over the world are waiting for the next installment regarding the intimate details of your..."

Evan: "No, really, it's okay. You don't have to tell them."

Me: "Okay, I won't."

But maybe it's okay to tell that he called? Maybe it's okay to share that it makes me happy that he still needs me, even if he is nearly 20.

But that's all, because I said I wouldn't blog it.

Evan's blog

I know there are some mommies who send everyone over every time their children post, but I'm not like that. However, Evan today has written a post that will be particularly interesting to many of you.

He doesn't talk about it as deeply as I would want...I'm itching to ask him questions and get him to talk about it more.

How many faces do you present to the world? Do you feel that you present your real self to people when you first meet them? Those of you who are foster alum, and I know there are a couple of you out there, is it more difficult for you to present your real self?

And do you know who your real self is or do you sometimes feel like a collection of facades to be presented?

Thank you, and I'll take my response off the air --- I mean I'll read your comments at Evan's blog.

Busy, emotional day

Yesteday was busy day. Brian started a new school. I helped Evan move into the dorm. I painted a bedroom, and got the report from the Frankie's IEP meeting from Hubby. Then, I went to the PFLAG businesss meeting.

All of it had some level of emotion attached.

I was happy for Brian, and excited for Evan. We had a good time together and a nice lunch. It was much easier to leave him there, 30 miles away, then to put him on the plan to Scotland. I think he will be very happy, and I admit I was glad to find his phone charger this morning. ("Ha! He will have to come back right away for this!")

The painting was just tiring since I was trying my darndest to get it done as fast as possible. It was successful and it looks okay. Hubby helped everybody shift their stuff while I was gone in the evening.

The results from the IEP were not (or should not have been) unexpected, but still made me sad. Frankie is not holding up as well as we hoped at school. It is not suprising. He went to a small school and then has been in very small classroom, usually at the facility where he has been living. Now he is in a high school of more than 1000, where there are fights and gang problems, and very large classes. Frankie will be given some choices about how what to do. Basically he can get more support in this school, or return to an educational setting in town more like the ones he has been in. I was sad about it at first, but I'm okay now.

Then there was the PFLAG business meeting where we discussed the low attendance and basic trends of the group. I volunteeered to write the letter to members, current and past, and other people who would care that will tell them, "Our chapter is no longer viable as it stands. Come to one of the next two meetings if you wish to express yourself on this issue. Unless someone wants to take it over, we will shut it down before the end of the year." Of course I will phrase it just a bit more gently.

I've known that it was coming of course. I've known it for a long time. I went out to a coffee shop with the other person who has been as involved as I have and for as long. We shared that we both had lots of ideas, but no energy to carry them out. We comforted each other.

I came home and the house was quiet. Everyone was in bed, safe and sleeping, but I couldn't sleep.

I sat in the living room and turned on the TV and thought, "I'll just watch until Evan comes home from work."

New Schools

Today was new school day.

I dropped Brian of at the charter school for the arts. His schedule is:band, social science, English, art, math, science, band. Ah yes, he was a happy camper. He is coming home in a car pool (yippee) so I have a few minutes to write for all of you.

Evan and I got the last of his things and took them to his room. We do not move him in so much as drop off his stuff. The room is one of the smallest dorm rooms I have ever seen, but it is all his. The whole thing was a rather complicated procedure -- park in an over-crowded lot, walk to the dorm to check in, go back and get the van, drive to the dorm, drop of the stuff in front of the dorm, return the car, come back and move the stuff from the front of the dorm to the room itself. Sadly, I forgot my purse and Evan had to do all the driving. It was a trial, sitting there in front of the dorm, talking to the moms and new students while Evan drove the van across campus trying to find a place to park and then taking the shuttle back, but I managed.

He's excited. I'm glad he is only 30 miles away. He nervous of course, but he will do really well. I think he's going to like it there.

Although I kept thinking of things he didn't have. The bed is raised about four feet so he could put his dresser, fridge, and microwave under it. Of course he needs a cart or box or something to go under the microwave. He did not buy any detergent or cleaning supplies of any kind. He has a private room and shares a bathroom and common area (not kitchenette as I had imagined) with three other guys. Hopefully one of the other guys thought about toilet paper. If puts everything under his bed he will have room for a book case.

You know that crayon-urge I had last week? Well, I'm getting this potted plant thing going now. I'm not sure if he would remember to water a plant, or really appreciate the plant itself. Still, the room seemed to need something. Maybe just a huge poster of a cute boy in a speedo. Maybe that's what it needs.

Anyway, we got back at noon, Evan went to get his new glasses (he looks sharp), and I started in with the painting of Frankie's room. I've given the three walls that are to be cream (actually "cinnamon cake") one coat, but they will need another. The fourth wall will eventually be crimson, but I think we may leave it its current colonial blue for now.


Any minute now Andrew, Frankie, and Brian will be home.

Frankie's home. Gotta go.

Tomorrow everything changes

Or at least it seems like it will.

Evan will move.

Today he has been packing all of his worldly goods. Some have gone into our garage; some are already in the van. He, Brian and I will all leave the house at 7:15 and drive Brian to school.

Then Evan and I will drive on to The City and go by the agency offices and pick up the things that they bought for him (mini fridge, microwave, linens, etc). Then we're off to the University to unload his stuff. Fortunately for me, Evan wants to do this quickly so he can get back to Our Small Town before the optometrist's office closes (the shut down early on Friday) so he can pick up his new glasses.

Hubby will try to move the furniture in the bedroom (currently Evan's soon to be Frankie's) away from the wall so that I can start on the painting job when I get back from moving.

If I am lucky, then one of the girls (as in young female who is also a student) in the carpooling group I am joining will be planning on going to a friend's again and the carpooling women (as in mother of a student) can bring Brian home even though her station wagon is in the shop at the moment. This will now be a three-family carpool, so it looks like we will only be responsible for three, sometimes four, trips a week. Hubby says he can do one or two in the morning so, everyone cross your fingers, the driving burden might not be that big of a deal.

Can I have a hallelujah?

I bought paint for Frankie's room this evening. So, if Hubby is able to move the furniture, then I will be able to start on the walls mid afternoon. I have told Hubby that I may make him go to the PFLAG business meeting for me so that I can finish, but maybe I will get far enough along that he could just ... you know ... clean up the mess. Assuming that the walls actually get painted tomorrow, Frankie can move in Saturday morning.

The social worker came over this evening to have Frankie sign his statement of goals and we all did the ritual signing of the safety plan. The social worker originally suggested that we just all sign it, but there is something about everyone sitting around the table going over a document and signing it. It just feels official.

It makes a difference.

Frankie seems more relaxed. He rather excitedly told me that he succeeded in putting a string in his nose and pulling it back out his mouth. Clearly the possibility that I might be completely revolted was not worrying to him. He also found a web site on Chinese and figured out how to say, "I have two older brothers, one younger brother, a dad and a mom."

He asked us if it was okay that he couldn't find the Chinese word for "foster."

We said, "of course."

First Day of School (update already)

Sigh.

Quiet.

Of course Brian is still on half days and I will have to pick him up at noon, but I have four hours of quiet. Well, until Evan gets up and wants to watch television, or ask me advice about packing his room, or whatever.

But I should have three hours of quiet.

Two at a minimum.

And of course it all goes just like I expected. One week ago I asked Andrew how his AP assignments were going. He said calmly that they were practically done. On Monday I asked him how much he had to do. He said very little. On Tuesday he spent the day working on one of them. On Wednesday he had a panic attack because one of the assignments that he had half finished when we were on vacation is gone. He doesn't even have the instructions. Hubby dropped by the school at 3:00 to pick up another copy. He isn't sure he can do it. More anxiety.

I wonder if this is his way of forcing a decision about dropping one of the AP classes. There is little I can do. He needs to learn to handle his anxiety, which could be helped by getting the work done earlier. Oh well.

I remind all the boys to gather their school supplies and pack their back packs before they go to bed. They all assure me that they have. They are all ready.

This morning Frankie is squeezing in as much time as possible on WOW before school. He assures me he is ready. I suggest he is not ready until he has his shoes on. Then I go through his backpack with him. I gently take out of his binder spiral notebooks from last year. Anxious he says, "But what will I do without a notebook! I need a notebooks!" I direct him to the supply cabinet. He gets more supplies. "Okay, I'm ready now."

"Do you have your schedule?" He runs around frantically. He can't find it. How can he go to school if he doesn't have it? I make a photocopy of mine.

Meanwhile Hubby is helping Brian who has no idea where his ID card or agenda are.

Sigh.

Good thing they were all ready for school before they went to bed, huh?

But at least now I have quiet. For a while.

Update: Hubby forgot something. Could I bring it to school for him?

I will have an hour and a half of quiet. Absolute mimimum.

On Expectations

I've been noticing something today:

Frankie can do things that if Evan did them would make me crazy and it only makes me tired.

Like interrupt me while I am answering a question he asked to tell me something totally unrelated to the previous conversation, the question, or the answer. I mean we have conversations that go like this:

"Do you chop onions like this?"
"You can, but it is easier if you..."
"My character on WOW has reached level 6, and I think that if I can get Brian to help me I can level-up faster. Why can't I get the onion skin off?"
"Well if you cut it in half first and then ..."
"How many days until I get my next allowance?"

Now everyone does this sometimes, but woe to those who are not Frankie who do it to me...

****
This thoughtful post is being interrupted to bring you the following:
I just heard one of Brian's friends say to Frankie, "When you ask a question at least give people time to answer it, unless it is a rhetorical question, in which case you should not ask it at all." To which Frankie responded, "Did you see that giant monster over the hill? Do you think my character could kill him? Probably not, but ..."
****

...because Frankie rather absorbs all my patience for dealing with this sort of thing, and I just might snap at them.

And it is other things too. Like earlier Frankie asked me how much chili powder he is supposed to put in with the beans*. I picked up the recipe card to see, which made him realize that the answer was right there all the time, and he doesn't need me to tell him. So he pulls the card out of my hand and starts reading it himself and asks, "Where does it say how much chili powder to put in?" This, of course, is asked while holding the card where I cannot see it.

Now if any one else were to do that to me, I would not take it well. I might snap, like I did yesterday at Evan, and complain that people shouldn't ask questions if they won't let me answer them.

But with Frankie I don't snap, although I do sigh, and I think, "Wow, he really is young for fifteen isn't he?"

What I am realizing is that this what ADD looks like. Actually, this is what severe ADHD looks like after someone has been given medication which "works wonders."

****
Brian just openned a box sent to him by my MIL. She was so impressed with their discussions about religion and his reasons for being an atheist that she sent him some books that she thought he might enjoy. They include: Varieties of Religious Experience by William James; The Way of the Sacred by Frances Huxley; and a short pamphlet book called Church Recipes which contains good things to take to a church potluck.
I... kid... you... not.
Brian looked at each of the books and turned to his friends to shout, "Look! My grandmother sent me bubble wrap!"
Of course Brian was being ironic.
****

So anyway, what I have been noticing today, is that the way that I expect someone to behave has a great deal of influence on how I respond to them. If I expect them to converse as adults (Evan and Andrew, for example) I get annoyed if they don't let me finish my sentences. However if I am dealing with a 10-year-old Druid with ADD who just happens to be trapped in a 15-year-old's body, I am much more understanding, and I almost even have a sense of humor about it.

And after re-reading this post I am wondering, do you think that ADD could be contagious?

___
*These are the marvelous beans brought to me by FosterAbba and Foster Eema.

Another Bad Title

Evan tells me that he gets compliments on his titles and that I need to work on mine. He's very competitive you know. Oh well, I can take it, as long as I can tease him. I've never been very good with titles.

First, regarding the last post, I want to say that I appreciate all the sympathy and also that I think I did not write it as well as I intended, because as I wrote it, it seemed funny to me. Perhaps I should have made it clear that at the points that Evan and I were yelling at each other we were also trying not to laugh. Evan has got good at that -- mock fights in which everyone is releasing real frustration along with a sense of humor.

That he wanted me to hold his hand through cooking a dinner with his abilities was absurd in itself, but you know, having an excuse to vent some irritation was good for me. And I appreciate that he has enough of a sense of humor to play along, and enough ability in the kitchen to cook the dinner without my actual guidance.

It was also a good thing that Frankie was out of the house (at the library) for the worst of it. If he had been here I would not have been able to laugh and yell so loudly, at least not without making him nervous. I also wouldn't have been able to mention the blog.

So don't worry, all is well here is casa de Yondalla. (Or is it "casa del Yondalla"?)

As for the IEP, well it turned out that the FAX was 49 pages. That included the cover page, the birth certificate, the immunization record, testing results, progress reports, and the actual IEP. So the IEP itself was under 10 pages (maybe only about 5 pages, I don't remember and Hubby took it with him to work).

As I read it I kept seeing Ben, on my sofa, that concerned look on his face telling me, "Frankie has worked so hard, and he has made so much progress. I hope that you judge him based upon the person he has become, not on the person he was."

Well, this IEP was absolutely written for the person he was: a kid with ADHD so severe he became violent when frustrated and had no test results that were considered reliable because he could never finish the test. This IEP was written for a kid who was going to end up in a treatment center for kids with major behavioral problems.

Fortunately he ended up in a good one.

And now we are able to use this IEP, which is a document that legally obligates the schools, to get the much more mild supports that the kid Frankie has become still needs. And what he needs is work that challenges him, addresses his educational gaps, and teaches him the organizational and study skills he did not learn along the way. And it just so happens that our high school does that very well.

So we are happy.

And one more thing: it turns out that having a kid who slurs (speech therapy is on his IEP) when you have a slight hearing problem is not a bad thing. See -- he is accustomed to being asked to repeat things. If anything, he is pleased that when I ask him to repeat I am blaming it on my hearing, and not on his speech. And I am pleased that he is the only person who does not roll his eyes or get frustrated when I have to ask him to say something for the third time.

IEP, Pork Chops, and Tempers

Friday afternoon we went to the high school to register Frankie, because that is the day for new student registration, and of course the reason why he moved in when he did and why Brian and Andrew have to share a bedroom for more than a week (not that we wouldn't have wanted him here). But we went after lunch, which is what we did with the other kids because it is not as crowded after lunch. Except that for new student registration, they close at 11:30.

But they told us they would be open at 8:00 Monday morning and we could come back then. Hubby will back me up on that. It is what they said. We also asked if they got the records faxed over and they said that they had. The nice young woman looked at a piece of paper with everything checked off and everything.

So Frankie and I went down this morning at 8:00am. The secretary in the administration office is very sorry. She can't imagine who would have misled us like that. Everyone is in the district meeting and we need to come back tomorrow.

We go home.

Hubby, who was also in the district meeting, checks in at the high shool after lunch and calls me to tell me that the counseling office is up and running and I should go down. So I do. Frankie asked if I can do it alone. "Only if you want to take the classes I pick out." He comes with me.

We get down there and wait and then see the registrar who is very nice and very sorry. They have the transcript, but not the birth certificate or immunization record and she cannot register him without that. So sorry. I ask to look at the file and see the nice list of everything checked off is actually a copy of a request of things they have asked his previous high school to send, not a record of what they have. I call Diane (social worker) on her cell phone which I am really only supposed to use for emergencies, but this feels like an emergency to me. She's home sick. She said that she did send it, but I should call her supervisor and ask to have it resent. And there is good news. The mythical IEP has arrived. The educational specialist "Kevin" is driving out to the school today. Maybe he hasn't left yet. I can call and ask him to bring me a copy so that Hubby can read it too.

I go home. I call Kevin. Yes he has received the IEP, but he has already left the building and, "I can't believe this, but I left it behind. I'll have to bring it out tomorrow, or maybe I could fax it today." I ask him to fax it to me and to the school, at which point he realizes that he is not talking to the school registrar and asks me as politely as possible who the blank I am. I tell him I'm the mommy. He makes nice happy noises and promises me everything I want. I hang up.

Evan asks me how many potatoes he should cook for dinner. I tell him he's the trained cook; he can figure it out. He protests me snapping at him. I say with tension, but a little humor, "I am trying to deal with all this school stuff. Really, I can't make any decisions about the dinner. You will have to do that." He has some snappy retort, but I don't bother to remember it.

I decide that I really want to have everything faxed to us too, so I call Hubby for his fax number at work. I go to his desk to write down the number.

I begin to dial the number and Evan says, "Do you want me to cook all of these?" Thinking he is talking about the friggin potatoes I say, "I don't think so." "Well, that means there will only be two left." I, infinitely patient and sensitive, say in a voice that is louder than strictly necessary, "Why the hell do you even ask me if you already know what the right answer is?" He protests my unfair treatment. We argue about whether his response to my question constituted already knowing what the answer was. I notice he is talking about the pork chops and say, "Oh. I thought you meant the potatoes. Sure. Cook all the pork chops."

I call the supervisor. She agrees to fax a copy of the birth certificate, immunization record, and IEP to both the high school and the school where Hubby works so that we can have them too. She will call me back when she has it all together and faxed so I can tell him to look for it.

Evan asks me where the olive oil is. I tell him I don't know. He tells me that he has to have olive oil for this dinner. I tell him that I am a little distracted right now. He says, "You have been waiting for months for a new kid. You wanted this." (Or something to that effect.) I have some sort of snappy retort, but I don't bother to remember it. Probably wasn't very good.

I send him to the car with the code that will open the back hatch while I look in the cupboards. I know I bought some yesterday. I remember asking the man at the store which aisle it was in and going to the other end of the store just for it. I know I bought some.

I can't find it so I go to my purse and get cash. I meet Evan at the back door and hand him the money and say, "Please go buy some."

"I can't go to the store!"

"Why not?!!"

"I haven't showered!"

I stand there in stunned silence, thinking about the various states of ugliness in which I have gone to the store. "Why not?"

"Yondalla, I'm a gay man. I can't go out without a shower."

I know when I am not going to win a fight. "I am so going to blog this!"

"Go ahead!"

Trying to get me to see reason, he tells me that if I go buy the olive oil, he can shower while I am gone and he will be ready to cook when I get back. I stomp off to find my purse grumbling about expecting phone calls. Evan says, "Don't worry. If anyone calls while you're gone..."

I interrupt to yell, "You'll be in the frigging shower!"

"Well, yeah."

I go to the grocery store, get the olive oil. While paying I mis-type my code and explain to the cashier that it is all the teenager's fault. "He can't go to the grocery store without a shower. His hair is like an inch long, he doesn't look any different showered than unshowered." She laughes. I leave wondering if she recognizes me and connects me with Evan who worked there a year ago. I doubt it, but the thought gives me some evil pleasure.

I get back and the supervisor calls. She's got the birth certificate and the immunization record, but what do I know about the IEP? Am I sure it is there? I tell her that "Kevin" said it was quite a few pages long and so he might have to divide it into more than one fax. So it must be there.

She says she will call him on his cell phone.

Which brings us to the point where I sit down at the computer to blog my day.

So...

There is a flipping IEP. Hurrah. I still haven't got the call saying she found and faxed it.

And Evan says the pork chops are going to be really, really good. They better be.

----
This would be an update, except that it happened before I hit "publish." The social worker called. She faxed the entire 49 page IEP to the school. She is scanning it and emailing a copy to me.

Crayons (updated)

Well, after the urging of several of you in comments and emails, I bought the crayons.

I got the 120 box. It's on his bed. I'll update this post after he finds it. I expect he will be pretty low-key though.

And yes, I got a pad of paper too.

--

So he went in and out of his room a couple of times without saying anything about the crayons and pad on his bed, so I finally mentioned that the crayons were for him. He asked about the sketch pad and I said that was his too. "Cool because I like to draw."

He brought the box out to the living room to look at all the different crayons. When you open the box the crayons come divided into separate boxes so I had to assure him that there were 120 different colors. He was suitably impressed.

And Evan pouted because I never bought him a big box of crayons. When he needed colored pencils for a class I told him that we had a drawer of colored pencils and he could just take some from there.

But Evan didn't really mind. Besides, after the younger boys left the room, I reminded him that I bought him a big box of ... something else.

Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Hear Ye!

Evan has a started a blog!

I'm not supposed to read it until after he has moved out. I will try, but that is rather like putting out box of chocolates and telling me that I cannot eat them for two weeks. So you will simply have to read it for me. Go tell him his auntie says hello. I had him sign up for a tracking service, so he will know exactly how many people go to his blog from mine. Don't let me down.

Apparently on MySp*ce this is called "whoring him out." I guess that makes me his pimp?Unsettling thought.

BTW: I will keep this post on the top of the blog for a while. Look for new posts below it. [Thanks to FosterAbba for instructions.]

Bad Mom

I've not had a great day. Not a terrible day, just not a great one.

I've mostly been managing all the stress (one kid moving out in 10 days, one moving in in a couple of days, school starting for them and me), but I have had a lot of stress thoughts moving through my head.

Like I am about to have six kids. SIX. I am going to have to write down all their birthdays. I mean, think about that, these are my own kids and I am not confident that I will be able to remember all their birthdays. How does Cindy do it? How does she remember 39 birthdays? Okay, so she only has like 20 at home, right? Or is it 30? Does she bake or buy them all birthday cakes? Do they have a birthday party every other week, or just one a month for whoever happened to be born then? I would ask, but her life is pretty stressful right now and I don't think it is appropriate.

But I've been thinking that maybe six is as many as I can deal with. Kids need attention. They need people to remember their birthdays. A good mom should know what's going on in their lives and I am not that good at remember that many details.

And the doorbell rings.

There is a good mom there. The sort of mom whose kids are take music lessons and are signed up for soccer league and ballet classes. She is here to pick up her son for band practice and will she see me at the ice cream social?

Um...uh...I'm not sure.

She leaves and I call Andrew to the living room. I did not actually yell at him, but I did ask with a fair amount of stress, "What band practice!? Tonight? There's an ice cream social tonight? Is this a fund raiser? Am I supposed to have money, or is it just a social? What do you mean you don't know? Don't you have some sort of handout or something?"

Grrr....

Evan came home and after a while asked me what was wrong. "You know you are just dripping with snappishness, don't you? What are pissed about?"

"Nothing." I asked Andrew to go with me to the store. He knew better than to say no.

We got to the store and I told him that I was sorry. "This really is supposed to be an apology, okay? Not more reprimanding. I realized that the real reason that I was upset was that I was embarrassed by not knowing about it in front of the other mom, and that has more to do with my insecurities than with you."

"I can do a better job of telling you about things. If it is that important to you..."

"Well, I would like you to tell me about things, but what I am saying is that I should let go of caring what other people think of me. I need to remember that not knowing about the band ice cream social doesn't make me a bad mom."

Andrew says, "Just remember you have a license." (Which is what I tell the kids whenever one of them is foolish enough to question me by pointing out that someone else's parents let their kids do something.)

Anyway, we had a companionable time walking through the grocery store. We got to the end and I realized we did not have ice cream so I went down that aisle. We stood there trying to decide and a mom and her daughter walked by. The mother said very loudly, "I'm not spending $5.75 on f***ing hot fudge so that you and your brother can stuff your faces!"

Andrew leaned closed and whispered, "You're a good mom."

Frustrated Nesting

Part of the problem is surely that I would rather not do the school work I ought to do.

But part of the problem is that I have a new kid on the way and I want to make the place ready for him.

And I absolutely, positively will not do anything that will make Evan feel like I want him to move out earlier. I don't want him to move out earlier. I wish that Frankie could come two weeks later.

I wish I was going to have a week in between the two boys to prep the room.

The room is an unattractive blue with a strange green trim. Brian picked it out and he loved it and that was really all that mattered. When Evan moved out, Brian moved to the upstairs bedroom (so as to be closer to the puppy). When Evan wanted to move back in he was already part of the family, and it was just temporary. Saying, "Of course you may move back in, but you have to take Brian's old room with the funny colors and the Harry Potter curtains" did not feel rude. Evan was fine with it.

But now there is a new kid coming. I want him to feel welcomed. I want his space to feel like it is really his. You know not "Frankie, Cupboard Under the Stairs, Privet Drive...." or more accurately, "Frankie, Smallest Bedroom with Broken Closet Door and Ugly Paint, Our Street..."

So the plan is to wait until Evan moves out, and then paint -- while the kids are double bunking and school is starting.

Hubby thinks I should just let the painting go until winter break. At the moment I am drifting to the compromise of painting the walls the off white we agreed upon and leave the trim and accent wall until winter. I could paint the walls fairly quickly.

We did buy new window coverings though. At least I will get rid of the old Harry Potter curtains.

This is probably what Evan was worried about when he kept asking me if I could handle the stress of one kid moving in while he was moving out and school was starting.

Hubby is probably right, I should let go of painting it when so much else is going on.

It would be so much easier if it weren't so bloody ugly.

Isn't mid-forties too young for this?

No...Frankie is not here yet.

I took a nap (not on purpose). The sheets on Brian's bed, where Frankie will sleep, are all nice and clean, and Hubby dusted. I am sitting here in my big chair while Evan watches a movie turned up too loudly and three fans are running (I said the air conditioner was working, not that it was working better than it used to).

Hubby says, "Yondalla!"

I look over and he is staring at the TV. "What? ... WHAT!" I say, not very rudely, but he did just call me.

Hubby says, "I wanted to say something but Evan wanted me to [mumble...mumble]."

I go back to reading an email.

"Yondalla!"

"What!"

"The person who does the voice for [mumble] is the same [mumble...mumble]."

"I can't hear you over the TV and all these fans!"

He gives me the now uninteresting factoid in a louder voice. I make polite acknowledgement, doing a very good job of feigning interest.

Evan says, "You know when you two get older you will both just yell at each other all the time, don't you?"

I reply, "Maybe we will just take a sign language class together. What do you think, Honey? Will you take a sign class with me?" He stares at the TV. "Honey?....HONEY!!"

He startles, looks at me confused and says, "What?"

Evan just shakes his head.

What else there is to say

First, thanks to those of you who gave reassuring comments about the toilet. Hubby thinks he can do it -- tomorrow. Today we decided the first priority was getting the house looking like adults actually lived here.

Hubby started with mowing the lawn while Andrew and I went shopping. Hubby burned himself on the lawn mower. I don't know how, but the blisters on his fingers look awful. He soaked them in ice water but is much tougher than I am. He got back into the swing of things.

It was one of those days where removing one level of clutter just reveals another level of filth.

Andrew spent an hour sorting and removing two months worth of recyclables from the mud room, which revealed a disgusting floor which Brian mopped.

I vacuumed the main floor, revealing stains I worked on with the little stain machine.

The kids cleaned their rooms (a major project). They also cleaned the rec room, removing old dishes that now look like forgotten science projects, a couple dozen aluminum cans, and enough trash to fill TWO giant lawn and leaf bags (I kid you not). This of course allowed us to see the floor and table surface -- so out with the mop again.


Brian scooped a months worth of dog poop out of the back yard. Since Hubby had burned his fingers, Brian mowed the back yard and Andrew did the front.

I cleaned the kitchen, which was just ordinary cleaning, except for the apparent science project things that kept appearing, and the main floor bathroom. Hubby mentioned that the basement bathroom (the one with the broken toilet) needed to be cleaned. I reminded him that I do not clean the basement bathroom. It is a matter of principle.

Meanwhile there is laundry. So much laundry. Hubby is mostly doing it, as it is his normal job. I am cheering him on though. I even folded a couple of loads.

Evan even swept the stairs, which were also very gross, moved the mattress that was still out from the last respite, and cleaned his room. He also took photos of it so that Frankie could take them back to the group home with zir. I will take some photos of the house to add, and print the photos of the ways the quilt can be put together so ze can let me know which ze prefers. I might even include some photos of us and the pets.

Anyway, the house is cleaner than it has been since my mother-in-law last visited. It doesn't look like anything you would find in a magazine, of course. There are still piles of books and magazines on almost every surface, but it is clean. Just don't look at the dust under the piles of books.

Now I just have to figure out what to do with myself for the next three or four hours.

Maybe I should go buy the toilet so Hubby can install it first thing in the morning. Or I could offer to supervise the laundry so that Hubby could go.

Of course I could listen to the audiobook on my iPod that I found under the chair when I moved it to vacuum.

What the boys think

Not that any of you asked, of course.

Anyway, Hubby and I had to make an immediate decision about whether Frankie could come over on Sunday. We did not have time to discuss it with the various boys. Afterwards though I spoke with each of them. And I thought you might be interested in their response. Prior to these conversations all I told them was that we were told that there was a kid who they were considering for us but about whom I knew almost nothing.

Andrew:

I spoke to him first. Told him that I didn't think it was a good idea for Frankie to sleep in the basement area with him and Evan so Brian would be moving in with him (again) and Frankie would stay in Brian's room. Andrew rolled his eyes, sighed and said, "okay." I told him everything I was willing to tell him about Frankie, which was a lot. Then I said, "If this happens, and I think it will, it will be fast. I imagine everyone will want him to move in before school starts." Andrew said, "That's cool."


Brian:

I stopped Brian and told him that Frankie was coming over on Sunday to spend two days. He said "Cool." I told him that I knew that it had been hard on him to loose his room for three weeks when we did respite and I wanted him to tell me honestly how much time he felt he could give it over in the next three weeks. He looked seriously at the calendar and then said matter-of-factly, "I can share with Andrew as much as ze needs me to."


Evan:

I told him. He said, "How long have you known this?!" I told him that I had got the call while he was at work and this was the first chance I had to talk to him about it. He said, "Okay then. You know I'm really excited about going to college. It's like I'm so excited that nothing else seems important. Like there was this thing that happened at work...[story omitted] ... and I just didn't care. That's normal right?"

Me: "Yeah. It's normal. Does it have something to do with Frankie visiting?"

Evan: "No. I just wanted to tell you about it."

Me: "Okay. I needed to talk to you because if this happens they will probably want Frankie to move in before schools starts and you move into the dorms after that. This is your home; there's no question about that, but how do you feel about someone moving in while you are moving out?"

Evan: "If you want I could ask my mom if I could live with her for a while, although I don't know that that would work out."

Me: "No. I don't want you to do that. Frankie will probably stay in Brian's room and Brian will be in the basement with you and Andrew. How do you feel about that?"

Evan: "I'm just worried about you. Can you handle all that stress? I'll be moving out, and you said you would help but there will be a new kid in the house. You know how you get sometimes. Can you cope with it?"

Me: "I can handle it." [This part of the conversation went on for a while. Evan was very concerned about my ability to handle the stress of meeting everyone's needs. I eventually convinced him.]

Evan: "Can you still help me move?"

Me: "Sure. You will be moving in while the kids are in school."

Evan: "That's right. You said he is living in a group home now?"

Me: "Yeah. And he's anxious to get out. He was about to leave months ago but then didn't because they told him he was a good candidate for our program. So he has been waiting for that process. They thought about putting him into a different foster home and then move him again, but"

Evan, interrupting me: "No that would be dumb. You know I did that -- living in a group home waiting to get into the program and move in here. Group homes suck, you know that, don't you? I mean they really do."

Me: "I imagine they do. Of course living here will be strange and different for him too."

Evan: "Yeah. You do know you guys are really geeky, don't you? I mean, this is a very weird family."

Me: "I've been told. So you are okay with him moving in even if you haven't moved out yet? You won't feel like we have some sort of assembly line thing here happening? I mean this is exactly what you asked us not to do last fall."

Evan gives long speech about how much he has matured since then, all of which is true. He then tells me that he will be at work most of the time anyway, so it doesn't matter. If I want he will move in with Andrew so that Frankie can move into his room. Immediately he looks like he wishes he could take that back. I assure him that he can keep the room until he moves.


Me: "There is just one more thing. When Frankie visits I want zir to be able to see the bedroom. I want you to get it picked up enough so that ze can look at it."

Evan gives me the look that says this is going too far, don't I remember that he doesn't want ANYone to ever go into the room? I say, "I won't let zir look through your things, but ze needs to see it."

Evan, sighing heavily: "Okay, but you won't let zir in without me, right?"

Me: "No. I promise."

Evan: "Okay then."


I'm so proud of all of them. Evan legitimately had worries to work out, but every single one of them heard "kid in group home who needs us" and was willing to do do whatever he could to make things work.

Every one.

They are such wonderful human beings. You know, most of the time.

Next:
First Impressions