Arrena Says Good-bye to Elementary School

So, today the mama is a little emotional.  This is the last day of school for the 2011-2012 school year.  Sounds pretty normal, but this year is a little different.  Today is the last day that all of my children will be at the same school.  That means that my oldest, Arrena, is leaving elementary school behind and going to middle school.  And I don't even have all summer to get used to that idea.  She starts middle school summer school in a week and a half.

Where did the time go?  Seems like just yesterday she was a little thing.  Actually, it seems like just last week I was in middle school myself...but reality is that I am closing in on my 20th high school reunion faster than I can imagine.

Arrena is about as teary about this life change as I am.  She commented the other day about how fast this year has flown by.  I replied, "I'm afraid it only goes faster as you get older."  She has been getting sentimental nearly every day: "Today was my last library day at this school."  "Today is the last day I get to see so-and-so because he/she is going to a different middle school."  "Today was my last elementary school Fun Day," etc., etc., etc.

As I was reflecting on the end and beginning for her, I thought back to those times for me.  I remember leaving elementary school very excited.  That year was the change from junior high to middle school.  My class was the last 6th grade class in the elementary school.  We went from being the last 6th grade kings of the school to middle school, skipping the whole babies of junior high thing since the outgoing fifth graders came up with us.  I remember the transition from middle school to high school being bittersweet.  We were excited to be moving on to bigger, better things, but also sad at the end of a chapter.  Leaving high school seemed so exciting at the time.  We'd finished something and were taking on the world.  I was getting married, moving to Germany, and looking forward to college.  In retrospect, that chapter closing was sad because many of the people that I thought were really close friends didn't take long at all to drift away.  And hindsight is always 20/20.  I couldn't wait to get out and get on.  Knowing what I know now, I wish I hadn't been so hellbent to break away.

As Arrena rushes headlong into growing up, I long to hit a "slo-mo" button.  I want her to be a kid as long as she can be.  I remember all the struggles I faced in middle school, high school, and adulthood.  I recall the teen angst, the depression, the friends, the boys, the academics, the entire concept of figuring out who and what you are.  I hope and pray that God helps me to prepare her for her life.  Please, Father, let me be a good mom.  Allow me to help her and please spare her from all the scary things that I can't fix and must trust to You.

I stood there on the side of the gym this morning, watching the final assembly with Arrena's friend's mom.  We both held wads of Kleenex and video cameras and wept quietly as the fifth graders filed past all the teachers, saying their goodbyes.  In my mind's eye, I could see that little girl that I took to Kindergarten somewhere behind that too grown-up face, inside that nearly as tall as me body.  Six years have flown by and I dread watching the next six careen past me, when my lovely daughter will be turning eighteen and getting ready to graduate and start her life.  That concept is too much for me.  It takes my breath away, so for now, I have to enjoy each day with her.  And thank God for this amazing girl that He placed in my life.  For right now, I have to go drive to the school and pick up my three children from elementary school for the last time.  The world isn't going to wait for me to catch up.

I recently took up knitting and crochet, teaching myself via online videos. I will post more about that at a later date. I have found so many cute patterns online. The Lovely Crow has the most adorable baby booties/shoes ever. And some hats too!

The Lovely Crow is doing a HUGE giveaway/sale/prize on her facebook page! Gorgeous crochet patterns! Go check it out! www.facebook.com/thelovelycrow

also, she is giving away a free pattern on Craftsy: http://www.craftsy.com/pattern/crocheting/Accessory/Baby-Boots-Baby-Garden-Boots/4936

Adventures in Dentalwork, Billy Edition

Before Smile:

Wow. What a long day. I'd rather have surgery myself than do that again. Literally.

As a mom, you realize that you would gladly walk through fire for your child. You'd rather have the surgery than to watch your "baby" go through it and not be able to help. And, just like a mother, you feel guilty for the whole durn thing because we all know that no matter what, it is always all your fault.

Today my six-year-old son had major dental work done. Nine teeth pulled, three crowns, two fillings, and a therapeutic pulpotomy (whatever that is).

I've known Billy had teeth problems for a while now. Here's where the guilt part comes in. I was a tired mom of three and I let Billy go to bed with a sippy cup even though I knew better. He has not been an easy child, so in order to keep him calm and save my sanity, I caved. My husband says I cave any time Billy is involved, but I am trying to be better. In the beginning, I didn't get his teeth fixed because I didn't have the money. Then, I hoped that the baby teeth would come out on their own. But, since he seems to be slow at most everything, he didn't lose his first baby tooth until a couple of weeks ago, two months before his 7th birthday. His teeth got worse, he started having pain, and we found out he had three abscesses. It was time to get it done.

The financing was something else altogether. The cost of this was astronomical and I tried calling insurance companies and other dentists and oral surgeons to find another option. But, the long and the short of it is that dental insurance doesn't cover general anesthetic and medical insurance will only cover dental expenses if there is an injury. With Billy's special needs, there was no way we could do this extensive work without general anesthesia. He would never have allowed them to come near him with a needle, let alone all the work they needed to do.

They originally scheduled him for noon, but changed it to 1:30pm. He was not allowed to eat anything after midnight--a long time for a little boy. He could have sips of water until 9:30am. I had to give him about half a spoonful of yogurt in the morning to take his meds with, since he can't swallow them whole. The dentist's office called in the morning and said they were running behind, so he was pushed to 2pm.

We had decided not to tell him about the surgery until the day of the surgery. We weren't sure if he could handle hearing all that. We didn't want him freaking out for two weeks. So, the night before, I told him he wasn't going to school, that he was going to the dentist to get his teeth fixed. He asked if they were going to pull them out and I said yes, some of them, but that they were going to give him medicine to make him go to sleep while they did it. He seemed to take it well.

We got to the dentist's office a little before two. Since this is a pediatric dentist, they had a couple of video games in the waiting room and Billy amused himself with that for a while. He brought one of his little stuffed bears and had fun dropping it from a little window at the top of a climbing/slide play area. We waited for a long time. It occurred to us that we were not going to get done in time to pick the girls up from school, so I called the school to arrange for them to stay at the after-school daycare.

Eventually, the anesthesia nurse came out and gave him some medicine to drink to make him sleepy, got his weight, and filled out paperwork and went over the risks with us. She kept checking on him because he was thumping around like boys do and she was afraid he was hitting the floor. She asked him if he was sleepy yet and he kept saying no. We finally asked him to come sit by us because we didn't want him to fall. He sat on my lap and played games on my phone. I started noticing that he was wobbling and he almost fell off my lap. I asked if he was tired and he said, "No, this medicine doesn't work. I'm dizzy, but not sleepy." Scott put him on his lap, but he wanted mama back. Then he protested being held, period. He did not think he was incapacitated and didn't understand why we wouldn't let him get up. I put him in the chair next to me, but he jumped up and tried to run. He stumbled and bumped into a tiki statue (their decor is jungle), jumped up before I could reach him and ran again. He stumbled again and this time, he went head first into the wall and started screaming and crying. He'd hit his face and ear and now has a light bruise under his eye.

He couldn't be consoled after that. Not only had he hurt himself, but he still didn't understand that he couldn't get up. He fought being held and we wrestled him. He kept screaming that he wouldn't hurt himself again, that he was okay. He argued, "I AM in control of myself!" Then he started talking funny, not finishing his sentences. He was still fighting us, but he could barely talk. The dentist came back out and heard what was going on and felt so sorry for him since he had hurt himself. The anesthesiologist came out and basically told us the same stuff his nurse had said. It was a good thing he didn't say anything new because I could barely hear him over Billy's wails.

Scott carried him back and as soon as he was laid on the chair, he was quiet. He had a hold of his bear and they had Rio on the TV above his head. They put a monitor on his toe and put a mask over his nose and mouth. They had him inhaling nitrous and an inhaled anesthetic. I held his hand and the anesthesiologist talked to him as he drifted off and let go of my hand. It was very hard for me as a mother. I have been under numerous times, but this was the first time I have watched this done. Usually it's done behind O. R. doors or if I'm the patient, I am asleep and have no idea what is going on. But, watching my baby laying there limp and hooked to machines was awful. I don't know how parents of sick children do it. This was just dental work and I was near tears and nauseous. The anesthesiologist was basically breathing for him, squeezing the bag to try to get him through the second stage of the anesthesia as quickly as possible. Apparently in that phase, the vocal cords can slam shut and cause him to not be able to breathe. I was worried that this would be a problem since he was crying so long, the mucous can cause this. It was frightening to me to see his chest rising and falling, his cheeks inflating with every squeeze of the bag. But even more frightening when the anesthesiologist took the mask away to gesture as he "talked shop" with my paramedic husband or to squirt nasal spray into his nose. He seemed to POUR that spray into his nose three times. Overreacting mom felt like they were drowning her baby.

When they put the breathing tube down his nose, I couldn't watch. After they did that, they took us to an office they had set up with snacks. We waited rather impatiently and I knitted furiously. Scott went to get us some food since we hadn't eaten all day and it was now about 4:30pm. He hesitated, asking me if I would be okay. I assured him I would be. I called my friend Elizabeth because I knew a fellow mom would understand how I felt better than my medically-minded husband, God love him. About 5:45pm, we figured we were not going to make it in time to get the girls from daycare, which closed at 6pm. Scott didn't want to leave, but I couldn't get a hold of any of my friends to ask them to pick the girls up for us. As Scott was getting ready to reluctantly leave, the dentist came in and told us that they were done. She told us he was doing well and reiterated what they had done. She said they were going to take him to another room to recover and they would come get me to see him.

Scott left to get the girls and a few minutes later, they came and got me to take me to Billy. He was curled up in an exam chair with a Toy Story blanket over him, the nurse keeping the hand with the I.V. under the cover to keep him from pulling it out. He was breathing with his mouth open and the first glance at his bloodied, tooth-deficient mouth was pretty heartbreaking and scary. They had warned me that most children cry coming out of the anesthesia and that some kick and thrash. Boy howdy! I lost count of how many times the nurse and I saved him from hitting the floor. He cried, he whined, he kicked, he thrashed, he rolled, he banged his head into the chair and yet he was still asleep. The nurse and I sat on each side of the chair and kept grabbing the flailing body parts to keep him from hurting himself or us. Occasionally he ended up in my lap. At one point, he flung his arm up over his head and hit me across the face. The anesthesiologist stepped in and said, "Billy...how are you doing?" At the sound of his name, Billy opened his eyes and turned his head to face the doctor. But, it was obvious he still wasn't awake yet. The doctor left again and we continued our vigil. I talked to him and crooned at him, but he didn't respond. His first words were, "I don't wanna wake up!" Then he started crying, "mama." He also said he was scared several times. He asked for a clock. When I asked why, he said he wanted to see what time it was. He said, "I want Scott!" I told him that Scott would be back soon. He said something about the dentist, but I couldn't make out if he said, "I want to go to the dentist," or "I don't want to go to the dentist." All the while, he is still kicking and fighting. I'm not sure how many injuries the nurse sustained, but I got kicked in the jaw at one point. He tried to pull out his I.V. and we had to stop him from hitting himself in the head with his own fist. Then he said, through tears, "I want to go home now." I told him he could go home as soon as he calmed down. He had said he was thirsty, so we gave him a blue popsicle, which he sucked on a bit. He asked for his socks and shoes. The nurse said he could go, so I asked him if he would promise not to kick me if I put his shoes on. I was getting enough without the shoes. He had been kicking Scott in the waiting room before with those shoes and Scott could attest to the kicks being more forceful with them on.

It wasn't easy juggling him, his popsicle, his bear, his jacket, my purse, and my knitting bag. My phone battery had died, so I asked the receptionist to call Scott, who said he was about ten minutes away. I lugged Billy out of the office, down the elevator, and to some comfy chairs by the front door to wait. By this time, it was about 6:30pm. Billy whimpered a bit and kept asking to go home, but he finished eating his popsicle and laid in my arms.

When Scott and the girls arrived, I tucked him into his carseat. He smelled the McDonald's the girls had and asked for fries. I told him he couldn't chew them but that we would get something when we got home. He fell asleep in the car on the way home. When we got there, Scott carried him in and we laid him on the couch. I gave him half a dose of liquid Lortab and a Pediasure. He tipped it back and drained it! He was thirsty and hungry. I gave him a pudding cup and he scarfed it. We giggled at him because he shoveled it in as fast as he could and had chipmunk cheeks. He also ate some Jell-O and drank some V8 Splash. Then he laid back and watched TV for a little while. After being tucked in, he only got up once, crying that his tummy hurt. He ran to the bathroom, but was nodding off on the toilet, so I tucked him back into bed. Poor little guy! So glad it's all over!

UPDATE: I kept him home from school Thursday, but he seemed so good all day, I wondered if I should have sent him to school after all. In talking to him, he doesn't seem to remember anything between playing games on my phone on my lap and watching TV on the couch.

After Smile (taken the day after surgery, so he looks pretty tired):

Update on the Little Prince

My last post was one of desperation. I have to say that things didn't get much better after that. Billy's tirade lasted four or five days. One particularly bad day, I took my phone, walked out onto the porch, shutting the front door on the sound of Billy banging on his bedroom door, and sat down to call a close friend and cry. We talked for a while and one thing she said to me was that she was not an advocate of institutionalizing children, but she was afraid that in this case, it might be necessary. I was NOT pleased to hear that.

My husband had worked the night before and as he works 24 hour shifts, he was sleeping that morning. When he woke up and found me in a state of tears, snot, and raw nerves, he said I should have woken him up. He said that we might have to think about hospitalizing Billy. I immediately burst into sobs and wails, saying that's what my friend had said and I couldn't imagine such a thing. How could I send my 6-year-old away to strangers? He's my baby! My husband helped me count my blessings to calm me down and urged me to call our counselor to see what he thought.

When the counselor called me back and heard the tale of woe, his response was that if we didn't get him under control quickly, we might have to send him to a residential treatment facility. We met with him and I cried in his office. I knew that I would do whatever was best for Billy, even if it meant sending him to some in-patient treatment, but the idea of it ripped my heart out. Our counselor urged me to harass the psychiatrist's office every day until we were able to get an earlier appointment. He said he was not able to make diagnoses, but he was leaning towards Billy having bipolar disorder, as well as some OCD, which would require some other meds (which would hopefully bring the situation under control without having to send Billy anywhere). We, personally, have long thought he might have some mild autism, perhaps Asperger's.

The psychiatrist's office was able to get us in last Wednesday. Since our counselor works some days out of the same office as our psychiatrist, he had met with the doctor and discussed with him the problems and his observations before our appointment. When I came in, he asked me some questions and then asked me if we were willing to go to a stronger medicine. It carries more risks, but we are at our wit's end and we don't know what else to do. The counselor who has been at this for thirty years doesn't even know what else to do at this point. And it has to be better than sending him to a facility. So, they took him off his afternoon med and his antidepressant and put him on an anti-psychotic. The doctor is not willing to change his diagnosis yet or label Billy as anything, but the meds that he put him on treat autism, bipolar, and schizophrenia. My ex-husband's family has more than enough bipolar and schizophrenia to go around, so it is entirely possible that one or more of my children could inherit these problems.

So, we've started him on half a dose. When his body gets used to that and he overcomes his sleepiness from the meds, we will bump him up to a full dose. We are praying that this makes a difference for him and that he will have little to no side effects from it. He did not behave well Saturday, when I hosted a friend's baby shower. But, he has been pretty good yesterday and today, so we are praying that this continues.

One blessing to come out of this was that I visited a new Sunday School class last week and met a woman who has a son with mild autism. He was placed on the same meds and she swore by them. So, when the doctor suggested them, I had already heard of them. And it is nice to have someone to talk to who knows what we are going through.

Our next step with him is to get him a dental appointment. He has needed some work done for a while, but it was either that we didn't have the money for it or that we had hoped he would lose the baby teeth soon rather than wasting a fortune on teeth that may fall out in a month. However, he has a couple that are really causing him problems and look really bad. My husband also believes that if his teeth were fixed, he might eat more and might be better-tempered. However, I am not sure how we will get him to hold still for the work I foresee coming. If they come near him with a needle or a drill, he will flip. The insurance company said they would cover sedation if the dentist gets pre-authorization and can show reason why it is necessary. I had hoped for a little bit more of a concrete diagnosis for Billy. I mean, they might be more likely to approve sedation for a child who has autism or bipolar disorder than a child who is just diagnosed as ADHD. ADHD just doesn't adequately cover Billy.

If his eating doesn't improve after his dental work, I am going to take him back to our primary care physician. I worry about his physical health as well as his mental and emotional health. He hasn't gained weight in more than two years (he's always been very skinny), he's almost seven and hasn't had even a hint of a loose tooth yet, and he complains about stomachaches all the time. He doesn't sleep well either, but I assume that has more to do with the mental and emotional issues he has.

Please pray for my little guy. I feel so sorry for him. But, I also feel sorry for the girls and for us because we all suffer with this.

Boycott!

I have never been an advocate for boycotting corporations. A few years back, I heard of a lot of Christians that were boycotting Wal-Mart because they contributed funds towards gay/lesbian causes. I considered joining the boycott because their reasoning made sense: I don't want my money supporting that lifestyle, which I am opposed to.

However, there are two reasons which made me reconsider. One was logic. Can you possibly track every dollar you spend and be sure that none of them goes to fund causes that you disagree with? If you shop at the grocery store, and the cashier is gay and his paycheck is paid by your shopping there, should you boycott that grocery store? What about your hair dresser, who may be secretly pregnant and planning to get an abortion? If you tip her, does that mean you contributed to what you believe is wrong? It's impossible to know where every dollar you spend goes. What about your tax dollars? Where do they go?

The second reason I reconsidered is because of the apostle Paul.  In I Corinthians 8, Paul writes that although he may have the liberty to eat meat offered to idols, he won't if it causes his weaker brother to stumble.  He never said that they should boycott the shops that sold meat offered to idols or not give their money to support such organizations.  He speaks of knowledge to know that what you are doing does not violate your faith.

While I won't donate to support organizations that I disagree with, I don't believe that it's necessary to boycott J.C. Penney or Wal-Mart or whichever corporation is currently served up on a platter on the altar of good intentions.

Happy New Year

So, if you know me or my family or have read this blog before, you know that my son has ADHD and ODD and we are in the middle of counseling for that, as well as medicating him. It has been a VERY bumpy road, but over the last four years, I've grown accustomed to most everything. I get tired and frustrated, but mostly, it's nothing new. This week has shown me that I ain't seen nothin' yet. Welcome to the new year....

Billy, as you may know, is six years old. He and his sisters went to visit their dad on Christmas day and stayed until the 27th. Billy came back a new boy. It was amazing. I thought maybe they had found a look-alike to switch him with or maybe he had been hypnotized or something. The only real answer was that his dad had given him a PSP (Play Station Portable) for Christmas and he was told that if he didn't behave with us, he would lose it at his dad's. As an added incentive, he was also informed that his dad would buy him some new games for it, if he was really good.

For two days, he was an angel. I was dumbstruck. He didn't get in trouble for anything. He was sweet and pleasant and I really enjoyed him. I was recovering from being sick, so it was nice to be able to sleep in, my husband gave him his morning medication, and then I woke up to a happy family.

We were running low on his morning meds, which are his primary ADHD medication. His psychiatrist had had to cancel his appointment and couldn't fit him in again until the end of January. They went ahead and wrote a prescription to make up for the month. His doctor's office is in Leawood, KS and we live in Raytown, MO, so I waited to pick it up until he had his counseling appointment in Overland Park, KS on Friday. While his behavior for two days had been exceptional, his counselor predicted it would be short-lived. Judging from the behavior we had recorded before Christmas, Billy obviously wasn't taking us seriously and it was time to up the ante. He brought Billy in and explained to him that he cannot continue to treat his mother the way he has and outlined the new rules, which allow very little wiggle room for him. And, sure enough, the good boy started to unravel later that day.

I didn't think to take the prescription in immediately to have it filled. He had his last dose yesterday morning. About 5pm, it dawned on me that it was New Year's Eve and the pharmacy might be closing early. I called and it was already closed. I thought I might go out after the kids went to bed and find a 24-hour Walgreen's to get it filled.

Billy ended up having a meltdown. It all started because he took a bite of a sandwich that had been sitting on top of the trash can. I said that was gross, so then he wanted me to kiss him, to gross me out further. When I refused, he picked up a can of Febreze and aimed it at me. I told him to put it down several times. He ignored me and sprayed me in the face with it. He not only got me, but also the chicken I was cutting up for dinner. I told him to go to his room and since this was his second strike, he would be getting a peanut butter sandwich for dinner, instead of eating with the rest of us. He refused to go, so he was escorted to his room. He returned with a boxed game and threw it at me, hitting me in the back. My husband got up then and dealt with him while I finished dinner. It sounded like a major battle in there, but Scott eventually got Billy calmed down, but not before Billy tore down the shade in the window.

However, after bedtime, Billy started banging on the door, which is a no-no, according to his counselor. As per the counselor's instructions, I went in and held him down for 15 minutes (once he gets riled, he continues to escalate--the holding seems to "reset" him), during which he fought me constantly, spitting on me, etc. After that, I found that he had broken a CD I had let him borrow from the library, so now he not only has to use his Christmas money to replace the shade, but also the CD.

I was so wiped, I didn't want to get out again, so we decided we would get his meds filled on our way to church since the 24 hour Walgreen's is about a block from the church. But, we slept in and missed church. When we woke up, we were laying there, discussing what the game plan was for the day when the house phone started ringing. The only people that ever call our house phone are the kids' friends and telemarketers, so we didn't run to answer it. But, then I heard sounds of a child skirmish, so I immediately went to check it out. Billy's hands were covered in what looked like glitter glue. His oldest sister was screeching about how he had dumped out all of her makeup and something about prank calls they had been getting. I was in the bathroom, trying to wash Billy's hands when the doorbell rang. Our middle child looked out the window and yelled, "Oh my goodness! It's the cops!" I could hear my husband let them in and talking to them and I gathered that Billy had somehow called 911. The "prank calls" the girls had been referring to was the 911 operator trying to call back. It came up as blocked and the girls wouldn't answer it.

I finished cleaning Billy up and sent him to put some clothes on since he was running around in his underoos, for some unknown reason. Then he went to face the two police officers in our living room. They were very nice and understanding, but the woman lectured him on the difference between an emergency and playing with the phone. He looked scared while they were there, but after they left, he was laughing like it was no big deal. We were NOT amused. We sent him to his room.

I went out to get his meds refilled. The pharmacy we usually go to was closed for the holiday, so I went to Walgreen's. They told me they don't accept our insurance anymore! Since when? I get his nighttime meds there every month because our other pharmacy doesn't carry it! And it isn't as though we have some weird insurance--it's Blue Cross Blue Shield! She said that they made a deal with CVS. Lovely. I DESPISE CVS! Now, I'm wondering if that's the only place I can fill at now. If so, that's ridiculous! And thanks for changing our insurance without telling us!

So, I headed over to CVS, reluctantly. Of course, instead of a 20 minute wait like everywhere else, it's going to be an hour (guess that's better than the time I had to go there for meds for an allergic reaction I was having--don't get me started). So, I go to the store to get a few things and kill time. While there, my phone rings. It was CVS calling to tell me that they couldn't run my discount card. Our psychiatrist gave me a 50% discount card because the meds are so expensive. Even with insurance, the copay is $60 a month. The card makes it $30 a month. It's still a lot when you add in that he has two other meds (not as expensive, thank goodness) and the copays for both a psychiatrist and a counselor (the latter he sees once a week). Well, I guess I didn't realize he had been on it so long, but it's only good for a year and guess what? The year is up. Of course it is. They told me that if I can get the info for another card over the phone, they can process it that way. But, it's Sunday and it's New Year's Day, so there is no one in the doctor's office to give me numbers off a new discount card. So, now it's a decision of whether I buy the groceries in the cart or buy Billy's prescription at full-price. My husband and I decided since it was getting so late anyways, we would just give him his afternoon pill and try to call the doctor in the morning.

So, I finished my grocery shopping and came home. We were putting away groceries and cleaning up when my husband found that Billy's bottle of nighttime meds (anti-depressant) was empty. I just filled it about a week and a half ago. I nearly lost it. Billy denied it at first, but eventually cheerfully confessed to pouring it down the drain because it tastes yucky. I'm looking into the face of this adorable 6-year-old, who is telling me that he just wasted some more medicine that I am sure the doctor will not refill this soon. He is smiling, like he he has had the best day ever, despite the police showing up, the absent meds, the glowering twitching parent in front of him. Then I notice the blue fish stamps all over his face. I look around the room and see green marker on the carpet. I demanded all the crayons, markers, stampers, anything that marked. I confiscated them all. Then I gave him an hour to get his room clean or I would clean it for him.

An hour later, my husband and I came back and filled up two trash bags. Billy acted like he didn't even care. How do you work with a child that doesn't care and doesn't have any remorse?

It's like I have an overgrown two-year-old. I feel like I need to sleep in front of his door or handcuff myself to him so that I know where he is and what he is up to every second of every day. He sneaks out of his room at night and pours liquid soap out into the bathtub or hydrogen peroxide all over the floor. He mixes soaps with bath fizzers. He scratches "No Girls Allowed" in the paint on his wall. He finds scissors and cuts large holes into his pajama bottoms and pillowcases. He squirts his sister's body lotion all over the basement floor. He put her lip gloss on all the doorknobs. And that's just the mischief he gets into.

There's the spitting and the punching. He calls me an MF. He calls his sisters the B-word. He calls everyone idiots. He throws things at his grandma. He tears up everything, or tries to, when he has a temper tantrum--from kicking car seats and windows when we're in the car, to tearing down blinds and throwing things when he's at home. He bites. He kicks the cats. He ignores me and tells me "No!" He runs and hides from me when he's in trouble or doesn't want to do something. He tells us he hates us and wishes we were all dead. He tells me he's going to kill me.

Calgon doesn't take me far enough away. If I were a drinker, I'd be an alcoholic for sure. His counselor says it's going to be slow progress, but times like this, I swear I can FEEL gray hairs and hear my life clock ticking backwards: there's another year off my life. I don't think MY antidepressants are strong enough for days like these. I hope that in a few years, I can look back on this post and laugh and thank God for how far Billy has come. But, I really hope it doesn't take years.

'Twas the Night After Thanksgiving

'Twas the night after Thanksgiving and all through the home,
Not a creature was thankful for the blessings they'd been shown.
The leftovers were tossed in the fridge without care,
In the dread that turkey sandwiches would long be found there.

The children were nestled in grandma's spare beds,
While visions of Christmas toys danced in their heads.
And grandma wept quietly at the disastrous meal
But, no one in the house cared how she feels.

Jim brought his new girlfriend, wife and kids left behind.
Jerry had been drinking and kept speaking his mind.
Debbie picked fights and George stormed out
Uncle Phil sat all day, talking about his gout.

Bobby and Charlie didn't come to dinner at all.
They pitched a tent outside of the mall.
For Black Friday shopping, they must be first in line.
To get a deal on an iPad, they gave up family time.

John is in Iraq, serving his country with pride,
Junior stayed at home, brushing his family aside.
"They're ridiculous and embarrassing, I can't believe we're related.
I'd rather stay home and watch football," he stated.

No one was happy, they all complained.
The food was treated with utter disdain.
The stuffing's too wet, the turkey's too dry.
"You didn't fix my favorite, grandma, why?"

The grandkids ran screaming from room to room,
The little ones broke a window with a broom.
The teenagers reeked of more than just smoke
And knocked over grandpa's handmade clock, which broke.

The kids ran unchecked and out of control
They were rude and impolite and mean to little Nicole.
The older ones barely spoke a word all day,
They just kept their phones in their hands, texting away.

Though it was now midnight, Molly and Abigail were ready to go
Heading for lines and sales to save lots of dough.
Forgetting to help out other families in need,
Buying more toys to feed their spoiled kids' greed.

When up in the heavens, there arose such a clatter,
Yet all were so self-centered, it didn't seem to matter.
When all of His good and perfect gifts are ignored,
You should know in a moment, it must be the Lord.

And then, in a twinkling, life will pass by in a jerk.
He spoke many words, now we should get straight to work.
He was heard to exclaim as he rose out of sight,
"Be thankful in all and love your neighbor day and night."

God's Desire

This blog is called "writing practice," but it's been mostly journalistic in nature. I've written "articles" taken from my everyday life, which is fine, but I feel I should also insert more of my creativity. I wrote two versions of a short story a few months ago and I added a little creativity to my last post, but I plan to do this more often. The other day, I dug through some of my creative writing files to find a poem for my grandpa and I found some that I want to rework.

Jesus is calling
O sinner, repent.
Your life is unclean
And in constant torment.
You do what you want,
But you're longing for more.
Your existence is empty,
Won't you open the door?
He's waiting for you
With open, loving arms.
He'll keep you safe
From the enemy's harms.
Jesus is calling...
Please, sinner, repent.

The Holy Spirit is calling,
O Christian, obey.
There's numerous ways
To serve Christ today.
He'll speak to you
Through His divine Holy Word.
Your God will instruct you
Though not a voice can be heard.
In prayer, you'll talk with him
As you come boldly to the throne.
With mercy and grace,
He'll lead you toward home.
The Holy Spirit is calling...
Please, Christian, obey.

The Father is calling,
O Christian, please go.
My love to all sinners
I want you to show.
Be a light everywhere, wherever;
Tell what God has done for you.
Spread the gospel in your sphere
Tell each Catholic, Agnostic, and Jew.
Then cross the oceans,
And win foreign lands.
As you, all over the globe,
Proclaim the kingdom is at hand.
The Father is calling...
Please, Christian, won't you go?

The Godhead is calling,
O Christian, come home.
The streets of gold stand ready,
For the redeemed to roam.
The mansions are built
By a Carpenter for you,
Silhouetted against
A sky of deepest blue.
Your work is complete,
You can lay your burden down.
Loved ones gone before
Wait to show you around.
The Godhead is calling...
My child, welcome home.

The Modern Family

Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, there lived a queen. She was neither a good queen nor a bad queen, but a queen that tried her very best. Her dominion was not very large: in fact, her subjects were very limited in number, but she loved them very much and would give anything for their well-being.

By and by, the queen had a son. The very idea of raising a son struck terror in the heart of the queen. She knew nothing about raising a modern-day knight. She had no magic mirrors or book of spells to help her, for this land was not magical. She feared her son becoming like the wicked king and she longed to instill the love of the Creator in him.

However, when the prince was born, he immediately bonded with the queen. The babe would stare lovingly into her face, bringing tears to the queen's eyes. The prince made the queen feel like a queen. The apprehension the queen had felt melted into love and adoration.

When the boy was a toddler, the wicked king decided that he was too much of a mama's boy and took him under wing, much to the chagrin of the queen. The sweet baby became a hard to manage child. He threw tantrums, he screamed, he hit, he kicked, he threw things, he said bad words. The queen remembered the sweet baby and loved her son still. She hoped he would grow out of this stage.

The prince started preschool. The queen received phone calls from the school that the boy was being mean to other students and could not be calmed and would not give ear to his instructors. As the problems escalated and the years passed, the queen realized that the boy was not outgrowing the issues. They were only getting worse. She went to parenting classes, read books, asked other parents, researched online. She knew it must somehow be her fault. She had done something wrong in raising the boy. The boy still loved his queen mother, however, and preferred her company above all others.

The wicked king, meanwhile, attempted to kill the queen and run away with the prince and the royal princesses, but his plans were thwarted. He was arrested, dethroned, overthrown, and left to set up a kingdom somewhere else. The queen found a new king, who was good and kind and loved the prince and the royal princesses and moved them into his castle, where he lived alone with his faithful canine companion.

As the prince began elementary school, the good king and the queen began to be more and more concerned about his behavior. Words like "high functioning autism" began to haunt them. So, they sought medical help. A doctor, or wizard of the first degree, sent them to a wizard of the second degree. He proclaimed that the prince had an affliction known as ADHD, complicated with a side of ODD. They tried different potions from the apothecary until they found one that seemed to calm the boy down. His behavior was still a problem, but he was finally able to sit still. They were then passed on to a wizard of the third degree.

This wizard gave them new parenting techniques and suggested new punishments for the prince. The wizard charged them with keeping a scroll of the boy's actions. The queen gained confidence in her ability to handle the boy and be a strong mother. However, she missed her son when he had to be banished to the tower, which was frequently. The wizard saw elements of OCD in the boy's behavior. One of his troubling observations was that the prince seemed happiest when he was playing by himself, being left alone.

Though the wizard was still working on the problem, the queen became nervous when the wizard mentioned "occupational therapy" if the prince could not gain control over himself and his actions. This, to the queen, sounded like giving up on her beloved son. She was further troubled when the wizard told them that the prince was selfish and narcissistic and that if they were to quit at this point, they would have to learn to accept him for who and what he is: someone that expects the world to revolve around him. The queen was brokenhearted when the wizard told her that her son obviously did not feel the same about her as she did about him or else he would miss her when he was banished to the tower. Since he didn't seem to mind being in the tower alone, he obviously didn't care about spending time with the queen or being a part of the royal family. The queen felt as though she had lost that sweet baby and that she'd imagined the close relationship she had believed she'd had with the prince.

As with all fairy tales, the question is whether they all lived happily ever after. Unfortunately, I can't tell you the answer to that question because the next chapter hasn't been written yet. We still don't know what is causing the problems with my son or how to help him.

Adventures in Kitty Adoptions, Day 22

The big news today is that the kitties now have permanent names! The kitty formerly known as "Black" is George and "Blue" will henceforth and forever be called Shadow.

My mother-in-law was concerned that we would be so used to calling them "Black" and "Blue" that they would only answer to that. But, I don't usually use those monikers unless I am talking ABOUT them. When I address the kitties, I say baby, kitty, punkin, sugar, sweetie, or something like that.

I mentioned in a previous post that we had decided to call one of the cats "George" long ago due to the Bugs Bunny cartoon (link here) and my favorite football player. But, the deciding factor in naming Smidgen, aka Black, "George" was that he is a Curious George, with his nose in anything. And he is somewhat wild, so I will often break into a chorus of "George of the Jungle" as he is racing through the house.

Butterball, aka Blue was a harder one to name. We tossed around many names. He was almost a Charles after my hubby's favorite football player. And I kind of liked funny names like "Catty Wompus" or "TOMba Hali," if he must be named after a Chiefs' player. But, they didn't really fit his personality. Shadow had a nice ring to it and since he likes to hide and also follows me around, it fit him.

And so, Smidgen and Butterball, who became Black and Blue (in name only!), have now become George and Shadow!

Adventures in Kitty Adoptions, Days 14-21

Thing One and Thing Two (ha ha) are settling into the house nicely. I am the Pied Piper of Hamlin, as the kitties follow me around everywhere I go...as well as weaving around my legs and tripping me as I walk. My husband observed this one night and said, "Man, they are attached to you!" Sometimes I end up with both kitties in my lap or one on my lap and one on my shoulder or around my neck. I have always said that there is something about me that kitties like. My husband was slightly jealous because even with treats, he could not lure them away from me. I have spent lots of time cultivating trust with them. However, he was tickled last night when "Black" jumped up in his lap and stayed a while. Then, later, when he was laying in bed, Black jumped up there and licked his face. Today, "Blue" rubbed all over his legs and stretched his paw up on Scott's legs several times, wanting to be petted. Scott said, "Okay, you both can stay!" Ha, ha!

If Black is not in my lap, he is usually in my office chair, one of our recliners, or our bed. My mother-in-law has a plaque that says, "If you want the best seat in the house, move the cat." Black is proving that to be true. Blue hides behind the couch most of the day, which is better than the bottom of the concrete basement stairs. But, he comes out when the kids aren't home or are asleep and wanders around or sits with me.

Kimberly had a great idea for introducing the cats to Jesse (the border collie). We put up the portable kennel in the dining room and then let the cats approach Jesse without the fear that he could get at them. Black walked right up to the kennel and got nose to nose with Jesse. Jesse averted his eyes at first, but then barked, which scared them and they ran. He calmed down after that and Black boldly walked around the kennel multiple times. Blue would freeze in the kitchen and stare. I finally picked him up and carried him into the bedroom, where he froze and stared at the kennel. Scott went with him and he cautiously went towards the kennel. It was cute--as long as we were there with him, he went close to the kennel. But later, they were playing and got near the kennel and Jesse jumped up suddenly and startled them and they took off. I think Jesse is more afraid of them. He turns his head to avoid eye contact and goes to the back of the kennel. We'll keep trying until they get used to each other. You can't undo thousands of years of species animosity overnight!

Adventures in Kitty Adoptions, Days 11-13

We decided to let the kitties in yesterday since the weather is getting colder and they are increasingly curious about the kitchen door. We still haven't cut the hole in the door--correction: my husband hasn't cut the hole in the door. His version is that he hasn't helped ME cut the hole in the door. He doesn't think the garage door being open makes that much difference, but I say it is COLD. Think I will have to turn the heat on later. Door cutting will have to wait until Thursday now, since he has to work tomorrow. Anyways, I digress.

When we opened the door, they cautiously came in. They were checking out the kitchen, but my husband called to me and when I turned to walk in the other room, they scattered. Then we couldn't coax them back in for anything. We left the door open, but they didn't return until that evening when the kids went to bed. Billy had been messing around and I went to check on him. When I came back, I smelled something stinky, so I went to clean the litter box. I saw Black, but not Blue. All of a sudden, he came strolling out of the kitchen like he owned the place. Funny, because he usually leaves it to his brother to check things out and then follows once the coast is clear. They both came in then and checked out the kitchen, living room, dining room, the hall, and our bedroom. They were so funny. I don't think their necks could stretch any farther, their bellies sink any lower, or their eyes get any wider.

Today, they really made themselves at home in the house, until the kids came home, then it was back to the garage. While they were inside exploring, I shot the first video. Black has gotten under our bed twice. The second time, I told my hubby he was there, so he shook the bed because he didn't want him under there. Nothing happened. He shook it again. Still nothing. He said, "He must have sneaked out when you weren't looking." I swore he hadn't. I went looking around the house and couldn't find either of them. I searched twice. No sign of kitties. So, I got my laptop and went to sit on the couch in the living room. As soon as I sat down, I heard the jingling of a kitty collar and a cat scrambling to get out from under the recliner seat I was sitting in, then racing around the back of the couches and out in the open. Blue had apparently climbed under the recliner from the back. Later, we were looking again for Black under the bed. I was peering under the recliner at the end of the bed and saw a shadow, heard my hubby say, "There he is," and then felt kitty paws running across my feet. I screamed because it startled me.

The two boys played for a while today. I have not seen them play together since we got them. They play with us, but not together. Black was playing with the crinkle tunnel when Blue suddenly sprang and jumped on him. It was so out of the blue, I couldn't help but laugh. So, I grabbed the camera and took the second video of them playing. Later, after I had turned the camera off, Black decided to pull a slick one on his brother. Whenever he says, "mow," his brother comes running to check him out. It must be the way that he calls him. So, Black was hiding at the end of the couch and said, "mow." Blue was on the couch, getting petted, but when he heard his brother, he jumped down and cautiously went over. As soon as he was within sight, Black pounced him.

I heard back from the lady at the humane society. She said to try giving them Kit-N-Kaboodle because that was what they were fed exclusively. However, I have not found any kitty puke in about 36 hours, so maybe they are doing better.

They enjoyed a nice moist chunky kitty food treat today. Scott bribed them and they promptly stuck their faces in the bowl. Black hardly came up for air, he enjoyed it so much. I am glad they are happier and more at ease with each passing day.

Adventures in Kitty Adoptions, Days 9 & 10

I am now concerned with both kitties' health. Blue is still throwing up and having diarrhea (he threw up in the carrier this morning--at least I am assuming it is him). And we discovered that Black has been scratching at his collar so much that he has left a bald patch with irritated bumps under it. I wondered if he was allergic to it, but I am hoping that he is just unfamiliar with wearing a collar and will get used to it. Going to try a different cat food and see if that helps Blue. If it doesn't, I am going to contact the woman at the Humane Society because she said they would stand behind their pets and help with medical care, if needed.

Blue has decided he sort of likes Arrena. He has become my favorite. He responds best to me, but he is now seeking out Arrena too. I wonder if it is because we look a lot alike or if it's because he can tell that she is calmer than the others.

We've bought them some toys that I am anxious to see them try out. Scott is going to put together the cat jungle gym that I talked about in a previous post. And I found them a "crinkle tunnel". My friend Elizabeth's cats play in one of the kids play tunnels and have a BLAST with it. This one has the crinkle sound that kitties love and is lighted. Oooooh! Not sure why it needs lighting, but oh well, it was on sale. And we had been intrigued by a remote controlled mouse that we saw. It was on sale too, so we bought it and it was so much fun to play with them with it. Here's a video to illustrate my point: (Blue is in the litter box at the beginning of the video, so that is the scratching sound you hear.)

Adventures in Kitty Adoptions, Days 7 & 8

Tough crowd, tough crowd.... My mother-in-law is looking into hitmen and rounding up the townsfolk for an angry mob because I still haven't revealed the kitties' new names. Well, prepare to be disappointed. We have still not decided on names. My husband is still saying we may not keep both kitties (even though he went and bought some moist morsel kitty food to bribe them with as well as what can only be described as a kitty jungle gym) and we know we want to name one "George." I know George is a strange choice, but as we were looking up kitty name lists, we ran across George and both of us chorused, "I will call him George! And I will love him and stroke him and pet him and hold him!" Plus, one of my favorite football players is Eddie George. We have tossed around different combinations, but have not arrived at a second name. Since we all seem to have trouble spitting out "Butterball" and "Smidgen", we decided that until we figure out another name, we are going to call him by the color of their collars. It's easy since as you look at them, you know that "Blue" has on a blue collar, instead of trying to remember that he is "Butterball." So, for now, they are "Blue" and "Black." I know, it's dumb, but it's only temporary.

I was beginning to think that "Blue" had a broken purr-motor because I had never heard him purr. Last night I went out to see them and Blue was really lovable. Then he started purring. His purr was so cute--it sounded a bit like chirping--sort of a squeaky purr. While he was in a good mood, I picked him up and put him in my lap. He stayed there for a while, letting me pet him and purring.

Billy was pleased that Black jumped in his lap and rolled around on him for a while. Ignoring him is the trick to getting his attention.

I have been having some trouble with the automatic litter box. It clogs often. We decided to try this other litter we saw at the store, called Feline Pine. It is much lighter weight, so we thought it might help, since the rake sometimes appears to be unable to make it through the litter and resets itself. So, this morning, I dumped out the old litter and put in the new stuff. Now, this is too lightweight. When the rake starts, it pushes everything out. The stuff sticks together. I'm not sure what to do with it now.... Maybe I will look for help on some online forums to get some advice.

We were going to let the kitties into the house tomorrow, but the kids are out of school tomorrow and I'd rather the boys have some quiet to explore the house, instead of kids following them around everywhere. So, we decided to wait until Monday. Boy, they sure try to follow me in!

I'll be glad when they can come in. They are getting used to being with us and seem to want more. And so do I!

Adventures in Kitty Adoptions, Days 5 & 6

Butterball has found a new place to lay down. Instead of the bottom of the stairs, he found a few towels that we had folded on the garage shelf and decided that was much more comfortable than the concrete stairs. Smidgen has taken to laying on top of the workbench behind Scott's toolbox.

They are both interested in the kitchen door. And instead of being afraid of the automatic litterbox, Smidgen is very intrigued by it. As soon as it starts, he runs over to check it out.

Scott tried to bribe them both with chicken nuggets the other night. Smidgen took it willingly, but Butterball was really afraid for some reason and would only lick it.

Yesterday morning when I went to check on them, I found some kitty barf on the floor. Smidgen has been acting as though he were hacking up a hairball. After I fed them, Butterball ate a little and then threw it up on the floor. Later when I went out there, there were 3 large piles of barfed up food. I am starting to be concerned about Butterball's health. His one eye still seems to have some goo in it and he squints that eye. We are thinking about calling the humane society we got him from because the lady said that if the boys had any health problems, they would take care of it. The food I got for them is indoor formula, so it is supposed to help with hairballs. I also bought some kitty treats that have hairball meds in it. Smidgen loves them and wanted more then his recommended daily allowance, but I could only get Butterball to eat one, instead of the 5 needed for full treatment.

Both of the boys were extremely lovable and Butterball tried to follow me in the kitchen door. It's odd for him to be so hot on my heels, but it's good that he's coming around.

We gave both of the boys collars. Smidgen has a black one with rhinestones and Butterball has a blue one. That should make it easier for everyone to tell them apart since the brothers look so similar. I can easily tell them apart. Butterball has a round face, whereas Smidgen has a long, thin face. Smidgen's black stripe on his back is wider and longer than Butterball's stripe.

Smidgen actually jumped up in my lap and rolled all over me. I laughed and told him his silly self was going to fall off. Sure enough, he fell off the chair. One thing I find funny about them is that they love to have their bellies rubbed. Scott doesn't find it weird, but I have never had a cat that enjoyed that.

Tune in next time for more adventures in kitty adoptions. Until then....

Adventures in Kitty Adoptions, Days 3 & 4

Well, kitty assimilation seems to be going well. Smidgen has no problems coming out to greet us and asking for love. In fact, as soon as we come into the garage, he comes out almost immediately. Butterball is doing better, but is still slow to come out.

Scott went out to visit with them Saturday and put Smidgen in his lap. He was enjoying the petting and rubbed his face on Scott's when out of the blue, he bit Scott right on the nose. I know he doesn't mean to hurt, but we have GOT to break him of this habit. Scott tied a long string to a catnip mouse and used it to "fish" for Smidgen.

I got Smidgen to jump up in my lap twice, but he doesn't stay but a few seconds. Neither of them like being held at this point. If I pick them up and put them in my lap, they immediately get down. Smidgen will struggle if I try to hold him. Butterball will sit if I hold him, but he isn't relaxed and as soon as I let go, he leaves as quick as he can. I usually don't try to force them, but when taking Jesse to and fro the back door and the kitchen for his food, I put them in their carrier to minimize their stress at this juncture. Butterball has a tendency to hide at the bottom of the stairs and since he is slow to come, I have to go down and get him. I try to hold him for a minute and comfort him, but often he is trembling. When he sees me heading towards him, he flattens himself to the ground.

During times when we are not transporting Jesse back and forth, Butterball still hides, but after I sit out there petting Smidgen for a while, he comes investigating. I think he's jealous. He approaches me and arches his back to be petted. Last night, I tried to persuade him to jump in my lap. He stretched his paw up on my leg, but wouldn't jump up. Still, it's progress from the constant hiding. I hate that he seems so fearful most of the time. I'm glad he will eventually come to me and want petted, but I feel bad that when I am standing or coming towards him that he is so afraid. I usually sit on the floor and he apparently finds that less intimidating.

Smidgen has this weird quirk of acting like he's digging before he takes a drink of water. It's quite cute, but I can't figure out why he does it. The first night, he actually put his paw in the water, like he was digging.

Last night, Smidgen was racing around the garage like a maniac. His brother was watching him like he was possessed. I got out the catnip mouse on a string and played with them. Butterball even dared to play and got really into it.

Smidgen is getting really curious about the kitchen door, so we may let them in the house soon, if they continue to do as well as they have been.

Adventures in Kitty Adoptions, Day 2

I got up early this morning to see my husband off to work. He broke his ankle a month ago and still requires my help in at least getting his socks and shoe and walking boot on. After he left, I went to the garage to check on the kitties. I was surprised to see that neither was in the carrier. I glanced to the right and saw that someone had used the litter box. Yay! We were afraid that since they had never known kitty litter that we might have problems with them. There were signs that they had nibbled on the food as well. I found Smidgen under the workbench again and Butterball at the bottom of the basement stairs. Butterball was trembling and I figured out that the automatic litter box must have scared them. I comforted him as best I could and then left them alone.

When the kids got up to get ready for school, I checked on them again and found that they were both at the foot of the basement stairs. They were lying side by side, looking like a furry little yin-yang symbol. I put them in their carrier and shut the door so we could take Jesse (the border collie) out. So far, we decided not to introduce them yet. We want to let the kitties acclimate and calm down and gain some confidence first. So, I put them in the carrier, put Jesse on the leash and keep him close by me as I bring him up from his crate in the basement to go outside and to come back in to feed him. Then I let the kitties out again.

I left them alone for the whole morning and then checked on them around lunch time. Butterball was at the bottom of the stairs again and Smidgen was in the carrier. I went down the stairs and sat on the bottom step and petted Butterball. He seemed okay with it, so I picked him up and put him in my lap. He appeared to enjoy the petting. I felt sorry for him because he had a runny nose last night when I put him to bed and in the morning, his left eye was running and goopy. I was worried he may have a cold or be allergic to something at our house. When he wanted down, I allowed him to step off my lap. But, he chose to walk near me and rub against my leg and arm. I petted him and he seemed to like it. When he laid back down, I went to see Smidgen. After a little persuasion, he cautiously crept out of the carrier. I stroked his fur and rubbed his head and he melted. He stalked in circles around me, rubbing against me and arching his back to get the full effect of the petting. He started purring and when I didn't pet him fast enough, he stood on my legs and rubbed his nose and cheek on my face. What a change from the scared kitty that scratched me to get under the workbench yesterday! I was so happy that he was responding to me, I told him we should go get his brother! I went to the bottom of the stairs and picked up Butterball and brought him up. It was like I flipped a light switch! They walked around, curiously investigating the garage. Butterball walked over to the litter box and sat in it. Smidgen was really puzzled and watched him closely. When Butterball got out, he scratched and I saw a wet spot in the litter! I told him what a good boy he was. Smidgen kept going to the litter box and sniffing and checking it out. Even Butterball, who seemed to know what to do with it, was curious about this contraption. He eventually found that he could look out the garage window by standing on Billy's rubbermaid tub of play-doh and ducking his head under the curtain. But, when the litter box motor came on to rake through the litter, they both scattered. One went under the workbench and one to the bottom of the stairs.

I was very encouraged by their progress though. I went out for a few minutes before I picked the kids up from school. Smidgen was in the carrier, Butterball behind a folding table that was leaning against the wall. Smidgen came out almost as soon as I started calling to him. Butterball watched, obviously curious. Smidgen allowed me to pet him thoroughly, then went to the food dish and started eating. That was all Butterball could take. He came out, checked things out, then began nibbling himself. They took turns eating. Then Smidgen went back to the carrier and Butterball gave himself a bath.

When the kids came home, they came out for a visit, one at a time. Smidgen delighted them by coming out and allowing them to pet him and he even played with Kimberly with her homemade cat toy: a feather tied to the end of a string.

Butterball's eye seems clearer tonight, so I am hoping that it was just stress and not an illness. I watched him have diarrhea tonight in the litter box, so I hope that is also from nervousness. On a good note, this time when the litter box motor started up, they didn't run and hide. They were concerned and watched, but they didn't take off. They are very hesitant to get in it and puzzle over it and sniff at it a lot. But, thankfully, they are using it!

I went out and played with them before bed and they were very receptive. They always do better if I get on the floor. When I stand up, they cower. Smidgen welcomed his petting and played for a while and then jealousy must have gotten a hold of Butterball because before I knew it, he came up the stairs and watched us and then came over. He still is not purring when I pet him and neither one will voluntarily get in my lap, but they sure will circle me and rub up against me asking for attention. And Smidgen is often stretching his paws up to my chest/neck to nuzzle my face. Going to have to try to get someone to catch a picture of this. I will have to break him of biting though. He rubs on my hand or licks my finger, then bites. I don't think he is trying to hurt, but sometimes he bites down a little too hard, especially when he does this to my toe. Butterball cracked me up when he discovered that he could see my reflection in part of the workbench. He sat there, swishing his tail, watching raptly, jerking at my every movement. After Smidgen was petted, played, took a long drink, explored a tad, he laid down and relaxed. He stayed on the floor for most of his chill time, but he also tested out the two lawn chairs we left sitting up in the garage for our kitty watching. When I went in the house, they both looked at me like I was abandoning them! I turned off the light tonight, hoping that it will not only help calm them, but get them used to nighttime in our house.

Adventures in Kitty Adoptions, Day 1

My 9-year-old daughter is an animal lover. Many people claim that, but I doubt that they love every kind of animal. My daughter does. I mean, she was mad when I ran over the squirrel as I wrote about in my previous post. Her favorite animal is a snake. She most definitely loves every animal. She is a strange mixture of irony, however. She loves all animals and gets upset if I run over a squirrel, but one of her favorite video games is Cabela's Big Game Hunter. It's very odd to see this little curly-headed animal lover blowing away deer with extreme prejudice. Though she claims she would like to hunt when she is older, I believe with a real gun in her hand, she would not be so quick to pull the trigger when Bambi's dad is on the other end.

I do not claim to be an animal lover. I love certain TYPES of animals. Squirrels, no; dogs, yes; snakes, no; cats, yes; and so on and so forth. However, in my years of pet ownership, I became jaded. I have had 10 cats and 6 dogs pass through my homes. I think of myself as more of a cat person. A couple of the dogs I had were only in my possession briefly, and of those remaining, I only had a strong bond with one of them. As for the cats, after I had 3 die of leukemia, I was heart-broken and didn't want to have a pet I was close to any more. I allowed the kids to keep a stray outside, but was unwilling to let another into my heart.

Two years ago, when my ex-husband and I divorced, I moved into a home with the kids, and a neighborhood cat showed up. At first, I thought he had been left behind by the previous tenants because he had no qualms about coming right in. I eventually learned that he belonged to the people across the street, but he roamed around at will. Sometimes, I would walk through the house and pass Jude as he sauntered along, despite the fact that the doors were all tightly shut and locked. He would find one open window and make himself at home. He never waited for an invitation. I'd sit at the computer and he would jump in my lap and lay there, allowing me to pet him. It was then that I realized how much I had missed having a cat.

My husband had just adopted his border collie when we came along and he wasn't in a hurry to bring in any more pets. Though he had been raised with cats and loved them, he felt we had enough going on in our home and family that we didn't need any cats added to the mix. Eventually he began to think it might be nice to have a puddy tat around, so we began talking about the possibility. I asked for a kitty for my birthday this year and my husband agreed. His mom (a cat lover) bought me a self-cleaning litter box, kitty toys, kitty treats, etc. for my birthday. The plan originally had been for my husband and his mom to go and pick out the kitty for me, but it was agreed by all that I should pick out my own kitty friend. And so the search began....

We started with a shelter near our house, Kansas City Animal Shelter. My husband was asking that I consider adopting an orange tabby, his favorite. I said that I didn't care what it looked like as long as it was a lap cat. We mentioned orange tabbies and they took us to two candidates, Hi-C and Buddy. They were HUGE! Hi-C was very lovable and purring and Buddy was hilarious, laying on his back staring at us with no intention of getting up from his comfy nap position. But, my husband didn't want a kitty quite that big. He said, "I don't want to have to move that thing if I want to sit in my chair!" But, I thought he was a cute fat kitty and probably would have taken Hi-C home, except for the fact that he would never have fit in the cat carrier.

Stop two was PetSmart. We had seen a cat there that we liked a few weeks prior, but we were getting ready to go out of town to our family reunion camping trip, so we felt we shouldn't adopt at that time. When we arrived at PetSmart, there were only 3 cats there and one was already adopted. The other two wouldn't come out of the corner to meet us. I'm sure they would be lovely cats, but it's hard to tell when they don't respond to you.

The next shelter we went to was Independence Animal Control/Shelter. My husband found a little kitten that he liked that was really friendly, but I didn't want a kitten. I found one that I liked that my husband aquiesced to. He was listed as part Bengal, but was a stray and they had just gotten him. When we petted him, we felt a lump. We asked about his health and were told he was so new that he hadn't seen the vet yet. The lady at the front desk went to check it out and thanked us for alerting them because she found an open sore in his skin. They said I could call the next day to check on him after he'd seen the vet.

The next day, we went to the Greater Kansas City Humane Society. The volunteer wanted to show us a cat named Van that she thought would be a good match for us. When we came in the room, I tried to pet Van and pick him up and he scratched my face. Not a good first impression! I looked around and was taken by two cats. One was a black cat and he kept trying to get our attention. He stood on posts and cat beds and reached out his paw to touch us and he jumped in Scott's wheelchair to get his attention. His name was Mercury. But, I was also drawn to a Maine Coon named Stella. She was reaching her paw out to one of the volunteers and looked like she was going to fling herself into the girl's arms. I started petting her and when she decided she enjoyed it, I picked her up. Scott held her too and she snuggled down into both our arms. She slightly twisted so that part of her was laying on her back, which is odd since most cats do not expose their bellies unless they trust you. And she latched onto my shirt with her claws as though she didn't want me to put her down. We filled out an application for her and were told that we would probably hear from someone in 2 days.

I decided not to call back about the other cat since we seemed to have found our match. So, the search ended and we waited. My birthday was the next day and I was a bit disappointed that I didn't have my kitty yet, but excited at the thought of getting her the following day. I was planning to change her name to Bella, possibly. There was even some discussion about also taking Mercury home. The next day, we waited impatiently by the phone. With only 2 hours remaining until the shelter closed, I called them. However, I got voicemail and left a message. The following day, the shelter was closed. The day after that, I called and left another message. Eventually someone called me back. I was told that someone had applied for and been approved for Stella before me. I'm sure the volunteers didn't know this but it would have been nice to know before I waited 4 days for this cat. I asked about Mercury and was told that he too had been adopted.

So, the search renewed. The day was almost over and Scott had to work the next day, so it seemed I would have to wait 2 more days. I was deflated, but I got on petfinder.com and perused. I found 3 kitties that sounded perfect for us, friendly lap cats. One was at a shelter called Wayside Waifs, but they wouldn't be open for 2 days. The other two were at Daviess County Humane Society. I had no idea where this was. I found out it was an hour and a half away. I emailed both and found that all three were still available. The lady from Daviess County said that they often transport kitties to Liberty, which is about 20-30 minutes away from us. Scott wanted to see those, so we made arrangements to meet. And so, yesterday, we brought home Butterball and Smidgen. We are not 100% sure that we are keeping both. Scott never wanted two cats, but it was hard to tell which we wanted so we brought them both home to see. I foresee us all being attached to both and not able to let either go. They are brothers, tiger-striped tabbies. On the website, it said they were born in late June, but they are much bigger than a 3 month old kitten would be, I think. The lady said they were less than a year old. We are going to change their names, but we aren't decided on what yet. We need to do it soon, though, because I keep stumbling over their names.

The kitties had never known anything but their foster mom's house, so this is a big transition for them. First, an hour and a half car ride took them away from their home. Then, they have this new home and new people to get used to. We haven't even introduced our border collie Jesse yet! Another transition was that their foster mom uses shredded newspaper in the litter box, so they have never known kitty litter. We decided that since the litter box and food dishes were going to be in the garage, we would start them off in the garage and let them calm down and get used to things before we let them into the main house. We put down the carriers and let them just breathe for a few minutes without all the jiggling. Then we opened up the crate doors and sat back and watched. After a couple of minutes, Smidgen crept out and went immediately into his brother's carrier. Poor Butterball! His carrier was much smaller and he ended up with his brother on TOP of him! After a while, I took the top off the carrier and tried to pick up Butterball. Smidgen ran and hid under Scott's workbench. Butterball allowed us to hold him and pet him, but wasn't too sure about it. When I picked Smidgen up, he scratched me a little in his attempt to get away. I dug him out of the workbench and tried to block it so he couldn't get under again. They both ended up back in the bigger carrier and didn't budge for hours and later, I found Butterball on top of Smidgen's head, forcing his nose in the corner. Paybacks for earlier, I suppose.

I was a little worried about how scared they are, but I googled it and found that it was common for cats to be afraid when adjusting to a new home. I put on a radio in the garage to get them used to some noise and voices and also to help soothe them with music.

The kids were introduced to them one at a time, quietly. They were so surprised to find that there were TWO kitties in the carrier instead of one.

Since both our moms are interested in how their "grandcats" are doing, I decided to blog about the new fur babies to keep those interested updated. Tune in next time!

Squirrels--3, Robin--1

I never minded squirrels that much. They didn't interest me, but they didn't bother me either. My grandma used to have a "pet" squirrel named Rags. It lived outside in their backyard, but it would take food right out of grandma's hands. But, on the other hand, I was somewhat entertained when my daughter's cat, P.C., killed and ate a squirrel. Squirrels...I could take 'em or leave 'em.

Last summer, I found two of my porch statues broken. They were part of a collection of robins that I have for obvious reasons. I was not happy. One had a sensor on it and chirped any time someone passed it. The other looked like a hanging nest and I put bird seed in it. Since they were on the porch, I assumed that my suspect list was short. My family had not done this heinous crime. There were no cats in the neighborhood at that time. Our dog only goes out in the front yard with supervision. And other than the mailman, there had been no strangers on the porch. Then I realized that squirrels were coming onto the porch and had been using our flower pots to hide their nuts. And so, the feud began.

I tried to run them over in the street, but the little buggers were too fast. My husband teased me about getting a potato gun to shoot them with. Any time I saw a squirrel, I chased it off. My husband almost lost the drink that came with his value meal one day when I returned from picking up lunch to find a squirrel on the porch. I looked around for something to hurl at it, but the only thing nearby was his drink cup. I considered it for a moment and decided that he would not understand the necessity. The kids were mortified one day when I pulled in the driveway and caught a culprit red-pawed, returning to the scene of the crime, digging in a flower pot. I threw the car in park, jumped out and ran towards the creature. It fled in terror at the sight of a wild-eyed housewife thundering toward it. I chased it across the yard to the neighbor's driveway, where it laid down on its tummy under the neighbor's boat, as though it were gloating that it not only got away, but was also out of my reach and could relax, leisurely. You could almost hear a little squirrelly voice saying, "Nanny nanny boo boo!" As I returned to the truck, the kids were looking at me cautiously, as if trying to decide if mom's cheese had slid off her cracker. Eventually, my 10-year-old daughter said, "Mom! The neighbors across the street were outside! And they saw you!" Apparently my obsessive vengeance had overtaken me because I really did not care that my neighbors witnessed my crazed rampage.

My husband and I happened upon more of the robin statues with the motion detectors while at Ace Hardware one day. They were on clearance, so we bought two: one to keep out on the porch (this time on the floor level, instead of at the tempting location of the railing, as before) and another to remain safely inside on the bookcase.

My mother-in-law teased me that she was surprised that when she checked my wishlist for my birthday, she didn't see a BB gun for use on the squirrels (I use wishlist.com for our birthdays and Christmases. I HIGHLY recommend it, especially for out of town friends and family! I wish everyone I knew used it!). I think I would enjoy shooting the little rats, but even though my aim is pretty good, I would probably end up breaking a neighbor's window, denting a car, or injuring someone's pet (although, I might enjoy taking a shot at the chihuahua across the street) so it might not be a good idea to arm me. Though something like a potato gun might be fun. Maybe I should get out my Nerf gun and see if I could amuse myself with that. Maybe I could at least put the fear of God into the filthy rodents if I came packing!

But, I digress. My mother-in-law came up to visit last week and when she went home, she picked up her cat from the vet and sent me this message: "I wanted you to know when I went to pick up Trooper, there was a huge meeting of the cousins of your arch nemesis in the yard (about 10) and I know I heard Robin mentioned so be careful...they are plotting to get you or your robin statue."

So, the other day, the children reported that they found the outdoor one had fallen off the porch and was broken. It wasn't shattered in a million pieces this time, but the base was broken off, exposing the electrical mechanics and part of that was separated, so that I don't think it will ever chirp again. Still angry, I was not as livid as the last time, so long as I had my backup in the house and this was still more or less intact. While it may not serve its primary function, it is still decorative.

Tonight, as I was driving the children to Awana at church, a squirrel ran across the main road and then stopped in my lane. It zigged, it zagged, it ran down the lane, but as I approached, it did not run to cross the street as they usually do. He froze and I would have just rolled harmlessly over him, with him nestled between the wheels. However, the dummy must have panicked and decided to run too late or too early because we felt a small "thump-thump". Arrena said, "You did it, mom! You killed one!" and we high-fived each other. Kimberly, however, wailed. "You killed a squirrel?! You are evil!" Eh, can't please everybody....

So, I have either sent a strong message to the squirrel world...or I have started a turf war.