We are thiiiiiiiissss close

Just got this email from the adoption worker:

"We will be filing both girls’ adoption petitions tomorrow in [ ] County."

Now I just want to sit right here with my cell phone and landline phone and email browser refreshing every thirty seconds until we get the final word. And today at 4:15 there's another social worker meeting at our house. I'm not doing this one. Theo is taking it, per my request, well, demand. I can't even think about them derailing us, again, when we're so close, again.

Comments

Teaching "ouch"

I taught the girls to say ouch. When they first came to me their hair was a mess. Snarls, mismatched lengths where sections had been hacked off, thin and coarse hair that tangled in every hair clip I tried, etc. Due to a healthy diet and daily vitamins, as well as good hair products and regular brushing, their hair is now sleek and glossy. Jane has a cute haircut. Kate's hair is growing longer every day and curling into ringlets that bounce. I was so afraid of hurting them when they first came! I have naturally curly hair and my mother's is stick straight. She never understood how much it hurt when she pulled the brush straight through. I haven't let her touch my head since I could do my first clumsy pony tail. (At first, I held their hair so loosely while trying to do it that every single pony tail fell out minutes after going in. Looking back I feel like those people who don't know how to put a diaper on and it falls off when they lift the baby up!) But eve...

Flash Fiction - Guilt Free

And this one I wrote for the fun of it. It was delicious to wallow in such a world of self-indulgence I'll never know. This is flash fiction (less than 1,000 words). Guilt Free It was fudge sauce, thick and cold from the back of the fridge, dipped in gourmet raspberry jam—the kind from France with the understated label—straight onto a spoon and then suckled in my mouth, a frosty mug of milk tremoring faintly in my left hand, to be gulped in indelicate swaths allowing a dribble or two down my front, the first time I hit her. Not really hit. Shoved. A forceful push. A push that began with contact. The contact of my hand wedging so neatly between her small sharp shoulder blades, wedging in so that I almost could not retract myself from the catapulting force launching her into the tub. Not a hit—there was no smacking, cracking, sharp stinging rebound. No bruise. She’d laughed. She’d thought it was a game. Like when I clapped my hands together as she went up the stairs, cla...

What Chronic Lying Does to a Relationship

We got through Christmas. It was fine. Jane held it together better than I thought she would. We went to an AirBnB for four days between Christmas and New Year. That was my gift to the rest of the family instead of presents. I gave Theo a break from everything--he did no meals or childcare. It was good. He got to rest and I took the kids to have fun experiences. Now we're back to normal. The normal that is now our family. Everyone seems happy; content. But then, two days ago, there was this tiny interaction between Jane and I that illustrates, for me, how broken our relationship is. She's been complaining that her room is too hot. First, we closed the heat vent to her room. Then, I gave her several blankets so she has options for how warm she wants her bed to be. She has many types of pajamas and she can choose whatever she wants to wear. Her room is frigid compared to the rest of the house. Still, she complains. I think at this point it's just a thing with her--...

Foster Further

Search This Blog