Egg Addict!

Princess kills me

I had boiled eggs for egg salad yesterday. I made some for Wolf's lunch, and then was making some for mine (none of the kids like it...well, as far as I knew!) Princess has changed her mind...about boiled eggs, anyways.

I caught her on the couch with a boiled egg. She'd peeled just enough shell off to take a bite and loudly announced, "YUMM!" Apparently, she's had a change of heart about eggs.

For breakfast this am, she had the last boiled egg, and asked for another one, dragging the carton out of fridge. I explained that they weren't cooked, they were still raw, so she couldn't have them...and promised to make her some later.

Next thing I know, Princess is heading at me with a pot...with 2 eggs in it. One broken, one whole. "Egg NOW?"

I guess later had arrived

Now I'm hearing, "Egg ready yet?" every few mins.

She's gone from not being willing to touch them with a 10 ft pole, to being an egg addict!

What I Want For My Kids

There's tonnes of updates that I'll get to another time. Someone asked me what I wanted for my kids, for their futures. This is my answer.

When I think about what I want for my children, what readily comes to mind is what I DON'T want.

I don't want them to be like me. Worker's Comp forced me to go through a battery of psych testing, including IQ. All it did was prove my pain WASN'T in my head and that I'm in the top 4th percentile of ppl my age. Not that being bright has done anything for me. I was a lowly nursing attendant, FINALLY going to go back to school (online, part time) get my Licensed Practical Nurse cert, and from there my RN with an eye to either being a Nurse Practitioner or a midwife. Of course, one assault by a resident has left me with a lifetime of chronic pain disability, so that's shot all to h*ll. At this point, I couldn't handle ONE course at a college/University level due to the pain and unpredictable nature of it, sitting through a single class would be a nightmare if the pain were bad, and completing coursework? Yeah. Not.

So I don't want them to be like me. I want them to use the brains God gave them (all my kids have shown clear signs of being very bright) and DO something. Find something they love and pursue it.

I don't want them to struggle financially as I always have.

I don't want them to be a single parent.

I don't want them having a family before they've had a 'life'. I want them to have pursued everything they want to as young, single people that tends to be put aside when raising a family. Higher education, travel...whatever. And if they don't want any of those things, that's fine! But if they do, I want them to have the chance to do it.

I don't want them to be in their 30s, 40s and beyond with 'I wish I had...'

I want them to be young and foolish, to make mistakes, but not life altering ones...no scars on their minds, hearts, souls.

I want them to grow with faith. I want them to be steeped in it, to KNOW without question that God loves them, and is always there for them...especially when the day comes that I'm not any longer. I don't want them to struggle to find their way to God the way I've had to.

I want them to know, with every fibre of their being, that their Mommy loves them, forever and for always.

I want them to know that their Daddy loves them, is proud of them, would give everything he has, is, and will ever be for their safety and happiness.

I want them to be strong,confident, healthy, secure people. To trust others. To make friends easily, to know good from bad, truth from lies.

Yes, I want my children to be and to have everything I'm not and don't.

I want them to grow up to be anybody but me.

With A Hint Of Spring, A Young Woman's Fancy Turns To...

Yes, I consider myself to still be a 'young woman', so you can stifle the giggling right now, thanks very much.

I said, STIFLE!

I have puppy lust.

There, I said it. I've confessed. I know some women go through pangs of 'baby lust', but not I. Wolf usually knocks me up before I usually realize I want to be pregnant. Ok, not so much with Tazzie, but definately with Princess.

Anyways, I find myself deep in the throes of puppy lust.

How deep, you ask?

Well, deep enough that I would forgo my deeply held and long cherished dream of getting a Douge De Bordeaux, my all time favourite breed that I've promised myself would be my publishing gift (when I finally get a novel published, I'm buying one with the advance...assuming the advance is big enough, lmao!) and get another pug.

Now there's some serious puppy lust happening, folks.

We have had two pugs. Our first, beloved but none too bright and well...rather untrained (our fault...fell into the 'its a small dog' mind set and didn't bother with training *blush*) scooted out of the house on Hallowe'en a couple of years ago. The Mom with the trick or treaters PUNTED him like a foot ball, and he ran off, yelping. Diva took off after him...only to witness him being killed when he was run over by a speeding car.

Utter heartbreak, as only an eight year old can know.

Last year, we tried a pug again. Winston. He was 18 mths old when we got him, from a 'breeder' I kinda sorta knew. Biiiiiiiiiiiig mistake. Huge. He was nervous as all holy heck, high strung, couldn't be trusted around the Littles...as bad a fit as could ever be. We ended up rehoming him with a sweet sixteen year old whose mom used to breed dogs, who would pamper the heck out of him, and most importantly, had no small children, and wouldn't for years to come.

A few weeks after, we got Jack the Cat, whose about the size of a pug, if not bigger. Great cat, as far as cats go. Lets the kids maul him, until they go too far, and then he gives them a nip or a bit of a swat to keep them in line.

But he's still a cat.

And I'm a dog person. And like his Momma, Tazzie is also a dog person, since he's been heard lamenting lately, "Can we trade Jack in fow a dog? Pwease?"

Kid after my own heart.

Reality of it is, now just isn't the time for a puppy. Wolf's just gotten back to work, so we're starting to bail out our financial boat. His 2nd pay will be going to an accountant to file taxes (yes, late, bad bad bad!) finish catching up on bills if we're not all caught up by then, and kitting out the family for summer gear.

But...the van's paid off in July.

I'm just sayin....

Oh, The Drama!

Just a quick explaination as to why I've been MIA. For those new to my blog, I have RSD, which affects my entire right arm, shoulder to finger tips. Wolf's gone back to work as of Monday, which is a wonderful thing for us financially, and for him emotionally...but for me, its meant that I've been chug-a-lugging the meds the minute he hits the door and going to bed, so its seriously disabled my blogging abilities.

Moving on to the real post of today:

The Princess was walking along the edge of the brick raised planter thing the landlords put out front of our place shortly after we moved in. Something she's done a billion or so times before. Last year, they sawed off an evergreen that croaked, leaving a small stump. So of course, when The Princess fell for the very first time, it was towards the stump.

Thankfully, she wasn't hurt. Well. not in terms that you or I would consider 'hurt'. No gushing blood, no eyes missing, no puncture wounds, nothing needing an ER trip.

She does, however, have a scratch in the palm of her hand. About 2 inches long.
And we're out of band aids.

Well, lil Miss Drama Queen keeps looking at the palm of her hand, gasping, and moaning, "Oooooh! Ohhhhhhh!" and coming over for a cuddle, and mournfully pleading, "Ban aiy? Ban Aiy, Momma?"

I sent Diva to the store. I can't take it.

The Princess is now the proud owner of a Hello Kitty! bright pink band-aid, and all is right with the world again.
*sigh*

Stupid Should Hurt

Stupid should hurt. I even have shirts, etc that say so in my shop. It really should. So should narrow mindedness, bigoted behaviour, racism...but really, when you boil all that crap down, it comes down at its base to 'stupid' or at best, 'ignorant'.
I don't know if its only that I've become less tolerant (and I know I have) or that it really is on the rise, but I witness more and more stupidity, comments that make me want to reach over and smack the living crud out of someone. Do ppl really believe the crap they're spouting, or is it done in an effort to provoke a reaction? Sometimes I have the urge to ask, but am kinda afraid of the answer. I mean, how do you nicely ask someone, "Excuse me, but are you as stupid as that statement makes you sound?"
Nowhere does stupidity seem to raise its ugly head than in parenting issues. Now, I am not now, nor have I ever been, nor will I ever be, a perfect parent. I don't play one on tv, and I don't even pretend to be one online even. I have my opinions, as does anyone else. But there are some things that are just common sense folks.

Discipline is a fine example. If you don't discipline little Jimmy when he's little, he's going to be a brat. And he'll be a brat when he becomes teen Jimmy, at which point you'll have a kid that's bigger than you, cursing and swearing, intimidating you, your spouse and his siblings. If you're inconsistant in your discipline, its not going to work.

We're not talking The Dead Sea Scrolls here, people. Parenting, while frustrating as holy Hades at times, actually isn't rocket science.

Unless you're a homeschooler, and choose to study rockets. But I digress.

And please, before I'm left a million and three comments about how your little darling has a medical diagnosis, I realize that different children require different parenting. Did I say one size fits all? Nope. I realize that for some parents, finding the right way to discipline is way harder and requires far more creativity than for the average bear, and I salute you.

I salute you for two reasons: one, its simply harder. Two, unlike SOME parents that I've had the misfortune of meeting, you haven't used your child's diagnosis as a 'get out of parenting free card', shrugged your shoulders, and hid behind a three letter label to excuse any and all misbehaviour by your child. Unlike that mother of the kid at the community pool a year or two ago, that just about brained Baby Princess with a weighted diving ring, while she sat on her rump, calling out, "He has ODD!" rather than actually doing anything. Or the kid that ran merrily around the park, throwing sand, stealing toys, shoving kids, while Mom sat on the park bench calling out, "Sorry, he has ADHD...Honey, be nice! Be nice!" which continued until Tazzie had enough and shoved the kid back. Suddenly, there was a problem. Uh huh. Wolf told her, "Sorry, he doesn't have ADHD. He just doesn't like being shoved around."

Anyways. Where was I?

Oh yeah. Stupidity and parenting.

If you buy your kid everything they want the minute they want it, please don't wonder why they have entitlement issues, k? And for HEAVEN'S SAKE, don't be complaining about it where I can hear you. Yes, I'm referring to YOU, neighbour across the way. I just about had coffee out the nose this am when checking the mail. And since when are YOU awake before 6 pm anyways? I know you work nights, because your kid complains about being stuck in the house with nothing to do but play with all her electronic gizmos because you're asleep. Here's another tip: Spending time with your kids. Always, always, ALWAYS a good idea. Honest. It won't spoil them rotten. I know, I know. You think we're ruining our kids, cause they're homeschooled, and they'll never make it in the 'real world'. Your kid told mine that too. Yeah, she's got a real mouth on her, doesn't she? But here's the thing...your kid BEGS to come over here, constantly. Why? Cause I'm HERE, with my kids. Spending time with them. You know, like...doing stuff. Reading, arts and crafts, popping popcorn, cuddling up...*gasp!* I know! What a concept! Unfortunately, between the swearing, lying, bullying of my toddler and preschooler, and general mouthing off, your kid isn't welcome here. Not only that, but despite your not so subtle hints, I'm not interested in being your free daycare. Another tip: If your 11 year old needs boot camp, thats a big old red flag for you, right there, k?

Here's my last tip for the post, and its one that doesn't make me quite foam at the mouth and twitch as badly as the parents that seem to think that children don't require discipline, that they can be their kid's bestest buddy and everything will be just fine and dandy, but its dang close. You ready? Ok. Here goes:
You cannot make up for whatever you missed as a kid through your child. Now, I'm not talking stuff like being hungry, neglected, wearing rags to school. I'm talking about other things. Its very simple, really. Your child isn't you. Your child will not have missed out on what you did, so a closet stuffed with more outfits than they could possibly hope to wear before they out grow them does them no possible good. A playroom crammed with more toys than any child could possibly play with is overwhelming, and if anything, teaches them a sense of entitlement. Its not going to do a thing for the child you were that desperately longed to see something under the Christmas tree, year after year. Only a good counsellor can help that. And I'm not saying that with any mean spirit at all, but with kindness. You can't make up for the fact that you always wanted to play hockey but your parents were too broke, especially if your son loathes the cold and only wants to curl up with a good book.

Spend the time with your child, and learn who he/she is, rather than who you want or need them to be. Take joy in who they are.

Sick

So, illness has hit the Non Stepford home. In the form of cold/snot/flu/migraine. Just a joy, really. Once again, count your blessings that you're not a resident of our fair abode.

The Heathens have been felled, one by one, by fever and snot. Then, it was my turn. A visit to a neurologist on Wed, to discuss the migraine issue, to be followed Thursday eve with the start of, oh guess what! a migraine.

The mother of all migraines, thank you oh, so much.

Now, I'm no inexperienced pansy when it comes to migraines. I've been dealing with them for some *gasp* 20 odd years now. But since RSD hit, they've been getting more frequent, longer, and way, way worse.

The one this week...well, if it wasn't The Worst...I'm scared of how much worse it can get, without my head actually exploding and leaving a heck of a mess for poor Wolf to explain to the kids...and CSI and homicide dicks. Do you think that they'll actually believe that 'my wife's head exploded from a migraine' story? Yeah, I doubt it too. Poor Wolfie.

Anyways, I don't remember Friday. I mean, seriously. I have a dim recollection of talking to a gf while Wolf was out at the pharmacy, and also of taking meds...but that's about it really. According to Wolf, that's about all I did. Bed, shuffle down the stairs, mumble, point, swallow meds, crawl back up the stairs. Throw in some moaning, whimpering, and clutching of head, and that about sums up my Friday, from what I understand. Oh, and add some throwing up in the kitchen sink. I remember that part. Figures I'd remember that part.

To greater illustrate the point, Wolf was getting scared. If I hadn't pulled out of it about when I did, he was getting ready to call for an ambulance.

And just for giggles, that gf I remember talking to...she mentioned something I hadn't considered...the correlation btwn high blood pressure, chronic pain...and high blood pressure and migraines. Followed up on that yesterday with a call to my health link...and got a butt kicking from a health nurse. Next time I get a migraine that doesn't respond to narcotics, I'm to haul butt (or more likely, get my butt hauled) to the ER, pronto. Its a bad bad bad sign of high blood pressure, apparently.

Who knew?

My gf J, apparently.

Well, I'm off. Still not feeling great, have a feverish Tazzie crashed out in my bed, and going to join him.

Well, Its Excercise, Right?

Tazzie and the Princess are having a grand ol' time. They're taking turns walking each other. On a leash.

Now, before anyone calls the Kiddie Kops on me, my children don't wear collars. We've *thought* about putting collars on them...shock collars even...but never have. So, they're taking turns holding an end of the leash.

Its Diva's fault, really.

Diva got it into her head to walk Jack the Eunich Cat this am. Went on and on about how he deserves fresh air and excercise, it was mean to keep him cooped up, blah blah blah. By the time she was done, I had visions of my face on a PETA most wanted poster. So, I let her.

Now the littles are taking turns...one is Diva, the other Jack the Eunich Cat.

At least its excercise, right?

Gettin Schooled

Tazzie kills me.

We were working on letter recognition today, with wood pieces and letter cards (like a puzzle, the letter cards show you the shape, and you use the wood pieces to make the letter).

Taz was starting to get bored, so I picked up a letter card and pretended to not know how to do it...so he announced he would show me. He did, turned to me and asked, "Do you get it now?" *snicker*

We finished off the alphabet, and he announces to me, "Imma good teature! I fink you learned enough now. I teach you more later, k?"

I guess Momma got schooled!

Holiday Traditions?!?

Ok, so was asked recently about any Christmas traditions...and initially I thought, "What?! I'm supposed to have traditions? Oh crap..."

But, I've been thinking about this, and a tradition is just something you do every year, right? If so...

1) Put the tree up
I curse and swear under my breath while putting the tree together. Bending all the branches this way and that. Wolf takes children and disappears until its done, so the children don't get a very different idea of what 'fa la la la la' really means. They emerge after lights are on, and procede to decorate the tree. Wolf hoists a kid up to put the angel on.

Grab tree from falling over as kid puts said angel on.

Spend rest of season chasing little people away from attempting to climb tree.

2) Bake cookies. Usually twice before Christmas, since I live with Not Me, who chows down every cookie in the house prior to Christmas.

3) Christmas Eve: wrap gifts. Run out of paper. Go rummaging around, certain that I bought more...paper, gifts, whatever, always that feeling I forgot something. Stay up til some unholy hour, putting gifts under tree/putting gifts together/wrapping/wait for littles to fall asleep.

Fall into bed exhausted.

Eyes fly open at the brink of sleep with the realization of a) what I forgot to put under the tree or b) Santa forgot to eat cookies and drink milk.

4) Christmas am: Assemble blearily around tree. Watch zombie like as everyone opens gifts. Start turkey. Make breakfast. Disappear for nap.

Hows that for traditions?

I'm ALIVE

Yeah, you were probably having some doubts. Bad Domestic Goddess! Bad!!

So I'm not a daily blogger. Probably part of the whole, "Not a Stepford Wife" thing.

Things have been just a WEE bit chaotic around here. Being sent out of town by WCB to go for an independant medical assessment, being told that according to the IMA, I can work sedintary, pain specialist saying no, going for a ganglion block on Tues (google it, its not a fun thing, and I'm scared spitless), migraines out the wazoo, more Dr appts, pain, blah blah blah. Kinda the old, "same crap, different day" situation.

Wolf and I are managing in our own ways. Sorta. He's off work right now, due to WCB saying that they want me in a day program...then their Dr saying not until after the ganglion block. Still got a call from my work that am though, which was really interesting...I'm not approved for physio, etc, but for work? How does that happen? Or is it, as I suspect, that the case mgr called my work before even hearing from her own WCB Dr? I'll find out on Monday, probably. Likely with being told I'm 'non-compliant' for not returning to work...Did I mention the pain specialist says no? Yeah, its a cluster hump.

In other news...

We got wind of a 5 bdrm house on 5 acres that was available for rent. Wolf says if we get the house, we're starting the adoption/fostering process. Haven't heard anything about the house since, so don't know if its still available, etc, so no real progress there. *shrug* I'm of the mindset that what will be, will be, and all the fussing and stressing and gnashing my teeth over it won't do a darn thing.

Some would say that's an unusually healthy attitude for me to have, others would start to worry if I'm losing my will to live. I won't vote at this point :oP

Oh, did I mention we had the stomach flu go 'round? Yup. Word to the wise: 3.5 yo boys are NOT to be trusted when they have the flu. Sure, they're running around like crazy, etc...but its just to lull you into a false sense of security before they woof all over your toes. Bare toes at that. I only wish I were kidding.

I signed up for NaNoWriMo again...but haven't written squat. Just don't have the spark for it. And, the whole CRPS thing doesn't lend itself well to typing for long.

Just a ramble to let everyone know I haven't croaked, still around...I won't give promises as to the next blog, cause I can't be trusted to keep them. :oP

Bragging On The Boys

Wolf and I had been talking on Sunday about how badly things were getting to me. Friday was just hell, and the stupid driver was the icing on a poisoned cake at that point. Saturday, I went to see the psychologist for the first time which was emotional, and Sunday, Jack went MIA.

I told my husband, "I need something GOOD to happen." Wolf replied, "I didn't realize we were in a bad place."

I explained to him that *we* aren't, but that I'm just feeling overwhelmed, drained, tired, frayed. He went to bed shortly after, and before I went to bed, Jack came home, so that definately lifted my spirits. I felt like that was the good thing I'd needed.

Anyways, Wolf comes home yesterday with a bunch of red carnations. I thanked him happily, but was puzzled. The only time he's ever brought flowers home before was on my birthday or our anniversary. Before I could ask, he said, "You said you needed something good to happen...I thought maybe this would work."
Its those kinda moments that mean so much.

**************
Taz, 3.5 read Wolf a bedtime story last night. He's reading more and more, I'm just so stinkin proud of him! He read the book, grinned at Wolf and announced, "I'm AWESOME!" lmao!

Depressed

Its been a heck of a weekend. Started Friday.

Diva had an art class at the Gallery. It was a challenge for me, managing both the littles downtown, esp attempting to push a stroller. By the time her class was done, I was in a lot of pain, and grateful to be on the bus home.
Princess started to cry, loudly. Bus driver turned around and snapped, "That's enough, I don't put up with that on my bus!" I get her quieted, and all is good, right?
Wrong.
Princess does this...'singing'. That's what she's attempting to do, I don't know how it sounds to someone that doesn't know her...but its a happy sound...and 'ahhhh'...but she is loud for a bus. I'm trying to whisper to her, distract her, every trick I know to get her to use her inside voice. It works for a bit, and then she starts her singing again. The bus driver pulls over, and demands that I "do something about her!" I explained, "She's only two." "I don't care. Pick her up!"
I can feel the heat crawling up my face, and my eyes fill with tears as I'm forced to admit to a bus driver, and passengers, that I'm physically unable to pick up my toddler from her stroller. "I can't, I only have one working arm."
"Only one working arm?! Are you serious?!" he asked, like I was trying to scam him. At this point, I'm ready to burst into tears. I've just had to publicly announce that I'm freaking disabled, and he's treating me like I'm making it up. He then tells me, "Well, pay attention to her or something, but that's enough of that!"
We got off the bus as soon as we could. Princess passed out about 10 mins after he had pulled over. She wasn't screaming, she wasn't crying, she wasn't throwing a tantrum...she was singing, "Ahhhhh...ahhhhhh..."
And I was in freaking tears. Overreacted? Yeah, probably. But felt totally humiliated and useless and physically hurt a lot. I did email a complaint to ETS, so its under investigation.

Then, today...Jack the Cat escaped this am. Hasn't been seen since. And then discovered that WCB wanting me to go out of town for an independant medical assessment means that I'm going to miss trick or treating with my kids, since I won't get home on the bus til 630 or so...and then have to bus it from downtown.

Don't even get me started on my fears regarding travelling alone by Greyhound.

I want some control over my life back.

Chaos

That pretty much sum up my life, in a single word. Chaos. If its not children howling at each other, its something else...but most often, children howling, lol!

Diva and Taz have discovered the 'joys' of sibling rivalry, teasing, and torment. I'm reasonably sure that the UN would probably arrest them for war crimes if they ever happened by, because they're just rotten with each other at times. Taz is into copying Diva, which makes her head spin and spit green soup. Diva, being older, simply teases the crap out of him.

I'm going to start some warfare of my own. Handholding. If they can't be nice to each other, they'll be tethered to one another. The downside of this is, it'll turn them into partners against 'evil'...namely me. I'm not sure I can survive both of them plotting against me.

And can I tell you...housework. Blech. Trying to just get the kids to pick up after themselves is a whole issue unto itself. Currently, Taz still hasn't picked up his cereal bowl and spoon from breakfast, and Momma has drawn the line...no lunch until its in the sink.

There are days like this when I think of my desire to foster/adopt and wonder what in the name of Heaven makes me think that I can do that, when I feel like I'm barely managing my own kids. Shouldn't I be a 'perfect' parent in order to try and parent another's child?

On another note...WCB called yesterday. Wanted to know if I'd sorted out my 'daycare' issues yet. Called back via customer service and stated that its not a daycare issue, its a homeschooling issue. Then called my lawyer. Should be interesting. My physio therapist has now backed off considerably on his, "Everything will be perfectly fine, purple unicorns fart sparkly rainbows, and you will be healed..." standpoint. He kept talking about 'possibilities' last night, and I finally said, "Its possible that Santa may show up for dinner too, but its not very probable. Can I get a REALISTIC idea of what I'm looking at here?" to which he mumbled something about doing more research for me, etc. So basically, he has no clue, and the reality of it seems to be that the most I can hope for in terms of 'recovery' is a reduction in pain, and an increase (somewhat) of range of motion. I don't like hearing it, but at least if that's the reality, I have to live with, I can start trying to accept it, as opposed to being completely frustrated at the complete lack of positive results after months of physio.

I wish WCB would just get around to writing me off like a damaged car. Jumping through hoops that have absolutely no benefit is rapidly getting old. If there was a way to go back to work, I'd jump at it...but I just don't see it. So, write me off already, and let me get on with adjusting to my life.

Course, nothings ever that easy.

Shopping, Date Night, Animals, Birthday, Social Workers...

Hows that for a title, lmao!

So, its been a heck of a time, the last 4 days or so. Friday, I went to an electronics store, I'd gotten a flyer that they had stuff on mega cheap, and our camera had died. On impulse, I applied for a credit card, fully expecting to be rejected...but I was approved! I'm now the proud owner of a Canon camera and a Canon dvd camcorder. Unfortunately, I had to come face to face with my disability and realize that the Canon Rebel that I want so bad I cannot physically manage at this point.

Then Saturday, I was sent out on Mission Impossible, aka clothes shopping. I actually managed to find some things that I loved and looked good in, including an outfit for tonight! A royal purple tunic sweater, black leggings, and I succumbed to temptation and got myself this wonderfully soft grey knitted shawl/poncho thingie to go over it, since I don't have a spring jacket (Additon Elle having a 40% off 2nd item is a dangerous thing for me. I actually feel GOOD shopping there, and their clothes make me both feel and look pretty!)...and realized quickly that I needed boots to go with. Running shoes or sandals just weren't going to cut it. So, 5 minutes before the stores close, I get a pair of black dress boots. Yay me!!!

So, get home, shower, get ready. Alls well...until I go to put on the 2nd boot. I came home with two LEFT boots! Could only happen to me, lmfao! We went on our date, talked about fostering amongst other things.

Then Sunday, we picked up The Princess' early birthday gift. Its really for the entire family, but Princess is absolutley nuts about cats. So now we have Jack, a bengal/coon mix...or so they think at the rescue. I mean, unless you're dealing with a breeder, who the heck really knows?

Which brings us to yesterday. The Princess turned two! And, we had a social worker out to the house to talk about us becoming foster parents. Found out that we'd have some minor repairs to do around the house, lock up all meds and chemicals (including shaving cream!), what classes we'd need, the application process...and when all of that is done, they'd be looking to place a boy with us Taz' age, so that they could share a room.

We haven't decided if we're going to pursue this right now, or wait until we're in a larger place, but at least now we know the hoops needed to jump through, the classes to take, etc. We're leaning towards waiting until after WCB is done whatever it is they'll do with me, then moving. I'd hate to have to put a foster child through yet another transistion.

Oh, and to add...Taz broke a neighbour's window. Threw a pebble, and hit just the wrong way to produce a bullet hole effect. It'll wipe out our savings to repair, since its a double paned vacuum sealed dohickey, but at least we HAVE the savings to cover it. So much for my Christmas account *sob*

Its been a busy weekend!

Dancing Nekkid

Ok, so its time to move on to more personal matters...as in my lil heathens. I'm going to start with 'Taz'. You'll hear about him a lot. Taz is 3 years old, and, dare I say, gorgeous. Dirty blonde hair, stunning blue eyes, and eyelashes that not only are stupidly long and thick, but freaking curl. And before anyone asks, no, neither of my daughters are that blessed. God has a cruel sense of ha ha.

ANYWAYS...about Tazzie boy.

The child is a never ending whirling activity centre. And, because I must have done something really bad in my past life, like club baskets of newborn puppies, he's as smart as he is busy.

Trust me, from a mother's perspective, that's a bad baaaaaad combo. From a homeschooling mother's perspective, that's enough to cause me to daydream of kindergarten, and/or strong meds. For me, not him. Essentially, if I don't keep this child busy when concious, he'll find something to do. And, being bright, its nothing within the boringly normal antics of the average 3 year old. Nope, course not.

For starters, the lil heathen uses the puter better than Wolf. Seriously. And has taught himself to READ well enough to know which is his list of favourites, and which site is which. (I did mention that he's 3, right? Turned 3 in Feb?)

Ok, so that's part of the background.

The other part is...Taz likes being nekkid. I mean...he LIKES being nekkid. Child has no modesty, no shame, no thermostat, cause he's just as happy being nekkid in Dec as in June. Outside. Although, he does come in faster in Dec.

So, the other week, he was in the wading pool, and came in. I stripped off his wet togs, and went to get him some dry clothes from the basement. (Yes, our laundry room is down there. The 1 armed thing means there's a perfectly good excuse to live out of laundry baskets now.) As I was coming back up the stairs, I heard, "I am NEKKID! I'm NEKKID NEKKID NEKKID, singing the NEKKID SOOOOOOONG!" over and over.

I discover Taz, out on the back steps, nekkid, shaking his hips and butt all over the top step, bellowing the 'Nekkid Song' at top volume.

And of course my neighbour was in her yard.

Then there was the other night. Taz was once again in his natural state, standing in front of the fan, yelling the 'Nekkid Song' into it. (He had just discovered how weird your voice sounds when you yell into the fan). I watched him dance like he was channelling Elvis, and then looked at Wolf. See, I don't know about all the other SAHM out there, but my husband doesn't always seem to quite believe the things that happen in my day. While he laughed about Taz dancing for the neighbours, there was a sense that I must have dramatized things a bit. Watching his son do some pretzel hips, he commented, "Well...at least we know how he'll pay for college."