vent

I still cry… I’ve never been a cryer. I’ve always been the comforter, not the comforted. Sure my sisters and my mom have comforted me in my great time of need, but never (except when dad passed) have I had comfort in such quantities. It’s comforting and uncomfortable at the same time.

I had a very special person send me a lamb. It has been on my couch for a few hours. Within this time it has been my snuggle, my pillow for my nap. It has given great comfort.

And what is up with the naps. I never nap unless I’m sick and even then I fight it tooth and nail. But naps have been something for me this past week.

I’ve not heard hide or hair from the or about the kids. I wonder constantly how they are. I worry that they’re not getting to bed on time, nor or they being sung to, or are they drinking soda. You don’t have little one’s this long without having the worry after. They lived here longer than they’ve lived anywhere and the little one for the majority of his life.

I need to accept that they’re not here, and I suppose I do or it wouldn’t hurt so darn much.

Hubby is such a trooper and so gentle with me right now. My friends here and IRL have been unbelievable and it humbles me. I have one friend who simply asks at the beginning of any conversation, “Cathie, is it a sad, angry or okay day.” There is acceptance in that and that makes me feel normal.

I’ve put on my ipod songs that empathize with my emotions. Untitled by Simple Plan is exactly right and just moves me to tears. Tears are good from what I understand. I’m a person who crys, maybe, once a month, if that. I’m much more comfortable with anger or sarcasm. But my emotions are dictating tears, so tears it is.

Ah, it also feels good to vent. Things that I write here I’m not ashamed of but to speak them is impossible, to write them is possible.

And so is my daily vent…

I didn’t think I was going to have my period as I was three weeks late due to stress (I assume). Needless to say my aunt came to visit. I’m teary yes… and those dreaded horomones just made them worse.

I feel so much better today. I’ve only cried twice and I even cracked a joke. Better…

and woke up believing, feeling, that I was holding the little one. That just spurs my anger all over again.

It makes me very angry that we were led to believe for months that they would be ours. That the state adoption workers were brought in and the paper work completed.

I keep thinking that if the forever were never mentioned we’d never have had gotten our hopes up. There would have been that protection of the knowledge that they’d be going away sometime.

But when forever is uttered out of the correct mouths you start to believe and you allow the bond to deepen. You start investing more of your heart and soul. And believe it when I tell you, you start loving differently and more intensely.

I don’t know if it was done to secure our home for them for the long haul or the utterers of forever truly believed it. Forever should have never been mentioned in connection to these kids until termination was completed. And that is just what I told the county.

And oh, my husband has been such a support for me. He kinda summed it up as telling me that I’m grieving the loss of two children, I’m grieving the loss of being a parent, I still worry about those children, and I’m empty nesting. As is he.

I dislike crying with an intensity but the tears just come and come. I dislike being angry and sad as I try to be level or happy.

I think it is very good that I’m going to see my mom. Get me out of this house and moving in some direction.

I do not like it one bit. Is that normal? I’m two seconds away from calling the husband home…

like you’ve ticked the whole world off? You’ve said or did something that offended people and you have no clue what it is?

Maybe it’s just me being uncomfortable in my own skin… ugh…

I suppose… this too shall pass…

it gets tough. We put the kids to sleep for the last time tonight. I tried unsuccessfully not to cry as did the hubby, both of us have been blathering all night. Ack… Crying, doncha know, just swells my eyes.

Little one has no clue what’s going on, but he’s only two. Elder one knows and understands completely. She’s cried herself to sleep for a week now.

It’s tough and unfair.

The boxes are packed, the rides set up, i’s are dotted and t’s are crossed. We’ve sung our last lullaby and tucked our last tuck.

In a very strange way we’re very nearly relieved. We’ll start to heal now and the wound can start to close. Chaos will no longer reign and we can get into a steady mental and physical schedule again. We’ve not been able to do that as those two little lives were not controlled by us but by the county and politics.

Woke up, dismal week, got the elder off to school. The FIL calls and asks if I can meet the UPS man at 9:30 then take their van in for servicing…. sure, I can sandwich that in and still make it to the photographers at 10:15.

Well… in hopes that the UPS man will be early I go to the drop of at 9:20 and wait there till 9:50. I race home to pick the babysitter up and the little one so that we can drive the van in. Guess who’s there, I’ll give you two guesses…

One of our social workers. Can I bang my head on a wall yet? So I race in, she’s sitting at the table, the babysitter is doing her thing, the phone is ringing… it’s the hubby. “Hey, get up here, I need you, social worker is here, I’ve got to take the van in and then drive to Caroline in five minutes (yeah right, Caroline’s 20 miles away).”

Hubby comes and we pack kiddo and babysitter in the Jeep and drive to my inlaws where I drop the package off and get the keys. Light comes on stating that there’s a door ajar so I get out and shut the back hatch. I safety belt myself in and try again, the light is still on. I now get out and walk around the van, front passenger door is ajar, I open then close it and try it again.

We drop off the van and go back home so I can pick up deposit and bills for the accountant after driving the painting out to Caroline that I just sold and drop the kiddo and babysitter off. Social worker is still there. It is now 10:20.

I ask the babysitter to take little one outside and, oh Lord love a duck, I’m not in the greatest mood. This is the ‘overseeing social’ worker, not the court social worker, not the apppointed social worker… she’s not up to date. I bring her up to date quickly, efficiently, and bluntly. I think she left with a headache and her jaw permenantly open as it hit the table and she was unable to close it.

I run to Caroline drop the painting off, he can’t do it right then so I leave it over night, run to the accountant get payroll and drop off bills, go to the bank and make the deposits, come home and crash for a bit.

Then at 2:50 I have to wake little one up to pick up elder kiddo and yep, he’s covered in poop from head to toe. He has it in his ear, in his nose, between his toes and everywhere in between. All he can do is smile and point to where he’s smeared it on the walls.

I run down stairs start the tub and grab a towel. Run up stairs select clothes and diaper and toss them down stairs, take towel and wrap little one up in it and carry him downstairs and deposit him in the tub where he is efficiently washed and dried and clothed. Forget about the room now as I am 20 minutes late to pick up the elder… so we race to the school.

I attempt during snack time to clean the room when huge crashes are heard… they’re in the fridge and dropping things on the floor (elder kiddo know there is no repercussions at this point and encouraging little one to do his best with the catsup on the floor). Forget about the room again.

Hubby wants to pick up van I tell him I need to clean that room and toss all of little ones stuffed animals in the wash as they too have poop on them. So I do so… I start to clean the walls and find out quite quickly that dried poop takes paint off walls. :::sigh::: gotta repaint the room again.

Load the kids in the Jeep, pick up the van, wait for hubby to talk to friend, then head to inlaws, go out to eat and well, :::sigh:::

He keeps flying up to my garage window trying to mate with hisself. The dern bird is going to break it’s neck trying to get to itself. I’ve charged the bird, I’ve stood by the garage door, I’ve hopped, and I’ve sung to it. All in an effort to show this silly, in love with thyself, bird that it is not a safe place. Anyone have any ideas?

We had a very busy weekend. Friday… out to eat and spent time with friends, until _3:30_am! Got up at 7:30 on Saturday, went to work, home at 10:30, and off to my sisters at 11:30. Tootled around and was exhausted by 7:00pm, but stayed up till 11:00pm.

Drove home, went to a friends son’s birthday party (which I forgot the card and still have to take that over to her for him) and came home. Where…

we learned a quite valuable lesson in sledding. It doesn’t happen without snow! So the elder decides she wants to sled down the hill… she runs… she jumps… she belly flops onto her tummy in the sled, and rams face first into the ground. So we dealt with a bloody nose and mouth. :::sigh:::

I’m still tired! :) But a good tired.