RCMP ~ sigh...

We picked up the mail yesterday and there were two enevoples from the RCMP.  It turns out that they sent everything back to us, because we didn't sign a letter of consent and we didn't pay them the $25.00 each.  Of course we would have if they asked for it on the forms.  Communication on their part is sadly lacking.  No one mentioned anything when we were getting our fingers inked.

A Thoughtful Gesture...

Our tutor is truly a delightful woman is leaving for the Ukraine for a few weeks.  She asked if there was anything we’d like her to bring back from there.  Since I don’t know what I to expect, and I can only think of the obvious, (Russian Stacking dolls, tradional music cd's, and books).  I thought I would put this question out there.   What would be something special we could or should have her bring back for our daughter?

Another round of testing...

Why does having our sons tested for learning disabilities have to be so draining?  We just finished testing our youngest, because we know he has a learning disability, however when he was first tested he was too young to get a proper diagnoses.   Now that he is finished for a few years I felt that I could draw a sigh of relief. 

Things, as it turns out, aren’t going well for my middle child.  His round of testing is still going on. After we thought we were done, the doctor wanted to do further testing because he feels that the tests done don’t reflect his abilities as they should.  When we had our eldest son done, it was explained to us that the testing revealed Alex was vegetable.  Alex is not a vegetable, LOL.    He just answered the questions in such a way that there was no way to mark the answers.  For explain she showed Alex a picture of an umbrella.  He answered with gestures of opening an umbrella, and swinging it up to his shoulder saying, “it’s raining, you walk dry now.”  She explained that the tests required a certain answer and Alex’s answers didn’t fit into the tests answer spectrum.  I’m assuming something like this is something along the lines of what is happening with our middle son.

I thought I could handled another round of testing, his doctor has been great in offering to do the further testing at no cost(which was a huge relief).  But last night I received a call from him saying that he would like to have him tested for autism.  He doesn’t think he’s autistic, though he may have a mild form of it.  That was hard to hear.  Unfortunately, he isn’t qualified to do the testing for autism, and that means more testing.

I know I should do some research on autism though, I really don’t want to.  It might be denial, or some deep rooted fear that I’ll have to accept certain limitations.  I believe in being proactive, and not wanting to wait when it comes to helping my boys.  This scares me, or rather the label and what it could mean scares me. 

Today I’ll indulgence myself a little. I’ll focus on the housecleaning, running errands, and take Alex out for lunch; he’s been waiting a very long time to lunch with Mom.  Tomorrow I’ll sort out what the next steps are in dealing with this.

Can Doctors Play PingPong? Seriously....

I know I haven’t written in a while, and well that mostly because adoption wise we are stuck, unless you count bouncing back and forth between doctors.  Jeesh!

Where we live it isn’t an easy thing to find a family doctor.  Our old one which we absolutely adored works 2 hours away from us so it doesn’t make sense for us to see her anymore.  For the past 2 and a half years we’ve been going to emergency and walk in clinics to see doctors.  Then about six months ago Dale found a doctor taking on new patients, and after meeting him he decided to take us on.

Now the crux of the problem, he doesn’t “Know” us well enough to fill out the medical forms and wants our old family doctor to fill out the forms.  However, since our new family doctor has been treating me for my diabetes now, my old family doctor isn’t comfortable filling out the forms either because we now have a new family doctor. 

Finally our new family doctor said he would fill out the forms if we can get our medicals records to him.  That sounds easy enough doesn’t it.  Except that my old family doctor has the worlds most stupidest secretaries.  If you think I am being mean, or harsh I’m not.  They have proven it over and over and over again.   A close family friend also saw our doctor and to have an appointment for fertility treatments.  Never having fertility treatments before, she asked the secretary what to expect.  The secretary responded with, “I think they go over positioning.”   My husband and I have often called to book an appointment, and are told after we give our name reason for calling, “that the doctor isn’t taking any new patients.”  To which we always have had to affirm that we aren’t new patients.  They were supposed make an appointment for my son to see a throat specialist and when I called to find out why we hadn’t received a phone call yet from the specialist to wait, and wait, and wait some more.  After six weeks and getting the same response I drove over to the doctor and asked the secretary to open up my son’s file, and sure enough they never even placed the call. 

My old family doctor is a great doctor but by some fluke she hires (she’s gone through several) really stupid secretaries.  And this is who we are stuck dealing with.  It has been a month now, and no transcripts delivered, no faxes made, lots and lots of promises, and yet nothing finds it way into our new Doctor’s mailbox.

Dale went to see our new family Doctor today, and his secretary who is more than competent called our old doctor’s secretary and sure enough another promise made to get the medical files delivered.   We were told it would be there in three days, but I won’t hold my breath.  Is “Because our Doctor’s secretaries won’t give us the damn files” a value reason for not having our medical history?  It would make things a lot simpler if it were.

The Morning After...

It absolutely the difference a day can make.  Yesterday was full of shadows of doubt striking out when I was alone with my fears. The numbers tallied up before my eyes, and then this morning I remembered the smaller picture.  Smaller doses/deposits/ for the most part, it’s still hard, and things will be extremely tight.  But there is hope.  I have my sewing machine so I can start working on making Pillowcase dresses, with a matching doll outfit. 

I have my Discovery Toy kit now, but I have to stop being so damn shy about approaching people about it.  I can do this!  I will do this!  I just need to shake myself hard, and push away my childhood tramas.  It sounds so easy to be confident and yet it goes against what I was taught to believe about myself.  I keep telling myself I am not that girl!  Not anymore. 

So tomorrow I will drop off some catalogues, deliver some flyers and during the day I will go to the park and approach some of the Moms and Dads and Daycare workers. 

My views on money remain the same.  I think it is something I will always loathe, sure it would be nice not to have to worry about it, but if it ever gets to that point, it will even be a thousand times nicer to make others dreams come true.

When Dreams Start to Fray...

Life can be crazy, heart breaking and simply divine.  It always seems that when we are saving up for our dreams the money factor comes into play.  We’re getting hit hard are all fronts this month.  I wish I had Dale with me this weekend.  I don’t like being alone with my fears.  They seem too real. Too insurmountable. 

Would it seem strange if I confess that I loathe money?  I loathe how it defines us, how we need it, how others need it and I don’t always have enough to give, how it must be counted and paid in and paid out.  How thirty dollars a month to save a child from poverty, or cure a disease seems so little and at the same time seems so much.    

I want to see my name in print because I want to be successful; money to me does not equal success.  It is the accomplishments that matter. I want to be successful as a writer.  I want to see my screenplays on the big screen.  I want to have my novels published, but even more than all this... I want the missing pieces of my heart.  I want my daughters. 

I’ve seriously consider asking for family for help, but I know myself too well.  If they said “No” I would take it more than a rejection.  It would cut me to the core and leave a splinter in my heart, not just for myself but also for our daughter and that would not be a great way to start off the relationship.  If they said “Yes” I’d be happy but I’d have to swallow my pride, and I would always feel that debt looming over my head, until I paid it off one way or another.

There are things money can’t buy, and those are the things I cherish the most.   Watching Cyrus run as he plays tag with the ocean waves.  Preston laughing as he tries to tell us he isn’t enjoying himself (but really he is.)  Alex gathering building up a fire so we can roast marsh mellows at the end of the day.  Even taking the dog for a walk with Dale, or seeing a redheaded woodpecker together.  I think I would be as Jane Bennet if I had more money than I knew what to do with.  Generous to fault

The Days of In Between...

When everything has been done and you are just waiting on the mail to come trickling in, what else can you do to fill in the time.  I know, I know, I’ve been keeping myself very busy, starting a new business venture and coaching Cyrus’ lacrosse team.  But these things are only on the surface and because of necessity and circumstance I have taken more responsibilities.  I am generally a pleasant, albeit shy, and sometimes socially awkward sort of person.  Now with being coach I have truly stepped out of my comfort zone, but I take comfort that when push comes to shove I will rise up to the occasion.

 As I wait for my Discovery Toys Kit, reference letters and the Police Check to arrive I find myself practicing my Russian for about twenty minutes to an hour a day, I still found time to crack open another book which deals with an emotionally traumatized child. 

I found “Building The Bonds of Attachment” by Daniel A. Hughes, absolutely wonderful. Though it was based on fictional characters, they themselves were based on several incidents that could be applied to children with an attachment disorder.   The thing I found most gripping was how they showed how the child’s mother neglecting her by simply ignoring her, letting her father beat her, and just giving her what she wanted to stop her from bothering them.  She was well kept in her appearance but love and acceptance and boundaries were denied to her. 

Several parts of the book hit home with me.  How easily I could see this neglect happen.  Being a Mom and Dad (I cannot forget Fathers) is hard work.  You do get little time to yourself, the demands are always there, always more of yourself needing to be given.  I remember starting to make the kids their lunches and throwing in the middle of it, sick with the flu.  It would have been so easy just to lie in bed and let them make do with cookies.


But then there are moments when you find your youngest asking if he could make you a cup of tea, (turns out he wants a taste of it too) but the offer was still there.  When I needed to help one with their homework because he forgot to do it the night before and the other two pack their lunches and went the extra mile making their brother’s as well.  It makes every sacrifice worthwhile.   

I’m glad I fought against taking the easy route of ignoring their cries when they were little.  I’m glad I played and sang with them when they were babies, hug and held them, kissed their hurts when they needed it, and told them they were fine when they didn’t.   I’m glad that I joined them in playing their video games, air hockey, tag and hide and seek.  I’m glad I let myself enjoy my kids, and embraced their childhood with them.   

My boys have their challenges, and life won’t always be so carefree for them, but they know their place in my heart.  They are happy and confident that no matter what happens I love them.  They are my pride, my joy, my frustration at times and my comfort.  They know that “Home” is a safe, loving environment that accepts them for who they are.  I could go on and on here, but I won’t.   

Instead I’ll sum up and say that the best homes I’ve ever been in were the ones whose parents listened to my problems, it didn’t matter the time of day (or night).  They had an open door policy that I cherished.  There were so many times when I was hurt and angry at my own parents, they listened without judging, kindly told me how my parents might have interpreted my actions, and just by them sitting there, being with me, talking with me instead of at me, helped me set the foundation of the home I wanted for when I had my own family.

So to them I press my hand against my heart and say, “Thank you for showing me what a happy home was suppose to be like.”