So what happened?

Picking up from here...

Superman and I got to where Sproing was on Monday afternoon sometime close to 4:30. He was glad to see us, gave us hugs, etc. I loved on him a bit. He allowed me to! I want him to know that the rejection isn't malicious or personal. He has some problems, needs help, but that doesn't invalidate his existence. He is of the opinion, and has been for a long time, that he is ugly and stupid and doesn't deserve to live and should never have been born.

We put him in the car and I surreptitiously flipped the switch on the back doors to disable the handles from working on the inside. I was afraid he'd try to open the door and bolt. Indeed, he threatened to. While on the way back said he was going to open the car door and throw himself out so he would die. Was he serious? Does it matter? Just saying that indicates a troubled mind.

Let me back up a bit. When Superman and I left Greenwood I started making calls. (He was driving.) I talked to the school social worker, to my counselor, and I can't remember who else. The social worker (my personal hero, btw) was very concerned. She said that he needs serious intervention, and NOT to bring him back to Greenwood. He won't get help here, and frankly he's too dangerous, too shaken up to be let out of sight. She looked up a few places, called me back and gave me phone numbers of mental health hospitals with adolescent wards. I called one but they couldn't take any new patients, they are full with a waiting list.

I was just too freaked out to call any other place. But the social worker had mentioned a place adjacent to one of the hospitals in the Columbia metro area. (We had to go through Columbia to get to Sproing.) I didn't have that phone number, though, and didn't know where that (or any) hospital is. I'm not too familiar with the city.

Well, we were driving along, getting close to Columbia, the traffic was getting heavier, and Superman was stressing. Duh. We made a wrong turn. It was easy to fix; just go up here to this road, take that to over there, then hook up to the road we need. It only took us very slightly out of our way... or did it? Guess what we saw on the "wrong" road? The mental health facility! I said "LOOK! That's where we're stopping on our way back!"

And we did. But back to Sproing. We got him, stopped for gas, then went to Haus du Waffel. I had a hankerin' for pee-can waffles. All three of us were hungry. It was weird, though. We knew Sproing had to be protected from himself. We had to be very careful. We hovered. We sat in a booth with Sproing "locked" in on the other side of his Daddy. The boy couldn't move. Neither of us got farther than three feet from him, both of us ready to spring if he sprung.

Back in the car he talked about being glad to go home to play with Scheherazade and his PSP. No, honey, that isn't going to happen. He alternated that with vitriol, saying he hates us, we hate him, he's ugly and stupid (a common refrain), and he won't live in this house ever again. He'll just kill himself. Or run away. He wants to live in a cardboard box beside the highway. Superman started to "reason" with him, but I told him not to bother. There is no reasoning there. But then Sproing said he was glad to be going home from that stupid boys' home. And he hates us. The pendulum was swinging wide and fast. It was strong evidence that the boy is off his rocker, and reinforced our decision to take him to the hospital.

Which we did. We pulled into the parking lot and tried to get him to come with us. No such luck. So I drove around to the patient-drop-off circle and sent Superman in to retrieve strong-arm assistance. What they did instead was give him a clipboard of forms to fill out. Doesn't that sound just like a hospital? Sproing and I waited in the car (doors and windows locked). He fumed. He bounced off the seat, ceiling, doors of the back seat. He screamed. (It's a small car. The sound was nerve wracking.) He lay on the seat and kicked the door as hard as he could. I'm impressed with the strength of that door.

Superman finally came out and said we could go in. He had to pull Sproing out of the seat by his arms, and I got behind the boy and sort of hugged him while leading him to the door. He was like a caged animal once we got inside. We were in a tiny interview room with an intake social worker. Sproing was pacing, banging the walls, bouncing off the furniture, crawling on the floor. He crawled under my chair and hid for a while. That was as still as he got. Superman and I answered the nice lady's questions. When she had the low-down, she assured us that he would be admitted, but she had to call the doctor-on-call to make it official.

In the meantime (and after speaking to me out in the hall, away from the boy, to ask if she should) she put us into another tiny room behind the locked doors. It's a good thing she did, too, because at one point Sproing ran out of the room and tried to run through the doors to the lobby. It took a really long time. We probably waited an hour or more. The nurses on the adolescent ward weren't ready to process him until nearly 10:00. Sproing was their third intake of the evening. I guess there are lots of crazy young'uns in South Carolina.

During our wait Sproing calmed down a little bit. We had some positive interactions. He and Superman played the license plate word game* with letters Superman made up. He let me hold him and scratch his back. Then he bounced off the walls and kicked things.

We finally went to the ward. Superman and I had to sign a few consent forms for medications. By then Sproing had shut down. He sat slump-shouldered in a chair, no expression. I gave him a hug (he didn't resist) and told him we'd be there to visit on Thursday evening (the next visiting time). And we left. And though I'm exhausted, I feel good about the whole thing.

Addendum: I spoke with one of the nurses earlier this evening. She said he had a rough afternoon. He insisted that I was going to pick him up and take him home this evening. He took all of his clothes to the lounge area, put them in a chair beside the door, and tried to open the door. Of course it's locked. Then he banged on the door. Then banged his head on the door. Then threw his clothes in the garbage can. He was taken to the "observation room" where he continued beating his head against the door (or wall, I'm not sure which) and then threatened to kill himself. The nurse tried to give him a pill (some kind of chill pill thing) but he refused it. So they had to restrain him and give him the medicine by injection. Oooh, consequences! I wonder if he'll accept the pill next time. Anyhow, he was asleep when I called.

She asked me if this was the kind of behavior we've seen at home. Well, not quite, but close. He usually doesn't get quite that violent, but what she described is consistent with the type of things he does. Nothing she described surprises me.

They only allow visits on Thursday, Saturday and Sunday from 6:00 - 7:30, and the patients can receive phone calls on the other days of the week, but only from 6:30 to 8:00. Since he was sleeping when I called at 6:30, I'm going to call again after 7:30 to see if he can talk. I don't know what to expect.

*SC license plates are alpha-numeric, with three letters. The game is to think of a word that contains those three letters in that order. Sproing is surprisingly good at it.

Post Script: To answer Karen's question; fortuitously, Twitch is on quarter break from school, so he was here to take care of Diva while we took care of Sproing.

Just when I thought it was safe to breathe a sigh of relief...

All is not well. All is not well with the boy. Not at all.

In our last episode of Fun With Java's Psychotic Family, we saw Java take her 11.5 year old son Sproing to a residential boys' home.

So last Friday, September 25th, I drove 200 miles to the SC low country to take the boy to this lovely rural boys' home with a great reputation for taking care of troubled young'uns. As I alluded to in my last post, the weekend was strangely quiet with him gone. I wondered all weekend how he was holding up. Today after lunch I called the director's office to inquire about his weekend.

The director told me that Sproing had a good weekend. But, he was just about to call Sproing's Daddy because today (technically yesterday. Let's just call it Monday, shall we?) when the boys went into their classroom to do schoolwork, Sproing refused to cooperate. Strongly refused to cooperate. Adamantly refused to cooperate. OK, he threw a major conniption fit. The director and the psychiatrist observed him, tried to work with him, all to no avail. So Mr. Director was about to call Sproing's Daddy to tell him to come pick up the boy.

What??

"Come get him."

Can you feel all the hope, happiness, and relief rush out of my body? Can you see me deflate? Do you feel the tears well up in my eyes? Do you feel my stomach begin to churn, my heart thump a sickly rapid pace?

I couldn't speak. I could barely breath. He continued to rattle on about something, I have no idea what. I finally told him to call Sproing's Daddy. I believe the rest of my statement was unintelligible gibberish. Then I hung up.

So, I have a test in my next class, which begins in an hour. I still have a final bit of reading to do, and I need to look over my note cards. Sure. I went to the library, which was annoyingly crowded. I needed a secluded spot to pretend to study. No such luck. I found an empty study carrel along a long wall of occupied carrels. The few comfy chairs were all taken. I did sit there and read the rest of the chapter, though I can't remember much of what it said.

I got up, headed to class, called Superman. I would have called him earlier, but I just couldn't. I couldn't talk, you know? Not without deep wracking sobs, and I just don't feel comfortable doing that on a crowded college campus in the middle of the plaza. I felt sick. Anyway, I did finally talk to him, got all shaky, teared up but didn't sob (much). Then I walked into the classroom. The prof was already in the room, I walked up to him all jittery and shit with my sunglasses still on to hide my weepy eyes. I briefly told him what had happened. He's a clinical psychologist by training, and I'd already discussed the issues about Sproing with him. Gad, I could barely stand. I was shaking. He said "Listen, forget about the quiz. You need to go take care of this. Go on, it's OK." God love his soul.

Superman and I met at home, and decided to both go to pick up the boy. It was a good decision. It was a hard trip.

And we have been home now for almost an hour, and it's two minutes 'til 1:00 a.m. I have class tomorrow, my dad and step-mom are coming into town to visit us tomorrow, I'm tired, I have cried a lot, sweat a lot, worried a lot, driven a lot. I want to take a shower and go to bed.

There is more. We picked up the boy, but he isn't at home with us now. Stay tuned to read how we managed that. Hopefully I'll get back here to continue the saga before the end of tomorrow. (Technically today. Let's just call it Tuesday, shall we?)

And yet,

On the other hand, it's very peaceful around here today without Sproing's presence. Someone else gets to worry about him. Someone else gets to deal with his persistent vibration and unpredictable sudden rages. No one is tormenting Diva this morning. Although I am concerned about him, care about him and love him very much, I'm kinda glad he's not here now.

Parenting drama update

I did it. I took Sproing away and left him at the home for young ne'er-do-wells. It didn't quite kill me.

I last posted on Tuesday. Tuesday was a really bad day with him, but he pulled it together for Wednesday and Thursday. He spent all day Wednesday at school without the school having to call his parents. That's maybe the third day since school started that we haven't been contacted during the school day. On Wednesday afternoon Superman went to the school and officially withdrew him from the district's school system.

Thursday he spent all day until about 3:00 at the hospital undergoing a battery of psychological tests. Remember when Diva did all that a few months ago? Well, it's his turn now. We'll get the results summary in a couple of weeks. They will also send a copy to Sproing's new school.

I've been anxious and teary all week in anticipation of taking him to the boys' home. I actually began to cry in class yesterday. I pulled it together quickly, and I think no one but the sweet young woman who sits beside me even noticed. Today I was able to do what needed to be done, but I was sublimating my emotions. I'm really good at putting on a "proper" face for the kids (most of the time). My nerves have been on edge all day. I drove 9 or 10 hours today, because that's how long it takes to get out to the boys' home and back here. We spent an hour or so together once we got there. There were some papers I needed to fill out and/or sign. The director took us to Sproing's new "cottage" and we unpacked his stuff. He has some of his Hot- Match- (?) cars and the new pickup truck and camper I bought him yesterday. Don't you think the boy needs a new toy from his mama to take to that far-away boys' home? I do, too.

He will only be able to call home once a week. Tuesday evening is his cottage's call night. The boys are allowed to visit home one weekend a month, usually the first weekend. Since next weekend is the first in October, he won't be able to come home then. However, there's a family day the 4th Saturday of October when they will have some parenting classes and such-like, in addition to some play time for/with the boys. Superman and I are planning to go then, and take Diva to see the set-up (unless she gets placed in a home for wayward girls before then).

So, Java, how do you feel about all this? Weird. I feel not-quite-right. I've been very testy with Superman and Diva this evening. Twitch (home for term break right now) has been smart enough to stay out of my way. I know we are doing the right thing. But emotionally and/or subconsciously it feels wrong. Not the wrong thing to do, but wrong to have to do it.

Being the psychoanalytic sort that I am, I pay attention to my feelings, especially the odd ones that pop up when I am stressed. This evening I recognized that I feel the need to punish myself for sending my boy away. [No, of course it doesn't make sense. These things don't.] Realizing this now, I will be careful with other sorts of impulses that surface. I'll tell you this, though, it will be really hard for me to do anything nice for myself for a while.

Now that Sproing is safely tucked away in a good place where he can get the help he needs*, it's time to find someplace like that for Diva. Who knows what that will do to me? I might continue to freak, I might sing hallelujahs. I may do both. The dynamics of my relationship with her are different from how I feel about him. I love them both, but not the same because they are different from each other. I'm pretty sure there's some Mom-son vs. Mom-daughter dynamic going, too. Anyway, we shall see what we shall see.

Right now I'm going to chill out with my blogs, and/or watch this potentially interesting gay movie that Net Flikz sent me. TTFN

*I say it this way in a desperate attempt to convince my inner mommy.

What it is

I started this last Friday.

I've been sitting here for a couple of hours with this tab opened. I am doing the ADD thing: stare at the blank "new post" box, Google something I think of, look up something I remember, etc. Then I come back to this empty box. Then I play a few hands of solitaire before coming back to this blank box. It's not that I don't have anything to write. There's a hell of a lot going on, some of it of great import, some of it niggling. For instance, I got a shot of cortisone in my left thumb joint (distal) yesterday because it has a bone spur with aggravated arthritis (osteo-). It only hurt when I'd press it or knock it against something. Now it hurts just anyway. I assume the pain will subside in another day or two. It doesn't hurt very much anyway. This is not an item of great significance.

Sproing being placed in a boys home, on the other hand, is pretty major. We submitted an application on Monday (I think it was) heard back from the place via the school social worker on Wednesday. Yesterday Superman talked to someone from the home (might have been the director, I'm not sure) and he and Sproing are going for an interview on Monday. They might admit Sproing as early as next Tuesday.

And I haven't told you about Sproing's string of suspensions from school, either. He was suspended for three days last Wednesday, putting him back in school this past Tuesday. I took him to school and did the required face-to-face with the principal (and I cried like a whipped puppy in his office) only to have the principal call me before noon and tell me to come pick the boy up. He had earned another three days of suspension.

And this is as far as I got. Didn't have the heart to complete it then, so I'll try to finish it now.

This stupid thumb joint still hurts. It feels just like it did before I saw the doctor about it. That's $360 wasted. Well, for me it's 20% of $360, but that's not the point (of this discourse).

Superman and Sproing went to the boys' home yesterday. Sproing is scheduled to move there on Friday. This assumes that he lives that long. This afternoon was very rough. He strapped a belt around his neck and said he was just going to kill himself. This happened after he beat the walls with the belt buckle, placing small holes randomly along the wall. But instead of killing himself, he went with me to the grocery store where we got ingredients for tonight and tomorrow night's dinner, some ice cream for everyone, a few miscellaneous other things, and a little toy monster truck for him. Am I a sucker? Or does he need these little expressions of love from me right now? I don't know. It is what it is. He leaves Friday.

Sproing went back to school today after being suspended for a week and a half. I got a call shortly after 9:00 from the social worker. He was in her office, having been removed from the classroom for disruptive behavior. I basically begged her to keep him. I explained about the plan and told her he only needs to survive two more days at school before he's gone. Well, he did make it to the end of the school day. However, his sister did not.

Diva, the darling, mouthed off big-time to her chorus teacher. I don't know details, but does it really matter? She is suspended tomorrow, but goes back on Thursday. It's time to renew the search for a home for wayward girls. Sproing's drama has forced hers to the back burner.

This is all I have the energy for tonight. Stay tuned for further updates, as always.

Wait...

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Billionaires for Wealthcare

How to protest the protesters right under their noses.

Oh look! It's Tuesday!

I made it this far.

I went to sleep last night at 6:00, woke up this morning at 3:00. I'm on my way to IHOP for breakfast. The therapist says to do nothing today except that which might help. I have a doctor's appointment at 8:30, though I don't know why. Funny, huh? This is a pre-scheduled appointment to follow up, I guess, on something I've forgotten about. I'll show up and see if he remembers why I'm there. My thumb has been hurting for months now, and I keep meaning to get it checked, so I'll ask him to look at that while I'm there.

I haven't decided whether or not to go to classes today. The therapist suggests I stay home, but the stress of missing a class might be worse than laying low, if that makes sense.

I slept through supper last night, and have a hankerin' for some granola pancakes (or pecan waffles, if the pancakes are no longer available). (limited time only, you know)

Fantasy vs. Reality

I wanted to write a cheerful post, to talk about fun, sunshine and flowers, happy songs and cool, comforting breezes. I want to be able to tell you that I feel better than I did on Saturday when I last posted. I tried. I started another post earlier today, but didn't get beyond the first sentence.

And I really don't want to talk about why I can't honestly tell you happy things about my life. It's all old hat anyway. Nothing new, just the same old same old.

If the stone continues to pound the nut, eventually the nut will crack.

My therapist has ordered bed rest for me for the next 24 hours. I just took my anxiolytic. I have removed my contact lenses, and am now going to take off my watch and change into more comfortable clothing (well, really just my soft cotton blanket).

If you are inclined in that direction, send up prayers, positive thoughts, etc. 'Cause I am fresh out of positive thoughts.

Ugh

The depression is crushing me.

I sent off the application package to the school where we hope to send Sproing. It was at the same time hard and easy. He's been a big pain this week. He was suspended for three days. Thursday, Friday, and again on Monday he's not allowed at school. Superman has had to take time off from work to stay with him. It's either that or I miss classes. School is the only thing that is keeping me slightly sane right now. And frankly, it isn't doing a good job of that. He's being a royal pain in the ass now. I'm about to smack his pouty little face.

We don't know what to do with these children. Nothing works. We've been so inconsistent with our approach to discipline and parenting because we can't figure out what the hell to do. It's time for someone else to take over for a while. We need to heal. We're broken.

And Diva was sent home from school yesterday. She blew up at another student, made threats to kill that student and to kill herself. She's being manipulative. She's way too selfish to be serious about suicide. Homicide, on the other hand, I wouldn't put past her. I don't expect her to kill anyone, but I wouldn't be terribly surprised if she did. I did expect her to become sexually active, I just thought it would happen later than it did. She needs serious professional help. I ain't that professional. Hell, I need serious professional help.

I'm in such pain. It was so hard to get out of bed this morning. Showering felt good, but now I'm at my desk and can hear the kids. I can barely lift my arms. Breathing is a chore. Making complete sentences is a chore, too. I don't know if this missive makes any sense or says what I want to say. I don't know what I want to say. I can't think. And I've got a lot of homework to do today, so I'd better get my brain in gear. I don't know if that's possible.

That's all there is. That's all that there are words for. The rest is just pain: black, angry red, swirling and bubbling, spitting acid. It burns.

Lessons for the kitchen

I used to like to bake. I might still enjoy it, but for some reason (probably stress) it's hard for me to get motivated to do anything in the kitchen these days. Perhaps once there aren't so many needy people in my house I'll be able to enjoy it again.

But that's a tangent to what I came to talk to you about.

When I bake, cook, wash dishes, or do pretty much anything in the kitchen, I usually get messy. The front of my clothing is often covered in flour, and gets wet when I wash dishes. When I wash dishes after I've been baking, I end up with paste on my waist.

This morning I discovered a way to avoid getting my shirt messy. Cook in the nude! My stomach is much quicker and easier to clean than is my shirt. However I wouldn't recommend it for cooking bacon.

(I have no idea where this picture originated. It looks like it's from a magazine. I got it from another blog, I think, quite a while ago.)

I only have one class today, and that's not until 3:30. My other two classes were canceled for today. Everyone else is at work or school, and my clothes are in the dryer, hence the baking in the nude. There are many things I would like to accomplish today, studying being first and foremost. I also need to sew a costume shirt for Light. The day started off on the late foot when I slept until 10:30 this morning. But I had an awesome dream about flirting and falling in love/lust!

I have already accomplished a few things. I bathed. That's always a good way to start the day, and something that, on bad days, I skip. So it's a good sign. I iterated laundry, and baked a blueberry buckle coffee cake thingie. I just now took it out of the oven. It has to cool a bit before I taste it. And here's a blog post, something that I've been meaning to get around to for a few days. The kitchen is clean, all the dishes washed and counters and table wiped down. I finally put away the hand mixer that Diva left out last week after she baked a cake. It's been sitting on one of the chairs at the table for days. So all in all, I'm feeling mostly good about my morning's accomplishments. And I needed the sleep, so I'm not going to beat myself up about sleeping late.

But alas, I have yet to do anything that is actually on my list of things to accomplish, so I'm off to do that which needs to be done. TTFN

Go see

Guess what? My darling son Twitch has started a blog! Go check it out. He has presented a fairly accurate depiction of the weirdness that is him.

random, and school

I like men in kilts.

I don't like scorpions.

I love gay men (most of the ones I know, anyway).

It is good to be back in school. Tuesday was the first day back, and I've been to all my classes twice now. The first day of class is pretty useless as far as getting any work done, but we begin to know each other, students and professor. I like all my profs so far. My psych profs are terrific. I have three psych classes: abnormal psych, systems of psychotherapy (both taught by the same prof) and research methods. The methods class is the big ugly required class that everyone dreads. So far it's been terrific. I've never had this particular professor before, and didn't know if I would like him. I do! He's interesting and animated and we've had some great class discussions already. The guy who teaches abnormal and therapy is a big bear (straight) of a guy with a laid back nature and a great sense of humor. I have been eager to take classes from him since I first got to the school.

I have another sociology class, SOC 202. It's like SOC 101 on steroids. The subject is interesting, and the class is fairly diverse. In addition to me there are at least three other non-traditional students. I am, of course, the oldest. One guy in his mid 30s works as a guard at a men's prison around here. There are two other women who are a bit older than most students and have some life experience. At least one of them has children as well. The professor is a middle-age black woman, the sort you might expect to be a sociology professor. I'm not sure about her yet. She has an excellent syllabus and demands high quality effort from the students. I like that about her. However, I get the feeling that she may have some causes to champion, and that might make for some tense class discussions. So far so good, though.

The other class is Theater and Film. I need the fine arts credit, and it looked like the best option in the department. The class is large for this school. It's a small school, and most classes have 20 to 25 students in them. This class has 40, and most of them are freshmen. First semester freshmen, at that. (I think I blogged a little about this earlier in the week. I'm too lazy to check, and I'm on a roll now so I'm gonna keep rolling.) I like the professor. She has practical experience in theater. She was for over a decade the chief muckity-muck at our community theater, and she now administers the college's performing arts series (can't remember what it's called). I don't think she teaches drama or has anything to do with directing the plays or anything, though. I'm not sure. Not that it matters. Whatever. If I can get over the freshmen I'll be OK. (Gotta check out the guys, check for sexy and run my gaydar over 'em.)(There are way to many proto-sorority girls in the class. That type really bugs me.)

More random stuff: The gender conformity issues are nagging me again. How comfortable am I with being a woman? It depends on how one defines "woman." I ain't no girly-girl. Never have been, never will be. And why do I generally not like women? There are some women that I like a lot, women I like spending time with, women who are my friends. But the thought of spending time in the company of a generic woman or women (whatever the hell that is) really turns me off. I much prefer spending time with men. Being with straight men is sometimes iffy, just because the sexual tension gets in the way. I'm a shameless flirt. I can't help myself. One of the reasons I've allowed myself to get so overweight is to build a barrier of protection around me so that I won't be seen as sexually desirable to those not in the know (i.e. anyone but Superman). But I like men a lot, in a lot of different ways, and that's one reason I find myself so drawn to gay men. Sexual tention isn't an issue. Gay men tend to respect me much more than do most straight men I've known. That's a big plus.

I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm feeling teary.

Have a good weekend.

musings

Lookee here, it's September already! My Grandmama used to say "lookee here." She also said "that's a ticket" when I did something right. Without even meaning to, I use those same phrases occasionally. When I was a child, one of my goals in life was to be a crazy old lady like my Grandmama. Mostly I think I've made it. That makes me happy.

Being in school has many advantages. It gives me structure. It challenges and stretches me to grow in many ways. One of the ancillary benefits is that it helps the moods of the seasons. August and February are typically really bad months for me, but this year both months seemed to float on by without seasonal affective insanity. There was plenty of other insanity going on, as usual, but not that sense of doom I typically associate with August and February.

And speaking of growing in many ways, not all growth is positive. For example, take the growth of girth. Please. I'm a stress eater, and prefer the Santa Claus diet* above all else. Now that school is back in session, I find myself having to squeeze into the desks. It isn't a pretty thing, nor is it comfortable. I need to make sure there is a chair for me to use in those classrooms with the one piece desks. I can turn the desk around, sit in the chair in front of the desk, and use the desktop that way. My book bag can sit on the desk seat. Maybe all the walking around campus will help me "reduce," as my Grandmama used to say. Maybe eating more fresh fruits and veggies and whole grains, and much less cookie and ice cream will help me reduce. It's a thought.

I attended three of my five classes yesterday. Today I go to the other two. So far, so good. All of the classes except one look very good. I have three psychology classes, one sociology class, and a Theater and Film class. I need the humanities/fine arts credit from that theatre class. I don't mind the subject at all, and it has the potential to be interesting. It's a large class, though, and the majority of my classmates are freshmen. That's a match made in hell. Anyway, we shall see what we shall see.

*Milk and cookies, of course. Though I prefer coffee with my cookies. I get my dairy supply from ice cream.