This is gonna embarrass me so bad when I sober up

*giggle*
I've had a fuckshit day. Lots of meetings (OK, two) about Diva, with Diva. First one, we were terminated from one of the agencies that has been providing psychosocial services for us for a few years. That sucks.

Second meeting was at the high school to determine if all of her fuckups this year are due to her disability diagnosis. She has been suspended for 10 days total this year, which is some kind of limit. If the behavior that got her suspended is due to her being diagnosed crazy, which "we" determined was indeed the case (the school psychologist and her special ed teacher had this figured out before the meeting), then she can't be expelled from school. Poor little bitch. I suppose that's better, since if she was expelled she'd be home all day with jack shit to do except bother me. But the solution that was already in place before the meeting has her with an "abbreviated" day, only at school from the regular 8:30 start time until 12:45, at which time she comes home to bother me. She'll have four classes instead of her current six. Fuck my life.

Time for a new paragraph, although I forgot what I meant to say next. Hang on a sec, it'll come to me. Right, so here's what happened to push her suspensions to the limit. Last Tuesday she got into a fist fight with another girl in the bathroom at school. She actually had this fight prearranged (on Facebork) with the other bitch. (They are all bitches.) Diva's real name is Angel, the girl she fought is named Heaven (except spelled weird, with a "y" in there somewhere). True story. OK, now forget you heard her real name. Moving on - So she got in a fight, with a black eye to prove it (giggle). At lunch last Tuesday. Monday was the MLKJr. holiday so she was off that day, and the previous Wednesday was a half day because it was the end of the first semester, then Thursday and Friday were teacher inservice (non-student) days. She was home for fucking five days before going back to school only to be sent home for fighting halfway through her first day back. Fuck my life. And was home the rest of last week.

I don't do so well when she is home. It's hard for me to get anything done because her negative energy pervades the house. I end up hiding in my room. And I pretty much stay depressed and don't do anything constructive in my house. There are a lot of things I need to do in my house, cleaning and organizing and creating and culling the junk. Can't do that (because I'm crazy too) with the bitch in the house.

Also, got a call from the gynecologist about her today. She had her annual physical last week; they did an STD workup (or whatever it's called) because I told them she had been treated for Trichomoniasis and we needed to be sure the crud was gone. So today I learned from the nurse that Diva has Chlamydia. Either she's had unprotected sex (unsafe sex?) since the time she got the Trichomoniasis, or when she was diagnosed with that at the emergency room, they missed the Chlamydia. FML. I told her this afternoon that she has another STD, Chlamydia, and she shrugged her shoulders; "so what?" WTF?? I think she has no clue about how dangerous STDs can be. Or she just doesn't care.

Fuck. How am I supposed to bring her up safely if she's so damned careless with her life?

She wants to leave this town, never go back to that high school because the kids pick on her. Yeah, welcome to life, bitch. That's really not an option, but when we tell her that, she accuses us of not listening to her. No, honey, I am listening. I realize you want to leave this town, but that's not possible right now. She doesn't get it. She just yells that we don't listen. She cray-cray.

I talked to the resource officer at the school this afternoon, too. Because she got into a physical altercation with another student, the officer filed a report about it. He does that for every physical altercation. (Aren't you impressed with how well I spell "altercation" when I'm drunk? Though I am beginning to sober up some. Time for either another beer (a bad idea, really) or sleep (a good idea, especially this late when I have to get up early and take the bitch to school in the morning).) Which means she's on the Department of Juvenile Justice (DJJ) radar again. Now, it'll take a fucking year for the court system to do anything with the case, by which time she'll have forgotten the incident. (I told you before that Sproing is in juvie jail-light now, right? Over a year after the first offense that got him before the court in the first place.)

It's been a rough day. Superman, being the super man he is, took me out to our favorite beer and pizza joint. We had a really good pizza, and I had two and a half really really really good beers. Hence the drunkenness. After getting home from that last meeting at the school I was very disgusted, downhearted, depressed, despondent. (Oh, and I've been eating my feelings for the past couple of weeks, threatening the progress I've made with the weight loss.) I decided I either needed some good beer (at a good beer joint, not at home because home is where the despondence lies) or a dose of my Ativan. Beer makes me feel happy, Ativan makes me feel pretty much nothing and puts me to sleep. Superman decided beer was the better choice. Don't know if it was, but I got really happy for a few hours. Then I came home and spilled my frustration out here on the blog and now I'm mostly disgusted. But it's late and I'm going to sleep very soon and that will be OK. I'll wake in the morning and... I got distracted by Bach's Toccata and Fugue and a beautiful organ.

And now it's time to brush my teeth and go to bed.

This post brought to you by Bell's Java Stout.

She's ba-a-a-a-ack

Of course I'm referring to Diva.
It's only for one night, so she says. She's staying with a friend, and the friend's mom and boyfriend want some "alone time" tonight. I totally understand that. So the friend is at grandma and grandpa's place and the only other place Diva can go is back here. But I am super pissed about it. More than pissed, I am angry. (There is a difference. After a couple of beers I can't tell you exactly what it is, though.)

So Tuesday of last week she declares that she is finished with us and runs off to her friend's house. She's been telling us for years (and I mean literally years) that she does not belong in our family. She started that shit when she was in kindergarten. More recently she says she hates us, hates the whole family, does not want anything to do with us. So, now that she's been with this other family for just over a week, she wants to waltz in here like the Queen of Sheba and assume all of the rights and privileges of being a member of the Java family. Like hell, bitch.

And really, she's been depending on us since she left. The family she's staying with is very poor. Not too bright, either, and I suspect not strongly motivated to do responsible things like get a job. I've met the mother, talked to her a bit, and she seems nice and all. But let's just say she and I don't have a lot in common. So we (and by "we" I mean mostly Superman) have been helping them out with groceries and such. But I'm in support of helping them support Diva. For one thing, it keeps Diva away from here.

Now that she's been gone for a bit over a week I have gotten very comfortable with her absence. And the threat of her presence unsettles me. A lot.

Superman took her to the skating rink this evening, which I thought was a bad idea. Bitch thinks she can resume normal operating procedures. But, Superman had promised to take Sproing to the movies which means dad's not here when she is. Bad idea. She and I... we don't do well together. As angry as I am about the whole mess, it's better for us not to be in the house together without Superman's Super-vision. ;-)

Don't remember if I mentioned it in the last post (I think I did) but it's come to the point that we are seriously considering terminating parental rights with her. "Un-adopting" her, as it were. I don't want to need to do it, but it is what it is. It's come to this. And her being here tonight after rejecting us like she did (and all the other shit she's done to ruin the family relationship - see 5+ years of blog archives) reinforces for me that yes, it's time.

I talked to our family doctor about all this earlier this week. Went to see him because I've irritated the tendons in my left arm again. Tennis elbow or something. Or maybe golfer's elbow. Depends on which set of muscles/tendons is inflamed. Anyway, (I ramble when I'm tired or drunk. Kinda both right now.) I was in the office about that and told him what's going on with Diva. Told him we're considering the termination of parental rights. He jumped on that fast. Essentially said "Well, it's about time!!" No, he was more politic than that. He's good at being nice. He was encouraging. Said we have gone above and beyond to help her, and severing the relationship is a good idea. He knows me pretty well. He's been our family doctor for going on 18 years now. He said "You need to not feel guilty about this." Yep, that's my chief hang-up with this decision. Tonight, though, I am oh so ready to drop her like a hot potato.

Third beer is out of the bottle and into my system. Not thinking or writing very clearly. Gonna go do something else. So long, and thanks for all the fish.

Diva update, and Java's thoughts on the matter

Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot. 
-Charlie Chaplin, actor, director, and composer (1889-1977) 

To answer the pressing question I left you with earlier this week: I did not lie down and go to sleep like I was supposed to after posting. I played a little bit of solitaire, then chatted with Victor for a while. Yeah, I was up for another two hours. I got to sleep at around 10:30 last night, though, and was up by 6:00 today. I'll probably nap later this morning, as I need to stay up late tonight. Maybe I'll post later about what I hope will be an enjoyable evening in Spartanburg tonight.

A lot has happened this week. It was just two days ago... well, actually three, since I wrote about Diva's batshittery from Monday. The post officially went up on Tuesday, but it was like 0-dark hundred and I wrote most of it late Monday night.

Oh dear, I'm rambling again.

So I need to discuss Diva's Tuesday batshittery. She had a 10:30 appointment with the nurse at the mental health center, so I woke her up around 8 -8:30. She got up, took her meds (I think? Don't actually remember that) but did not get dressed. I was in my room on the computer (as usual). She came in still in her night clothes half an hour before time to go. I asked if she was going to take a shower. No. I shrugged: whatever. I'm not going to argue with her about that. In the grand scheme of how messed up she is, poor hygiene is not high on the list of shit to address. I told her to get dressed. That is more important when going out in public. "I don't want to." And she stood beside me, hovering. She does that. She'll come up and stand beside me or in front of me and just be. She doesn't necessarily stare. If anything she stares into space, rather emotionless. Maybe I give her too much power over me, but when she does that it feels like she is dark matter, the vacuum of emptiness sucking life points away from me. Creeps me out.

Damn, there is a lot of emotion locked into this story. I have just moved from my office into my bedroom because I can't write this there. Not sure why. Maybe I need the comfort of my bed rather than the more down-to-business atmosphere of my office. I also have opened a window so I can hear the rain and feel the damp coolness, as it seems to calm me somewhat.

Diva asked me to call the hair salon to make an appointment to get her hair done. I said that after she got dressed I'd call. She rolled her eyes, went to her room and got dressed. I called, got an appointment for a Wednesday afternoon hair do. Her mood/attitude was reluctantly cooperative.

We drove to the mental health clinic. She was quiet. In the waiting room she still had that flat affect thing going on. (A note about flat or blunted affect: after reading the first paragraph of the linked Wikipedia article, I want to explain Diva's emotions a bit more. When provoked, and she's very easy to provoke, her emotional expression is more than would be expected in the situation. What she was doing Tuesday morning was more like simmering. Angry, probably very angry, but expressing almost nothing. I know when she's like that she could erupt to any stimulus and in any way, from a disgusted "humph" to a verbally and/or physically violent outburst.) I'm shaking a bit. This is going to be a long post. I need to get this shit out and my therapist is out of town this week, so here it is for all the internet to suffer/enjoy.

We went back to the nurse's office where Diva was weighed and cuffed (blood pressure cuff, y'all). The nurse asked about her meds, whether she was taking them, how they're working. Well, yeah, there's a story about that. She dumped all her meds for a whole week down the toilet last night. At this, I could see/feel Diva get even angrier. She didn't say anything. Actually, she had been talking a little bit to the nurse, but after I "tattled on her" she shut down completely.

The nurse recommended that Diva see the doctor sooner than her next scheduled appointment, so I made a new appointment at the front desk and gave Diva the reminder card. Then I took advantage of the bathroom facilities and Diva went to the truck. When I got out there I saw the shredded bits of the reminder card on the ground beside the passenger door. I opened her door, told her to pick up the trash she left there. I was calm. When I went around to the driver's side, she got out and picked up the litter, then threw it on the floorboard of the truck. What the fuck ever, bitch, lets just go. I had told her before we left home that I would take her to get her nails fixed after seeing the nurse. (I took her to a nail salon for her birthday last month where she got "a full set" I or something like that. Tips, color, etc.) Well, by now I'm finished with nice. "You can't expect to enjoy privileges like getting your nails done when you act like this and treat me like this." I also said "I know you're mad that I told the nurse about you flushing the pills. I don't tell just anybody these things about your behavior [I lied. I'm telling the whole internet now.] but the nurse is a part of your treatment team and she needs to know these things." So we went home, still a simmering darkness coming from the passenger side of the truck.

Once home, she went into the house and I stayed in my truck. I like my truck. It is my happy place (one of them, anyway). I needed to make some calls, specifically ones about getting Diva into a different living arrangement. I placed a call to the service coordinator but got her voice mail. Not five minutes later the service coordinator, Kim, pulled into my driveway! Cool! She was here to meet with the behavior modification worker who spends time with Diva. We stood in the driveway and talked for a few minutes, then the behavior mod gal showed up and Diva came out of the house. I had been telling Kim some of Diva's recent shenanigans. We briefly caught Ms. Behavior Mod up with what we were doing as Diva approached. Of course, hearing the conversation, Diva got super pissed. She told Kim that she wants a new family. Kim asked if that meant being in Dept.of Social Services (DSS) custody and in a  foster home, and Diva said Yes! So your parents would officially no longer be your parents? YES! says Diva. I looked at Kim and told her that yeah, I'm about there too. I'm ready for that because we can't do anything with her. God and the internet know we've tried.

There was some more discussion about Diva leaving. The professionals told her that she'd probably have to go to a group home because most foster families take younger kids, not teenagers. Whatever, whatever, whatever, let's do this thing. Diva doesn't care about ANYTHING besides getting away from us.

Diva told Kim her version of the events of Monday evening. It was interesting hearing her side of the story. It differs significantly from the story I told you here. And Diva was ready to leave us immediately. Which is where this story takes a turn. She called her friend Shi to ask if she could stay with them. Talked to Shi's mom, who said it was OK with her as long as Diva understands she has to follow rules over there, too. So Diva started packing. And told us (Kim, Ms. Behavior Mod, and me) that she was moving in with Shi. Um, OK? So I called Shi's mom. Yes, she can stay there... at least for a while. Neither of us know how long "a while" is.

As stated in previous posts, I don't particularly trust Shi's mom. She isn't the best influence. Granted, and as I've said, I don't know her very well. Diva has been my source of most information I have about Shi's mom. And we all know how unreliable that child is.

So Diva packed up a bunch of stuff and we all went over there to meet with Shi's mom. Having a discussion with her in person was enlightening. Turns out Shi hasn't dropped out of school. She attends middle school since she didn't finish the 8th grade last year. I am less uncomfortable about Diva staying there than I was before talking to her. I need to tell Diva she was right. She accused me, accurately, of prejudging Shi's mom. Note I said "less uncomfortable." But where I am right now vis-a-vis Diva staying here, well, that's great.

So Diva isn't here. And Kim is working on getting her placed in a family-style group home for girls in the northwest corner of the state. I just looked up the place on Google Maps. It's 2 hours from here, close to (if not in) the mountains. Looks like a lovely setting from the satellite picture. Kim emailed the application paperwork this morning. I have some work to do getting all the requested information together.

I had some trouble on Tuesday letting Diva go to Shi's place. Mixed feelings, you know? Feeling like I've failed. We've tried so hard for so long to parent this very difficult child. I'm relieved she's gone, but sad because it seems to be necessary. This is the second morning I've awoken with her not here. I like it. I'm glad she's gone, but I'm afraid it isn't permanent. I'm afraid she'll come back.

I want to take over her room. We need the extra space, what with Twitch back home again. I'm having to empty out my office so Twitch can move in there. I would love to take over Diva's room as my new office space. That might be a slightly bigger room than the current office. It needs to be painted, though, since Diva has messed up the walls terribly. Did I show you these?

 She has damaged the door to her room so that the door frame is falling apart. She slams the door a lot. She's very strong.

One day when she was angry at me (I don't even remember what the fight was about) she got craft paint and wrote on the back of her door and in her closet (see below) and stamped black and gray hand prints all over every wall in her room.

Yeah, that message in the last photo is especially for me. I'm impressed she spelled "bitch" correctly. She has since put a hole in the wall to the left of her door. You can see in the third photo the wall only blemished by paint, not yet with the huge dent. Something square and heavy impacted the wall. It looks like the corner of a box of some kind broke through the wall board. That's gonna be a bitch to fix.

Superman is going to be home soon so we can fill out the paperwork for this girls home. Kim says Diva will have to come home every other weekend. I don't know about that. I don't want her back, not overnight anyway. And it will cost money. Don't know how much, and Diva is eligible for SSI disability payments. She doesn't get anything now because Superman makes too much money for our family to qualify. But if she's living in a group home they will be able to get her disability payments. Hopefully that amount (I don't know how much it will be) will fulfill the financial obligation for her stay.

I'll be back with more news eventually, probably soon.

Same $h!t, different day

I use this space to journal my experiences* with my crazy children. To keep a log, so to speak, of what and when, etc. But not why. I've determined that more often than not there is no "why."

Today it's Diva. She wants to have the privileges of a normal child, but. But she's batshit crazy; but she has demonstrated repeatedly that she isn't mature enough to handle the responsibility; but she can't be trusted to control her behavior especially when she feels threatened. And she is super-sensitive and easy to provoke by the vaguest hint of a slight. That child can get insulted by the littlest nothings. And things get out of hand very quickly.

Today the local sheriff's department was involved. The kids had a half day at school today, the last day of the first semester. She got home just after 1:00 this afternoon and shortly thereafter Twitch and I left for the grocery store. When we got back (Aldi is a great place to get lots of stuff for relatively little money) Diva was not home. Sproing told me she had packed her book bag with clothes and left. She only ever goes to her friend Shi's house.


A bit of background: The dear child wants to be able to spend the night at a friend's house. There are many reasons this is a bad idea. Refer to the paragraph above with all the "buts" for a few examples. In addition she still, at 15 years old, wets the bed. Of course it's Shi she wants to sleep over with. Shi's mom has allowed her daughter to drop out of school even before Shi was legally old enough to do so. Shi's mother lets her do pretty much anything she wants. Shi's mother got kicked out of public housing. I don't know why, but I imagine she did something really stupid. The mother is currently unemployed again. Diva said she lost her most recent job working in a convenience store because she took money from the cash register. Diva also joined a conversation Superman and I were having with Twitch about the taste of various hard liquors with information about the kind she likes. (She isn't very bright. If I didn't want my parents to know I had been drinking, I would NOT join such a conversation!) I asked her in a very nonthreatening way how she knows this stuff. Oh, she tasted it when she was with Shi and her mom. Shi's mom does not have much money, what with being unemployed and not living in subsidized housing, so Diva likes to give them money. She has bought food for them. Just yesterday Shi's mom drove over here and Diva got out our gas can (with the fuel for the lawn mower, you know) and began filling the tank with our gas. Diva also asks her daddy to help out Shi's family with monetary donations. Superman declines. Shi's mom actually asks Diva for money. As I explained to the child, that sort of behavior from an adult is wrong. She's taking advantage of you, dear. Diva gives them her allowance money. I wouldn't be surprised if she began stealing money from us to give to them. (Note to self: keep our bedroom door locked when our wallets are in there and we are not.)

Diva asked daddy over the weekend about spending the night with Shi. First of all, the deal Superman made with Diva was that if she was "good" for four weeks, he would consider allowing a friend to sleep over here. Diva, as is her want, contorted that information into something more personally palatable: she sleeps over there. No. Also, with her recent bout of insanity (see link above)(not the Aldi one) she has demonstrated that she's not ready to handle that responsibility.

So when I learned that she'd packed her clothes and left, I knew she'd gone to Shi's. When Superman called this afternoon to say he was on his way home from work, I told him about Diva and asked if he would stop by (their place is between his work and home) and get her. Which he did. She got in the truck to come home but left her stuff there. On the way home he explained to her that no, she may not spend the night with Shi. With that information, Diva opened the door of the truck and ran away. While the truck was moving, albeit slowly. He was doing that California stop thing at a stop sign. So he came on home to tell me about it, then went back to get her. As he drove into Shi's yard Diva was just entering the house. (This "house" I refer to is the sorriest looking little old mobile home behind a bar and across the street from a veterinary hospital.) So he went up to the door and knocked. No one answered, and the door was locked. Superman called Diva's phone: no answer. Sent her a text: no answer. So he called the guy who's doing family therapy with us now. The guy told Superman to call 911, so he did. Here's where the sheriff's department comes in.

Superman also called to tell me what was going on. I assumed that Shi's mom was also in the house, complicit with not answering the door. I was wrong. As things were wrapping up with the deputy, Shi's mom and her boyfriend came walking up the road. They'd been on a walk. I am thankful that at least the mom wasn't in on this one. Wouldn't put it past her with what else I know about her, but whatever. Full disclosure: I have had very few interactions with the woman. Superman is the one who usually handles Diva and her visits with Shi. Most of what I know about her I've gotten second-hand.

When the deputy arrived on the scene Diva came out of the house. She's at least smart enough to do that. Maybe all her experience with law enforcement officers has taught her a little bit. According to Superman, the deputy gave her a good, loud dressing-down. Talking-to. Come-to-Jeesus meeting. I don't have details. There were no charges filed, but of course the officer will make a report. And Diva came home with her dad.

One of the reasons I didn't get details is that when Superman came back to the bedroom where I've been ensconced on my laptop, Diva followed. I heard her come in the room, go into our bathroom (my back is to the door when I'm sitting in bed), and heard the sound of pills clicking together. "Go check what she's doing" I said to Superman. He didn't need to, since before he could move she came to the bed and told us she had flushed a week's worth of all her medications down the toilet. I just this morning filled her weekly pill organizer so there were a full seven days of pills in there. She takes four in the morning and three at night. One of her psych meds in particular is very, very expensive. Some of the others are quite pricey, and a few are dirt cheap. We estimate she dumped well over $100 in the toilet. And I told her it is that kind of behavior that proves you are not mature or responsible enough to have those privileges you so desire.

She stood in here and argued with us for a long time. She made accusations against us, we countered with facts refuting her claims. We never let her do anything or go anywhere. Why, darling, just last Friday - a mere three days ago - you got to go skating with a friend. Oh, but they didn't go skating. The friend picked her up but they didn't go to the "skating ring." This is news to me, and indicates if she wants to go skating one of us will need to take her. I am not OK with her driving around all evening with random friends I don't know. She has a habit of picking friends who are poor role models. I didn't say any of that to her, but "treasured these things in my heart." I asked her where they'd gone instead, and she said "just driving around" which I don't believe for a minute. And so forth. She demanded that we place her in a "fosser" home. Well, I asked one of her psycho-social service coordinators about that last week, and it apparently isn't an option, at least not through that agency. I've also applied for her to go to various children's homes in the state. Her applications have been rejected because she's too fucking crazy. I actually told her that, too, though I might have left out the obscenity. This is a sample of the 45 minutes or so of argument. After that Superman told her to go to bed because he'd had all the insanity he could stand from her for the night.

A couple of hours later I took her evening meds in to her. She was sound asleep. (I'm not sure what we're going to do about the missing week of meds. The insurance company isn't keen on giving us extra meds.) She sat up and took the medicine, no argument. Before going to bed she had written on our white board in the kitchen something like "I won't be here no more. Sorry" which Sproing said means that she's going to run away. I erased it. When giving her the meds I reminded her that she has an appointment with the nurse at the department of mental health in the morning. Oh yeah, she said, at 10:30. Good grief.

This is long enough (or too long) for one post, and covers the events and some background of this evening's adventures. I'm sure there's more craziness I could document from the intervening week since I last posted about her (yes, it was only a week ago that she set fire to a pile of trash in her bedroom). But I won't. Not tonight. Superman went to sleep half an hour ago and told me not to stay up too late. So I'll post this now. But will I then shut down the 'puter, spend another hour or so on facebork, or play solitaire for a long time? Stay tuned for the answer to this pressing question.

*somehow originally mis-typed the beginning of this word as "sex"

Not one but TWO crazy children!

So yesterday I told you that Diva went all batshit and set fire to her bedroom. Well, to a small pile of trash in her bedroom. The more I think about it, though, the more it disturbs me. She easily could have caught the whole house on fire. I don't need that shit.

Today at school she told a guidance counselor that she tried to kill herself yesterday by setting herself on fire. Seriously? I don't think that's exactly what happened. She didn't burn herself. The fires? (she also lit one in our fire pit in the back yard) Maybe just a means of expression. I don't really know. Anyway, I got a call from the guidance office that I needed to come pick her up and take her to the emergency room because of this threat of self harm. I picked her up, indeed, but took her to the department of mental health office to talk to her therapist. Much cheaper than an ER visit. I've taken her to the ER three times within the last year for that reason, and she's never serious about the threat. It's attention seeking behavior. We had a brief conference at the school before I took her. In attendance were two people from guidance and the school resource officer, plus me and our service coordinator who just happened to be here to meet with me when all this shit went down. Diva admitted to the group of us that she did not intend to hurt or kill herself.

So we left, Diva, me, and the service coordinator, and motored to the Dept. of Mental Health offices where Diva condescended to actually communicate with her therapist. They had a lovely talk and Diva was all sweetness and light afterward. WTF. I took her back to school.

That whole exercise took 2.5 hours out of my morning. I barely had time to get a bean burrito from Taco Bell on the way to the doctor's office for my 1:00 appointment. The doctor checked his handiwork on my belly (from the hernia surgery three weeks ago) and said all looks good, I can do whatever I please. Well, that's nice.

I got home from the doctor's office and headed for the shower. Didn't have a chance to get one this morning before being called to the school. Checked my phone as I was disrobing, as I'd turned the sound down in the doctor's office. Lo and Behold there was a missed call and voice mail from the 9th grade assistant principal. This time the call concerns Sproing, who got into a fight during lunch and is now suspended for six days. Please come pick him up now. And you know, I had just begun to feel a little bit better after the escapades of this morning. So instead of taking a shower, I drove back to the high school to nab Sproing. I am not amused. He is not humbled by the experience. I told him he is in trouble, and he says he isn't. Dude. It's not your decision as to whether or not you are in trouble. You choose your behavior, Daddy and I decide what consequences result from that behavior. He doesn't get it. Superman had to come home and apply the belt to his backside a couple of times to rearrange the boy's thought process.

I did finally get my shower. I'm now in Superman's old night shirt, sitting on the bed telling you all about my mess. And I've had an Ativan. Frankly I don't feel much better. Maybe not as frantic as I was, but I am still shaky and emotionally fragile. Have only had 1 mg, am going to take one more. Then perhaps I'll take a nap. I like naps.

Hair, mostly

I got a haircut today. As I have noted previously, haircuts freak me out a little bit. It seems such an intimate, personal activity, not one I want to share with just anybody. Unfortunately I don't know any beauticians/barbers well enough to entrust my hair to. (bad sentence!)

This song keeps popping in my head when I sleep. It's been the song in my head when I wake up recently. I don't know why.



So I went to the beauty college this morning to get my hair cut. It's cheap but takes a long time. I told the gal I want it short. Yes, short. No, shorter than that. Cut all that part off. I explain it's been a long time since my last haircut, it's grown out a lot longer than I want it. But these sissy bitches don't take me seriously when I say short. I sat in the chair while the instructor, the student assigned to my head, and one or two other students with more experience chopped on my hair for a while.

The chatter was about children. I'm not in a good place regarding children these days. They's all crazy. Babies are OK as long as they're someone else's babies and I don't spend too terribly much time with them. Babies and toddlers are cute. Anything approaching teenage is terrifying. These ladies in the beauty chop had misbehaving children on their minds. I hate it. My kids are crazy bad. Maybe it's my fault they're so bad, maybe I take them too seriously. Maybe I don't take them seriously enough. Comparing my kids to those of others is depressing. Hell, just bringing up the topic of my kids is depressing.

Eventually I accepted my gal Brenda's work on my head. Yes, that's good. Thanks so much. I left a small tip. I came home. Kept running my fingers through my hair. Looked in the bathroom mirror. The top of my head looked square. It parts on the left, and the hair on the right side of my head was bumped up, squaring the form of my head. It needed to be shorter there. Hell, it needed to be shorter in lots of places.

Yes, I did.

I scooted a few things out of the way, then put a towel-sized piece of fabric (towels have too much nap and catch and hold loose hairs) over the sink and counter in my bathroom. I got my small sharp sewing scissors and started cutting. Clip-clip here, grab a chunk and snip away at it there. This seems longer than the other side. No, wait, I thought she shortened that bit more. It needs trimming. More snip-snip, clip-clip. Covered all over with short hairs. I hate that part. Itched like crazy. Finally figured I'd better stop clipping before it got too ugly.

I shook out the hair-covered fabric off the back patio, then took of my shirt and shook it out, too. I dazzled the neighbors' back yards with my fat body in nothing but my undergarments for a minute there. Don't think anyone saw me, don't care if they did. I came back in for another shower and shampoo. The head didn't look too terrible when wet, and now that it's dry it looks, well, not too terrible I think. Maybe. But I can't see it well.

Superman came home for lunch. He noticed my haircut, but didn't notice that I cut it myself. That's a good sign, but not proof that it isn't butchered. Diva's case worker says it doesn't look too bad, and I trust her opinion about hair more than I trust Superman's.

Diva got her hair did last weekend. She's all kinds of proud of it now, and wanted me to take her picture and post it here for all to admire. So here she is.

My doctor sent me to a physical therapist for my back. I've never done PT before. Had my first appointment this afternoon. It was relatively painless, but took a long time. The feller says we're going to work on strengthening my back muscles and stretching (gently) to increase range of motion. I have simple exercises to do throughout the day. Twenty seconds at a time every hour or two. I can handle that, methinks. I see the physical therapist tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. and Friday at 9 a.m.

My kids are home from school now and are irritating me. Sproing is springing and clapping loudly and yelling and arguing. Diva is quiet, but Sproing is arguing about her. He's been mouthing off to her and her social worker. "I'm just kidding." No, son, that behavior is disrespectful and annoying. But he won't hear me. He's too busy yelling at me to listen, and blames everything on others.

I'll write more about my crazy in another post. I felt very very crazy when I started writing at noon, but now I'm too distracted, too numbed by over-stimulation. And I wanted to try to write about it. I need to figure WTF it's about.

Back for another trip around the sun

Happy New Year. I didn't make any resolutions. I know myself better than that.

I am reading a book that Light strongly recommended. It's Art & Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking. It's a good book, but I'm not totally into it. Because I am too afraid. Honestly, fear is a huge problem for me in regards to making art. For instance, there are a few things currently in queue for my sewing machine. They require some creative attention. I have been avoiding the sewing machine ever since the end of last semester. I want(ed) to get some sewing done over the break. Maybe. OK, part of me wanted to sew. Another part is afraid to. And I get so angry at myself for being such a wuss. Let's move to another topic, this one is making me squirm.

Diva. Now here's an uncomfortable topic of conversation. For those of you just joining us, Diva is my 13 year old adopted daughter. She currently resides in a residential treatment facility (RTF) for the emotionally distressed. Or something like it. Colloquially speaking, she's in the loony bin.

I may have mentioned a few weeks ago that the RTF was going to get an MRI scan of her brain. They did an EEG back in November (I think it was) that showed abnormal results. Today Diva's therapist told me the results of the MRI. Diva's brain is abby-normal.

The official diagnosis is (let me see if I can remember it) Periventricular Leukomalacia. (Yes, I got it right.) A preliminary Google search gave me lots of information that has nothing to do with Diva's symptoms. Evidently most children with this condition develop neuromuscular problems, specifically cerebral palsy. Diva has excellent control of her motor functions. She's a good dancer, even. What happens with this leukomalicia is the white matter of the brain is deficient, damaged, or somehow abnormal. The white matter is what's beneath the gray matter. It's not what the brain uses for thinking, but contains neurons that relay information from the thinking parts of the brain to other parts of the body (where the muscular systems are affected) or to other parts of the brain. As I understand it (don't bet the farm on this explanation) Diva's white matter does not adequately relay information from one brain action to another, from one thought to another. She has a lot of trouble making cognitive connections. For example, cause and effect aren't always evident. I realized many years ago that there is a disconnect somewhere in her mental processing. Now I know why.

In one psychological test she took a few years ago the doctor found that she has problems with her short-term or working memory. This is the memory cache where you hold onto a phone number while looking for a pencil and a place to write it down. Stuff stays in the working memory for a few seconds while the brain determines whether to keep it, and if so, how and where to store it. When I was helping the child learn to read she'd see a new word in a sentence, I'd help her sound it out, then she would forget the word by the end of the sentence. Sometimes if it took a while to figure out the word, I'd have her restart the sentence so she could get the whole flavor of the meaning. But when she got to the same word the second time, she'd have no idea what the word was. Talk about frustrating! I used to think she was doing it on purpose to irritate me. I fussed at her. Now I know that at least some of that was genuine. Do I feel bad about fussing at her about it? Maybe a little bit. What with all the other polluted water under that bridge, I don't feel much guilt about this.

And let me tell you the latest foolishness she pulled. On Boxing Day evening around 9:30 she ran away from the RTF. She hooked up with a couple of 16 year old girls from her unit and they sneaked out and jumped the fence. One of the other girls called a friend of hers (a guy, young but over 18) who picked them up and took them to his house across town. Thankfully this idiot lives with his mother (that's what I understand from what they told me) who saw the fool sneaking in with three under-aged girls. The mother realized it was a very bad idea for these troubled run-away teens to stay with her son overnight. She called, or convinced one of the girls to call the RTF, and a couple of the staff drove out to retrieve the girls. They got back to the facility at 2:45 a.m. And boy, is Diva ever in trouble!

All of the work she's done, all the advancements she's made in their program levels since going to the facility in early April are gone. She has to start over as if she just arrived. This means that she won't qualify for outings and other rewards until she moves up the ranks again. Perhaps she can advance quicker than she originally did, having been through it before. I don't know. We saw her on the 27th, the day after she ran away. She was pretty upset, and didn't contribute much to the conversation on our visit.

We did not go see her on Christmas Day*. Frankly, I didn't want to. I wanted to have a nice Christmas, peaceful and laid-back, therefore going to visit the Diva was not on the program. We planned to go on Boxing Day, but the weather was sketchy. It snowed most of the morning, and we weren't sure about the roads. It's 70+ miles from here to the RTF, on old county back roads that don't receive much maintenance. The roads probably were OK, but my heart wasn't into a visit. If my motivation had been stronger I may have made the trip. So we planned to see her Monday. Then we got a call from the RTF informing us of her shenanigans. Superman talked to them a few times Monday morning, trying to get the whole story. Actually, they had called us around 11:00 the night before, but we missed the call because we were asleep. We didn't leave here as early as planned on Monday because we wanted to be sure we could see the fool child.

Superman and I went to see Diva. Her therapist, who was officially on vacation, had come in to check on things and happened to be there when we arrived, which was good. The four of us had a visit/meeting: Diva, the Therapist, Superman, and me. Diva didn't say much. Mostly she slouched with her arms crossed and her head hung low. It wasn't the most pleasant visit we've had.

Diva called tonight. She was pleasant but vague when talking to me. When she talked to her daddy she told him that she'd had a visit with the lady from one of the state mental health agencies. This is the agency that wants to help bring her home. I talked about this in a recent post. Anyhoo, Diva told Superman that the agency lady told her that if she has very good behavior from here on out, she may be able to come home in three months. Oh HELL No!! Especially not after that bullshit she pulled last week. Shit.

In related news, I talked to Twitch on the phone today. (I took him back to Charlotte yesterday (Monday).) The topic got around to Diva coming home. His opinion: Oh HELL No!! He said he doesn't want her to be near us, meaning his dad and me. There's something about the cavalier way she threatened to kill us in our sleep (it happened last March) that has all of us pretty creeped out.

This has gotten long. I'll quit now so you can get back to your life.

*I visited her the Wednesday before Christmas, and took a big bag of presents to her. She had gifts from us, and there were also gifts for the residents from other do-goody organizations. It's not like I ignored her entirely. We talked to her on the phone on Christmas Eve and, if I recall, on Christmas Day as well.

Relief

This morning was a busy one. Superman and I both made a bunch of phone calls. He also had to work, so he did a lot of that, but I skipped my morning class (that indicates how serious this is) and a meeting with my advisor so I could get this mess settled.

It's amazing to me how many people will hear about a child threatening to kill her parents in their sleep, and say "Oh, dear. Well, she's on our waiting list." Please!

So I called my go-to gal, my hero woman at the kids' school. She's the one who helped us so much last fall when Sproing got all out of control. Sure enough, as soon as I told her what Diva said about killing us, she said "Whoa! We need to do something about that NOW!" She made some calls. Turns out that Diva's counselor with the state mental health agency was also making some calls. Superman talked to her this morning. I'd tried to call her but couldn't get through. Anyway, about 1:30 this afternoon we got word that there was a bed open for her at the psychiatric hospital in Columbia, the same place Sproing went to at first. Superman took her there this afternoon. It is 6:20 pm now, and I just got off the phone with him. He is just leaving the hospital and is on his way home.

He said that the intake counselor talked to Diva for a long time, and Diva had some very interesting things to say. I'll need to get some more detail from him once he gets home, but he told me Diva talked a lot about the voices in her head and all the many things they tell her. He and I both think that she will be gone from home for a good long time. We both hope so, anyway. I've been saying for years that the child is not right in the head. Haven't I said that here before? The girl is off her nut.

OK, time to take care of Sproing's needs. We picked up his furniture from the store this afternoon. Superman will put it together when he gets home, but Sproing and I are going to begin unpacking and de-boxing it. Pictures to follow, probably, unless I don't. (I'm bad about posting pictures. So sue me.)

TTFN

On the other hand

I have been sitting here for over two hours trying to get the gumption to write this post. I read some blogs, played solitaire, snacked on some Junior Mints. (I really don't like those things, but Sproing gave me a box of them.)

Sproing is home, things are going very well with him.

But that's not what I came to tell you about. I need to relate the events that have transpired concerning Diva. I really don't want to talk about it, but I need to.

On Tuesday of this week, the 16th of March, Diva got into an argument on the bus coming home from school. Another girl, whom we shall refer to as Q, had a camera and was taking pictures of her friend. Diva was sitting nearby, and accused Q of taking pictures of her. She didn't want Q taking her picture. Q wasn't taking her picture. It's a stupid argument and I don't know why they even got into it, except that they are 12 years old and stupid. Somehow things prevailed to the point that they agreed to meet for a fight after they got home.

Superman was home experiencing symptoms of a virus. Not too severe, but enough to keep him home and close to the bathroom. Diva came home, called a friend of hers to come over. She got the baseball bat and told her dad that they were going to play baseball. He didn't think anything of it. He had no reason to.

Shortly thereafter he left home to pick me up from school. Diva and her friend had gone off "to play baseball." We got home, she was out. I came into my office, Superman joined me and we were having a pleasant discussion. He had gone into our room at some point in there, came back and said that one of the pocket knives on the shelf in our room was missing. Of course Diva took it. She's the only one here.

Diva came home a short time later. I asked her about the knife. She said her friend had it. I told her to go get it, and she got all defensive and said she didn't know where it was, her friend had done something with it, I don't know what all else. It was all bullshit, of course. I felt compelled to follow up on this, get the knife back. We all got into the car and drove over to Q's house, where all the other kids were. I asked the friend about the knife and he said he'd thrown in on the ground "up there," indicating up the street. Show me, let's find it. We began walking; me, the friend, and a couple of the other kids. Diva was in the car with Superman, following us slowly up the road. I asked these kids what happened, figuring that we weren't hearing the truth from Diva.

The story I heard from them was quite different. I learned that there had been a fight. The baseball bat was intended as a weapon. The story kept getting worse. My dear darling Diva had pulled the knife on Q, threatened her with it. This friend grabbed the knife away from her and threw it far up into the yard where this event occurred. Once we got there the kids, including Diva, walked around and finally found the knife.

Wait a minute. My daughter pulled a knife on another child. The severity of it all was trickling into my brain. I got in the car, told Superman what happened. I felt numb. And scared, thinking of what might have happened. This can NOT be left alone. We went back to Q's house so I could ask Q about it. Her aunt was there, at that time the only adult at the house. (Mom was at work.) Q and Auntie and I discussed Q's take on the situation. I realized that we needed to have some authoritative record of this event. The police needed to be involved. I asked Q if she'd mind telling the police what happened, assuring her that I wasn't trying to get her in trouble, I just needed to make sure the authorities knew what Diva had done. She reluctantly agreed. Her aunt wasn't as reluctant about it. Neither was I.

I called 911 to report my own daughter. I really hate that. I hate the whole situation.

The police came, got info from everyone. Q's aunt agreed to press charges against Diva, for which I was very grateful. This is the only way she's going to get the help she needs. Or, looking at it another way, this is the only way WE are going to get the help we need. Diva was officially arrested, though since her dad and I were right there they filled out the preliminary paperwork and released her to our custody. It's what would have happened anyway. If they'd taken her to the station we would have gone to get her. This saved a lot of time and effort.

We are now waiting to hear from the Department of Juvenile Justice (DJJ). This will go to court. I'm not sure of the details, don't really know what will happen. This is not her first offense. This is the first time DJJ will actually do anything, since the last time she was officially charged with a crime she was only 9 years old. Damn. Do you have any idea how hard this is to write? Do you have any idea how hard this is to live???

A lot has happened this week. Sproing is home, and I'll say more about that in another post. We have done a lot around the house to prepare for his homecoming. Diva has benefited from all the activity in ways that she has no right to benefit. But that's how things go sometimes.

That's the first of it. There's more. I'm going to make this a very long post and just spew it all out now.

Wednesday I had a message to call the assistant principal at Diva's school. She's been suspended for another two days, this time for an "obscene gesture" made to a teacher and another student. She also used a racial epithet in reference to another student. So as if I didn't have anything else to do, the child is home and needs to be closely supervised during the week when Superman and I have other things to do and other places to be. He took a few hours off work Thursday morning to stay with her while I went to class. I took her to my afternoon class. Oh, and Friday was a non-student day (teacher work day or something) in the district, so Friday doesn't count as one of her suspension days. We had to keep track of her Friday and figure out what to do with her on Monday, as well.

Superman took the day off work Friday in order to get ready for, then go retrieve, Sproing. I was gone to a conference all day. (That's a blog post in itself, which may or may not get written.) Diva hung around with her dad all day long. When I got home last night he was hanging tightly to his last nerve. It's uber-stressful spending time with that child.

Before we went to bed last night Superman told me to lock the door. We've been leaving it open because the master bathroom is the only functional bathroom in the house right now. He told me about an exchange he had with the daughter yesterday. She was playing with one of her stuffed animals and hanging around getting on Daddy's nerves. She accused him of being mean because he made her help him with something. She "listened" to what her stuffed animal was telling her, then told Superman "Fluffy told me to kill you in your sleep." WTF?? Has it come to this? He said "Then maybe Fluffy needs to go away." She hugged the toy, said he didn't, and I don't know what else. My mind was reeling too fast for me to hear what else he told me. I got up and locked the door.

First thing Monday morning we will call her counselor, our counselor, and another woman who's working to get her set up with services through the state. I may talk to the case manager at her school, too. Is there anyone else I should call? DJJ, maybe. We haven't heard from them yet, even though the whole arrest thing went down four days ago.

I haven't told anyone in my family about the whole thing. Light knows everything except the part about killing us in our sleep. She's gonna freak when she reads this. I don't know what else to tell her. I want to tell her to calm down, everything will be OK. We're taking care of things. Well, we are, sort of, as much as we know how. Superman told his parents and siblings. They're freaking out, and are afraid Diva really will harm us. He will go next weekend to see his family and is taking the devil-child with him. His sister, sister-in-law, and mother have agreed to take turns watching her. Hell, she might not even be living here by next weekend. She might be in the loony bin where she belongs.

I'm very tired. I slept about 7 hours last night, was awake for 3 or 4 hours, then took a 5 hour nap. It's not quite 10:00 and I'm exhausted. I have a major portion of my research paper to write before Monday. I'd planned to start that today, but I've either slept, avoided writing about Diva, or written about Diva instead. And now I'm sleepy again. Think I'll sleep now and write tomorrow.

Random stuff

In which we update you on Sproing's little adventure: What is today, anyway? Thursday? Hell, I need a drink. 'Twas last Wednesday, yes, just over a week ago that Superman took Sproing from the acute care mental hospital to the next in what I fear will be a series of mental/behavioral health facilities. What have I told you so far? I'll just back up to that point. Father and son had a lovely time driving to the new place. Sproing was calm, pleasant, and his charming old self. He was subdued about getting checked in there, and Superman left right after he'd done his part. His part involved signing lots of papers promising them the moon, as far as I know.

For the first couple of days the boy was dull and lethargic. The first hospital had him so drugged up that he slept most of the time. This place is weaning him off those meds. Last time I spoke with the therapist, she said he had one or two more days on the last of the medications, then he would be completely unmedicated. I'm glad he's there with them. So far he's been mostly easy-going, though he still thinks we are bringing him home soon. I suspect that once he realizes that he'll be there for quite a few weeks, he may act out. The therapist there says he should stay at least three months, possibly six. It depends largely on him, and how willing he is to do the work that must be done.

Superman and I went up on Monday evening of this week for a family counseling session. We got to see him, of course, and he was all snuggly. It was nice. But he was unusually quiet. This is not like him. I'm not sure what's going on. Superman will be there next Tuesday morning for another session and a conference with Sproing's treatment team.

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In other news, Diva is doing very well without her brother here. She loves the individual attention. She's being particularly flighty, though. She didn't go out to wait for the school bus this morning because her daddy didn't tell her to go. She progresses at a snail's pace with any task, no matter how much she wants to do it. There are probably some things we could and should do to help motivate her, to help her take responsibility for herself. I'm so damned tired of it all, though. Of course it won't get better if we don't act, so Superman and I will have to get a program of behavior modification or something worked out for her soon. Maybe this weekend we can spend a couple of hours hashing that out.

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I've got two days off from school. It's our Fall break. I never had a Fall break back in the day, and I don't know what this is supposed to be, but I am not complaining! For me this is a chance to get caught up on some work for my research methods class. There is a lot to do. I had three tests this week, thankfully on three different days. I talked to a girl in my Theatre and Film class who had three midterms on Tuesday. She looked pretty bad.

So I took the Theatre and Film midterm. I studied diligently for that sucker, to good measure! By the time I sat down to take the exam, I knew what I needed to know. I wrote on that thing for the entire 1.5 hours of class. It was almost entirely short-answer format. Anyone reading this blog for more than a couple of weeks will know that "short" is not something I do. There's so much to say! The first half of the semester covered theatre (theater - how is that word supposed to be spelled? What am I supposed to do with the "e" and the "r" at the end?) and next week we'll start on film studies. It promises to be interesting.

I did not do well on the test I took Monday. I studied, but he asked stuff that I didn't know well enough. Tuesday was the Theatre exam, which I blew out of the water, and yesterday I took the Abnormal Psych exam. I was nervous about that one. Yes, I studied, and I was very confident on a few things. I never know how much detail this professor will ask for. That's what snookered me on Monday's test. (I have the same prof for two classes). I knew general information about the topic, but he got annoyingly specific on the test. But for Wednesday's class, the test wasn't quite as specific. It also covered more stuff than Monday's test did, so I guess he had a chance to get more picky. Anyway, I was better prepared for the Abnormal test than I feared, so that was good.

There's the research work I need to do. There's a big test next Thursday, our second one. I made a low C on the first test. That nearly killed me. I have a better grasp on this stuff now, I think, but I need to do a lot of studying, reading, research, writing, etc.

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It rained all day yesterday, and the temperatures are down to where they should be this time of year. Perhaps a little lower than average, maybe to make up for the unseasonable warmth for earlier? Anyway, yesterday was cool and drizzly all day long. I love this weather! I most wanted to curl up in the bed and nap, but instead I did those things that needed to be done. Today I'm at home with some opportunity to do that nap thing. I lazed around for a couple of hours this morning, but now am trying to accomplish a few things. Laundry for one. Gad, I hate doing laundry. However, it's much easier now that the washer works and I don't need to haul everything to the laundromat. For that I am thankful.

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We have applied, on behalf of Diva, to a state agency that helps emotionally disturbed children. We have the forms for Sproing's application, too, that need to be completed before tomorrow. Tomorrow morning an agent from this program is coming to do a home visit. I think I'm in denial about it somehow. I'm afraid of my house. I'm afraid for her to see my house. If I were a healthy person I would spend today cleaning. However, I'm too retarded for that right now. I can't work on that. I'll do laundry instead. And maybe some paperwork. And maybe take a nap (which is my most ardent desire right now).

OK, feeling somewhat guilty about that attitude, I just made two important calls to get information about Diva's treatment dates. We need to know that stuff for tomorrow's interview.

Next order of business is to make a list of what exactly I need to do for the research class this weekend. I'm not going to actually do any of it right now, but I'll get it queued up and ready to roll. Then I'll iterate laundry, take my anti-anxiety pill, and have a nap.

Is the boy stuck in reverse??

Sproing will not be transfered to the other facility today. Superman got a call first thing this morning. The boy is currently sedated (evidently it worked this time) because, as Superman told me, "he went batshit crazy." I don't think that was the exact term the nurse used, but it is a good translation.

They cannot release him because he is currently a danger to himself. He was throwing himself against the wall again. I'm glad they aren't going to give him to Superman today, really, under these circumstances. No one else is going with him today, and if Sproing had one of these almighty tantrums in the car driving down the interstate at 65 mph, what could Superman do? It's dangerous.

Actually, I'm afraid for him to leave there. His behavior has been consistently erratic, if that makes sense, and who's to say that if he had two good days in a row that he wouldn't loose his shit on the third day while in our car?

Time for me to go to class now. Perhaps I can concentrate on research observation techniques and not worry about the boy. Let's find out.