I try to live a relatively low drama life. Doesn't always work out that way.

So Valentine's Day has been fraught with angst many times over my lifetime. Sometimes it's good, sometimes not. Honestly I wonder if somehow the date is cursed. Wasn't there a huge Valentine's Day Massacre in Chicago perpetrated by the mob 100 years ago? Yeah, 1929, so not quite 100 years. This year we get another massacre. There's a lot going on about that. I'm super proud of the students for speaking out, and have real hope for the first time in a while that perhaps the legislators will make significant changes. Dan Savage had an interesting proposal on his Lovecast podcast this week. Suspend all gun sales for 30 days after a mass shooting. There's more to what he said and I can't articulate it well right now and I've come to talk about a more personal Valentine's Day kerfuffle.

Twitch was born on Valentine's Day in 1991. As much as I love my son and am proud of the man he's become, I did not want to have a baby on Valentine's Day. Wasn't my choice, though, was it.

This year I was chillin' at home, enjoying the peace. I'd made some crispy rice treats for Twitch, planned to deliver them (big double batch) to the restaurant where he works to celebrate his birthday and so he could share the goodies with his coworkers. I also wanted to make nice with the crew at the restaurant. It's my favorite place in town. I've mentioned it before. Beer and brick oven pizza. Yum.

I was waiting for Twitch's shift to start, was going to deliver the goodies around 5. At 4:30 I got a call from, of all places, Turbeville, SC, from the prison where Sproing has been incarcerated. This woman was calling to tell me that Sproing was being released. Today. Right now. Can I come pick him up?

Immediate anxiety "episode". I hesitate to call it an attack, because I can still breathe, my heart rate only elevates a little bit. I dunno. I wasn't comfortable. Shit.

First thing I told her was "Do you know where I live?" I assume she looks at her paperwork there, says Greenwood. Yep. Do you know how far away Greenwood is from Turbeville? No, I can't drive all that way right now. She says we can meet in Columbia, which is a good halfway distance from both locations. Well shit. I do NOT WANT TO DO THIS!

We agreed on a location in Columbia to meet. I got off the phone and pitched a fit. Lots of cussing. Lots of I don't want to do this. But it needs to be done, and I do what needs to be done. Adulting sucks sometimes. So after giving myself a pep-talk I took the treats to Twitch, told him I had to get his brother, and went to get his brother.

I won't bore you with the details. They're tedious anyway. After a few calls back and forth on the cell phone of his driver, we met at the agreed location. It was easy. He got out of the other car, said goodbye, got into my car, and OH SHIT SPROING  IS HERE, GOING HOME WITH ME, SHIT I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS. Breathe. Breathe. I breathed a lot last Wednesday.

This came totally out of the blue. I thought he would be in prison for another year, year and a half. Surprise!

Shit. So he's home. It's gone well so far, but he's still on his best behavior. He needs to get the FUCK out of my house. I keep dropping hints. hee hee.

But I'm not home right now. I'm at the most bestest coffee shop in all of western Pennsylvania. I'm visiting Light in Indiana, PA. Indianapa. She's getting married in less than two months, and I have the sample dress for her to try on. Did I mention I'm making her wedding dress? Well, trying to, anyway. It's light lavender satin with a white lace overlay. I've not sewn these fabrics before. I got a length of satin and some lace with which to practice. I got most of the dress constructed before I left home, but there's a little bit left to do. It's been a royal pain in the ass, especially the lace overlay.

I need to go do other things right now, and I'm pretty sure the time on my parking meter has expired. Perhaps I'll post again soon, maybe with photos of the sample practice dress.

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.

This isn't what I expected from today (A rant. You have been warned.)

And it's early yet.

As I begin this post, the time is 8:40 a.m.

Superman left about an hour ago to visit his family in northwest Georgia. That's south of where the winter weather is, but smack in middle of lots of rain. I resent that he is going, which is totally not fair. I was gone for six days last week. He hasn't seen his family in a few months, and his Dad's birthday was two weeks ago. He intended to visit them the weekend before Thanksgiving, but shit happened and the trip was postponed until now. All very well and good. I want him to see his Dad, celebrate his Dad's birthday. My dad didn't get to have a birthday this year, and Superman's dad is even less healthy (we thought) than my dad.

I expected Superman to leave this morning. But I expected him to be here for a little while after the kids left for school so we could have some quality time together, whatever form that took. Diva shook that plan all to hell.

Diva, as you may recall, wets the bed. Still. At 16 years old. (She turned 16 two days ago.) Her birthday week has been fraught with bullshit drama. The latest shit is piss. Not on her air mattress, which she uses because she wets the bed and air mattresses are made of plastic, a generally waterproof substance. For reasons known only to her (and I use the term "reason" sarcastically) she got the foam mattress that I fixed up for our daybed/cot thing. Light used it when she was here over Thanksgiving, and we hadn't put it back in the attic yet. I spent much effort making a fabric cover for the piece of foam, and it fits the cot beautifully. Stupid Diva took her air mattress off her bed last night and used the foam instead. And son of a gun, she wet the bed. The foam bed. With fabric cover permanently sewn on, not easy to remove, no zipper or anything.

And I'm very angry at her. Superman is, too. Any plans for cuddly together time are superseded by frustration. Again. This happens all too often, and I resent it. I resent her. And now Superman is gone until Monday and I'm stuck at home all the long weekend with The Bitch Diva.

Diva has been acting the bitch for days (weeks?) now. She has quit doing her work at school and is failing all her classes. This after passing everything on her latest report card. Actually, she has a high B in math, F in everything else. WTF? We had an IEP (Individual Education Plan) meeting with/for her on Wednesday (her birthday). She was sullen and uncooperative. Put her head down on the table and refused to participate. Idiot.

Last Saturday Superman took her to the phone store and got her a new phone. A smart phone, no less. Do you know what kind of trouble a bitch like that can get into with a smart phone? A lot. She hasn't had a phone in months because she broke the last one. Being stupid and bitchy. (Do I sound angry? I am.) Monday or Tuesday Superman discovered that the bitch has been "sexting" at least three different guys. What age are these fellas? I'm not sure, but the last guy she flirted with on facebork was in his early 30s, so I'm suspicious. We took her phone away again on Wednesday.

She's been telling people at school that she's pregnant. Again. Not pregnant again, but again saying she is. She isn't pregnant. I take her to the gyno every three months like clockwork for her to get her Depo injection. The Bitch ain't gonna get pregnant on my watch if I can help it. Abstinence won't work, that's for damn sure. (Not that it's effective for the general teen population, but that's a political discussion that I don't want to have right now.) Anyway, there was some drama surrounding the pregnancy rumor that SHE started. Somebody called her on it, demanded to see her ultrasound pictures. The other pregnant girl in the class had ultrasound pics of her baby. Where is Diva's? "In my aunt's car." (She doesn't have any aunts living within 250 miles of here.) Yeah, they called her on her bullshit and she got spastic, as she is prone to do. Caused a scene, got obnoxious with the teacher, was written up and sent to the office.

Which resulted in the punishment of spending the day in In School Suspension (ISS). Which was to be served yesterday. Superman took her to school yesterday morning, and he had "a talk" with her about her recent behavior, so she was in a mood. She told him she was going to get herself suspended. Which she did. She refused to go to ISS. So she was sent home. Gee, thanks. Superman brought her home, and she almost immediately left. In the rain. Alone. To walk to the emergency room because she didn't feel well. WTF? She called to tell him she was at the ER. He went to get her and there was a bit of a scene in the ER waiting room. What's new? Superman handled himself remarkably well. He gave her choices. She goes with him, or he calls the police. Her choice. She chose wisely this time.

We have a primary care physician, you know? She feels a bit sick, we take her to our doctor. The ER isn't necessary. She's all about drama, though, and her stupid friends all have Medicaid and use the ER for everything. She didn't even tell her dad (or me, but she didn't talk to me at all) that she felt sick. Anyway he took her to our doctor's office. Turns out she is sick; she has a urinary tract infection. OK fine. Now she's on antibiotic. Which I suspect she didn't take this morning. I have to go look, and if she didn't take her meds this morning before she went to school I have to take them to her. This will not improve my mood or my opinion of her.

I don't know. There's more. As I was reviewing this missive I thought of a couple of other things to add. For instance, her aunts that live 250 or 500 miles away from here won't claim her anyway. She has put me and her dad through so much shit she's basically been punted from the extended family. Now that my dad is dead, my mom is the only one who recognizes her on her birthday or Christmas. And Mama doesn't want to see her. Mama is a good woman. She tries to do the right thing, but with Diva it's hard to know how much to participate in her life without putting oneself in danger. That's the shit of it all.

She was a total bitch (Diva, not my mother) over the weekend and the beginning of this week. Then Wednesday was her birthday and the last thing I wanted to do was be nice to her. But I try to do the right thing. You know we had her party about 5 weeks ago when she wanted it, right before Halloween. Tuesday night after she went to bed I pulled out the two frozen cake layers left over from the fancy cake I made for her party. I went to the store and bought a birthday card* and frosting, frosted the cake all pretty pink and strawberry flavored for her. Wednesday morning she seemed to appreciate it. Wednesday afternoon at the IEP meeting her teacher was telling us how she told her friends in class how we dissed her, didn't do anything for her for her birthday, etc. What the fuck ever.

I've been ranting for an hour. I need to check the bitch's meds, see if she took them this morning, and probably need to make a trip to the school. FML.

Here are the pictures of the cake I made for her party.

 The top layer is a spider web, middle layer a grave yard with Kit-Kat fence. (I love Kit-Kats!)

 And the bottom layer is a pumpkin patch. 

I did the vines and leaves with a piping bag and decorator tips. It was fun. All her friends thought it was the bomb. By now she doesn't give a shit because I am a shit mother and she knows everything and is always right while I'm always wrong. Raising teenagers is shitty business. 

P.S. Yes, I have to take her meds to the school. You figured I would, right? 

*Picking out a card was HARD!! I got a "for our daughter from mom and dad" thing. There were so many cards that said happy b'day to our wonderful daughter, we love you so much, enjoy spending time with you, you are so precious, etc. BULL SHIT!! I could not in good conscience get a card like that. The one I got was kinda pushing the envelope (pun intended) but wasn't too over the top. Oh, and she got super mad at me on Thursday, cut the card to pieces and delivered it back to me. We gave her the card and cake Wednesday morning because Superman and I had a dinner date Wednesday night and wouldn't be here. She got pissed about that, too, but hell, Bitch! What makes you think any of us would enjoy spending time together on your birthday with you acting like such a bitch? The only enjoyment you'd receive is the fun you have making our lives miserable.

Diva's school honeymoon period is over

She made it seven days before getting suspended. I got a call from her grade principal this afternoon. This grade principal is different from last year's. We have a woman this year, Mrs. S. She seems like a nice lady. We had as pleasant a chat as possible considering the circumstances.

Diva's offense: hitting another student (male) in the head/face with a three-ring binder. The story as I understand it: the boy got too close to Diva as they were getting their supplies for class -binders or calculators, I've heard it both ways. He might have pushed her, but he definitely got too close to her. According to Diva (as related by Mrs. S.) he called her a bitch. According to Sproing (he's in that class, too, but was on the other side of the room and missed most of the drama) she told him something along the lines of "get the fuck out of my way." It sounds like something she would say. Also, by the way, not that it makes a difference, but she is a bitch. However, it's inappropriate for anyone to point that out on school property.

I haven't seen Diva yet. She either went with the volleyball team to an away game or rode home with her friend on the other school bus. So I haven't heard the story from her. Sproing told me the story according to the injured boy, who told Sproing. The kid's eye was bleeding. Sproing says the binder hit him in the eye ball, but I'm not sure it wasn't just the skin around the eye. I don't know.

I had to stifle my laugh while on the phone when I learned that Diva hit the poor kid. Sounds just like her. Really really didn't want the principal to hear me laughing at Diva's antics. I feel sorry for the boy. Hopefully he will stay out of her personal space from henceforth.

The girl is suspended for three days beginning tomorrow. She'll be home Friday, (Sat, Sun) and Monday is a holiday (Happy Labor Day) so that doesn't count. Suspension days continue Tuesday and Wednesday. It seems she often gets suspended on days that correspond to holidays and/or weekends. So yeah, she gets a whole week off. And it's my pain in the ass to get to keep her busy and NOT having any fun for a week. Oh, we'll let her slide (a little bit) over the weekend, but tomorrow and Tuesday and Wednesday I'll have work for her. Housework if not school homework. Haven't discussed it with Superman yet, but she'll be grounded for the time, including the weekend.

That will be difficult to enforce on Saturday, when Superman, Twitch and I drive to Charleston to deposit Twitch in his new digs. I think I don't care. We'll tell her to say home and get (list of chores) done, but if she goes off with friends, what can we do? If she's still gone when we return, she'll be in deep weeds.

I feel like shit. Here it is, all over again. I have an annoying desire to beat her with a whip.

Any suggestions about what kind of chores around the house she can do?

In further FML news,

This is a quote from Diva's facebork page, her status update on Thursday.

bitch ani't shit but hoes and trickers
this for khadijah- nun but a hoe and a fat mouth bitch that cannt say shit to my face we goin to fright this friday and u better be there

FML.
Well, she used "there" properly. And yes, she and this "khadijah" character got in a fight. (but not a "fright") The fight was caught on video and is posted to facebork now. I'd post it here if I could figure out how to. It isn't on YouTube. Though I did share it on my facebork page, just for the thrill of it.

Diva is barred from the skating rink for a month. The other girl is barred for six months. On a related note, I'm glad I don't manage a skating rink.

Have I told you recently how much I love you?

I might be a little bit drunk. I have lost count of how many beers I've had. My head doesn't hurt yet, but it's threatening to. I might ignore it. So I think I've had 6 beers. I was going to stop after what I thought was 5, but that last one just called to me. You know?

I'm going to ramble a bit. I'm thankful for Google Chrome's automatic spell check function. If I spell a word incorrectly the word is underlined in red. How cool is that? I don't know what this looks like, I'm pretty drunk.

Had lots of beer tonight. Forget how many. Maybe 6?

Saw my therapist today. She says "Go ahead and get your master's degree already so I can hire you." Which sounds really good. I might just do that. I don't want to stay in this fucking back-assward town, but here I am anyway. FML* so I might as well do something productive. I want to get a master's degree anyway. I want to go back to school, because I am more satisfied with my life when I am in school. How cool is that?

I love you Sooooo Muuuuch!!

So I asked her (my therapist) University of Georgia in Athens? Univ. of South Carolina in Columbia? Whatever that college in Augusta is? (all of which are about the same distance from the fucking middle of nowhere, my current location)(except for Athens, which is two hours rather than one-and-a-little). She said Augusta. Should probably figure out which college that is. Maybe it's the same one where her husband teaches art. What college is in Augusta? It's Georgia, officially. In my mind, Georgia is a little bit more progressive than South Carolina. I could be wrong. But that's my impression. And if it's my impression, then it's right. Or something.

Have I told you how much I love you?

Twitch was here for a few days. I got him from Charlotte last Saturday, and took him back on Thursday. He'd been here long enough. I think he wanted to escape his siblings. Hell, I want to escape his siblings. Mother fuckers (not literally, of course).

So tonight at the skating rink darling Diva got into a fight with another girl. Evidently this animosity had been building for a while. They fought. (that's a funny word to type when drunk) The other girl (who has one of those weird black names (no offense)) jumped her first. And Sproing was so pleased with his sister! Weird. He usually despises her. Superman said that on the way home Sproing was singing this song (can't remember which one, but it's a popular one) with words he made up. Said Sproing was good at rhyming. Was singing how his sister beat up this other chick. And according to Superman, if there was a "winner" in this situation, it was Diva. And I said "You sound like you're proud of her." He admitted, yeah, he is. I rolled my eyes. There have been many FML* moments in my day.

Superman was at the rink. And it sounds as though he needs to be there all the time, no matter what condition the chirrens are in. He has to be there now because ol' Sproing is in some trouble with the law, the little shit. I don't think I told you about him (Sproing) stealing his Daddy's truck. And driving it on the busiest and craziest road in town. We called the cops on him the fucking SECOND time he did it. FML. He's under a "behavior contract" with DJJ to walk the straight and narrow. (He's straight, so that part should be easy for him. hee hee.) It isn't exactly probation, but kinda similar. One of the stipulations of his behavior contract is that he's got an 8:00 p.m. curfew. He's got to be at home and/or with his parent(s) after 8:00 every night. So if they go skating, one of us has to be there. It has been firmly established that I do not "do" skating rink. So Superman goes. One of the things that earns him the "Superman" rating.

But after tonight's fiasco, it appears that these kidlets (probably specifically Diva) need to be under parental supervision when out like that. She and the other bitch-girl fought like cats/girls. Wicked. Diva had a nasty scrape on her hand where the other bitch ripped off some skin from the back of her hand. Don't know what kind of damage Diva did to the other bitch. (In my mind, both of them are bitches in this scenario.) ("In this scenario" is one of my favorite phrases, btw.) Superman says that if anyone is counting these things, Diva "won" the fight. Whatever. And dammit, he's proud of his daughter for beating this bitch. FML*. For the record, he's also proud of his son for driving the pickup truck so well on the busy street in town. Again, FML*.

Amusingly, Sproing is also proud of his sister for beating the other bitch. (See reference above about him singing praises to her bitch-fighting ability.) Perhaps one good thing about this scenario is the positive interaction between the siblings. FML*.

Beer=good

Been pretty damned depressed recently. Hormones are partly to blame. When will this fucking menopause kick in fully??? On my period currently. FML*. Ready for the pause part of menopause, dammmmmit. But beer is good. Makes me feel happier and don't-give-a-fuck-ier. (I like that word, "don't-give-a-fuck-ier".)

I posted a picture/quote on facebork the other day, said "I like sleep. It's like death without the commitment." Yep. We've discussed previously how I feel about my own death. Bring 'er on! This life is shit. Really. I hate many aspects of my  life. Not all, of course. I love my husband, which from what I hear is a rarity these days. He's a wonderful guy. I love him sooooo muuuuuch! Even when I'm not drunk. :)

Man I'm tired! Maybe because it's 2:00 a.m. Self-destructive, much, are we? Having read over what I've written, it seems I've repeated myself. Oh well. That's what you get with a drunk post. Forewarned is forearmed. Or something.

*Fuck My Life

I'll try to be brief,

...but there's so much to say.

I have an exam this afternoon and a paper due tomorrow. It's a paper I have to actually think about. I have three papers due sometime this week (last week? A month ago?) that won't tax the brain, but I must do them. This is the last week of classes, and next week is final exams. Most of my exams are this week, actually, and I have projects due next week.

But that's not what I came to tell you about.

When we last saw our heroine she was pulling her hair out over Diva. Still. Since then it's gotten worse. Diva has progressed as far as she's going to at the treatment facility (RTF). They need to release her to make room for other clients whom they can help. So where does that leave Diva? The agency (The Agency) that's managing her care (not the RTF) wants to send her back home. We have told them that we aren't ready for that. So they want to put her into a therapeutic foster home for a short while (2 months? 3? I dunno) and transition her back into our home. Oh HELL no! We made it clear that we can't take her now nor in the foreseeable future (3 years? 4? I dunno).

The goal of this care management agency (The Agency) is to keep families together, to provide services for emotionally disturbed children in the least restrictive environment possible and in their own communities. A noble goal, no question. But not always applicable. They're working with us to help Sproing, too, and that is working beautifully. Diva is a different creature.

Here's the thing (one of the things, anyway): she hasn't risen past level 2 of the RTF's 5 level system in the year she's been there. The kids are supposed to reach level 5 and maintain that for a certain length of time to prove their readiness to leave the controlled environment of the RTF. I brought that up to the lady from The Agency. She said the levels were more what you call a guideline, really.

She says Diva's release date is the 30th of April. If we don't take her then, or make other arrangements by then, we will be legally charged with criminal child abandonment. That, of course, goes on our permanent record. With a criminal record of that nature, I will likely never be able to work in the mental health care field. I'm in school getting a psychology degree so I can go on to grad school for a masters in social work or some such so that I can be a counselor. But not if I have a criminal record of child abandonment. And yes, they really will charge us. I've checked.

"But wait," you say. "Diva is mentally ill and not safe to bring home." Bingo. The Agency doesn't care. They finally located a therapeutic foster home for her, but a few homes refused her based on her history and/or diagnosis. Hmmm, does that maybe indicate she isn't safe to bring home? Superman and I have discussed with The Agency the possibility of privately placing her in an extended stay group home type institution. The Agency lady cautioned us to emphasize the progress Diva has made when we talk to these places, and that some places won't take her based on her history. Hello! Does this indicate perhaps she isn't safe to bring home? And yet The Agency is ignoring this obvious contradiction.

We still have the option of letting her go to the therapeutic foster home, but part of the contract for that is that we have to bring her home for overnight visits. Have I mentioned "oh HELL no?"

And let me tell you about the timeline for this. Today is Tuesday the 19th of April. (One of my bestest friends in the whole world has his birthday tomorrow. I should call him. Once again I digress.) I have exams and papers and projects due (which I should be working on right now instead of writing this) from now until next Wednesday, the 27th of April. The RTF is supposed to be kicking Diva out on Saturday the 30th of April. (I'm not certain how set-in-stone that date is.) At 9:00 a.m. on 4/30 I'm supposed to be in Spartanburg for an awards ceremony at Light's college at which Light will receive an award. On Sunday May 1st Light has the opening of her senior art show, a really big deal for her, the culmination of four years of work toward her bachelor of fine arts degree. It's a bigger deal than graduation. And my mother will be in town, as will (I think) my father and step-mother, and various and sundry in-laws. (Not the parents-in-law, though. They come in the day after.) My mother will be in town until Thursday May 5th.

I hardly have time to breathe much less find a place for the child to live, except for maybe two or three days right before she gets kicked out.

Damn. Talking about it raises my blood pressure. We aren't sure what to do (obviously). And I have so much other stuff to worry about.

So I'm going to go eat lunch, look over my notes for the exam I have at 3:00 today, and go to class. As Scarlett O'Hara said, "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow." I'll think about it tomorrow.

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?)