no joy in the land of agony and sorrow

Wow. That actually looks like a gothic song title.

Sore throat. Can't talk. I'm pretty sure my office mates are going to love that . . . one in particular. Lucky little poops.

It's like I've reverted back to the good old pre-pubescent years. My favorite time of life.

The thing that really sucks about it is that I can't sing along in the truck as I'm going to work. Granted it's a 1.1 mile drive, so there's not a lot of singing going on anyway, but it's still always fun. And no one can criticize how crappy I sound. Oh well. Next week, I guess.

I should have seen this coming. Yesterday, while I was taking a shower, I tried singing a song that was in my head. It was difficult staying on key, my voice kept cracking, yet I had to try to force it. That should have been a tell-tale sign right there, yet it went unheeded.

You have to understand . . . when I'm "singing along" to something, it's not just singing along: I *am* Matt Bellamy, or Geoff Tate, or James Labrie, or Layne Staley (RIP) . . . I totally get into it. Ask any of the people who have seen me in traffic. I've sung to complete strangers sitting next to me at a red light. Put on a whole show for them. One couple even applauded (though I think that was because the light turned green and they were finally able to drive off).

So yah. Sore throat. "And there was much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth."

Doesn't mean I can't air drum the crap out of my steering wheel though. :)

To Silence the Critics

There has been much ballyhooing about the lack of visual aids on this blog--questions regarding faces and the such. In an effort to stem the tide of surging rage, I present to you the following:


That's weef.

There. :)

Fear and Panic in the Air

Well . . . this is a new development. As you may or may not know, girls 1 and 2 were placed with us in foster care back in October. The 'forecast' for the birth mom was that she would probably lose the girls, though she could get everything done and get them back. She has 12 months to get stuff done. The whole process started last March, when the girls were taken from their home and placed in the care of DCFS. During that time, the birth mom has done pretty much nothing to get them back, other than attend the weekly visits and a few other things. There have been several classes that she had needed to attend in order to get her girls back. She has taken exactly none. Towards the end of February, DCFS said, "No more; your reunification services are terminated."

Reunification is always "plan A"; "plan B" is normally adoption, which weef and I early on indicated that we would indeed adopt them, if it came down to that. All this time, we've watched the birth mom do nothing. We've sat in the wings, patiently biding our time until such that the state says that adoption proceedings may begin. That also happened at the end of February.

Yesterday, weef talked to our case worker, who informed us that the birth mom started taking her classes last week. She said she was going to double up and get them done. Today is supposed to be the mediation hearing, to determine the level of contact after the adoption . . . which is now up in the air. Again.

I don't know . . . part of me knows that there's a very strong reason why I feel that she'll not follow through with these classes. Without going into any detail, it's a very solid reason, though now that I know she's actually trying to take classes, the same reasons for which I thought she could quit just might end up being her motivating factor.

I'm scared. There are no two ways about it. We've already adopted them in our hearts; waiting to dot the "i"s and cross the "t"s through the state is a mere formality to us, at this point. The worst part is knowing that all we can do is sit back and wait. It's terrifying. I just don't know what else we can do but sit around, cowering in stark terror at the prospect of losing these two girls, who aren't even really ours to lose, yet we've become so attached that losing them now would literally kill us.

The only source of comfort right now are blessings I've given weef and feelings we've received from prayers. That in and of itself is a massive relief.

I'm drained. I try to put on this massive bravado for weef so at least one of us isn't a sobbing wreck most of the time. I've felt since day 1 that these girls would be ours; that feeling now vacillates ever so slightly, but I think that's due to my lack of faith in what I've felt previously. Can the circumstances change? Sure. Would that warrant a change of feelings? I guess . . . but if that's the case, where's the faith? Someone has to be strong for our little family. That's not going to be weef. That's also not to say that she's weak, by any means. If anything, she's one of the strongest people I know. She's very emotional when it comes to these girls.

I just . . . I don't know. I want to know that this process is locked up and that we're going to have the chance to adopt them. We *need* that. After not having any kids of our own for 7+ years, then having this opportunity granted to us . . . it just seems cruel to rip them away from us.

BUT THEY'RE NOT OURS. That's the thing we keep trying to tell ourselves. If we do end up adopting them, our joy would be full and we will be the happiest couple alive. If it doesn't work out . . . I don't even want to think about that "what if". It's too scary.

Feeling Good

Today is Sunday. During the week, girls 1 and 2 adamantly insist upon watching "Curious George" or "Mickey's Playhouse" (hot dog, hot dog, hot diggety dog!) or "The Backyardigans." On Sundays, though, we discourage them from watching that which they would watch during the rest of the week. Problem: we didn't have a lot of "churchy" DVDs for them to feast upon. We had "Mr. Krueger's Christmas," and that's about it. Then we came across a copy of "The Testament." Girl 1 watched that a few times. Actually, she still watches it. She calls it "The Jesus Show," which, in my hedonistic mind, sounds kind of blasphemous (I'm picturing a variety hour show with some theme music, and at the top of the stairs . . . yah--you get the picture), but she can't say "Testament," so we let it slide.

ANYway, so then we picked up some "Junior's Giants" DVDs. These are sweet because they're actually entertaining on an adult level, but the girls eat them up. Girl 1 more than girl 2, but that's because girl 2 doesn't quite have an attention span yet. We're working on it.

Now we've reached the "pinnacle" of LDS kids' Sunday video watching experience--Animated Stories from the Book of Mormon. I say "pinnacle" with an ounce of tongue-in-cheek; I've always considered these videos to be sort of schlocky--a way for some company to capitalize off the Church. Then again, the same could be said of Deseret Books, Seagull, etc. But for some reason, these videos just never did it for me.

The other day, we ordered 3 of these LSI videos. Today, we're test driving the 3 DVDs we've gotten so far. At the end of disc 2, we've had nary a complaint from girl 1. She loves them! She watches so intently, and as soon as the credits start to roll, she yells, "Daddy! I wanna watch it again!"

There is definitely a different feeling in the house right now. You'd have to have been here the last couple of days. Weef and I have been grumpy, the girls have been sassy and disobedient (more than normal, even), and there's just been this not-so-good feeling. It's been rough. Even this morning, with daylight savings time skipping an hour, the girls getting to bed WAY past their bedtime last night and getting up even earlier than normal, and weef not getting the sleep she needs, we all woke up grumpy. Then we started the DVDs . . . and it all went away. The bad feelings, that is. It's been a nice, relaxing, quiet, peaceful morning.

It's a good day. :)

Cravings and Musings

So, here I am, all worky and stuff. Today is my 6th day with no caffeinated beverages. Those of you who know the pattern will recognize this as the day when I normally cave and start pounding the crap out of a 12-pack.

Today is different, though. I can't explain it. Yes, I'm dying. Yes, I want to imbibe the nectar of the Eden. I'm roiling in my desire for one can. But a can alone it would not be; oh no . . . it'd be like pulling my finger out of the crack in the dam that's nigh unto bursting. One can, and I'd be a goner.

Of course, all it would take is something resembling the headache I now endure to remind me of the pending agony that would surely unfold, should "the dam break."