Thought y'all might like to know

Okay, I know this is the 3rd posting in, oh . . . an hour. I'm just not tired. Please deal. :)

So, there's this song by Rush, called "Hemispheres". It's where I got the title of my blog. Thought I'd share the lyrics with you. Here goes.

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I. Prelude

When our weary world was young
The struggle of the ancients first began
The gods of love and reason
Sought alone to rule the fate of man

They battled through the ages
But still neither force would yield
The people were divided
Every soul a battlefield

II. Apollo: Bringer of Wisdom

"I bring truth and understanding
I bring wit, and wisdom fair
Precious gifts beyond compare
We can build a world of wonder
I can make you all aware
I will find you food and shelter
Show you fire to keep you warm
Through the endless winter storm
You can live in grace and comfort
In the world that you transform"

The people were delighted
Coming forth to claim their prize
They ran to build their cities
And converse among the wise
But one day the streets fell silent
Yet they knew not what was wrong
The urge to build these fine things
Seemed not to be so strong
The wise men were consulted
And the bridge of death was crossed
In quest of Dionysus
To find out what they had lost

III. Dionysus: Bringer of Love

"I bring love to give you solace
In the darkness of the night
In the hearts eternal light
You need only trust your feelings
Only love can steer you right
I bring laughter, I bring music
I bring joy and I bring tears
I will soothe your primal fears
Throw off those chains of reason
And your prison disappears"

The cities were abandoned
And the forests echoed song
They danced and lived as brothers
They knew love could not be wrong
Food and wine they had aplenty
And they slept beneath the stars
The people were contented
And the gods watched from afar
But the winter fell upon them
And it caught them unprepared
Bringing wolves and cold starvation
And the hearts of men despaired

IV. Armageddon: The Battle of Heart and Mind

The universe divided
As the heart and mind collided
With the people left unguided
For so many troubled years
In a cloud of doubts and fears
Their world was torn asunder
Into hollow hemispheres

Some fought themselves,
some fought each other
Most just followed one another
Lost and aimless like their brothers
For their hearts were so unclear
And the truth could not appear
Their spirits were divided
Into blinded hemispheres
Some who did not fight
Brought tales of old to light
My rocinante sailed by night
On her final flight
To the heart of cygnus' fearsome force
We set our course
Spiralled through that timeless space
To this immortal place

V. Cygnus: Bringer of Balance

"I have memory and awareness
But I have no shape or form
As a disembodied spirit
I am dead and yet unborn
I have passed into olympus
As was told in tales of old
To the city of immortals
Marble white and purest gold
I see the gods in battle rage on high
Thunderbolts across the sky
I cannot move, I cannot hide
I feel a silent scream begin inside"

Then all at once the chaos ceased
A stillness fell, a sudden peace
The warriors felt my silent cry
And stayed their struggle, mystified
Apollo was atonished
Dionysus thought me mad
But they heard my story further
And they wondered, and were sad
Looking down from Olympus
On a world of doubt and fear
Its surface splintered
Into sorry hemispheres
They sat a while in silence
Then they turned at last to me
"We will call you Cygnus
The god of balance you shall be"

VI. The Sphere: A Kind of Dream
We can walk our road together
If our goals are all the same
We can run alone and free
If we pursue a different aim
Let the truth of love be lighted
Let the love of truth shine clear
Sensibility
Armed with sense and liberty
With the heart and mind united
In a single perfect sphere
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Two for One Night!

Well, as I sit here and rip CDs, might as well write some stuff, right?

I'm going to stop just short of saying it's official because it's not, but the distinct possibility of adopting girls 1 and 2 just became distinctly probable. Weef talked to the previous foster mom tonight for about an hour, and she came away with some shockingly detailed information. Granted, the previous foster mom had the girls for 6 months or so, so yah . . . she probably has some contact with DCFS still. She has a very vested interest. Anyway, she laid some dirt on weef about the birth mom that wasn't really surprising, but at the same time, you hear something, and it just hits you in the gut like a heavy-weight boxing championship.

Let's just say that she (previous foster mom) knows more than we know about what's going on with the hearing on Monday.

The weekend just got a whole lot better.

And today was actually a step forward for daddy. Girl 1 actually came with him to the store . . . ALONE. No mommy, no girl 2 . . . just daddy and girl 1. It was fun. I think she was a tad nervous though. She was really quiet in the store, which garnered the attention of the girl at the register. "Oh, look! She's so quiet!"

"Ohhh, well . . . ha ha. Not really."

"She's . . . not?"

"No. Not normally."

*blank stare from register chick*

"Oh. Hmm."

Guess who made the mistake of walking down the halloween aisle . . . with all the halloween candy. Go ahead. Guess. While you're at it, guess who won't make that mistake again.

Hey. Lessons learned, right?

Quote of the Week

Quote of the day:

Michael: "What's the best advice I've ever given you?"
Dwight: "'Don't be stupid.' Changed my life."

That is all.

Mass frustration

Okay, I know we've only had these two girls for about two weeks, but I think that's a fairly decent amount of time to ascertain that, somewhere along the line, something horrible was done to one of the girls. During the day, everything's fine. Mommy and daddy are equals in the butt wiping and toilet helping. Bath time is a joy. Daddy helps with bath while mommy gets stuff done around the house, or vice versa. Bed time . . . not so equal. In fact, bed time is a rotten, horrible, gut-wrenching time for girl 1 if daddy comes anywhere near her or her bed.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to add up simple math. I can't sit next to her bed, put her on her bed, read her book to her, put her blanket on her . . . can't help her brush her teeth, put her jammies on . . . there's nothing I can do except sing "I Am a Child of God" 15 times (after which I lost count, so hey . . . who knows how many times we actually sang it). It's come down to wife helps with girl 1 and daddy helps with girl 2. Once we think both girls are out, we walk out of the room. Tonight, though, I guess we left too early. A few minutes later, girl 1 started bawling. I had already made it downstairs. All of the sudden, there were too many foot stomps to be just the dogs and Lori, so I went up there to see what happen. Both were out of bed, so I grabbed girl 2 and put her on her bed. She began to bawl (which we've determined is okay because it helps get them to sleep faster), but she stayed on her bed. Meanwhile, girl 1 is bawling for mommy, who is sitting literally inches from her. Not good enough. "MOMMY! I HAVE TO GO POTTY!"

"Well, daddy will take you potty, okay?"

"NO!!"

So I took her anyway. Picked her up, carried her to the bathroom, set her down, and said, "Okay, go potty. Daddy will just stand right here."

"NO!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Honey, please just go potty."

"NO!!!!"

At this point, she huddled in what little space there is between the tub and the toilet, sobbing, screaming, and very, very upset.

"DADDY, LEAVE ME ALONE!!!"

I won't lie. It hurt. I just want to help and make her feel safe. But her eyes said it all; there was stark terror like I've never seen in any human before. Tears flowing from red-rimmed eyes that were bulging out of their sockets, throat raw from screaming, face flushed red from the pressure of screaming so violently . . . it broke my heart and pissed me off in a way I wasn't aware was even possible. I took her back to mommy, who then picked her up and took her to the bathroom, where she calmed down only a smidgen. She sat on the toilet, did her business, wiped, washed her hands (no, she didn't flush the toilet; daddy did AFTER he asked her if he could help her by flushing for her) , then clung to mommy for dear life, deathly afraid that daddy would touch her somehow. I cleared a path for her and mommy to go back to the bedroom, and I sat down next to girl 2, who was semi-wide awake. I stroked her hair and just stared at her in awe. Then I looked over at mommy and girl 1, who were sitting on the edge of girl 1's bed--mommy on the bed, girl 1 in "the safe lap".

I just looked at her, and I felt a dam burst inside. I sobbed like I haven't sobbed in decades. Even as I type this, I'm misting up from the frustration and pain of wondering what could have been done to her to fear daddy-bed-time help so vehemently. All I could do is tell her that I love her, and that as long as she is with us, she will *always* be safe; mommy and daddy would always take care of her. Wife suggested giving her a blessing. Never in my life have I felt so desperately grateful for the priesthood "gift" (as we told girl 1; "Daddy has a special gift from Heavenly Father . . . it'll make you feel all better! Do want daddy to share his gift with you?"). Of course, she was in no mood to have daddy near her, so I told her, "That's okay, sweetie. Daddy still loves you. Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?" She just said "MMMMMmmmm . . ." which typically means, "Go away." So I just kneeled in front of both of them and sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed. Hard, too.

I don't think I'm quite doing the level of fright enough justice; I wish I could demonstrate or describe it. Those of you who are parents, you'll know what I mean. This . . . this put all other frustration I've ever felt to shame. I've been frustrated with co-workers, family, wife, friends . . . none of them equal the level of frustration of not knowing what to do to help this little girl feel safe. In fact, I don't think the frustration I've ever felt at the rest of the world combined could compare to this. It's such a helpless feeling. All I want for her is to feel loved, safe and comfortable. From the time she bounces out of bed until about an hour before bedtime, she's fine. She comes to me for hugs, play time, flips, help with her car seat, help with her booster seat, seconds at dinner . . . during the day, I'm right there in terms of being able to help her. Bed time . . . it's like she has a different set of eyes and sees some horrific monster that scares her to death. I know I'm not the "monster," per se, but someone at some point was. And I have to believe it was some male because she clings to mommy like gorilla glue.

I detailed in an IM to a friend earlier this evening what I would do if I ever found the person who did this to her. It's . . . . well, let's just say it's not pretty. It actually borders on disturbing. Of course, I wouldn't actually do any of those things. Ever. To anyone, for any reason. But this little girl deserves peace. She's the sweetest thing, and it makes me violently ill to think that someone could ever do something so atrocious to someone so small and vulnerable that would cause such unnatural amounts of fear.

I just want them to feel loved and safe. Right now, I think she's coming around, but she's a long ways off from feeling safe.

Irony

The other day at work, some friends of mine and I were discussing how lucky we've been to not be sick the last however-long-we-hadn't-been-sick. My last drop-dead date was November of 2005. I remember because I literally thought I was going to die because I accidentally took too much codeine cough syrup. "Accidentally" because the inital "dose" I took did nothing for me, so I took another, equally large "dose". This consisted of basically taking a swig from the bottle, though it was, in my mind, a tiny swig. Twice. The problem was that I couldn't find anywhere in the bottle any justification for what "10 ml" should constitute--the bottom of the lid-cup that came with it, two tablespoons, etc . . . so I just downed a little bit. Well, ha ha . . . come to find out that my two swigs constituted roughly four doses. Couple that with the anti-biotics and other stuff I was on, and I was a walking zombie. One thing I remember semi-vividly was stumbling out of the bedroom the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Lori was talking on the phone to her mom about what we needed to bring, and I thought, "Dear crap . . . have I been asleep that long? Is it really Wednesday?" So I asked Lori, "What day is it?" Well, since she was deeply engrossed with the conversation, she just kind of gave me that "shut up . . . I'll get to you in a moment look," like you would expect from an uppity gate-keeper receptionist. Being in my addled state of confusion, I wasn't happy with that. "HEY. WHAT DAY IS IT?" Lori turned and looked at me with two eyes that, for all intents and purposes, would have had the capacity to bore tunnels from here to Denver. She said, "It's Sunday . . . go back to bed. You look like crap."

"Okay. Thanks honey."

Stumbled back to bed, woke up some time Monday afternoon . . . right around the time Lori was coming home from work. "Hi, honey! How do you feel?"

"Not sure, but I'm guessing this is what a hangover feels like . . ."

"Oh, honey . . . I'm so sorry. Do you need anything?"

"Yah. More codeine."

Took another swig of cough syrup and went back to bed until Tuesday.

Anyway, now that I've strayed so far from the original point of this blog, I might as well finish off my current thought, which in and of itself is rather humorous, but not so much.

So, as you can gather from Monday's conversation, Lori was really sweet and nice when she came home. It kind of irked me that she was so mean Sunday night. Well, ha ha . . . guess what? She wasn't. I had apparently hallucinated that entire conversation. She said that I only asked her one time what day it was, and that was while I was bracing myself between the two kitchen counters, theoretically so I wouldn't fall to the floor in a cellulitic heap of mess. Then she said that I stumbled back to the bedroom, propping myself up on the walls several times as I made my way down the corridor of death (read: 8-foot hallway from living room to bedroom). I had literally no recollection of anything like that. Kind of bizarre.

Okay, so now we're back to a point where I can actually address the original point of this whole blog: irony.

Friends at work. Discussing previous and most recent illnesses. Thanksgiving '05. Flash forward to three days ago. Thursday afternoon at work, I started feeling a little under-the-weathery, so I took some airborne. Helped, but just some. Went home, pounded half a gallon of orange juice, went to bed, got up, went to work. Friday was more of the same, so I took another airborne. It didn't help as much, but I had to stick out the day, so I trudged through everything that had to be done, then went home . . . and then it hit. The runny nose, the insatiable tickle in the back of my throat, the cold spells, achy joints . . . it was official--I was sick. I called my brother and told him that there was a very disticnt possibility that we wouldn't make it down for the party we were having to welcome Shariden and Brookie to the family, and he told me that most everyone in his house had been sick at some point during the week. So we decided to play it by ear on Saturday.

Ironically, I got up the next morning and felt rather okay. Didn't sleep very well, but I didn't have any of the old signs of being sick, so I thought "Great! Let's go to the party!"

In retrospect, what I should have done is stayed in bed all day, drunk another gallon of orange juice, and probably go to the doctor. Saturday night was one of the most rough nights I'd ever had sleep-wise; the cold came roaring back with vengeance like an unpaid mobster, and I literally prayed for death. Clearly, my wish wasn't granted. Pity, too . . . I'm pretty sure the afterlife can't be this bad. From my understanding, it'd be a break from all the maladies and woes we have to go through in this mortal existence. There are days where death would be preferable, but those days are so few and far between that they hardly justify the desire.

Especially when you hear little two and three year old girls scream, "DADDY!!!" and they run up and give you the world's biggest hug. Well, biggest hug as two little girls can muster, which, gotta tell ya . . . ain't much, but they're some of the best hugs in the world.

Crap. I just realized that I was asleep when my wife came home last night. Another long story for another day, but to summarize, her sister left her jerk husband finally. There are much more accurate, colorful words I could use to describe the nature of this boy, but for now, let's just say that most members on this side of the family wish he would die. Or, better yet, get run over by a mack truck and spend the rest of his life eating his meals through a IV hooked into his arm . . . if he has any arms left. That's the short of the long of it. My wife went over to her other sister's place, where everyone seemed to be gathering. Just guessing, but I bet it was really just that rough of a night.

May I please go back to bed now? Blogging from 3:30 until 4 in the morning just isn't the highlight of my night, ya know?

News of the Century

Well, for us, anyway.

*insert drum roll here*

We are now the proud foster parents of two beautiful little girls--Sheradin and Brooklyn. They're adorable, sweet, and very much 3 and 2. Well, almost 2.

Pictures to follow . . . as soon as I figure out how.

Late to bed, early to rise . . .

Definitely does *not* make a man healthy, wealthy and/or wise. In fact, it makes this man feel like death, which can't be good for going to work and earning a living, and really . . . it's kind of stupid.

Yet here I am again, at the tender hour of 6 am, wondering why I'm up this early. There's a very specific, good reason why, but there isn't enough time to write a full story on that just now. Probably won't be until late tonight.

I'll say this much: at least now I have a reason to write. Before, there wasn't really anything to say. "Ohhh . . . today, I went to work, came home, ate dinner, checked email, watched some tv, did some shopping, came home and went to bed." Big. Frickin'. Deal. I mean, I know wife and I do more than that, but it sure doesn't seem like it when you look at the last 7.5 years of marriage.

That all changed last Tuesday. Hopefully, this'll be a permanent change. More on that later. For now, it's "nose to the grindstone" time (read: gotta make a living).