Forgetful

My memory was not very good before adding my three little kids to the mix. I may use this blog to record odd things to share with social workers. For you adoptive parents, I am sure much of what I say about my children will sound very familiar.

Of course, I will be keeping the identities of my children confidential.

Son one is happy playing with the next door neighbor boy. As soon as he comes home, he gets his gruff on. It's like he has a 'nasty switch' that automatically flips when he walks in the door. Much intensive counseling is lined up, and will start next week.

For breakfast, son two wanted the new cereal I bought yesterday. My rule is to finish the open cereal before starting on a new package of cereal. Otherwise, I would have twelve bags of almost-finished cereal in my pantry, and I am way too anal about my pantry for that. So, I gave him the choice of toast or the 'old' cereal for breakfast. He threw a fit, so I chose toast. He went to school hungry after throwing his cream cheese toast and fresh strawberries across the room. Now my feet are sticky. Ugh!

Despite many threats, daughter two did not run away on foot through the desert at night until she got to Mexico to her birthdad. She's the size of a four year old. Her statements "I hope I die in the desert" disturbed me deeply, though. Hopefully, she's just playing me.

Daughter one hasn't made any trouble at all since four p.m. yesterday, when I gave her the boots I had found for a dollar at Goodwill. She's sweet as sugar. For now!

Son two's new Hulk jigsaw lays in crunched pieces in the floorboard of the car. I can't remember why he raged ... probably because he didn't want to buckle his seatbelt. His head is so full of worries that nothing feels safe to him. He asked me two days ago with fearful eyes "What if you have a baby? Will we have to stay home alone while you are at the hospital? Can you find someone to take care of us?" There is no chance of me having a baby. His old wounds need alot of TLC.

Moving forward,

Jen