Saturday, April 12, 2014

More Things That Should Not Go in the Wash

I decided this morning that, clearly, the overflowing hamper by the twins' room indicated I needed to do some laundry.

Hubby was going to be gone all day for Ambush Paintball (lucky him) with the teens, so it was going to be just me and the Fries.

I figured that giving myself the easy goal of washing and drying two loads was doable. That way, I wasn't going to stress or panic over not getting enough laundry done over the course of the day.

Of course, the fact that I'm now writing a blog post about laundry has probably clued you in to the fact that things didn't go as planned.

Everything seemed to come out of the washer juuuuust fine.

I tossed the load from the washer and several shirts of mine into the dryer. (My shirts had sat in the dryer too long, and I am far too lazy to just iron the dumb things. I'll toss 'em in with a load of wet clothes and everything will come out mostly wrinkle-free as long as I get to it in time. Which is a whole other story.)

And then I started another load after lunch, reset the dryer to finish drying the load (that 30 feet of dryer pipe from the dryer to the vent on the outside wall of the house is a real bear sometimes)...and thought nothing of it. I took the kids over to the playground behind the school around mid-afternoon and stayed until dinnertime.

It wasn't until I got home and pulled out the load in the dryer that I spotted the problem: pink. In irregular splotches. Everywhere.

The load of clothes was a bunch of jeans and blue/purple shirts.

No pink anywhere.

Except, of course, whatever had hitched a ride through (presumably) a pair of the kids' jeans. But...what was it?

Other than pink, of course.

I went up and questioned my three most likely suspects (to be fair, that's only because I had deliberately checked the pants pockets of Hubby's jeans before I tossed them in the washer). The only one who remembered putting anything pink in her pocket was Medium Fry. She said she put in a piece of pink chalk in her pocket, and thought she took it out later, but wasn't sure.

Medium is my elephant, and remembers almost everything with startling clarity, so I had to kind of trust her "thinkerator" (a term she'd coined earlier this afternoon).

I had to wonder, though, why chalk would've stained. Or adhered. Or whatever it had done. Theoretically, shouldn't chalk just kind of go mushy and wash out completely?

"New rule!" I announced. "Chalk does not go in pockets! It goes back in the chalk bin when you're done with it. Never in pockets!"

I spent quite a bit of time pre-treating everything in that load. Then I spent another ten to fifteen minutes cleaning out little bits of pink from the inside of my dryer. Once I was satisfied I'd gotten it all, I threw in the clothes from the washer.

It was when I checked the lint trap that I got the biggest clues of all.

From upstairs, I heard Medium ask Hubby, "Where's Mommy?"

"I'm downstairs in the laundry room, playing CSI," I hollered.

Itty-bitty pieces of heavily-laundered crayon wrapper.

Oh, Google...

I did a quick search for how to get crayon out of clothes that have been both washed and dried. Hey, look, a solution!

Fingers crossed that this works, because I simply cannot afford to buy all new jeans for my kids when they are on the ankles'-edge of outgrowing these ones.

"New rule!" I announced yet again, this time to pajama-clad Fries. "No crayons in pockets! Ever!"


Wednesday, April 2, 2014


My brother's attorney told ours today that he is appealing.

Hubby talked to him today. Bro, that is.

Bro basically wants everything the last court order would have given him, had he done any of the things the judge required: continued (court-ordered and -enforceable) visitation, increased time, up to and including custodial periods of every other weekend.

This is NOT in the best interests of children whose father has not bothered to attempt to see them in over a year and a half.

My brother can afford to appeal. His attorney, at present, is free.

Ours is not, and 3 Fries equals 3 cases, equals 3 appeal might cost us more to buy a fully-loaded Cadillac Escalade. But not by much.

We are devastated.

And we are very, very angry.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Fifty Cents (No Foolin'!)

A week ago, Hubby and I woke early.

I had awakened half a dozen times in the night, sleeping fitfully, stress knifing through my ability to rest. Hubby slept better than I did, but still woke many times throughout the night himself.

He rolled over in bed and prayed while I shivered with nerves and fear. "Father," he said softly, "help her to feel the peace you've given me with one word: rejoice."

And then we spent six grueling hours in a courtroom, walking out without a decision, and facing more waiting.

In the words of wise Spanish philosopher Inigo Montoya, "I hate waiting."

Patience is so not one of my virtues.

Today, I picked up the kids from school and walked them home. We had a quick snack and I had them sign the card for the twins' teacher, who is switching over to another elementary school as a long-term substitute for the reading specialist there, who is going on maternity leave. The twins love their teacher, and it's been especially hard for Small Fry. So we put together a nice gift for the teacher, and walked back over to deliver it.

When we came home, I checked the mail. The peach card in the mailbox was a surprise. Somehow, we had received a letter that was postage due. We owed fifty cents to the post office.

I called Hubby, who speculated that perhaps it was a letter from one of the teens that didn't have enough postage or lost its stamp or something; the fundraiser letters for the youth group missions trip have been going out. The other possibility was that it was from the court. But even our attorney's office meters their mail; if the court did the same, how would it be short on postage?

Hubby said he would stop by the post office and pick it up before they closed.

I got a text as soon as he'd picked up the letter. "It is from the court. Rejoice!"

He had read through the first order (there's one for each kid), and it proclaimed that parental rights have been severed, we have been granted custody, and in 30 days' time, we can have our hearing to officially adopt the girls.

It cost us fifty cents to find out that life is permanently going to cost us a lot more.

While we're celebrating this, we know that this same paperwork is on its way to both Bro's address and XSIL's. I can't speak for XSIL, who didn't bother to show up at the hearing last week, but I know this will hurt Bro deeply. We love him, and that makes this very bittersweet for both Hubby and me.

I read through all three orders; they all essentially state the same thing, and they're dated for yesterday. That makes it convenient, as far as remembering when the 30-day appeal timeframe ends.

Our attorney has said that we can file the adoption paperwork right away; we just can't have the hearing until after the 30 days have elapsed.

At first, I thought it would be cool if the adoption hearing date was the same as the date that the Fries came to live with us. Hubby disagreed.

He wants to have one more day where he can have cake.

I think I agree with him there.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

We have good kids.

As with most households that have little girls, we were quick to snap up Disney's Frozen when it was released on DVD.

Actually, we hadn't seen it—going to the movies with five people is hard on the budget—when it hit theaters. But we watch enough Disney Junior in this house that we've seen the full "Let It Go" sequence, along with multiple commercials and spots featuring the movie.

I made note of the date, and ordered it from Amazon. I didn't tell the kids I'd bought it. Heck, I didn't even tell Hubby. I figured we could have a special family movie night when it arrived.

Well, it arrived the day after the release, so I had to hold onto it until Friday. I showed it to Hubby on his next day off, which was a Thursday, and he thought I was brilliant. So, that Friday, 3/21, we proposed a movie night to the kids, and they thought this was a smashing idea. They all wanted to watch The Croods on Netflix.

I had hidden Frozen in our room, and tucked it into my waistband and under my shirt to bring it downstairs. I announced that I thought I should get to choose the movie that night.

This was essentially booed by the kids.

"Why don't we see what Mommy's pick is?" Hubby suggested.

This was met with grumbles...until I pulled the movie out from behind my back.
Photo: Do you think they're excited that I bought "Frozen"?
Oh, I wish I'd had the ability to do that and film the kids' reaction. There were ear-splitting squeals and shrieks and generally loud delight all around.

They were ecstatic.

Since then, I think we've watched the movie—well, the kids have, anyway—seven times.

Now, I told you that so I could tell you this.

Hubby got a text this afternoon from Peejay's youngest son, wanting to know if their family could borrow Frozen today.

Mind you, we watched it yesterday. It was the first pick for movie day. Small Fry wanted to watch it again last night at 7p, which I had to turn down because it was too close to bedtime. So it's not like they've been "deprived" of the movie. They'd watched it at least once, if not twice, during the week, too.

Hubby mentioned D-man's request to the Fries. "Awww, we wanted to watch Frozen next!" Small said.

So there was this conversation. What was the kind thing to do? What was the selfish thing to do? Which should we choose?

The Fries chose to be kind, and Hubby texted D-man back to say that he could borrow the movie.

Small Fry went upstairs and cried.
Several minutes later, Small came back downstairs. Hubby had placed the DVD in the kitchen, waiting for D-man (Peejay's family lives one block over from us) to show up.

And when D-man arrived, guess who handed him the DVD?

Yep. Small Fry.

We have good kids.

Friday, March 28, 2014

Court Recap

We arrived at the courthouse just before 9a on Tuesday, after spending most of Monday wrangling alternate plans in the event of snow delays/cancellations (thankfully, we barely got a dusting of snow, and most of that while we were in court). Bro and his wife 2nd Ed. were there, but there was no sign of XSIL. Ms. Sciuto (our lawyer) had predicted that XSIL wouldn't show, or that she would call on Monday to manufacture some excuse for why she would be unable to make it to the hearing the next day. That hadn't happened (to our great surprise), so it looked like Ms. Sciuto was right.

When the judge came into the courtroom, the court crier had all of the potential witnesses who were not principals in the case come in, so that they could all be sworn in along with those of us in the courtroom. Then Mom, Dad, and 2nd Ed. went back out, and we began. Bro's lawyer informed the judge that Bro had spoken to XSIL the previous week, and XSIL had told Bro at that time that she was applying for counsel through the court that week: either she had within the last few days, or she was about to. It was unclear. The judge then recessed for about fifteen minutes to find out if any such application for counsel existed.

When the judge returned, she announced that there was no record of XSIL ever applying for counsel (quelle surpris), and she had determined that XSIL had been duly served, had had plenty of time to respond and/or make arrangements for the hearing that day, and decided that we would proceed as long as no one else objected. (Nobody did.) The court crier also searched the courthouse to see if, "perhaps," XSIL had somehow gotten directed to the incorrect courtroom. (Nope.)

Hubby was on the stand first. Between Ms. Sciuto's direct examination of him, Bro's attorney's cross-examination, the guardian ad litem's ([GAL] the lawyer appointed to act on the girls' behalf) cross, Ms. Sciuto's redirect, and Bro's attorney's recross, Hubby spent the better part of two hours on the stand. In fact, it might have been longer than that. I was up next, and Ms. Sciuto whispered a reminder to me during the GAL's cross of Hubby that I needed to shut up when I'd answered the question, and not talk to try to fill the space. The GAL, she said, wouldn't be doing it on purpose to get him to reveal more than he should or to make him say something he shouldn't, but Bro's attorney would. We finished with my direct testimony just before noon, and the judge opted to recess for lunch.

Lunch was entertaining. Because the lawyers had agreed to sequester the witnesses, we were not allowed to discuss our testimony at all, not even with each other, since I still had cross and redirect and recross to go. Those of you who know my mother at all also know that she was sure to be brimming with questions after 3 hours of court that she was unable to witness. And she wasn't able to ask these questions! "You're fun when you have questions you can't ask," Dad observed at one point during lunch. We had to not talk or make innocuous comments about the pretty falling snow outside when Mom would ask what she thought was a surely appropriate question that we could not answer.

Before we left for lunch, Hubby grabbed Bro in a big bear hug. I have no idea exactly what was said, but my understanding is that Hubby was reaffirming how much he loves Bro and that this has nothing to do with whether or not he's loved.

There was one objection raised all day, by Bro's lawyer, while I was answering a cross-exam question from Mr. T, the GAL. He had asked why we sought counseling for the girls when we did, and not earlier. I expressed my reasons, and further elaborated that there were obvious struggles on Large Fry's part regarding the departure of her parents from her life. That's when Bro's attorney objected, saying I was only supposing on the part of Large and could have no way to know exactly how she felt (actually, I did, since Large had verbalized those feelings; but I kept my mouth shut). The judge overruled her almost as soon as she finished speaking, which surprised me.

2nd Ed. was next. Her testimony was mostly about the girls' interaction with Bro, as observed over the course of several visits and their wedding. 2nd Ed. said that they were always happy to see him, always hugging and loving on him. Four photographs were entered into evidence as proof that the girls were always happy and clingy with Bro because they loved him, one from a visit while at Mom and Dad's, and the other three from his wedding (one a family shot of Bro, 2nd Ed., and all five kids; the other two were during a daddy/daughter dance). 

Bro was on the stand next.  The crux of his case was that we had pushed him out. His explanation for not seeing his kids in over a year and a half was that Hubby had refused to do any more work to arrange visits, leaving everything up to him. (Hubby had testified that he had stopped supervising for several reasons, not the least of which was a new job. Prior to that, Hubby had been doing the bulk of the work for scheduling and transporting kids to visitation.)  Ultimately, Bro's lack of contact with his daughters was our fault. He did, surprisingly, make some very nice comments about how much work we've done with the girls and how appreciative he was of the excellent care we've given the girls over the last nearly six years. (I still noted that he did not refer to what we've been doing as parenting.) He also said he could understand why we wanted to keep them; they are great kids.

Ms. Sciuto's cross-examination was next. Towards the end of her cross of Bro, Ms. Sciuto asked him whether or not he'd ever called the doctor's offices' numbers we'd given him when he demanded copies of the girls' medical records. He hadn't. Because, he said, we'd pushed him out so much that he wasn't sure what he was entitled to have access to. She asked him why he didn't find out. He said he had no money for an attorney, and he was saving up to take us back to court so he could find out. Then she asked him what grade Large Fry was in. He had to think for a good fifteen seconds before he said, "Second? Maybe third?" She asked him next if he'd ever called the school to ask for further details regarding the girls' schooling, since he was dissatisfied with the "generalities" we had given him. He said he had called the school in Dec. 2013 to find out what he could access, but he hadn't gotten any further than that one call. Then she asked him again why he hadn't called earlier for access to the girls' grades. Ms. Sciuto watched the judge carefully as Bro replied, again saying that we had pushed him out of so much that he didn't want to be pushed out of even more, and so he refused to do anything that might cause us to cut him off further.

The judge rolled her eyes at that.

I am no legal expert, but I can't imagine that it's good for your case if the judge is rolling her eyes at your excuse.

When cross, redirect, and recross were all finished, we recessed for ten minutes before the GAL would give his report. Upon resuming the hearing, Mr. T stood and delivered his report. He opened by saying that he agreed with Bro; these are great girls. He had only spoken to Bro once, last week, he said; he'd never spoken to XSIL at all. He came to our house and spent several hours with us, talking briefly with the children before talking with us at length. He said he'd inspected the girls' bedrooms and overall found that we had a very suitable home. He didn't ask the children many questions, because of their ages, and he said it was obvious that they were very comfortable and secure here. He further went on to counter the insinuation that the girls were only ever overly-affectionate with Bro by telling about how Hubby had sat down on the couch in our den, and the girls immediately swarmed all over him, cuddling and snuggling. He told about how Medium Fry went under her loft bed and conducted a conversation from under there, occasionally popping out her head to talk or sticking out a thumbs-up. He concluded from our visit that the girls are simply very affectionate and loving kids, and they were appropriately affectionate towards both of us, even if they weren't climbing all over me the way they do Hubby. (Ms. Sciuto leaned over and whispered that this was probably due to my physical limitations, which I'd earlier testified to.) The GAL said he was quite confident that Bro loved the girls, and that they loved him in return, but he firmly felt it was in the best interests of the girls that parental rights be terminated, citing the appropriate case law, so that we could then adopt them. He said it was clear that we had been the parents for a very long time, loved these girls, and that they deserved to have what they know as their family be permanent. The judge took a few moments to ask several questions to clarify some of Mr. T's statement, and then moved on.

Since the burden of proof was on us, the judge (who doesn't usually like closing arguments) offered to hear closing arguments from Steve's counsel first, as ours would have the last word. Naturally, Bro's attorney argued that we hadn't even come close to demonstrating that rights should be terminated under the case law cited by Mr. T, and stated that her client believed he would clearly have had a better relationship with his daughters had we not been so bent on keeping him out of their lives.

Ms. Sciuto delivered her closing arguments then, stating that we had more than met the burden of proof against both parents; XSIL had shown her lack of caring about the children by not even bothering to show up. Bro had opportunities to work around the obstacles he felt were in his way; he refused to take advantage of those options. We had been the parents of these girls: we kissed boo-boos; provided food, shelter, and clothing; cared for them when they were sick; attended parent/teacher meetings; took them to doctors as needed; searched for interventions when necessary, even from the very beginning. We were the ones who had truly been parents. The girls, she said, deserved the stability of making legal what they already know: they are ours, and they belong with us.

The judge paused, and stacked her papers. "I am going to take some time to think about this, and then I'll let you know my decision," she said.

It was disappointing to not have a decision that day.

"This isn't bad," Ms. Sciuto said. She explained that it was obvious the judge wasn't feeling well and was battling a bad cold; it could be she just wanted to go home. After nearly six hours of emotionally grueling testimony and pontificating, I was ready to go home. I couldn't blame the judge for wanting the same, when I knew she didn't feel well. Ms. Sciuto also said that the reason for the judge's delay might be that the judge smelled an appeal on the wind, and she wanted to write her own opinion in addition to the prepared orders Ms. Sciuto had submitted or wanted to write a full opinion on her own. We asked when we might find out the judge's ruling. Ms. Sciuto speculated that it would be 7-10 business days, which we know means about two weeks. She also said that she fully expected the judge would rule to terminate rights.

Before we all left the courtroom, while Ms. Sciuto updated Mom and Dad with what she'd told us, Bro approached Hubby again. They hugged. Bro then turned to me and held out his hand. I took it...and pulled him into a hug. I told him I loved him, but I love the kids too. He looked at Hubbyafter that and said he just couldn't live with himself if he'd just rolled over and given up. We can understand that, to a certain extent.

We met Mom and Dad at a restaurant on our way home, so that we could debrief Mom (and Dad, but mostly Mom) on what they hadn't seen/heard. (They were in court from the time it resumed so the GAL could give his report until the judge ended the hearing.) We knew Mom couldn't hold off on her questions, and we also knew that asking those questions in front of the kids would be bad. The kids knew we'd had a "big meeting" today, about being able to adopt them (which was all we'd said). I told our sitter, one of the teen girls from youth group, and she was fine with that; she and the kids were watching "Frozen" and having a great time.

When we got home, happy squeals abounded. Medium was the loudest. "What'd they say? What'd they say? Can you adopt us? Did they say yes?" she chanted. 

"No," Hubby said. "They didn't say yes. The judge wanted to think some more." 

"But why?"

"We gave her lots and lots of information today," I told her. "It was a lot of stuff to think about."

Medium was most unhappy when she heard it would take forever to find out what the judge had to say. I suppose, when you're seven, two weeks is forever. Then again, it certainly feels that way to me, too.

Ms. Sciuto is confident that the judge will rule in our favor, and so we're trying to relax and trust our attorney's gut, which has been right every time so far. Assuming Ms. Sciuto's analysis is correct, once we receive the paperwork with the judge's ruling, we'll file our adoption petitions right away. We just can't have the adoption hearing until after the 30-day appeals timeframe has passed.

One thing we do not know is whether or not Bro will try to appeal. His comments after court seem to suggest that he needed to fight this for his own sake, and he'll accept it if he loses. But with him, it's so hard to say. XSIL will likely not appeal, since she didn't even make the effort to be here to fight the first time around.

So, now we wait. Again. Which is really hard for all of us. We can see the end of the tunnel. Of course, we wait again once we get the judge's decision.

But the end is in sight, and we're excited.

Monday, March 24, 2014


Today is shaping up to be a day that's successful only inasmuch as I've been doing a fantastic job exchanging oxygen for carbon dioxide.

Today is Monday, March 24, 2014.

Tomorrow is the day of the hearing on our petition to involuntarily sever the parental rights of my brother and his ex-wife, so that Hubby and I can proceed with our adoption of the Fries.

I am trying not to freak out. And I'm doing an exceptional job of not showing it outwardly.

Inside, I'm a mess.

I'm worried about so much.

Yes, I appreciate the irony of having a faith that instructs me to not worry while I keep panicking internally.

Most of it happens subconsciously, but I can tell you that my subconscious mind has overtaken most of my mental capacity, and so what little conscious thought I'm having revolves around automatic lungs breathing, heart pumping, eyes blinking.

Yes, psychologically, I believe I fit the clinical qualifications of "a mess."

What am I worrying about? I'm going to make a list, if for no reason other than that I can look at it on Wednesday and laugh about how silly my fears are.
  1. I'm worried about what to wear to court tomorrow. (I know that one's silly already.)
  2. I'm worried about the snowstorm that is now hitting about 18 hours earlier than it was supposed to over the weekend, and now the possibility of snow is threatening the start of school tomorrow, the start of court, and all of the childcare arrangements we've had set up.
  3. I'm worried about my testimony on the stand. Not so much because of what my lawyer will ask, but because of what XSIL might ask on cross-examination, as well as Bro's attorney.
  4. I'm worried that Bro will be petty in what he asks his lawyer to question me about.
  5. I'm worried that I won't sleep tonight.
  6. I'm worried that we will somehow seriously blow it and the judge will hate us.
  7. I'm worried that either Bro or XSIL will manufacture some kind of damning evidence against us.
  8. I'm worried that Bro's witnesses will claim that he's a perfectly loving father who dotes on his children during visitation and is the perfect stepdad to his stepchildren, and so there's no reason why he should have his rights terminated.
  9. I'm worried that I will have major hot flashes on the stand and not be able to stop sweating. Stress is a big trigger, and I'm already stressed.
  10. I'm worried about Hubby being on the stand. He didn't have to last time.
  11. I'm worried about the fact that I'm worrying so much...
At least this time, I'm only facing cross-examination by XSIL, not both XSIL and Bro. Bro's attorney will be asking me questions, which will make it a lot easier for me to feel less like it's a personal attack.

If we could have adopted the Fries without this step, it would have been nice. But we can't. It's a necessary, horrible evil. If there was any other way to best protect the Fries, we'd do it. But this is it. This is what we have to do.

This is what we need to do.

So I'll swallow my worries, ask friends for fashion advice, and prepare for court tomorrow as best I can.

And hope that it will be all over soon.

Enlightenment (Updated)

Today is March 24.

Given that tomorrow is court, and my stomach is home to a humongous horde of rather large butterflies, and that the only ones really feeling hungry are the kids, Hubby and I opted to go out to dinner tonight.

We went to the kids' favorite place, GVD.

We were mostly through with our meal when Medium made an announcement.

"You're the best mom and dad ever!"

One of these days, I will remember to record it when the kids say that, so I can play it back for them during an angsty teen moment when they say they hate us. But I digress.

Medium cocked her head. "Daddy Bro and Mommy XSIL aren't the best mom and dad ever."

Hubby studied Medium for a moment. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, because you love us. And take care of us an' stuff." (Yeah, even the kids get it. In a way, I wish their biological parents got it as well as the kids do.)

Medium paused for a moment after saying that. "But they're fun!" she said.

That was when we knew we'd been doing this right. That's what we want them to see: that Daddy Bro and Mommy XSIL are like the fun uncle and aunt.