April 24, 2013

Bringing Up Baby

I used to write a blog about our foster care / adoption experience (I started it in 2010).  Here it is below, in its entirety.  You'll want to start at the bottom of the post if you're interested.  Currently, we still have a social worker but we haven't received any phone calls about potential adoptees.  At this point, I am not desperate for another child but I'd definitely take one if he or she needs a good home and some kindness. I'm pretty sure that we can handle that.   I am beginning to think that it's unlikely that we'll ever receive a phone call and that's okay.  I signed us up for fostering / adoption because of a Wendy's placemat that I saw three years ago that said that CAS needed people desperately.  Dave Thomas founded a foundation (awkward phrase) called the Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption and after learning about it, that's why we signed up.

Here's the blog.  Reminder -- scroll down and read from the entry called "Hello World".



A False Accusation!

In adoption, foster care, foster parent on May 19, 2011 at 1:00 PM
So – I’m getting those questions again, things like:  ”What’s going on?” and “Any news?” and “What’s happening with the fostering?”.  Right now, it’s a whole lot of nothing.  We are currently waiting for M to write up our family story / personal history.  I will have an opportunity to read and edit (yes!) it before it is written IN STONE. I enjoy editing. I am a picky editor, as most are, and it will be interesting to see just how much I enjoy editing my own life story. I predict that it will be painful.  I am really not looking forward to reading it. I’m sure that I am going to sound like an inept freakshow with multiple issues. Thankfully, I don’t have multiple personalities so that’s a boon.
Richard’s personal history is ridiculously “normal” and straightforward and so it’s me that is giving M the hard times, and not him.  Richard’s only flag is the year he taught in Korea in the mid-90′s.  He enjoyed the experience, as much as you can enjoy an unheated apartment, an American roommate with a predilection for ladies of the night and a completely dodgy working environment (ice cold classroom, small and ugly). M wanted Richard to produce a police record check from Busan.  We were both stumped as to how he might obtain this.  I told him to brush up on his Korean, call the Busan cops and ask them to send him anything relevant in the mail. Eventually M decided that she would write that we were “working on it” in the file. I am hoping that this is one of those things that will slip through the cracks, of which there seem to be many.  A funny sidenote: when M asked Richard about the Korean teaching experience, Richard relayed a very funny tale which involved dubious immigration authorities and him hiding out in a school supply closet.  We laughed.   I also thought that Richard should disclose the details of  his solo Macarena performance for upwards of a thousand screaming Korean youth, but he was not forthcoming. I think M would have enjoyed that.
Nathaniel has also been asking me a lot of questions about when we might expect to receive a phone call “about our new baby”.  Every few days, he asks again. Gwen has either forgotten that she might be getting a little sister or doesn’t really care. I’m beginning to wonder myself.
I should also tell you a bit about Gwen’s interview with M because it’s funny.  The phrase “kids say the darndest things” drives me somewhat batty, but in this case it definitely applies.  Gwen is actually too young to be interviewed but she knew that Nathaniel was having an interview and if it’s good enough for big brother, it’s good enough for Gwenzilla.  We had the option of remaining for the kids’ portion of the interview or leaving the room.  We opted to hide out in the kitchen and eavesdrop.  Sample questions:
M:  What do you like to do?”
Kids:  ”Play Lego.  Play. Kick my sister. Beat each other up!” (I’m not kidding; they actually said this!)
M:  ”What else?”
Kids: “Read, listen to books on cd, play outside, play with Jude” etc
M: (getting right into it):  ”Do you ever get in trouble?”
Kids:  ”YEAH! ALL THE TIME! “
M:  ”What happens?”
Kids:  ”We get grounded.  They yell.  They get really mad.”
M:  ”Do they ever hit you?”
Nathaniel: “No”
Gwen: “Yes, my Daddy does.”  (choking sounds from kitchen)
Nathaniel:  "Gwen, you liar!!!!!!”
Gwen:  "Well, sometimes people hit me.”
At this point, I had poked my head around the corner and was shaking it in a crazed manner and mouthing the words “NO!” and “NEVER!!”  M saw me doing this and waved me away and mouthed “I know”.  Poor Richard, I’m sure he was appalled and confused.  If anyone is going to take a whack at the kiddies, it would be me.  Not that I do, of course.  M said that she could tell by the way that the kids interact with us and with her, that they are happy and well-adjusted and “not to worry”.  I think Richard felt somewhat violated.  Poor guy.
I just now asked him how he felt when Gwen said this, and of course, I laughed like a crazy woman because that’s the kind of wife I am and R looked a bit tired and said: “I could’ve predicted that”.  Not sure if he was talking about my reaction or Gwen’s words.


It’s Been Real, M

In adoption, foster care, fostering on April 20, 2011 at 10:36 AM
The home visits are officially over. I would be lying if I didn’t say that I was relieved.  M showed up 20 minutes early yesterday, and of course caught me doing last minute tidying – “tidying” being a gross understatement.  I answered the door with a bag of poopy cat litter at my feet, right beside the shoe mat and two fluorescent pink rubber bunnies in my hand.  Who answers the door with pink rubber bunnies in their hand? If she had questions about my sanity before, she won’t now. When she came to the dining room table, the hand vacuum was plugged in and on the floor but at least the plug wasn’t dangling from the outlet this time!
Three o’clock was the appointed hour for our marital interview. Ick. Sample questions:
  • Richard, please describe your feelings about Christine
  • How often are you intimate? (seriously!)
  • Is there anything you would like to change in your relationship?
  • What do you like about being a parent? What do you dislike? et cetera.
Me, squirming in my chair:  ”Is this going to be in our file? Are people going to read this?”  I think you already know the answer.  M said that everything that we had discussed (my colourful history) would be written up by her in our home study report.  We would have the opportunity to read it and make additions and deletions (Hey, I don’t remember saying that Richard was an animal in the sack!).  I’m really looking forward to reading THAT report.  The report will be read by all Social Workers who are thinking of placing a child in our home.  She said that our file will go to many SW’s who will start looking for a child under their care who will fit with our family.  M’s words: “they’ll have their favourites” and “families will get scooped up quickly – oh, the Brouwer family’s gone!”. Does this mean that she thinks we will be a favourite?  This is better than the alternative: “Those Brouwers are wack!”.
Of course, no interaction with CAS would be complete without the ubiquitous forms.  Today’s was a Records Release from the kids’ school.  I volunteer there at least once a week.  I also had to fill out another release for some counseling that I had after we had been burgled the second time (you’d need counseling too if the perp stole your jewellery and dirty underwear).  Other minor things we had to produce:
  • statements of liability from the home and auto insurance
  • a copy of our floor plan – I don’t think she liked my drawing. She said it was too busy. I politely disagreed. I like details!
  • a fire extinguisher
  • posted list of emergency contacts. This had to be very thorough: parents on both sides, neighbours, CAS, police + 911, Richard’s work
  • more labeled photos: us in Banff; Oma and Opa and the kiddies; my Mom, Gwen and I at her place last Easter; Gramps driving the Morris Minor, me with my new haircut; us on a camping trip at the Pinery. All of these photos show happy, smiling people – “good” people. When I look at the pictures of myself, I think that the woman in the pictures could not possibly be the same woman whose history is transcribed in our file.
After I had produced the above items, we moved on to discussing our matching form.  Its official name is Matching Form – Family Registrations.  Section A is just personal information about us, the applicants. Things like DOB, race and ethnicity.  Section B is Applicant Competency Levels or Acceptable Risks, which you have to rate on a scale of 1 to 5.   1 is very low competence, 3 is some competence (you’ll get a phone call asking if you want more information about the child) and 5 means that you’re very competent.  This is a list (and it’s by no means exhaustive) of some of the things that we had to rate:
  • conceived through sexual assault
  • unknown birth father
  • low birth weight
  • little / no prenatal care
  • HIV, hepatitis, cerebral palsy, Down’s
  • drug and alcohol exposures, short life expectancy, heart defect
  • depression, schizephrenia
  • autism, attachment disorders
  • developmental disabilities, sensory issues, learning issues (my personal favourite – “gifted” – I rated that a 5; bring on Einstein!)
  • special needs
  • every form of abuse you can think of
And the list goes on…
M said that we did a “good job” of filling out the form – like she’d say we did a “bad” job! Richard and I had both agreed that we really want to know who the child’s birth mother is and be provided with her medical history, if at all possible.  Knowing if there is a possibility of the child being affected by FAS (fetal alcohol syndrome) is vital, as is knowing the frequency of the mother’s prenatal drug use.  We were honest and we were also willing to look at quite a few less favourable situations (e.g: abuse, neglect, unknown birth father, mild drug and alcohol use etc).  Now we just have to wait for our home study to be written up and then wait for a phone call. M said that you can say no as many times as you like and that it will not affect future phone calls, which is good news.  As ridiculous as it sounds, I now feel like I have to say no to the first call!  I talked to a neighbour yesterday who has a friend (childless couple) who are waiting for a placement. They have only received one phone call, they said no and it’s been a year! She did say that they were very selective (meaning that they want something tidy) and that might be why they are not getting calls. I have talked to two friends of mine who went through this and they both said that they had to revise their matching form to get more calls.
As this was the last visit with M, I told her that I’d miss her and that she’d begun to grow on me (like a fungus?). She thought this was hilarious. We will still be in contact because she has to write up our report and then provide us with a hard copy.  Can’t wait to read that…


Return to Sender and a Fire Plan

In adoption, foster care, fostering on April 18, 2011 at 10:55 AM
I had a phone call today from D, my psychotherapist, whom I love dearly. She has been asked by CAS to write a reference letter stating that I am “not a… [slight pause] ” – “psychopath”.  I laughed and told her that I hoped that she would verify this in her letter.  She told me that she had only had one other client who had gone the FP route.  I wasn’t really surprised by this.  People in therapy probably figure that their fucked-up-ness might rub off.
I have been having worries recently about the child that will be placed in our home and how we will adapt.  Some days I think I must be nuts. I have two happy, healthy kids and we live a relatively worry-free existence.  Enter new child.  How will I know if the child that is placed with us is the “right fit”? What if I meet her and my heart sinks? Could this happen? It gives me stress.  Will I grow to love her? Will she be quirky and cute?  Maybe she’ll be cute and terrible.  Will she have hair? What if she is totally fucked up? What if my own kids are totally fucked up?
We also have another home visit tomorrow during which we will be discussing the dreaded matching form.  I had a fair bit of guilt filling this out. I do not want a child with fetal alcohol syndrome, cerebral palsy or AIDS. I will not welcome a child who harms animals into my home (sociopath in the making).  No schizophrenics, drug addicts, products of incest or Spina Bifidas need apply.  Ugh. I feel like a bad person.
I may be posting a bit more frequently lately because of the weekly home visits and because there is a lot to do right now. Yesterday I emailed several things to M that she needed to continue with our file – plans of the house and fire safety.  The floor plan had to include all three levels with windows and escape routes clearly marked. I love preparing for the worst.
Writing up the fire plan  was not without stress. Nathaniel is worried that our house is going to burn to the ground.  I blame the firefighter at the Safety Village.  I am constantly having to reassure Nathaniel that our house is safe and that our fire alarms and carbon monoxide detectors are in working order… like the constant shrieking of the blasted alarm when I
burn things cook, isn’t enough to provide assurance.
Our fire plan assumes that when our house is ON FIRE that I will be sentient enough to alert Richard, grab the kiddies and make a mad dash through the front door to oxygen and cool night air. Of course the more likely scenario is that the house will be a blisteringly hot inferno of pernicious flame, requiring a “Plan B”.  Should there be a more aggressive fire, we will have to clamber onto the pergola-like structure / balcony that leads off our master bedroom and jump to the lawn below. Ouch. I told the social worker that my fire plan was to throw the kids off the balcony (“they’re resilient!”) and that a broken leg or mild concussion was better than a stay at the Shriners’ burn unit.  M smiled tightly. I think she thought I was kidding.
So the fire plan has been written and hey, I will cut and paste it here, because I’m like that 
If it seems ridiculous, so be it. My notes in  (bracketed italics) are not part of the fire plan proper.  I couldn’t figure out how to get the font the right size; I think its because I wrote the plan in Open Office. Sorry bout that.
Fire Plan
Smoke alarm goes off – stop, think, act.  (WTF? Is that the alarm?) Do not panic. (Jesus help me) Parents to go to children’s rooms to wake and assist them
(hysterical screaming: “GET UP!” while dragging them out of the fartsack).  
Alternate scenario: kids are to stay calm (stop hitting your sister! – our house is on fire!) and make their way to parents’ room (more screaming and crying for sure. Nathaniel: “can I get my Lego fighter?” Gwen: “where’s Veenie?”).
We will make our way out together, through the nearest exit (I don’t care if you don’t want to go out the window!) and not open any doors other than the ones we need to escape through.  If a door feels hot, we will NOT open it (like we ever close doors in this place – if the door was closed, you wouldn’t hear the wretched alarm!).  If the fire is fierce or we cannot use the stairs for any reason (ooh, HOT inferno from Satan blocking the way), we will use our backup escape which is the balcony off the master bedroom (this is where the hurling the children to the ground happens – this might hurt a bit).  
Meet at the big tree near the road (whaddya mean you’re cold, you wanna go back inside and warm up?). Call 911 from a neighbour’s house.  DO NOT GO BACK TO THE HOUSE for any reason until the Fire Department tells you it is safe to return (not tonight, lady). 


Spring has sprung!

In adoption, foster care, fostering, Uncategorized on April 12, 2011 at 2:00 PM
For my Dad, who used to recite this with glee every Spring:
“Spring has sprung; the grass has riz,
I wonder where the boidy is? (pronounced boy-dee, meaning bird)
The little boid is on the wing – but that’s absurd!
Because the wing is on the bird!”
I am loving the crocuses, snowdrops and scilla that have begun to dot most of the lawns in the Willage (my code for Wortley Village).  The previous homeowner apparently did not have a love for spring bulbs, so I am extra-glad that I mass-planted tulips in the front bed. I can’t wait for them to emerge! I planted four pots of pansies on the weekend and that certainly helps to freshen up the landscape.
Last week, we had our first visit with M, our social worker. I was somewhat apprehensive because I didn’t know what to expect, but she is a lovely and kindhearted lady so there wasn’t really anything to worry about once we sat down with her. Of course, there was MORE paperwork to fill out.  Jeez.  Will it ever end? She took a tour of our house and commented on a LOT of things.  She certainly knows how to cover her bases in the safety department.  When M came in, I invited her to sit down at the dining table and to my horror, I had left an extension cord dangling from the outlet and worse, it was HALF IN and HALF OUT of the socket! Mom of the Year! Duh! That’s what you get for the last-minute cleaning frenzy, trying to impress the foster parent police. Although I was inwardly cringing, we did laugh about that and she wasn’t outwardly appalled, although I am sure it was a first for her.
Other safety concerns that we will have to deal with at some point:
  • Putting away (hiding)the knife block.  I don’t know about you but I use my knives and therefore the knife block many times in an average day. I like to cook and I’m always chopping up fruits and veggies. The block must be tucked away in a cupboard.
  • Scissors. Are you kidding me? My kids have been scissoring up a storm since they were two. And forget about those crappy kid scissors – they suck. You couldn’t cut a wet noodle with those!  I have scissors in my kitchen on the counter in a cup, in Gwen’s arts and crafts station, on my dining room table, in the laundry area and as I write this, I can see six pairs of scissors on my desk (chucked there after a mad cleaning dash yesterday!)
  • The dreaded baby gate.  Can I tell you how much I hate baby gates? Stupid plastic waste of cash. In our old house, we didn’t even have a baby gate (ssshhhhhhhhh). Our staircase was a steep and ornate, handcarved antique that I was not about to ruin.  I taught the kids to go up and down the stairs as soon as they could walk. By two, they were managing fine on their own. That’s what a railing is for, people.
  • Outlet plugs. Something else that I didn’t ever use.
  • Lock on the basement door. See above. Of more concern to me is the homemade cat door, lovingly fashioned by the previous owners. Gwen got her head stuck in it one day, which caused Richard and I to laugh hysterically as she screamed like a maniac. We couldn’t help ourselves – it was ridiculous. She didn’t stick her head back in it again. Now that’s what I call learnin’!
  • Fire extinguisher – need to get one of these pronto. Richard started a grease fire not too long ago and that would have come in handy. He smothered the last fire with a pot lid, for those who need to know.
  • Gas fireplaces. I’m not going to lie. These get hot.  Really hot.  Gwen burned her butt on the one in our bedroom because she was nudie and was standing too close to it. I warned her.  Again, lesson learned.
  • Water temperature must be set to 49 degrees so no one gets scalded.  Check!
There are many additional details that must be covered; however, I am not going to bore you with the details. Think car seat safety, water safety, poison awareness and safe storage of medication. Whew!
M’s visit yesterday was quite lengthy.  I gave her our family pictures, which I had to label with names and relationship details (e.g: Hannah, niece on Richard’s side, age 13).  Adoption workers will be looking at these when they are deciding whether we might be a good fit for a child. I also had to hand in all my Pride Training Homework – all 8 weeks of it. It sounds much worse than it actually is. Each sheet of homework didn’t take much longer than 10 minutes to do.  And there are no wrong answers!  M will review the homework at her convenience and she might address some of it, but might not. Sample questions:
  • draw a family tree and comment on the relationships (if you like, you didn’t have to comment at all if you didn’t want to).
  • how do you feel that you are qualified to be a foster parent
  • write down the various losses that you have experienced in your life
The homework was usually quite introspective and it also made me think a lot about what it would be like to be a foster child.
The bulk of yesterday’s visit was my personal interview. It was just under two hours of questions that made me squirm, cry, laugh, get angry and occasionally  feel judged. Let me rephrase that, I did not think that M was judging me, but I did think that someone in that giant monolith that is CAS would be doing so in the not-so-distant future. For those of you who do not know my long and colourful history, let’s just say that I have experienced a lot in my 41 years.  M eventually cut the interview off because she had to leave but she said that her supervisor will probably have additional questions for me which I can answer next week.  She ended our visit by thanking me for my honesty and commending me for applying to be a foster parent. She said that if people are not forthcoming about their own experiences, that CAS always finds out about the baggage anyway, whether it’s through a reference or some other source.  She reassured me and said that she is happy that people like me apply to be foster parents. She also said a bunch of other nice things to me that made me feel like I was doing the right thing and that she understood me.  I had a little cry and she teared up a bit too, which made me like her a lot. At the end of the visit, I was emotionally drained; I felt like I had just related my personal history to a new therapist. I slept really well last night. I attribute it to exhaustion and before-bed rug hooking with a glass of Cab.


News, a Recipe and a Poem

In adoption, foster care, fostering on March 30, 2011 at 1:51 PM
So… what’s going on?
I have been asked this question a lot lately!  I’ll be honest – it’s not my favourite question and the answer, until yesterday, was “nothing”; however, we have some news which I will share with you in a few paragraphs.  It seems as though the tortoise-like pace of the process has suddenly begun to speed up. Hallelujah!
We attended a potluck panel at Children’s Aid in early March and listened to social workers, adult adoptees, children in care, and adoptive and foster parents speak about their experiences.  It was very emotional for me – both painful and joyful. Why did I sit in the front row? Damn my keenness! Every time I started to feel the tears well up in my eyes, I looked down and pretended to take notes.  At the end of the session we had an opportunity to ask questions, and one of the other foster parents-in-training asked one of the teenagers in care what we could do to make transitioning into a new home easier for them [the children].  The boy responded with:  ”Don’t make the kids do anything they don’t want to do (everyone laughed at this), “like go to your family reunion, for instance” – more laughs.  Then he became more serious and said “when they come home from school, ask them how their day was”.  This made me so sad and even makes me cry as I write it down. I think it’s because it’s so simple and basic and the last thing I expected to hear. Presumably, there are people who don’t ask and don’t care how their kid’s day was. It just boggles my mind.  I ask my children constantly about how their day was and try to get ANY information about it because I am genuinely interested and want to know about EVERYTHING:  the tests, the circle time, their friends, what they do at recess, how their lunch was et cetera. I must drive them nuts, I am so interested.  They of course, are oblivious to my desire to know about their day and just want a snack and to flake out.  So… the panel was informative and was my favourite part of training.
One of our friends brought a really delicious, simple and nutritious salad to the potluck and I have been making it and eating it like crazy! It’s a Napa cabbage salad and here’s the recipe:
********************************
Napa Salad
Dressing:  Combine 1/4 cup olive oil , a couple of tbsp of rice / cider vinegar, 2 tsp ofsugar / honey, and half a package of the seasoning mix from a pkg of Ramen / Mr. Noodles. I also like sesame oil, so sometimes I use less olive oil and throw in somesesame oil too.
Salad ingredients:  sliced Napa cabbage, toasted almonds (sliced or slivers – to toast them, I do a ton at once, and throw them in a large cast iron skillet over medium heat until they brown lightly or you could put them on a cookie sheet at 375 for about 5 -8 mins), sliced green onions, chopped Italian parsley and uncooked, crumbled Mr. Noodles / Ramen for crunch.  I have also added raw spinach to make it uber-healthy and I think I will add some chopped red pepper next time.
**********************
Back to the fostering bits now. Back in Jan., we received a letter from a social worker with some more forms to fill out – shocking, I know.  There is no shortage of paperwork to complete when one decides to become a foster parent.  Richard and I both had to have physicals and then have our Doctor fill out the medical histories. Richard’s doctor had died recently of bladder cancer and so he needed a new doctor.   We decided to try to get him in with my doc, who is a sweet, smart and hardworking lady. He had a “meet-and-greet” with Dr. B, she agreed to take him on, and now all four of us are at the same practice, thank goodness!  She filled out our forms (free of charge, no less!) and said that we would make great foster parents, which I will admit, did put a smile on my face.
About a month ago, I asked my references if they had received their forms yet, but not one of them had been contacted, even though I had submitted the paperwork in the fall. I was somewhat surprised by the pokey speed of the agency. I thought that with such a dire need for foster parents, our caseworker might be more on the ball!  I decided that I would call her and make some inquiries as to what we can expect over the next couple of months.  I left a message and she got back to me the next day.   She said that she had left a message on our answering machine, several weeks prior, stating that I would require two additional references, as I had some overlap with Richard (we put down the same couples as mutual friends and I didn’t know that we couldn’t do this).  We did NOT get this purported message. I would remember this information! Anyhow, stupidity / lack of communication / confoundedness aside, she emailed me right away with new forms, which I filled out that day and popped into the mailbox that evening.
All of our reference letters have now been received by our friends and family and I am assuming that they have been returned, as the social worker emailed me yesterday, wanting to set up our home visits.  In her first letter to us, she said that she wouldn’t start the home visits until our medicals, references and other snoring paperwork (my words, obviously) had been completed. OMG — does this mean I am footloose and form-free now? Doubt it.
Our first home visit is next Tuesday evening. M will be conducting a safety check of the home.  Ugh.  All I know about this is that I must produce a locked box that contains all of our drugs and medication (e.g.: pot, lsd, ecstasy etc.). Nyuk, nyuk.  I don’t even have aspirin in the house, so it’s going to be a light box.  I guess I’ll shove my beloved pot of Vicks (I love sniffing that stuff when I have a cold) and a greasy tube of Polysporin inside it. Oh and I mustn’t forget that we do have an inhaler or two.
I am certain that M will also be checking up on the cleanliness (dirtiness?) of our abode.  I hope she doesn’t have anything against dust bunnies.  I’ll update once the first visit has been completed.
Lastly, some of you know that I write bad poetry / poetry rather badly. I have great news – one of my superbad children’s poems has been selected to grace the LTC buses, beginning next month!  I am THRILLED! April is poetry month and so here is my winning poem.

Jug Band


A washing board, a red kazoo, a stick, a rusty fence.
I’m gonna start a jug band and I need some instruments.
Young Sam will strum the banjo and Griz will blow the jug.
We’ll brighten up midwinter and we’ll jam upon the rug.
The hound will slide his waggy tail down Grammy’s washing board.
And on the comb, we’ll have Sweet Bess while baby’s on the gourd.
We’ll whistle, shake and pop our joints, We’ll hustle and we’ll move.
We’ll boogie on the table and we’ll show the house our groove.
This shack will shake its windowpanes and grind its hardwood floor.
The stairs will flex their risers while the chimney gives a roar.
When Dad comes home, he’s sure to grump. He’ll howl: “YOU’D BEST BE QUIET!”
But we will pound our instruments and raise a jug-band riot.

No More Childless Lunches…

In Uncategorized on February 18, 2011 at 8:43 AM
Our Saturday series of training in January is over and it really flew by.  I’m a little surprised that there was no exam, test or oral presentation.  Shouldn’t we have to prove our “worthiness” somehow?
I never found the training to be dull; the trainers managed to liven things up with questionnaires, the ever-popular “groupwork” and even a game of Bingo.  Have you ever had a bingo card with the words “police”, “sexual abuse” or “bruises” on it?  I’m not kidding.  There were also positive phrases on the cards too and I should back up and say that police presence isn’t always negative (that’s for all my police officer friends out there!)
Every Saturday at lunch, Richard and I had a mini-date, which was great.  I love dining out with the hubs, sans enfants. It’s a nice break.  We noshed on Thai, diner fare, subs and Mexican (if you can call Taco Bell “Mexican”! We went there at Richard’s insistence as it is his favourite fast food). Good times.  The trainers also always had goodies – usually chocolate – for us after lunch. I guess they assumed that we would all crash and burn in the afternoon.
I’m looking for some clues as to what last week’s training was actually about as it was over a week-and-a-half ago. There’s something to be said for those organized individuals who rewrite notes immediately after their training so as not to forget the content. I did take notes during the training and as I review my mini-book of chickenscratch, I see that we covered many topics. I’ll start with the statistics, which are always my favourite part of training, as I find them to be very telling:
  • in 2004 – 2007, out of 150 foster with a view/ adoptive placements, only five were “disrupted” (usually meaning that the little one that you have attached to is to be reunited with their birth family.  Mull over that CAS mantra: “It isn’t about what’s best for you, it’s about what is best for the child”.)
  • 75% of toddlers are placed on foster with a view. (part of the agency’s plan of care for very young children – they need forever families!)
  • In 99% of the cases in care, the birth parents do not agree to crown wardship (not surprising, who wants to admit that they have failed as a parent?)
We also spent quite a lengthy amount of time on false allegations (being accused of  sexual or physical abuse by your charge).  I personally feel that we spent too much time on this as false allegations happen very infrequently.  I think that if you use your common sense and not put yourself into situations that could be misinterpreted, you should be just fine.  The example they used in class was of a man being asked by his 10 year-old foster daughter to apply cream to her genitals.  Well DUH! Tell her to put it on herself!  The dumbass actually did apply the cream, according to CAS, and the girl reported him. Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, people. Just reporting the facts.
We also talked about areas to explore and ask questions about before placement or possible adoption:
  • physical and emotional health of the child (Do you want to raise a child with cystic fibrosis? or the child of a schizophrenic?)
  • abuse / neglect and placement history
  • attachment with birth parents, other family members, significant others (Are you ready to meet with the birth family every Christmas and birthday? To comfort and support a grieving 3 year old who has been taken away from his Mommy?)
  • Legal status, service or permanent plan
Definitely lots to think about.  We are also encouraged to ask for a complete prenatal, social, medical and family history of the child before we commit.  This makes total sense.
In my last entry, I talked about the importance of lifebooks. There are additional “gifts” to give to your child:
  • Pictures of the biological family. Even if a child has spent barely any time with their bio family, they will eventually be curious about their tummy-mummies and Dads.  The social worker can approach the birth family to obtain pictures.  It is vitally important to honour and respect that birth family.
  • Goodbye Visit.  The goodbye visit happens when a child is placed permanently with another family.  If possible, you should try to arrange a video of the “goodbye” visit. Just thinking about this makes me cry!
  • Gotcha Day.  In addition to birthdays, a family can celebrate the day that a child came into the home.
We finished our training by looking forward to the potluck panel in March.  Adoptive and foster parents, adult adoptees, social workers, birth families and medical workers will all be presenting on this evening. I am certain that I will have a lot to share after that session.
I will close with a rather cheesy poem that the trainers shared with us and a reminder to always look for the common bond… the one thing that unites you, that you share.  This can go miles in uniting children and parents.
The poem, We Pray for Children, is by Ina Hughs.



















We pray for children who sneak popsicles before supper,
who erase holes in math workbooks, who can never find their shoes.










And we pray for those who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire,
who can’t bound down the street in a new pair of sneakers,
who never “counted potatoes,”
who are born in places where we wouldn’t be caught dead,
who never go to the circus, who live in an x-rated world.










We pray for children who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,
Who sleep with the cat and bury goldfish,
Who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money,
Who squeeze toothpaste all over the sink,
Who slurp their soup.










And we pray for those who never get dessert,
who have no safe blanket to drag behind them,
who watch their parents watch them die,
who can’t find any bread to steal,
who don’t have any rooms to clean up,
whose pictures aren’t on anybody’s dresser, whose monsters are real.










We pray for children who spend all their allowance before Tuesday,
who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
who like ghost stories,
who shove dirty clothes under the bed,
and never rinse out the tub,
who get visits from the tooth fairy,
who don’t like to be kissed in front of the carpool,
who squirm in church or temple and scream in the phone,
whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry.










And we pray for those whose nightmares come in the daytime,
who will eat anything,
who have never seen a dentist,
who aren’t spoiled by anybody,
who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep, who live and move but have no being.










We pray for children who want to be carried
and for those who must,
for those we never give up on
and for those who don’t get a second chance.
For those we smother…
and for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind enough to offer it.
We pray for children, Amen.
______________________________________________________________
I find that these words put a lot into perspective.

Life Books and Time-Ins: Strengthening Family Relationships and Discipline

In adoption, foster care, fostering on February 3, 2011 at 9:24 AM
I have an old green photo album of my Mom’s that is full of black and white photos, most of which were taken in the 60′s.  The majority of the pictures are of my Mom and my Dad before they had kids. There are pictures of them at the beach, on a picnic, and hanging out at the side of the road smooching.  One of my favourite pictures in the album is the one of “Barf” – my Dad’s funny car.  I didn’t know my parents at this stage in their lives, having not yet been conceived; however, I loved looking at this book when I was a child.  I pored over the pictures and never seemed to tire of this activity.  The pictures fascinated me.
In training this week, we talked about the importance of creating and maintaining “life books”.  Life books are full of photos, clippings and other memorabilia that chronicle a child’s early years and provide glimpses into their history.  Anne, one of the social workers conducting the session, gave us an example of the value of a life book.  One of Anne’s charges was Tim, a young man who had been in and out of jail. On more than one occasion, he had asked Anne to photocopy his life book and send it to him in jail.  The book was obviously important to him – it showed him that he mattered.
Life books are usually started by foster parents.  We’re encouraged to take a lot of photos to add to our child’s book.  It is imperative that a child knows his/her background even if part of that history may have been only three weeks spent at a particular foster home.  They don’t want any holes. Apparently, even Venus (our very fat and ancient feline) merits a photo in the book!
Discipline also came up in training this week. We had to respond to statements about spanking, such as:
  • Sometime they just deserve it.
  • I was spanked and I didn’t turn out so badly.
This drove me crazy! I hated this activity.  ”Tell me how you really feel, Christine”.
I HATED IT.
For CAS, spanking is taboo. They will not tolerate ANY spanking or physical punishment. We are on the same page.  So how are you supposed to discipline kids? Hello, time-outs and time-ins.  For those of you more familiar with the much-reviled time-out, a time-in is basically the same thing except you are in close proximity to the child who is having a time-in. For children with attachment issues, the time-in is more effective. The child is not being “sent away” for punishment. They can sit in their naughty spot on the stair, or on the chair, and you can park it right beside them.
I’m not a big fan of discipline, so I’m not going to say much more about it, except that time-outs really do work in my house. Here’s a typical example of me giving one of the kids a time-out and this is exactly what I say:
“One, Gwen. That’s inappropriate behaviour”.  brief pause.  Gwen usually ignores me here.
“Two, Gwen. You need to stop sticking your tongue out at me”.  brief pause.  The behaviour usually stops because Gwen DOES NOT want a time-out.
“Three, Gwen. That’s a time-out. Go sit on the stairs.” I set a timer for a few minutes and Gwen sits on the stairs. I don’t interact with Gwen during the time-out and if the behaviour escalates (e.g. kicking, tantrums etc, I threaten her with extra minutes on the timer).
At the end of the time-out, I ask her why she had a time-out and if she can’t / won’t tell me, I tell her that she has to go back on the stair until she knows. Believe me, she ALWAYS knows why she had the time-out, I think she just despises telling me the reason for it.
Next week is our last Saturday of training! Hurrah!

Some Tears

In adoption, foster care, fostering, Uncategorized on January 21, 2011 at 9:21 AM
Where to begin?  This week’s training was difficult to hear and process.  The topics were Attachment and Loss.  Both tearjerkers.  I would like to thank K and Q for presenting disturbing facts and information in a compassionate way.
We learned that children in care experience many losses:
  • biological family and foster family (from being moved around from home to home)
  • loss of friends and community (schools are frequently changed)
  • loss of belongings (the cops aren’t looking for a child’s favourite stuffy at 3 a.m.)
  • loss of sense of security and self.
All very sad outcomes for a small person.
There is good news though.  Most kids do attach to their parents, even if they’ve been treated like dogs.  This means that they will be able to experience future attachments. More good news:  if a child has a positive mentor (e.g. teacher, foster parent, neighbour, coach or parent of a friend), this person will make a huge difference in the child’s life.   Children with mentors will be much more resilient.  This is heartening.
We watched a brief video – Annie’s Story – about a child who had been verbally, physically and sexually abused. It was painful to watch and listen to and it made me cry.  I think that I actually felt myself shutting down a bit while it played.  It’s only a video, it’s only a video… Sadly, many of the horrific situations that we hear about in training are not fictitious.  The staff gave us many examples of the kinds of kids who end up in care and what they have had to endure.  I think that I’ll end this paragraph on a positive, albeit still disturbing, note:  only 7% of children in care are there because of sexual abuse.  I thought that statistic would be much higher.
I think it’s important to remember that children in care are there for a reason – they have been removed from parents and caregivers who cannot give them appropriate care. And it’s not enough just to feed, clothe and shelter a child.  Children need love and affection.  Remember the wire monkeys from Psych 101?
I am going to foster a child for all the “Annies” and wire monkeys out there.

First Training Completed.

In adoption, foster care, fostering on January 11, 2011 at 10:05 AM
On Saturday morning, my parents took the kids so that Richard and I could attend our first P.R.I.D.E. (Pre-service Training for Prospective Resource Families) session from 9-4 pm.  We arrived at Children’s Aid to find approximately twenty other people waiting for the training to begin.  Donuts and coffee were served and the trainers introduced themselves.  M is a social worker and Z is a foster parent, and has been for many years.
The Overview of Training is:
  1. Connection with Pride – describes skills resource parents (us) need to fulfill; legislation that governs foster care
  2. Teamwork Toward Permanence – Family Relationships. How families promote permanence for children
  3. Attachment
  4. Loss – separation from family and issues arising
  5. Strengthening Family Relationships
  6. Meeting Developmental Needs: Principles of Discipline
  7. Continuing Family Relationships
  8. Planning for Change – impact of foster care on family
  9. Taking PRIDE – Making an Informed Decision. Applicants will hear from a panel of experienced members of the child’s team. Foster and adoptive parents, biological parents, workers, adoptees etc.
We got some preliminary info on Child Welfare practice, the history of adoption in Ontario, the Child and Family Services Act, care  in London and some statistics.  I wish that I had written some of the stats down; what I can recall is that 71 children were adopted in London in the past three years.
I also learned that Children’s Aid will do all that they can to return children in foster care to their bio families, once the families have taken the steps to ensure that the children will be safe and secure in the home. That means that CA will help parents access detox programs, parenting classes, therapy etc.  Good news for children.
They will also remove children immediately from any home that is deemed unsafe.  Also good news.
I didn’t realize that we will get paid to be foster parents. The going rate is $950.oo + per month for one child in care. There are also additional monies for birthdays, Christmas, graduation etc. This seems like a lot of money to me!  The money is tax-free (!) and you can have up to four children living in your home. Once you have adopted a child, you are assuming responsibility for the child and as such, you are no longer remunerated. I still can’t believe that they pay this much to foster parents! I told two people about the money and they both said: “that’s why people do it – for the money”. It made me think.
We have our next training session this Saturday and there is some homework to do: A questionnaire about our hopes and dreams and some questions about our expectations.
I am still very excited; the training made me even more aware that we are actually going to have a new child come into our home!
In my last entry, I noted that I didn’t believe that the social worker had to use our washroom and that she was actually just wanting to check us out. My suspicions proved correct. She told me that we needed to store ALL of our medications in a locked box. I said “we don’t have any meds”, to which she replied, “Any?”.  I thought for a moment and said: “you saw the inhaler, didn’t you?” She responded in the negative, but since that was the only medication that we have, she must have noticed it (it was visible through the glass in a cabinet).  She said that our assigned social worker will ask to see our “locked box” and if we can’t produce it, we won’t be approved.

Hello world!

In adoption, foster care, fostering, Uncategorized on December 11, 2010 at 10:25 PM
My husband and I have decided to add to our family and we thought our friends and family might enjoy hearing about our journey into foster care.  A friend of mine who is on sabbatical in Victoria, BC for a year suggested that I write a blog about our experiences. Initially, I pooh-poohed the idea but as an aspiring writer, I have decided to go for it!
I am a 41 yrs. young sahm and very p.t. librarian. My husband is a secondary school teacher in London, ON. We have two children: Nathaniel 7, and Gwen 5.  They are VERY excited about a potential sibling:  ”When do we get the baby?”, “Will it be a boy or a girl”, “Where will it sleep?”.
On the Monday that Gwen and I met with our social worker, A, for the first time, Nathaniel was upset that he would be at school and unable to attend the meeting. When we picked him up, he asked: “So… what are our options?”. I thought that this was a hilarious question from a seven-year old.
A was a pleasant, chatty woman who was armed with a sheaf of paper and full of good information. There was A LOT of paperwork to fill out. We needed to obtain police checks, had to provide a monthly breakdown of our budget (e.g. food, clothing, insurance, utilities, mortgage payments, vehicle upkeep, gas, – basically anything you can think of!), answer questions about our upbringing (Were you spanked as a child? How would you characterize your relationship with your mother? Are you estranged from your siblings? etc. Very up close and personal) and obtain several character references. We also had to provide detailed information on our finances, our health, and our insurance policies. In short, C.A.S. is very thorough. And so they should be.
A poked around our house a bit and also asked to use the washroom.  It is my opinion that she didn’t have to “go”, but was surreptitiously checking it out.
I mailed in our application package, last Friday and now we will have to sign up for Foster/Adoptive Parent P.R.I.D.E. (Parent Resources for Information, Development and Education) Training.  There are 9 classes that we must attend and each is 3 hours in length. I like that they serve coffee, tea and a light meal.  Yup, I’m all about the food.  There is also a potluck at the end of the training!

April 20, 2013

Bread and Varmints!

Adventures in bread making, part two and meet the varmint.

I am remaking the quinoa honey bread using a different recipe that requires more rising and 5 minutes less kneading.  RB really liked the taste of the last loaf, and so I thought I might try it again.  In case you don't already know, I bitched in my last post about a lovely-looking loaf with an oozy centre - ick!  RB makes pancakes for the kids every weekend and he has been known to produce a gooey pancake once in a while.  I think he feels for me.    

I just finished mixing up the yeast, letting it proof and I now have a "homogeneous mass" or "sponge" that needs to rest for two hours.  After 30 minutes of sitting, I felt the sponge through the plastic wrap and it's quite warm, almost hot really.  I love the chemical reaction - it makes me feel like a scientist!

I am about to take the Nathanimal to speech therapy and the dough should be finished rising when I return.

%%%%%%%%%%%%


Two hours later... damn, damn, DAMN!  I have another problem.  The dough looks almost the same as it did when I left, despite the heat under the saran.

Stupid me.  I boiled the water for the yeast instead of using warm tap water.  I thought that this might speed up the activation of the yeast; however, I just read that hot water damages the yeast.  Lesson learned:  hot water should not be used to proof yeast.  I decided to bake it as I am a sucker for punishment.

before baking - see that pancakey loaf at the top?



Post-baking.  They don't really look much different, just a little shinier due to the egg glaze.  
Stupid bread; stupid me.  Why didn't I just follow the recipe?  The bread was heavy and dull.  No sparkle in these loaves.

I was so peeved that I had to make some more bread PRONTO.  The recipe is from Alexandra's Kitchen and is touted as the "best easiest bread you will ever make".

Here's my yeast and water mixture in WARM (I've learned something!), not hot water.




foam and bubbles equal success!

I baked the bread for the required 40 minutes and guess what... it turned out!  RB says it's his favourite (not hard - thus far I've produced raw, overcooked, and unleavened - not a great track record).

The bread was edible and tasty... but I was not impressed.  This is what you get from a "quick" no-knead recipe.  I am returning to the basics in a few days - meaning that I will be kneading.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

On to new bread today, the 20th of April.  It snowed last night and I am not happy with Mother Nature.  My tulips need sun and heat, not frost!  Brouwer is brewing up some beer and so I thought it seemed like a good day for baking.  Here's my recipe:



My friend, Katherine, lent me her bread-making bible:  Great Bread Every Time by Marilyn Barbe.  I made two substitutions:   I used melted butter instead of shortening and honey instead of molasses.  Not really the best idea for me as I am a novice baker but what the hell.

Here it is right before I whisked it into the oven:


It is currently baking...  30 mins. at 400 degrees... we'll see what I end up with.

*****************

The moment of truth.  Here's the bread!!!



We slathered it in butter and indulged.  The bread was DELICIOUS!!!!  I will definitely be making this again.

####################

And the moment you've all been waiting for... meet the newest member of our family - Zoomy.  Zoomy was found by my husband in our basement last night, after his mater was annihilated by two of our traps (the mother was a real trooper - she got caught in one trap and must have dragged it over to the second trap for another snack).  RB showed Gwen the baby mouse and she couldn't resist him so we have "adopted" him.  He likes red licorice, cashews, raisins, milk and homemade bread (hee hee).




Zoomy and Gwen
I'm not sure why he's called Zoomy as he's the slowest mouse I've ever seen.  I told the kids that they should spell his name Zumi, to lend themselves and him some cred, but they didn't buy it.

Gwen carries him around constantly; I told her that she's going to love him to death*.  Z's home is a big plastic bin with a small plastic toy dog, some food and drink and shredded newspaper.  Oh and Z has a fur bed.

Seems like good living to me - the early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese**.



*postscript - Z died two days after I took the picture. Poor little mouse.  The children were devastated.  We had a proper mouse funeral:  nine guests, kind words, a quiet burial, flowers on the mound, tea and cookies post-service.  Z was laid to rest in a purple silk lined blackberry box.  RIP Zoomy.

**quote attributed to Willie Nelson

April 11, 2013

Let There Be Work, Bread, Water and Salt For All

So saith Nelson Mandela.  I am picky about my bread - it must be super-fresh and squishy, it must be delicious and it should also be somewhat healthful.  I guess this makes me a bread snob.  I am also cheap.  I don't want to pay $5 for a loaf of bread and I certainly do not want to pay $8 for a loaf of quinoa honey at the local organic bakery.  I have decided to begin baking my own bread, and as I have recently sold the much-touted "BMW of bread machines" on Kijiji, I will be making it like a peasant woman - using my hands and a wooden spoon.

My mil gifted the bread machine to me about ten years ago. I only used it three or four times.  The first time I attempted to use it, the bread was decent.  Not great, but good.  I didn't like that I had to yank out a plastic stake of some sort which had been baked into the loaf.  The hole it left was unsightly.    I also didn't like that the loaf was square; it looked sort of fake and machine-made, which it most definitely was.  I wouldn't be fooling anyone with this loaf.  I also wasn't fond of the super-crusty exterior.  The breadmaker was not for me.  I like handmade loaves, loaves that are imperfect and rustic.

The second time I used the breadmaker was on a Christmas Day.  I baked a brick; my yeast must have expired.  We tossed the loaf around the kitchen like a football.

The third time using the machine was not the charm.  I baked bread.  I consumed bread. I wasn't impressed with bread.  I decided that the bread machine and I should break up.  Our relationship was stale; I kneaded something new, nyuk, nyuk.  I haven't baked much bread since.

On the weekend, I ate at a restaurant cum bakery and was impressed with my roasted turkey, alfafa, lettuce and tomato sandwich on buckwheat.  The bread was fresh, dark and delicious and I decided that I was going to make my own bread THAT EVENING, as I certainly wasn't about to fork out $7 for a loaf to go.

Last night, I attempted to recreate the quinoa honey bread that we sampled at the bakery.  Their version is gluten-free and since I am not going GF, EVER, I used regular whole wheat and unbleached white flour.

Here it is, fresh from the oven:




Dudnit look good?  Can you smell it?  Friends, that loaf looked delectable.  The crack was incredible... but would it be edible?

I love me some rhymes.

I let it cool in the pan for 15 minutes and I turned it out (and it actually came out intact!!~!!).  I cut into the bread, smeared on lots of butter and took a bite ---

I was amazed.  Had I really made this?  Yum!!  I turned the loaf cut side down on the cutting board and went to bed, excited to try some toast with butter and sour cherry jam in the morning.  Note:  I read somewhere online that if you want to keep your bread fresh, just place the loaf facedown on a wooden board.  It actually works!  Try it.

8 hours later - 6:45am.  I went into the kitchen and asked RB if he liked his toast.

"It's raw inside".

"WHAT?"

"Sorry, honey. It's raw".

**&^$%!

He was right.  I knew that we should have let the bread cool completely before cutting into it.  I also rather stupidly took the bread out of the oven 10 minutes early because it "looked" done.  Duh.  Oh well, 1/3 of the loaf was edible (the ends) and that tasted terrific and so I've learned a lesson - the hard way - DOH!

I mean, DOUGH!

Today, I am going to attempt to bake bread in my Le Creuset, recipe courtesy of the Pioneer Woman.  Here's her picture of the "Pastor's Bread", which is full of fresh herbs:


Doesn't that look delish? I am going to leave out the herbs because I don't want the kids to see green flecks and scream.

I'm off to grocery for some yeast, pronto!

**********************

Just finished mixing and kneading and now the bread is rising under a damp tea towel.  I was somewhat addled by the instruction to knead until the bread "windowpanes" but I think I eventually got there.  Windowpane:  pull off a small chunk of dough and stretch gently to see whether it's translucent; this should be done without the dough breaking.  Who knew?

Here's what it looked like shortly before it "windowpaned":

The word this picture makes me think of is "gluey"


It isn't very pretty; I'm not a food stylist.  Next step - let it rise for 1-4 hrs.  I've set the timer for 2.

*******************

Here it is after rising and in the pot:

Not as pretty as Pioneer Woman's, but still looking respectable.  See the X in it?

One hour later and this is what appeared in my pot:



Now that is a crusty loaf.

This is how much butter I put on my bread.  I'm gonna give the Heart and Stroke people cardiac arrest!

Butter it up, baby!

Okay, so the moment of truth... I would give this bread 8.3 out of 10.  It was fresh and tasty, looked fantastic but the crust was a bit on the crunchy side, truth be told.  Don't get me wrong, it's better than anything Wonder or Dempster's makes, and it could probably be sold in a bakery and people would be happy, but I am going to try something new in a couple of days.  This is not the loaf for me.  I do like the idea of cooking it in the Dutch oven, perhaps I'll try this recipe in a loaf pan.

I feel like I'm ending on a downer note.  This is a great "starter" loaf, but I am looking for something more complex.  Stay tuned for more adventures in bread.

Right now my husband is telling me to "go put the children away" (his words) because he's "up to his arms in wet".  Doesn't he sound sweet?  We had a minor water issue in our basement this evening which is ANNOYING.  I guess I will put the kids to bread.  G'night.

Pioneer Woman's Bread Recipe

April 10, 2013

Midnight Blue

Here's my entry for a recent Canada Writes Challenge The Song That Changed Your Life:


Blue

My Dad, a new bachelor wearing still-stiff cowboy boots, purchased the album from Woolco. We drove home in his Stingray, ripped off the cellophane and put it on the record player. We listened wordlessly.   I was 10; he was 38. Our fixation wasn't healthy.  Midnight Blue was our world.

One day my Dad came home with a new girlfriend.  Her name was Lynn and I thought she was beautiful.  She made us peanut butter Rice Krispie squares and brewed iced tea in a plastic pitcher outside on the grass.  She was vivacious and warm and she actually listened when I spoke.  

Lynn moved in with us and we still played Louise Tucker but less frequently. We made chili, skied, camped, played Scrabble.  After school one afternoon, I found a stash of empty Silent Sam bottles in the linen closet, stuffed in with the bedsheets. I was confused.

When Lynn moved out, I was devastated. My Mom had moved to New Jersey the previous year and I was still reeling from that. I loved Lynn, but she wasn't coming back.  Life went on.  We went to school, worked, grew. My Dad got a new girlfriend – Debi.  Debi didn't know how to spell her name and her designer jeans were too tight.  I thought she looked a bit like Louise Tucker - they both had the same big brown hair.

One rainy day, I was rifling through our records. Thumbing past Lynyrd Skynyrd and the Alan Parsons Project, I paused when I saw the familiar blue cover. 




It had been ages. I asked my Dad if I could put it on and his face crumpled and he looked weird.  He didn't want to listen; I could tell. We played it and it wasn't the same. The room was stale and cheerless; something was missing. I thought of Lynn and I realized that music conveys what you want or need it to. A song can change a person, it can echo a moment in time – ecstasy, devastation, loss. 

“Midnight blue,
Those treasured thoughts of you.
Gone now and forever
Please, let the music play.”

In Grade 10, I heard Scott Smith playing Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata on the piano in the music room.  I was hearing Midnight Blue all over again and I was overcome. I thought about the power of love, the power of loss and how some things, like songs, are owned by certain moments in your life. I think about Lynn, Louise, Debi and my Dad, but most of all I think about how a ten-year-old girl learned about love.










March 22, 2013

Tomatoes, Knitting and Service Dogs - What do They Have in Common?

I visited a blog called Dining Room Empire recently and saw a picture of what I initially thought was Veal Parmigiana with a huge amount of melted cheese.  It looked scrumptious.

Here, I have deliberately posted a small picture of said dish, so you can be confused too.  (If you click on it, you can get a larger view).

I am masquerading as veal.


As it turns out, the "veal" was actually poached eggs on brown toast drizzled in tomato sauce, or as Tony Soprano calls it, "gravy".  I am not a fan of a quivery, gelatinous poached egg, but this dish looked good.  I wasn't about to poach eggs or make veal parmi, but I did want to know the secrets of the simplest butter tomato sauce that the writer extolled.  I clicked.  So glad that I did.  I love an easy sauce and I have a few that are in heavy rotation on Bruce Street, which I will share in the latter part of this post.

But.

This butter tomato sauce is RIDICULOUSLY easy and RIDICULOUSLY delicious. I have been eating it for most of the week.  Tomatoes, onions and butter - how can you go wrong? I know it seems kind of boring and it only has four ingredients (I'm usually wary of recipes with only a few ingredients), but it is an amazing sauce. Trust me!

You will need:
  • a large can of diced / crushed tomatoes with the juice
  • a biggish onion, chopped
  • 1/3 cup of butter
  • 1 tsp of salt
Put all the ingredients in a saucepan over medium heat and bring to bubble.  Lower heat to simmer, and stir every 15 mins.  Sauce is done when butter has separated from tomatoes and sauce has thickened - around an hour.  That it must be served with a giant mound of freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano or Grana Padano goes without saying. 

I added a chopped red pepper to my sauce's ingredients because I had one in the fridge that I needed to use.  The sauce was VERY tasty.

Here is the plate of leftover sauce and spagettini that I just ingested.  I am thinking of becoming a food stylist.  It doesn't look like there is THAT MUCH cheese on the gravy; however, that is because I do a sneaky little thing where I hide the cheese under the gravy so that it's all melty and gooey.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

That last sentence really needed its own full line of mmm's.
Oh and my apologies to the gluten-free crowd for my forbidden food porn.

eat me!


My other go-to pasta sauce recipe is this one:

Take a 9 by 13 baking dish and dump in some fresh tomatoes (any kind will do - plum/ grape/ heirloom/ Kumatoes or a mixture of all the preceding and if some of them are from the reduced rack - even better!).  Throwins (as many or as few as you like):  a pkg of sliced mushrooms; a bunch of cloves of peeled garlic; leeks or shallots.  Add generous amounts of olive oil and a little balsamic vinegar.  Salt and pepper to taste and a spoonful of sugar.  Roast in a 425 degree oven for around an hour.  You can puree the sauce or just dump it on pasta. Don't forget the parmi!  Duh just realized that I forgot the basil - very important! Fresh if you can get it, if not don't despair, dry will do.  

Here's the link to the original Tomato Butter Sauce .

****************

And now, what all the knitters have been waiting for... if you're not a knitter and don't give a shiz about knitting and knitters in general, scroll down a few paragraphs.

What the hell is this thing anyhow?


Wait... is that a UFO?  ha ha.

Okay, I'm kidding.  The UFO is a skirt that I am making for my daughter - The Lanesplitter Skirt. You can find it on Ravelry.   I realize that this is hardly the knitter's dream that you came here for.  What I actually want to share with you is the knitting podcast that I found when I googled "knitting and podcast".  How awesome is it that Brenda Dayne has been recording a knitting podcast since 2005 and that it's still running?  I am so EXCITED to listen to the 120+ episodes before I catch up; I am in fact elated!

Here is the link to Brenda's marvelous CAST ON.  Knitters rejoice!

Oh and here, thanks to the marvels of technology, is the finished skirt (which I finished two weeks after I wrote this post):



My family is participating in the National Service Dogs Egg Hunt for Dogs on Good Friday.  This fantastic event helps children and adults living with autism and special needs. If you would like to sponsor Team Django, you can click right here:  Team Django! 

Here we are, in all our Christmas glory.  We will NOT be dressed like this at the Egg Hunt!  I am thinking rubber boots will be de rigeur.

This pictures makes me a little ill because we look so good.  If I didn't actually belong to this family, I might hate us.   What you don't see - Nathaniel HATING that bowtie and refusal to wear it until I threatened permanent grounding from Minecraft / Mindcrap, Richard's wet hair that looks greasy, Gwen's burned ear from hair straightening (not my idea) and my pot belly (sucked in by fierce constriction of abdominals and support hose).   Oh and the dog smells. 
Last but not least, the fierce hunter who will be sniffing out eggs like they're truffles:

Djing-Djang, the wild poodle.


Okay so remember, you're gonna sponsor us right?  C'mon even five bucks helps!  And remember all those times I sponsored you, people?  Yeah, that's right, I sponsor you whenever you ask!  NO ONE pays me to write this crap, but I KNOW you read it... and all I am asking for is a little love for the dogs, kids and special needs folks (heh heh, I laughed after I read that. oh I am good at pouring on the guilt!). Seriously though, I would be so happy if you sponsored me.  I sponsored myself $50!

Here's that easy-peasy link to Team Django, clickety-click, Barba trick :




Thank you, friends.  Doei! (pronounced "dooey"; it's Dutch for goodbye and needs to be yelled in a high, singsong voice, so saith me). 




March 11, 2013

Women in Aviation, Amelia Earhart Style

Yowzers.  I am one LUCKY lady.  Let me rephrase that... we are one fortunate family!

Last week, a friend of mine sent me some information about Women of Aviation Worldwide Week.  I visited their website and read this:

Individuals and organizations come together and open the gates of airports for girls and women during Women Of Aviation Worldwide Week (March 4-10, 2013).

Mission:  To foster diversity in aviation by celebrating history, raising awareness, and shaping the future of aviation.  

And most importantly, the opportunity to fly in a small aircraft for FREE!  What a fantastic thing!

I emailed the Chatham-Kent Municipal Airport and made a reservation for Gwen.  She couldn't wait and neither could I.  Only five other girls had signed up. I was thrilled for her!  The last (and only) time I flew in a small plane was when I was twenty and while it was memorable, it was not at all enjoyable.  I had been treeplanting in the bush near Timmins when I got a call telling me that my Dad had been killed in an accident.  Someone had made arrangements for me to fly on a four-seater to the nearest airport and I was completely hysterical the entire flight, sobbing like mad, the tears never-ending.  It must have been hard for the pilots.  I did not look out the window and enjoy the scenery; I did not relish my small aircraft experience.  I felt like my heart had broken.  

BUT.  This flight experience that Gwen was about to have would be totally different: she was going to fly with a friend - a joyous experience!  My friend Maria and her daughter, Maya, were accompanying us, along with RB and Nathanimal.  We drove the 55 minutes to the airport, which is west of London near Blenheim, and were delighted to see two more friends when we arrived.  There were four flights ahead of us, at 10-15 minutes per trip, and they had been delayed due to the clouds (flights were supposed to begin at 12:30pm and we arrived at 1:45pm).  About fifteen minutes after we arrived, the go-ahead was given and the first plane taxied down the runway and took off into the sunshine.  

Glorious!



The airport staff were friendly and welcoming - in a word - amazing. They had paper airplanes, stickers, markers, cookies and juiceboxes for the kids.  Thank you, Marion!  The lounge wasn't busy and we happily waited in the small and tidy room, chatting and laughing.  We heard lots of stories from an "old-timer" about the cool clients that had flown in to the airport in their private jets (Jack Nicklaus being one of them). We also heard about the amazing Classic Cars in Blenheim, whose owner is local and often flies into the airport.  From their website:

RM Auctions is the global leader in the collector car auction industry. Our specialized services include auctions, restoration, appraisals, collection advice, private treaties, and estate sales. We offer the world´s finest cars to the most discerning collectors from around the globe.
Our business has been fuelled by a love of cars and a passion for producing results since 1976. To date, hundreds of million-dollar-plus automobiles have been sold at our catalogue auctions, which average a 95% sell-through rate. 

Check out their website and the link below, if you like classic cars! The airport had a superthick, glossy catalogue of luxury automobiles and we were drooling.  Seriously.  Here is a link to an event that was held yesterday in Florida (March 9, 2013):  Amelia Island 2013 .  The cars are unbelievable.  (Read the rest of my blog entry first though!)

Soon enough, it was time for our flight.  Nathanimal (the hooligan) managed to go with Katherine and Emily as there was an empty seat on their plane.  Before he knew that he was going up, I told him that his name was "Nathaniella" and that he would have to dress up as a girl in a skirt and ballet shoes (it was Women of Aviation, after all!).  We laughed as we watched the look of horror on his face.  Here he is after he realized that I was kidding:



The Kinsmen-owned Cessna that we flew in:


Getting ready for take-off:



There he goes!



We went back into the lounge to lounge, and soon enough, Nathaniel was back:



Here he is posing with his flight certificate:


Next up, Gweenoo, who isn't excited at all.  If you click on the pic below, you can see a close-up of her face:



Here's a picture of the kids with our awesome pilot, Jeff.  That Jeff is a patient man goes without saying:



Unbeknownst to me, my sweet husband had arranged for an awesome surprise for me:



 I picked a good man!



The Thames, snaking through the countryside:



My sweet men:





Post-flight celebration:


Posing in front of a beautiful little plane that I coveted:


Excuse the puns but I am still "high" and "on cloud 9", from our flight.  What a truly fantastic experience - one that I will always remember.  



Links for your perusal:

http://www.womenofaviationweek.org/

RM Classic Car Auctions

March 08, 2013

Paper Routes and How the Pennysaver Turned Me Into a Kid Criminal

When I was a kid, I delivered the Welland Tribune.  I had some sweet customers on my route.  My faves were an older couple who gave me a goody of some kind (cookie, chocolates or candy) and a generous tip.  In the summer, I got a popsicle or a cold drink.  If they weren't home when I came to collect, they left the money and a treat in a baggy hanging from their door handle.

Today, my paper is delivered by a faceless man who creeps up to my mailbox under cover of the night.  I pay for my paper bi-yearly and I do it online.  I do not leave a treat for the paper man.

How things have changed.

In 1983, I would walk up Riverside Drive, meander across Maple to Wilton, then go up and down Oakville, ending at 210 Maple.  My favourite part of the route was along Riverside, a curvy road that hugged the banks of the Welland River - a brown and weedy waterway with an unpredictable current.  There were only a few houses that I delivered to on Riverside and one of them was always in arrears on collection day, but I loved walking by the river.  Equally exciting and terrifying was the monstrous Annex - the creepy, abandoned hospital where my Mother had been born in 1943.

I was able to see past the rock-shattered windows, garbage-strewn grounds and graffiti on the building's exterior.  I knew that it had been a beautiful building in its heyday.

While writing this, I did some googling and found a picture of the Annex in the Niagara Falls digital archives, dated 1927:



We lived about a 2-minute walk away.  The river runs directly behind the hospital, so it's not visible in this photograph.

If you're interested, you can see more pictures of Welland and the surrounding area at:  Welland, Ontario, Canada

Oh, the memories:  throwing eggs at cars and people while hiding in the forest adjacent to the Annex, sneaking into the hospital and throwing things down the elevator shaft, throwing rocks to dislodge the remaining shards of glass in the windows, throwing things in the river, being hit in the head by a stone thrown by Janice Seko and being rushed to the other hospital for stitches... good times.  Seems to me that we did a lot of throwing. I blame my brother for all of it.

The BEST was when we found the money.  We were adventuring on the banks of the river and I spied some foreign money on the ground that looked a bit like this:


That is a LOT of 000's!  We were rich!

Then I noticed that there was more money scattered everywhere amidst the dead leaves and garbage.  We gathered it up like maniacs and filled an entire bag! (On the subject of illicit finds, I also found a big bag of pot at Crystal Beach a few years later but that's a story for another day).

We gave the money to my Dad, who was quite interested in our story (he made us take him to the spot we found it, presumably to look for more).  We had been quite fastidious with our money-grabbing (grubbing?), and none remained.  My Dad took the lire to the bank to get it exchanged.   He said that the cashier gave him $27 for it.  What?!  I thought we were millionaires! Harrumph.  Doesn't really matter as I never saw a penny of that money anyway.  He kept it all, the miser.  Grrrrrr.

I am feeling nostalgic...

But, let's get back to the subject at hand: paper routes.

This morning, I found this in my mailbox:


I showed it to Richard and the kids.  RB rolled his eyes and said:  "you know who's going to be doing that!".

Meaning us.

The same people who walk, feed and take care of the kids' dog.

RB said that there would be stacks of flyers delivered to our home - more than necessary! - and that we would have to assemble the flyers before delivery.  At this point, I began to laugh hysterically, so hard in fact, that I was a bit worried that I might choke on my coffee or snort it out of my nose. The family looked at me strangely, which made me laugh even harder.

Nathaniel seemed interested, until I recovered from my hysteria and told him about how his Uncle Ian and I had a flyer route when we were his age.  We delivered a scrappy publication called The Pennysaver.  My Mom must have known someone there because as soon as we expressed interest, we had the route.

Things were good for the first couple of weeks, the halcyon days.  By good, I mean that the papers were delivered.  There was complaining for sure, but it got done.

After a few weeks, the papers started to pile up in the mud room at the back of the house because our delivery grew more sporadic.  The stacks grew and grew, and threatened to topple over and it looked like we were hoarders.  My mother, who never ventured into the filthy mud room, was oblivious.

There was no recycling back then and so when you have STACKS and STACKS of undelivered flyers you have some choices to make. We weighed our options:

1) leave papers in mud room - NO!  Paper stacks were already HUGE, they were getting huger and Mom would catch on soon. Punishment was imminent.  

2) burn papers in back yard - NO!  We had been punished last year for setting fires in the park.  Ian set my new Levi's cords on fire, they burned, I burned and my butt burned when I got the wooden spoon for being an accomplice to the pyromaniac

3) throw out papers - NO!  See #1).  Too many to put in garbage without attracting attention

4) abandon papers behind old hospital and in river - Yes!  Old hospital was a perfect dumping ground. It was already trashy, it was near our house, it was on the "route" and no one would know.

Turns out someone did know.  The Pennysaver Police were on to us. They knew, after making phone calls to "random" homes on the route, that we were NOT delivering our papers.  My Mom got the phone call and informed us that we were fired.  We were grounded - again - but relieved that the hell of delivering the evil Pennysaver would be unleashed upon some other unknowing victim.

I did eventually get a "real" paper route when I was in Grade 6, my Pennysaver sins long forgotten by the newspaper establishment.  I miss my paper route and I am sad that my son will not know the joys of delivering a paper to happy neighbours.  RB is right about the Starmail flyer route - it will be a horror and there is not a snowball's chance in hell of Nathanimal delivering all those blasted flyers.

On the up side, I have decided that I am going to leave a treat for my newspaperman tomorrow.  I hope he likes it.




January 23, 2013

Django... Unchained: Stereotyping Black Men and Black Dogs.

Warning:  Swearing and insights into the mind of a paranoid and delusional woman ahead...

This is my dog.  His name is Django.  We selected the name Django because we like it - it sounds fun and springy - just like our dog.  I became familiar with the name Django after hearing the music of Django Reinhardt. 


 My husband, who is a Star Wars fan, is quick to point out that Boba Fett's dad is also called Django; however, Jango Fett spells his name without the D and therefore it is NOT the same name.



Quentin Tarantino's new film is called "Django Unchained."  It stars Jamie Foxx as the beleaguered Django, a slave who sets out to rescue his wife from a brutal plantation owner.  I saw this film and I loved (the non-violent and disturbing parts of) it.  Django kicks ass!

We have been hearing a lot of jokes about Quentin's Django and our Django.

The most recent comedy happened in the wake of a service call to our home.  We had been having trouble with our house alarm since my moronic neighbour deliberately severed our telephone line.  This evil act required a service call.  We thought the problem was fixed.

A week or so later, my neighbours on the other side of the house (the nice ones) set off our alarm accidentally when they came in to check on dear Djing-Djang.  I neglected to tell them that I had activated the alarm -oops! - and so it rang loudly and proudly for a prolonged period.  I don't think the nabes are scarred for life, but I am certain that they briefly loathed me.  When the alarm is tripped, the monitoring station is supposed to get a notification and then the Police are contacted.  The Police should then call to check out the situation.  This did not happen.  I know this because my call display indicated that no one called while we were out - no alarm company, no Police.  My neighbour told me that the alarm rang maniacally for a few minutes and eventually stopped.

What the hell am I paying for, I ask you?  I will stop this almost-rant right now and get back to the tale at hand.

After realizing that the alarm monitoring is bogus and/or there is something wrong with said alarm, I called the alarm folk and they sent out a second serviceperson to check it for us, and here is where my story proper begins.

The doorbell rang and Django barked.  I looked through the sidelight to see who was at the door.  I always check out the person before I open the door.  Once bitten, twice shy.

Black guy, black wool hat on sideways (bad boy style), baggy black leather jacket, big black jeans, and untied black workboots.  I could see the Homematix truck in the driveway and so I knew he was legit but still... in the future, could you look please try to look more presentable and respectable, Mr. Alarm Fix-it Man? Perhaps wear something that identifies you as a company employee, like a nametag?  I don't care if you are black or white - hat on sideways, baggy black coat, big black saggyass jeans and workboots not done up says BADASS to me.

Please keep in mind that I have capital "I" Issues with strange men in my house at the best of times.  This dude set off my inner alarm bells.  I really did NOT want to let him in the house.

Deep breath.  

I let him in and he seemed initially wary of my big black dog.

"Is he nice?"

Django, of course, went right up to him, tail wagging, and proceeded to lick him silly.  Repair dude seemed to enjoy this.  When I saw his reaction to Django, I calmed down slightly because he was smiling and jovial and he didn't seem much like an axe murderer.

Repair man still seemed a bit afraid of Django and I was still a bit afraid of him.  We chatted a bit and I felt compelled to say (after he said "nice dog"): "he's nice, if you're nice".  (what b.s! my dog wouldn't hurt a fly!)

Repair dude responded "I'm nice.  Can't you tell?" We laughed. ha ha ha.

I'm going to let you in on a secret, people.  In my experience, the nice ones aren't always nice and therefore I am somewhat wary of sugar sweet men.  In fact, two of the most heinous individuals that I have had the misfortune to interact with (one when I was 8 and one when I was 19) were both "nice" guys.  So that's why I am CAUTIOUS.

Repair dude proceeded to check the alarm pad and then asked me to accompany him to the BASEMENT to the control panel.

My internal alarm began to wail.

WEEEEE YOO, WEEEEE YOO, WEEEEE YOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I HATE basements, I am claustrophobic, I don't want to be down there with a strange man.  There's no exit, it's dark and the ceiling is low.

As I walked downstairs my internal dialogue started sputtering:

okay, breathe.  he's fine. he's gonna push me down the stairs.  where's the hammer? just in case.  i won't need the hammer. but where is it... there's the phone. okay, dog's here. he'll protect me. no he won't. he'll just lick him... jesus et cetera.

We found the panel and as repair dude was checking it out, the phone rang.  I answered it (we have an old rotary phone in our basement).  As I said hello, the line went dead, seriously.  My heart started to thump and I felt like I was in a horror movie.

the phone is dead, he did it, now I can't call for help...

"Why's the phone dead?"  (said hysterically by me)

"I disconnected it".

whaaaaaaaaaa?  ohmygod, ohmygod

"Why?"

lord help me lord help me

"I have to, to check this".

bad timing buddy.  why do you have to disconnect it while i'm on the phone? are you trying to scare me, you mofo?

A minute or so of silence, which feels like 10 minutes.  I have backed up and am watching him from afar, ready to spring for the stairs if I need to.

"Here.  I'm done. Phone's back up".

I check it, immediately, and I am relieved to hear a dial tone.  I breathe.  Deeply.

Time to go back upstairs. Yes!  He tells me that we have to set off the alarm and then let it ring for two minutes while he checks it again.  TWO MINUTES?????  IS HE CRAZY??

I set the alarm, wait a minute, then open the front door and close it again. At this point, the alarm system wants me to enter my code and so it begins to chirrup.  The chirping goes on for about thirty or forty seconds and I'm stressing out and this isn't even the real alarm!  It's just an annoying, low volume beeping.

Okay, get ready, here it comes.  

WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  


The neighbours are going to think that I am a psycho.  Oh wait, they already do.

Repair dude reaches into his tool bag and pulls out two weights.  They look like this (thank you Google images):




What are those for? he's going to hit me with them i know it.

"What are those for?" I try to sound casual but I am freaking out inside.

"They're to simulate breaking glass".

He brushes past me and walks into the office where he clangs them together in front of the large window (the alarm is supposedly sensitive enough to pick up on the sound of breaking glass - not sure that I believe this but whatever gets you through the night...).

The irony of a large black man who looks like a prowler pretending to break into my house is not lost on me.

He walks around to all of the windows on the main floor and does his thing with the weights,  this while the alarm continues to wail.

I cower in the office and wait for it to be over.

Two minutes later, he asks me to deactivate the alarm by entering my code.  I am happy to oblige.  That 2 minutes felt like an eternity.

quiet. it's quiet.  oh i love quiet.

He tells me that he's done and that everything is fine, it all works.  I thank him.  As he's about to leave, he turns around and asks me the dog's name again.

"It's Django".

"Django?" He smiles.    "Like the movie?"

"Yup." I smile back.  "We didn't name him after the movie though.  He's named after a gypsy guitarist - Django Reinhardt."

He laughs.

"That's funny, man.  And he's a big black dog!"

I laugh.  "It's only funny because he's a big black dog", I say to the big black man that is standing in my front hall.  We both smile and say goodbye and I am left thinking how funny it is that I've judged him and he's judged my dog and we've both learned something.