I kissed a girl and it wasn’t terrible.

On Wednesday, Virginia’s social services board voted to allow same-sex couples to adopt.

It lost 7-2.

Let me back up here and explain something. In Virginia, only married couples or single people (regardless of sexual orientation) can adopt. So, by default, gay couples are excluded. However, single people who want to adopt for a variety of reasons can.

That’s fine.

What I don’t understand is why we don’t allow unmarried couples of any type to adopt? If a couple has been together for 15 years, but isn’t married because; a) they can’t or b) they just don’t want to, and decide they want a child, why can’t they adopt if they so choose? Just because two people are not married, doesn’t mean they are any less dedicated. The state acknowledges a single parent’s ability to raise a child alone, why do they refuse to deny an unmarried couples ability to do the same?

Okay, for the sake of argument let’s put out there that if you’re unmarried, it’s easier to separate regardless of if children are involved or not. I don’t agree with that, as most people wouldn’t, but I know that’s how many people look at it, so let’s just put it on the table.

This leads me to ask, why do we not allow same-sex marriage? Can someone give me one really good reason?

Other than the fact that “God said it’s an abomination,” because I just don’t believe that. I’m pretty sure God also said “judge not lest ye be judged,” but a lot of people seem to forget that part.

I really don’t think it will destroy how sacred marriage is, considering 50% of all marriages end in divorce and there will be an affair 80% of the time in all marriages. Along with those numbers and the fact that it’s nearly impossible to put a number domestic abuse because so many cases go unreported, it’s safe to say marriage is hardly sacred. Let’s not forget to point out that if two gay men or women are allowed to marry, IT WON’T EFFECT YOUR CURRENT MARITAL STATUS AT ALL.

As a straight, married, mother of two gay marriage doesn’t make an impact on my life at all, except…

Except for the fact that not allowing gay marriage can make an impact on my life in years to come.

Let me break it down for you.

One in ten people identify themselves as homosexual. My parents have 15 grandchildren. I don’t like the number 15, so let’s just say that each of my parents’ children have one more child in their lifetime, that is 20 grandchildren. That means that there would (statistically) be two gay children in my family. It could be any variety of them, but it doesn’t matter. If one of my nephews wants to marry his partner of 5 years, then I really hope he asks for my help planning it because I have some great ideas involving silver hot pants for the wedding party and a drag queen named Daphne as the officiant. Or if Caitlin and her transgendered partner decide they want to have a baby, but want to adopt, I will be there wearing the gaudiest “Proud Grandma” sweater I can possibly find.

The important thing, to me, is the fact that they should have the opportunity to tell me to tone down my pride and excitement. They can’t do that if they aren’t legally allowed to even have those celebrations without leaving the state they live in. And it does bother me because I want nothing more for them to all be happy and proud of who they are. If society is telling them they are wrong for one reason or another, that does effect me. It does piss me off.

It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to my marriage, but it does, potentially, make a difference to people who share the same blood as I do. I would rather any number of them be in a loving relationship with someone of the same-sex than to be hurt by infidelity or abuse, mentally, emotionally, or physically.

And that is something that is worth fighting for to me.

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Pet peeve

Wake up in the morning….

No, I’m not feeling like P. Diddy, which honestly, is nothing short of a tragedy.

But I am cranky as hell.

And to make matters worse?

There is that damn cup on the side table.

A cup of water that hasn’t been touched since 10 pm the night before.

The ice is melted, it’s nearly overflowing and it’s just sitting there.

Oh my god, that cup.

My husband is…

Oh, he is a lot of things. A lot of things; funny, incredibly sexy, (very) easily distracted. He is also a creature of habit, so although he doesn’t actually drink from it, he brings a cup of water with him to bed every. single. night.

And then, in the morning? He leaves it there. And in the mornings, I’m usually in too much of a rush of diaper changes and breakfast servings to think twice about it, so I leave it there as well. By 1030, when it has completely slipped my mind, Caitlin sneaks into the bedroom where she knows there is a cool glass of water, just sitting, waiting.

Before I know it, water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink. And why? Because it’s all over the bed. Or on the floor.

At that point I want to set the effing house on fire because I am so tired of dealing with these cups.

Those effing cups.

It’s been a while, so I figured I would do Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop for old times sake. Today’s post topic? A pet peeve that drives you crazy that probably shouldn’t. The cups probably shouldn’t make me want to suffocate my husband, but they so do.

I wouldn’t really suffocate him. But the cups still drive me crazy.


Normal or not?

I feel frustrated.

Frustrated and helpless.

Here we stand, 19 days before Caitlin’s second birthday, with a much smaller vocabulary than she should have by her age.

Fifty to seventy words?

Hah.

I can think of four that she uses every day. Momma, dada, baba (bottle) (for bedtime) and no.

Yes, we get the occasional, “I sorry”, “lobe ew”, “doggy”, “dude”, “please” and “ball”. But those words? Not an everyday occurrence. Mostly babbles. Lots of silence or just saying the same word (momma) over and over again. If I had to guess, I would say she probably says about 30 words.

We have no repeating body part names or singing easy song lyrics ringing in our home. We get humming and giggling, but little talking. It hurts my heart that I rarely hear her voice.

And then there is the eating issue.

Or the lack of eating issue, I should say.

Because she just plain doesn’t.

It’s a struggle.

Not an everyday, “every toddler” kind of issue.

She puts food in her mouth, chews it up, keeps it there sometimes for several minutes and then spits it out. It’s disgusting. It’s frustrating. It’s worrisome.

She loves baby food; purees, melt-able puffs and drops, anything that doesn’t require lots of chewing. If she needs to chew it, she will, but then spit it out.

I worry because she isn’t getting nutrients. I worry because I don’t want her to stop thriving. I worry because I feel there is something more than meets the eye.

I’m scared she is stunted. I’m scared there is nothing I can do. I’m scared I broke her.

I find myself thinking that it’s my fault. The days when life got too much to handle, the days when I was unhappy and angry all the time; did those do something to her? Permanent damage that no amount of love I lavish on her now will change?

I sit and research, offering possibilities that continually get shot down because her behavior is deemed “normal” by some.

I’m at a loss. I’m tired of feeling frustrated. I’m tired of feeling scared. I’m tired of hurting because my baby may have issues that I can’t control. I’m tired of knowing she is perfect, but knowing that with each passing day, there are people out there who are beginning to see her as less than that.

I feel overwhelmed. Under-supported. Often mocked. Always scared.

The play place

Saturday afternoon was my sister’s baby shower.

Since it was over by 430 or so, Chris and I decided to go to the mall to waste some time before heading home.

When we got there, we decided to let Caitlin play at the play park so she can get some excess energy from seeing her cousins out so bedtime would be simple enough. Usually, I don’t want her playing in those things on the weekends for the simple fact that it is sheer insanity, but Chris was with me and she was so good at the baby shower, so what the heck?

Now, I’m not a stickler for rules when they are made for my safety. But when they are made for my kids safety? Oh, you better damn believe we are following.

No shoes? Fine, even if her shoes are only pieces of fabric because she doesn’t wear hard soles.

Maximum height is 48″? Totally chill.

So, why is it that there was a 13-year-old girl wearing sneakers chasing another little girl around and telling other little kids that they can’t play in certain toys because she and her friend were?

What the fuck, parents?

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the only person in the world who finds this absolutely unnecessary. Maybe I’m the only person who wouldn’t let their 13-year-old become dictator of a young child’s play place.

She wasn’t playing with her young sister, she was playing with a little girl who she had met there. If she was playing calmly or whatever, it wouldn’t be a big deal, but the fact of the matter was she was running and collided, not once, but twice with my little girl. And neither times did she stop, apologize, or check if she was okay. She just kept plowing through the other toddlers.

What the fuck, parents?

Luckily for us, Caitlin is pretty indestructible when she is playing so she didn’t even notice. But to me, it’s rude and inconsiderate to the other parents and children there.

Am I alone here? Am I the only one who thinks that the rules are there for the safety of our kids and should be followed accordingly? I just don’t know, I feel like I may be. Or maybe just the only one in the area we live.

Klutz

My original idea for today’s post was what we did Saturday, which would intertwine with a part of my teenage years that I rarely speak of. A step inside a deep dark secret.

But after yesterday, that will definitely have to wait.

Yesterday morning was nothing spectacular. Caitlin woke up at 6 and Chris got her back down quickly. Kinley woke up at 730 and I tried for a half hour to get him back down to no avail, so I got up, angry with Chris because it was my turn to sleep in.

Grumble.

So I sat and played with Kinley until Caitlin woke up and then, around 1130, Chris did as well. Boring day. I was trying to be pissy, but it was difficult when Chris was being silly and funny. Ordered lunch to go, get it, bring it home and eat and put Caitlin down for a nap.

My sister went to the hospital last night to begin the induction process, so I am in charge of my two nieces and nephew until I don’t know when. We were unsure if my mom would be coming back to the house to stay or staying at the hospital with my sister, so we had planned a movie night for everybody with candy and pizza and popcorn and favorite sodas. We go to Target to get our supplies and some teething things for Kinley as well. The nights have been horrible, so we pick up a teething book, and a couple of teething rings, you know. The usual. We have to be back to my parents by 6 pm to pick up Baby Pat from his dad, so we hurry on our way and get home at 530.

We quickly begin to open packages of candy, separating treats, opening toys, etc. While Chris is creating their treat bucket, I take it upon myself to open the teething toys. Teething rings? Opened. Weird little vibrating twisty ball? Opened. Teething book? Hmm…well…all that it is, is a piece of card board attached to the actual teether by some zip ties. Hmm…I can’t rip the card board off, let me take a pair of scissors and cut the zip ties. I hate zip ties.

I dig through the kitchen until I am armed with a relatively heavy duty pair of scissors and begin to attempt to get the zip tie off. 540 pm, tragedy strikes. The scissors slipped and sliced my left index finger.

At first, there was little pain. Just an initial shock of “OH MY GOD I CUT MY FINGER” while jumping up and down and Chris asking if it was bleeding. I looked because I was unsure and, yes, it was. A lot. I run to the sink to start running it under water, but I second guess myself and wait until Chris walks over to look. Blood is getting everywhere. Chris, stricken with guilt that I got hurt (although it’s not his fault), announces he needs to take me to the hospital so I can get stitches and I nearly pass out from shock.

Fuck, this isn’t good because, as I mentioned, Baby Pat will be there in 15 minutes so we cannot leave yet. We ghetto rig the finger with some weird plastic gauze and electric tape and call my mom. No answer. Call my dad and explain the situation to him and he says he’ll try and get a hold of mom. Suddenly, I look at my finger and realize it’s turning purple. In his attempts to put pressure on it, he taped it too tight so we have to redo it with paper towels and electric tape, which the bleeding promptly starts seeping through and stains my hands red. He calls his parents to ask if they can take the two littles while I am getting looked at and I call my mom again. No answer again.

I start to panic and get angry and suddenly realize, I’m in a lot of pain. A lot more than I thought I was 10 minutes ago and I’m pissed because it’s an emergency and I can’t get a hold of anyone. Finally, the phone rings and it’s my mom. Chris tells her the situation while I add background commentary and he tells me to calm down and be quiet. That’s difficult when you feel like your finger needs to be amputated to end the pain. My mom questions (and doubts) the severity of the situation, which makes me even angrier. By the time Baby Pat arrives, I am about to Hulk Smash while Chris takes phone calls and gets kids in the car.

An hour later, I’m sitting in the waiting room of an empty ER/Urgent Care hidden away behind a Hooter’s, trying to not scream at the nurse wearing the Packer’s sweater to stop watching the fucking game and take care of the girl with the bleeding finger.

We finally get called back and the girls undo Chris’ handy work, clean it and inspect it. They won’t make the call on whether or not it needs stitches, they just make it bleed more. They leave and the doctor comes in and with seconds decides, yea, it’s gonna need stitches. Fuck. Me.

I’ll save you the gory details about how the meat of my finger looked like the brain of a small finger person falling out or how the Novocaine was incredible. At around 815, I walked out with a four stitches in my finger, prescription for Vicodin, and a bum left hand because it needs to be wrapped in a freaking finger sock at all times, except when I’m showering. And a lot more pain. Tons more freaking pain.

So my left hand is pretty much worthless and I have five kids today, two of which completely rely on me and shit in their pants. Imagine the awesomeness.

Also, please ignore the randomness of this. I’m in a lot of pain and can barely concentrate. And I can barely type so ignore typos please?

Pooped with poop

Quite frankly, I’m a person who can roll with whatever punches come my way. Something comes up and there is a change of plans? I can do that. Having to be creative financially or during gift giving season? I’m on it. I can handle it with ease and grace.

Except…

Well…

When it comes to my sleep.

As someone who doesn’t get nearly enough sleep as her body would like, when the little sleep I do get is interrupted for any variety of reasons I. Go. Off. I’m like a hibernating bear or a sleeping Rottweiler. You wouldn’t poke them to see if they wake up would you? No? Then don’t fucking touch me. If I am woken up and feel miserable, or even if you are making it difficult for me to fall asleep, you will be miserable too.

So, imagine my dismay when, the other night, Chris was snoring so loudly I couldn’t sleep. And I laid in bed for hours, trying to get comfortable in between he and the baby and wake him up to roll over. While Chris’ snoring is irritating and loud and keeps me awake at night, I’m used to it. I know what causes it (in the other night’s case, too much wine) and can usual get him awake long enough to roll over. But after 45 minutes of kicking him and yelling his name without so much as a “whhhhhhat?” I started getting pissed.

And then? It hit me. The smell..the very distinct smell of poop. But not baby or adult…but dog. I listened to see if I could hear Linux moving around the bathroom. Nothing. I tried to ignore it, thinking it was just gas, but as the minutes passed slowly, it became overpowering. I was forced out of my warm, comfortable bed at 2 in the morning.

As soon as my body left Kinley’s side, he was awake and upset, so I quickly looked into the bathroom to see if Linux had an accident (which is a super rarity); hoping it would be a small, quickly cleaned up mess. Nope, nothing. I almost went back into bed and stated that I would deal with it in the morning, but I knew I couldn’t sleep with the smell. If there is one thing that wake me up quicker than noise, it’s smells. So the pants were put back on and a sweater was thrown on and I grabbed Kinley to bring downstairs with me so he wouldn’t piss off Chris.

Downstairs we clomped as the smell was just being even more horrendous. Dread started washing over me. Oh. God. I put Kinley down, and headed over to the laundry room where Roxy sleeps. Dog crap was everywhere. She walked in it and proceeded to run to back door to go outside to get away from me. I. Was. Livid. But I had seen it, so I had to clean it, which I  did. Angrily, but I did it.

An hour later, it was picked up, washed, steam cleaned, Febreeze was sprayed throughout the house to get rid of any lingering smell and I was crawling back into bed with a still relatively awake Kinley. Ten minutes later, I could hear Caitlin rustling around and whining. Eff. I knew that would happen. Up again, pants on, sweater on, into her room to put her back to bed.

Another 15 minutes later, I was back into bed, arguing with Chris because I (intentionally) spoke loudly when I was getting dressed to take care of Caitlin and woke him up. And Kinley started to cry because, once again, I was out of bed, keeping Chris awake. Since I had already been up all night, I did not care. Not even joking, I was fuming.

Crawled into bed, angry at Chris, attempting to get Kinley to fall asleep I am suddenly struck down with the most awful stomach cramps I have ever had that didn’t result in either pushing a baby out or running to the bathroom. I laid in bed for what felt like hours thinking Chris had shanked me while I thought he was asleep, but then I remembered Chris wouldn’t murder me because I’ve threatened to haunt his ass until the day he died unless he let me parents find the body.

That’s neither here nor there, however.

The point is, I had such bad stomach cramps, I laid in bed silently sobbing from pain. Silently, because, when I am angry at Chris I don’t want him comforting me so I suck up pain and don’t let him know. If I didn’t wake up this morning to the loud banging Chris was creating for revenge, I would have been convinced I was going to die. Eventually I passed out, unsure of the time, only to be awoken, as I said, by Chris banging dressers unnecessarily.

Which woke Caitlin up as he was leaving. Which meant I had to wake up. Which pissed me off even more, because as I was, once again, putting my pants on and my sweater, I smelled the distinct smell of dog crap. I said a silent prayer of “Please let it be residual smell, please let it be residual smell,” got Caitlin and headed downstairs…

Opened the door to the laundry room…and was greeted by the most horrified scene ever. I took a picture of it and sent it to Chris as a big “FUCK YOU! THIS IS WHAT I’M DEALING WITH AND YOU’RE GOING TO BE AN ASS BECAUSE I’M CRANKY!?” gift, but I won’t share that with you. It. Was. Awful. OMG. AWFUL I TELL YOU! It looked as if Roxy had been murdered, and instead of bleeding blood, she bled poop. Oh so awful.

I was actually a loss of what to do, and had to sit down for a minute to gather up some thought of how to begin. All the while trying to make sure Caitlin didn’t come near.

Once it was all said and done, I had only gagged three times, used two rolls of paper towels, and steam cleaned the little room about four times. Now I have to wash some clothes and am completely dreading going in there. And dealing with Roxy because I’m terrified she is covered in shit (which she probably is). Not exactly the best thing to put me in a good mood to start the day.

As I mentioned of Twitter the day this all happened, the fact that both Chris and Roxy are still alive is a testament to my will power and I should be applauded. And possibly have gifts purchased for me.

In which I rant about insurance again

I have had it. Seriously, I’ve just had it. Yesterday was the final straw.

I’ve mentioned the troubles with my insurance company before. In the (not even full) year we’ve been with them they have lost faxes, called my husband a liar, lied about sending paperwork to the appropriate sectors to get claims fixed and so on. That is just the issues we’ve had on the phone with them. They also don’t cover shit.

They don’t cover the any of the cost of Chris’ Concerta, which is why he had to switch to Ritalin. And the insurance, as it turns out, doesn’t cover much of that one either. So he opted to stop taking it all together. And if you’re married to someone with adult-ADHD, you know how difficult it can be…I mean, you can only take being cut off mid-sentence to talk about something else so many times!

That’s a whole ‘nother story however. A story for when I’m about to divorce him.

So they don’t cover the medications we need to control his ADHD, okay. But they also don’t cover birth control for me so we don’t have another baby right now. And I don’t mean they don’t cover the Mirena, which is what I wanted, they don’t cover any birth control at all. And then? When I do end up pregnant, they only cover up to $1600 a year of any sort of office visits. Which we found out tonight.

We also found out that they do in fact cover the babies immunizations, which I thought they didn’t because I’m paying for them. Oh, they only cover the doest $150 of immunizations a year. Did you know that the  cost for the first year of immunizations is at least $620. Luckily for us, he was born mid-year, so only the ones we’re paying for already, oh and the ones he got down two weeks ago. And then the ones he’ll have in January. Sweet! After February we can get a small break on the one shot they’ll cover! And Caitlin doesn’t need anymore until March either! Awesome.

The greatest part about this shit insurance is how much we’re paying a month for it. Close to $500-if not more. I did the math. If there are no pregnancies or serious injuries that involve hospitalization, it’s cheaper for us to be self-pay patients. Only Caitlin and Kinley take regular visits and I have occasional visits regarding my back. Since we wouldn’t be paying for both the insurance and many of the appointments, we’d be saving.

Last month, I went to a new gynecologist about some pain I’ve been experiencing. Before I even made the appointment, I called the insurance company to make sure it would be covered. I didn’t need the stress of this not being covered added onto the already insurmountable stress of it going on in the first place. The woman from the insurance company LOOKED AT OUR ACCOUNT, looked at my name and told me “yes, it will be cover. Don’t worry.”

I went, I got checked out, and was put on a prescription that is supposed to help (it’s not) and told to come back in January. With everything going on with my grandparents, I hadn’t made the appointment yet, and opted to make it in January so I know a clear cut date that’s okay. They called a few days later saying that they didn’t find anything abnormal, and that was that.

Yesterday, I received a letter from the office. My heart dropped into my stomach. During my appointment, the nurse had told me if they found something serious, a letter would be sent. They called me and said everything was fine, so why a letter now??

I opened it…it was a bill. The appointment that I called to make sure would be covered? Well, it wasn’t covered. Frig.

So, I called them to figure out what the ominous message “According to your insurance policy, this service is not covered by your policy” meant. Oh goodie! Their phones were shut off for an hour for training purposes. How perfect.

When I finally did get a hold of them, that’s when I found out that they only cover $1600, which considering I’ve been pregnant almost the entire time, I’m out of appointment until February. So much for the follow-up in January. And so much for getting my back and neck checked out too.

So, from now until February, I can’t be seen by a doctor unless I’m admitted into the hospital if I don’t want to pay for it in full. That doesn’t sound awesome to me at all.

By the time I was off the phone with them and telling Chris about it, I was in full breakdown mode. Just sobbing and crying. I’m seriously at my wits end with this insurance company and I can’t take having to deal with this for how much longer (at least 8-ish months depending on whether he gets moved to another contract, gets put on full time at his employer, or finds a new job). I just do not understand how this freaking insurance company is beneficial to employers at all. I don’t united how they expect us to pay out the ass for “premium” service and get nothing.

So we need help. We need to find a decent ppo with individual plans that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg. For my sanity. Because seriously, SRC, an Aenta company, you suck ass. I hate you and the horse you road in on.

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