Thursday, April 24, 2014

Rerun with good reason! Cart Crashers Unite!

I'm re-running this post from 2011. Seraphinalina came back all these years later and added a comment. It's just so freaking funny I have to share. Payoff is at the end.

There is this one little thing that I really love to do. I love it so much I almost look forward to it. It is a little strange though. But I'm guessing if you read here you are getting used to the strange. Possibly you even expect it. You are no stranger to strange.

This might be a little more strange than the normal strange.

It might even be unhealthy. But I'm not exactly known for my consciousness on that subject. I eat cheetos and even go without sunscreen.

I love, I would even say I LIVE, to smash grocery carts.

Okay! I warned you!

I mean, the satisfaction I get from shoving that fucker across the lot to crash into the cart carrel, wow, I'm getting worked up just thinking about it.

There might be a chance I have a touch o' The Crazy myself.

I spend my time and my money in the store. I lope out to the parking lot with my kids jumping and whining, after having dragged them through the store jumping and whining and being demanding. I tell them to get in the car while I put our crap in the trunk and without fail there is an argument. I mean, what? the? hell? How do 2 such short people manage to fight with each other about something so fucking simple as getting in the damn car? Just get! in! the! car! There is nothing to talk about! Simple process, open door, sit your ass down, mouth closed! Squabbles always ensue and I want nothing more than to smash something.

(Though I have to admit, even when the kids are nowhere near me I still smash carts). (I must have leftover frustrations). (Keep your sassy comments to yourself there, lol!).

I slam the trunk of the car shut. There is minor satisfaction in that, however I drive a Pontiac. There is no heft to the trunk and so very little sense of release. In high school I drove my parents old 1970 Chevy Caprice. Now that's a car with some heft, a car that could sleep 6. You had to  put some muscle into pulling the doors closed or slamming the trunk. Anyway. I digressed.

So I drag my cart away from my car, having already scoped out the nearest return carrel. My pupils start to dilate and I can feel a surge of blood pressure rising. The corners of my mouth twitch but I try hard to resist smiling. I don't want all the other customers to see me. It would look weird.

(I resent places that have plastic shopping carts. You know who I am talking about *Target*).

Ideally I would find a carrel with several carts already in it. Empty ones are still noisy but less disruptive. There is no domino effect of watching the other carts scurry and lurch forward. I line that fucker up from about 5 feet back and tense my muscles with all the strength afforded to me by having a 6 year old child who still loves to be carried. Then BAM! I send that cart flying across the parking lot! SMASH! It bangs and crashes into the carts already returned and hurls them forward as well, the noise sounding like a repeating echo. Banging into the sides of the carrel, metal shrieking on metal. Yikes! People are startled and look over, surprised at all the noise I have made. Some even look disapproving. Oops, heh heh heh. My daughter Teena calls out from the car "Wow Mama! That was coooooooool"! I think so too. Ahhh.

Okay, I can't be the only one. Right?

Original post with comments is RIGHT HERE

Seraphinalina adds this:
I saw this film at a festival in Germany and thought of you. :)
KILLER KARTS is the link to the original but I *think* I also downloaded and copied it here... maybe...


Thursday, April 10, 2014

rad vs. cat

Most advice regarding pets and a child with Reactive Attachment Disorder revolves around one word- DON'T. Don't get a pet, don't ask the child to care for a pet and don't let pets near the child.

When Genea arrived, we had 3 cats and we were not an exception. I think probably the time I came closest to losing control of myself entirely, in a dangerous way, was when I caught her kicking one of them.  We maintained line- of- sight supervision and mostly the cats stayed as far away from her as they could.

Eventually years went by without incident, 2 of the cats died, and we got Bindi last month.

Very nervous, I introduced the girls to her. I gave them concise, explicit directions, first. She's upset and stressed right now. We will go in her room and both of you sit down. You sit still. You only talk softly. You keep yourself calm and you wait. Do nothing but sit. She is so scared right now that anything you do will freak her out and she might not come by you again. If she walks by you, you sit. Only if she rubs into you and I say it's okay can you touch her. When she walks away you let her go. Well, I tried to cover every possibility. As if.

Teena, not so much with the cooperating. Her impulses were greater than her control. She reached out a few times and Bindi stopped snaking by her. Later, she kept trying to entice Bindi to play until I gave up telling her to quit it, and let nature take its course. The course being a one way street to a slashed up hand.

Genea however, did everything I told her to do. The word 'magical' seems exaggerated but really, it fits. Bindi walked by her a few times, then rubbed on her knee. Genea asked and was okayed to pet her, gently and calmly. Several days of this, and it became clear that Bindi had a great preference for  Genea over the rest of us. She sits with Genea, or follows her around the house. Genea does her daily reading with Bindi after school- I mean, she sits there and reads a book out loud to Bindi, who now knows all about Junie B Jones. I can't even describe how cute that is!

She was horrified to hear Bindi's history. She was found as a pregnant stray, about 1 year old (sigh, teenage pregnancy). She had her babies and they were all adopted but Bindi sat for another year in a cage at the Humane Society. 

So Genea, she is just beside herself with this relationship. Shocked, stunned, amazed that what I told her to do worked. Like I told her the secrets to rocket science and she didn't believe it until she found herself on Mars eating jello. (Years ago she came home from school and announced her teacher said eating vegetables is healthy, so could I be sure to serve her some vegetables? omg I hadn't thought of that arggggggh ).  Every person she tells about our new cat, which is everyone in a 2 mile radius, gets to hear how schnockered she was to discover her Mama knew something and was right about it! Whooda thunk?

Here's where it affects the RAD. For years, Genea has had the most insincere tone interacting with little beings. Seeing her new baby cousin, she'd say "aww. Oh look. At. The cute ba- there's a squirrel  can I have a lollipop  you have to wash my clothes now", with the same tone as if she were saying " I gotta take out the trash". It made my internal organs cringe but honestly, I stopped noticing it ages ago. Just part of Genea, one of those things she is going to have to learn. But with Bindi, it's sincere. She sounds like she really does think Bindi is cute. It sounds natural, and that right there is amazing all by itself. 

Here's another effect on the RAD. I think Bindi got too close. Maybe too affectionate or too loving. She was laying on Genea's lap and maybe Genea got scared, anxious that something loved her and so for the first time in ages, Genea pea'd a little on herself. It was her go-to response for so long to push people away and I suspect it flared back up with Bindi.

I had hoped, and I was probably too optimistic (ha ha, no one has ever said that to me), I could say things like "stop shrieking like your eyebrows are on fire, you're scaring Bindi". Or maybe "Bindi gets nervous when you hurl things into the wall". This does not have any effect. At all. But the rest of it is awesome!

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

The New IEP

It's been a few years now, since Genea got her first IEP (Individualized Education Plan for special education) at school. The team met last week to discuss progress and updates. Genea will be going to middle school next year and I can assure you, I shuddered just typing those words.

The good news is- there's lots of good news! The point of the IEP was to give Genea a few extra little things that would help her get through her day.  It has been successful. Where she was falling the in the average- below average range, she is now average across the board! She is now equal with her classmates! In ALL her classes!

They adore her, the team at her grade school. In our meeting the room teacher,  special ed teacher,  OT and someone -else- I- forgot were there. They went on for 10 minutes about how generous she is, kind and helpful. And I agree. It can be odd sometimes, that characteristic of RAD where the child is charming and delightful to everyone outside the home. But I like to think that it's working for her and she's ultimately benefitting from it (certainly far better than having her home behavior at school!). I started to twitch a little when they commented on how happy she is all the time, but again, I like to hope the success and positive responses will carry over.

We discussed how much Genea dislikes writing. It's one area that has not improved. Out of curiosity, I asked if the issue was language processing or fine motor. So, do the words get stuck or jumbled before she can write them or is it that the message from brain to fingers doesn't go smoothly. Lots of hmmms, muttering and looking away. Seems no one had thought about that one. I didn't think it was a big ol' issue but I guess it was.

My instinct when everyone looks so uncomfortable is to 'make it nice'. I want to smile and say, that's ok! Don't worry about it! Then I feel like over talking, about all the aspects of her writing skills, all the things we do at home, etc. One thing I learned a few IEP's ago is to sit still and shut up. Silence takes over the room as everyone starts shuffling papers and examining specks of dust. Mmm hmmm.

The director calls in another teacher, who doesn't know about her writing either. It gets more uncomfortable.

They try to explain, and it was kind of funny watching them try to pass the buck but since most of the team was there, they couldn't exactly point fingers at themselves.

"Seems like the sort of thing we should work on," I finally say. I guess it doesn't matter what the origin of the issue is, but her writing is awful and yet she loves to tell stories. Somehow or another it doesn't get to the paper.

This year Genea's deliberate malfunction has been getting assignments in. She might do half, or none. She might write one thing in her planner for us to sign, then alter it on the bus. She has an aide that comes to her class at the end of the day to ensure she has her materials organized and packed up for home. Genea, my dear Genea, will then remove a few items. Maybe a book gets lost, or an important paper is missing.  However. With this level of assistance she has to actually put a specific effort into NOT bringing home what she needs. She has to TRY and it is obvious. So.

The team had come up with a reinforcement plan. If she got 3 of 5 days of assignments in she would get a reward. I listened intently, with eyebrows raised. They wanted to leave her an 'out' because everyone forgets stuff sometimes. Ummmmm, no. They are thinking of ordinary people. Genea has a superhuman memory. I said, if you give Genea 2 chances, I guarantee you she will miss 2 assignments every single week. My suggestion is zero chances.

I was then on the receiving end of the "I- can't -believe -this -parent- can -you" eyeballs being passed around. Argh. Discussions ensued. One teacher finally just asked Genea why she was not getting in her work. She turned red and said "I um, I just don't feel like doing it sometimes". Expressions changed abruptly to "omg- I- can't -believe -this -kid -can -you" and every one decided she would need to get her work in every day.

That was about it. She has some new goals to address writing. Most of everything else is aimed at her extreme hyper- vigilance. She sits in the back of the room so she can monitor everyone for safety while maintaining focus, things like that.

Other than my few little inputs, I try to let school deal with school. It's hard because I feel a compulsion to be involved and a gigantic guilt/shame for hanging back. We are so exceptionally lucky to have had wonderful teachers for Genea in a fantastic school. I think overall most people who teach are good at it (way better than I would be), but she has had some who are great!

Thursday, March 27, 2014

How to adopt from a disruption

Recently there was an article on Reuters discussing adopted children being "re-homed". The clearly not objective reporter described the multitude of ways adopted children go to new families, whether through disruption, dissolution, or unethical/illegal/dangerous methods.

The article was heavy on blame and snark towards adoptive parents. While the writer thoroughly described the hell children experience, she spent almost no time on legal ways to "re-home" a child.

Since we adopted Genea from a dissolution, I'm going to describe our process. We didn't know what we were doing or how to proceed but fortunately people around us did. While I know disruption is a super-hot topic I want to stress that whether doing such is acceptable is NOT the purpose of this post. Lots of places on the internet where you can argue your socks off on that issue. Go there if you want to judge.

Legally, a "disruption" is when parents decide to stop the adoption process before finalization. Typically the child has already been placed in the family home with the goal of adoption. Most states have a waiting period before an adoption is final and it's during this time that a disruption can happen. Courts are not involved. The child would be removed from the home by the placing agency and presumably go back into a waiting status.

"Dissolution" is the legal term used after a child's adoption has been finalized. All the hoops have been jumped through and all papers signed. The child is in the home, names have been changed, birth certificate altered. The adoptive parents end legal ties with the child, they terminate their parental rights.

 Many people, myself included, use the word "disruption" to describe both.

The couple who originally adopted Genea from Ukraine came to the clinic, where I worked, for a psychiatric evaluation and therapy. That's how we became aware of her. The parents made it known they were searching for another family. There is no law on how new parents find a child to adopt. Someone thought the original parents had to go to an agency first and the agency would evenly distribute Genea's information across their list of potential adopters where she met their criteria. That is one way to do it but not required. They could have advertised her on a Yahoo message board and it would not be a problem. We let ourselves be known as people who were interested and the parents agreed to select us as the new parents. This part did not involve any professionals or legal wrangling.

The Husband and I contacted an adoption agency we found in the phone book. Actually, we contacted a few but only one called us back so that's who got our money. It was on us to select and contract with an agency, but the caseworker worked with both families.

The original parents could have contacted the agency themselves and offered Genea for general re-adoption. However, our case worker told us they would not have accepted her because of Genea's intense medical needs. It seems an agency can pick and choose what clients they take based on the needs of the child, which surprised me.

At any rate, we signed a ton of papers and received several huge packets of information. For our purposes most of the information was hopelessly outdated. We started supervised visits with Genea while we began the paperwork.

The paperwork! Oh my unholy hell. First, we had to get approved as a foster home. That's how they do it in Wisconsin. That had to be official before she could move in. In the meantime, we proceeded with the adoption process as well. Much of it overlapped, background clearances, inspections, pet vaccinations etc. The agency did our Home Study which is my opinion is grossly more expensive than it should be. 3 or 4 one-hour long visits with the case worker where she asked tons of silly, irrelevant questions and then wrote up a lengthy report. Note that the worker told us outright much of the questions were designed to get US thinking about how we wanted to raise children. Whatever.

At the same time, we were doing short little visits with Genea at the clinic where I worked. A therapist watched on as The Husband, Teena and I tried to have fun with her while knowing someone was staring at us and judging every move. They extended the length of time and frequency over several weeks until we started some home visits. Those then progressed to over-night visits.

During the same period we were doing our Parent Education time. I think it was 16 hours. The agency had given us a form to follow and we did, only to find out it was the wrong form and guess what? Outdated. Ugh. I hit up Amazon and made my own reading list. We self-educated. We did not realize at the time the depth of this foreshadowing.

Moving right along, we had to hire a lawyer to manage all the court related stuff. I was told it is customary for the original parents to help financially and usually they will pay half of the lawyer fee since the lawyer will also work with them. However, it was stressed, the lawyer will not work FOR them. In our case, he met with them a few times to help prepare them for the questions at the termination hearing. When I suggested they could chip in with some other stuff, like agency costs, the caseworker said "it's not done that way".

(personally, once I found out the costs of all this stuff I thought they should pay for a lot more but it was definitely not that way)

After about 3 months-give or take a few weeks- Genea moved in with all her stuff for good. She was technically a foster child with us and the original parents still had all their rights. The agency was responsible for her though, and we had to go through them for doctors appointments, travel, etc. It was a strange time because the other parents could change their minds and so we were sort of at their mercy. They wanted phone calls and up dates and I was okay with that. However, the mom asked once for me to take Genea to the park to play and she would watch her from her car. I understood why she was asking, and I understood I was required to do it. But I said absolutely not. We are not a circus act and if you want to push this I will have her packed and waiting for you in the driveway, you can pick her up and take her back. She did not ask again but our little phone calls, which were already tense, took a turn for the worse.

(seriously, there was no way I was going to write this without a load of my personal opinions stuffed in the corners. I am not a journalist ethically required to be objective).

In the middle of all this, the previous adoptive grandparents decided to intervene. They hired their own attorney. It was never fully clear to me what they wanted. It seemed maybe to stop the proceedings? They suggested other relatives to adopt her, wanted to maintain contact with Genea but adopting her themselves was only vaguely mentioned. While there are no grandparent rights, somehow the adoption agency and our lawyer thought they should be "heard". That if we didn't "hear" them, it could cause problems later. We paid our lawyer to respond to their lawyer, and accepted a bizarre phone call from them. They were unable to change anything.

Genea was living with us full time for 3 months before the termination hearing happened. This is where the original parents have all their parental rights severed and it's as if their adoption never happened- legally that is. Whew it was rough! They both had to testify in front of a judge, describe their adoption process and why they felt they could not keep her. Our lawyer handled all the questioning. I don't recall if we were required to attend but we did so they could point us out as the new parents. In theory, the judge would be more likely to authorize the termination if she had another home to go to, because he could have denied it.  Genea then became a ward of the state and we continued as foster parents, supervised by the adoption agency.

Note that while we were foster parents, we were not paid any monthly rate. No clothing reimbursement or whatever else foster parents get in such small quantities. There is some law in this state (maybe others) that if you have a foster child who you are going to adopt you must then re-pay the state all the money received while fostering.

Up until this point, Genea had health insurance through the original parents. Only when they were terminated were we required to put her on our insurance. I'm sure someone knows how that all works, but it's not me. She was still a foster child with us, not legally "ours", but I put her on our insurance anyway and no one freaked out. Once we finalized, she became eligible for MA.

So that's about it! We had a six month wait- and- see period where she had to be living with us full time and then we were free to finalize. We went to the courthouse after the six months had passed to request the date and get it assigned to a judge. More paperwork. Then, we did it. And after aaaaaall that, soooooo much time and energy and paperwork and money and redundancies, the finalization hearing took all of 5 minutes.

Questions? Pleasant non-judgey comments?

Monday, March 17, 2014

Newbie in the house

I have to say, Boo Boo seems to love being an only cat. He has always had other cats in his life, and sadly for him, he has always been the lowest cat in the hierarchy. The one who got beat up, had his snackie treats stolen, and got knocked out of the good spot on the bed (between the pillows). Since Bailey died over the summer, he has reveled in his aloneness. He struts around with all the authority of a mountain lion. Then he goes back to sleep because after all, he is 17 years old.

(I know, I've used this pic before but it's so awesome. Plus, he hasn't changed any).

The rest of us however, have missed having other cats around. Boo Boo is great and all, but a cat who is only awake eleven minutes a day doesn't want to spend that precious time playing. Food to eat and litter boxes to miss. I think its good for kids to have pets to interact with. Boo Boo has been here since well before any kids and survived every single one of The Screaming Years. So even if he were more active, he still would not hang out with the noisy children.

Having decided it was time to bring in a new cat, I started looking around listings. We did not want a kitten- I mean, I looooove kittens but no way would Boo tolerate such a thing. I thought someone between 1 and 7 years old. Bat Cat died a few years ago at 16 and Bailey died over the summer at 15. Boo is surprisingly healthy but still at his age we gotta' assume he's near the end and we just can't take more cats passing in our near future.

I found a cat I thought looked nice online. The shelter was about a half hour away but meh- what the heck. I communicated with the staff by email several times, packed up a carrier and went to see her.

She seemed like a nice cat. Not that interested in me but excited to be out and playing with whatever rolled her way. I had already filled out the paperwork and let the staff know I wanted to take her.

Great! They said, just bring your kids and husband to meet her and then if that goes well you can come back and adopt her!

Screeeeeeeeeeech- huh? It's an hour drive round trip and this shelter is only open 5 days for 4-6 hours. My kids are involved in stuff as well so the next opportunity to get back there would be a few weeks! Not to mention, honestly, if my kids don't like her, tough shit. And if she doesn't like the kids, tough shit for them again. I had thought I could take her that day, but that's not how it works. Argh. Ok. Moving on.

I decided to try our local humane society. There were a few possibilities, one in particular was just gorgeous.

She was apparently a head- rub addict, and was pleading through her cage for a hand to just lay there to be rubbed across. She got scared when I opened her cage to take her out so I didn't. I went and asked the staff about her. She had been adopted before and returned. The reasons were because she did not always use the litter box and the owners reported she had mood swings.


So I moved on again.

I went to a big box pet supply store that gives space to local shelters to show cats waiting for homes. When I walked in the cat room I went to the first cage with a cat in it, but heard a little sound from the opposite corner. Someone was saying "hey you! don't look at that cat there, she'll claw your face off and start rumors about you but there's a beauty in the corner who is sweeter than ice cream!". Well, that seemed like a long speech considering I was the only 2- legger in the room so I went over. There was a jet black cat with a few white markings making the cutest little meeps at me and stretching her foot out the bars, waving hi.

The staff brought us to a visiting room where she proceeded to ignore me and sniff at stuff. I spent a good 45 minutes with her and she only grazed my knees. I had toys and dangly things and even snacky treats but she was just not interested. Meh, no problem. She didn't try to kill me either so that was good.

We had a winner! The staff started the paperwork and I did mine. The shelters run a background check to ensure you're not the kind of warped jerk who hurts animals. So, what do you think came up? That's right. That. She's looking though the listing and asks me awkwardly " Uh, do you know a Mr. Fuckta.....Mr. Fucktard Moron?

My blood chilled. Of all the shit. I try to explain briefly what was listed. That I took out a restraining order (not the other way around!!!) on behalf of my daughter but he had moved away several years ago and we had not seen him since and everyone was safe. Crap, she was still giving me the googlie side eye. I explained the whole thing. Then she was giving me the look of WTF ARE YOU SERIOUS. Yep. Background check passes.

So! She is 2 years old. She had babies about a year ago and they were all placed but she spent the next year in shelter, unadopted. Poor little thing! We tossed around a lot of names. We have a thing where we name our cats with a "B", so we had Banana, Bindi, Brooklyn, Beruca Salt,  and Brandy. We had just gotten mail from the vet addressed to Mr. Boo Lastname and thought that was hilariously hilarious. That caused us to toss around a few other choices that would make for fun mail and we came up with "Barackabama". Also fun would be watching my Dad's head blow off his neck and roll away ha ha. Ultimately we (I) decided that would be disrespectful. Bindi it is!

And she is the nicest little cat! She purrs super loud and with voice, she sounds like a pigeon. She loves to play with the kids who are so far reasonably behaved. In fact, we demanded they be supervised 1:1 with her until we could see they were respectful. Teena has been good but keeps trying to entice her when she's clearly worn out or sleeping. Genea however, has listened to everything. Genea has earned the right to be unsupervised and is so happy the smile is almost levitating off her face! She told her psych and my mom "I did everything Mama told me and now Bindi loves me so much"! Of course, the pink glitter icing on the cake is that Teena is still required to have an adult watch her.

Monday, March 10, 2014

The Stovepipe Winner

Dun dun DUNNNNN (drama music)

We drew a name from here:

That's a juniper Fiesta Ware mug
It's Teena's turn to pick, she is very excited.
She takes her job seriously and stirs up names with great concentration.
Ok Teena, my hair is getting old. 
She makes a selection!
The winner is.....
So! Please email me your address and I will send out your book right away. My email is....
For the sad folks who didn't win, I'm sorry. There are a few people who enter every time and have yet to win. However, if you want the book you can buy it right here The Stovepipe .  But hurry- as I'm writing this there are only 4 copies left!

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

The Stovepipe

If you have foster children, or "kids from hard places", The Stovepipe is a book that will give you insights you may not have considered.  Normally I like to give away review books, to sort of pay it forward but lemme tell ya', I wrestled with myself for several days this time.

The author, Bonnie Virag, was removed from the care of her mother at the age of four. Despite her young age, she vividly remembers and describes that day. Much time is spent in her head as she experiences confusion and sadness. The book takes us through life in various foster families, as she and her sisters grow up without roots.

The author is honest about circumstances in the various foster homes and doesn't point fingers or issue blame. She does not complain. Instead she openly describes, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions.

The story takes place in Canada during the 40's and 50's. I was surprised to find out Canada was so progressive with social services. Case workers seemed well intentioned, but are not able to uncover the reality the girls were surviving. Almost without exception, the families who take in the children want something from them and the neglect they experience is contemptible. Having each other though, makes all the difference in the world.

So! Please don't think it must be a depressing read! I was surprised at how un- unhappy the book is. For sure there are events that might make the reader feel angry or disgusted.  However, the book is a story, a complete and rounded story of good, horrible, and all the in- between.

The Stovepipe

In spite of what I want to do, I'm giving my copy of the book away. Just enter yourself by commenting and I'll have a drawing on Sunday. Did I mentioned the book is signed? It's even signed by the author!

Monday, February 10, 2014

Who woulda' thought?

If I were to place bets, I'm not the kind of person to go for the long shot. Not the obscure potentiality with the big payoff. I'm more the type who would go for slim margins with higher chances of winning. I like to win, but I also like to keep my money.

So I would never have bet that in two years, two separate children would manage to shut down the refrigerator two very different ways. Resulting in two problems-  big stink and big mess.

A couple summers ago, we were all off to visit the in-law Grandparents in New Mexico. We (I) decided that since we had a full week we should not impose our rowdy selves on the elderly for all that time. Most conscientiously of me, I thought it would be nice to go someplace fun first. Like Albuquerque. In July.  Regardless, the preparation and actual "vacation" were exhausting. The sort of "vacation" that boiled down to a shit ton more work for me plus all the usual stuff, just in a different location.

Prior to leaving, after weeks of work and preparation, we were shoring up the house. You know, locking all the windows, taking out the trash. I asked Genea to unplug the toaster. Why? Because my parents always unplugged the toaster. Why did they do it? I believe it goes back to the days when a single toaster could set a house ablaze. Although it seems to me electronic pluggie things have come a long way and it's actually pretty rare that a house goes up in flames over a modern UL listed appliance.

At any rate, Genea did what she was asked to do. Unfortunately, the toaster and the fridge share the same plug hole. Not knowing which was which, she pulled both plugs out.

Coming home after an 8 day vacation in JULY, entering the house was akin to an assault. The hairs in my nose quivered and tried to escape. I thought we must have left some trash around. The cats were boarded so we knew it wasn't them. Walking through the house, nostrils constricting and trying to cauterize themselves, the stench got stronger. Once in the kitchen though, where it was strongest, I couldn't locate the source. Logically, I grabbed some air spray and unloaded the can. Now it smelled like aerosol stuff and canned fruit. And funk.

We all crashed hard. The next morning, the stink still stank. Opened windows, put on fans and the funk remained. I went into the fridge for something and..... sweet mother of Xanax.... what the-... omg.

The atrocious smell is something I'll never forget. The fridge was bad, so bad. But the freezer? That's where nightmares are born. Lets just say I had no idea that meat could reproduce.

Weeks of cleaning, scrubbing, de-funk-ifying knocked it back but didn't kill it. It was a few months before one could breathe freely in the same room.

But, ya' know, these things happen. It was a lengthy ordeal requiring lots of carcinogenic chemicals to clean up. But after all, I could have left the freaking toaster alone or unplugged it myself. Of all things honestly, Genea will rarely mess with a food source and I know it was an accident.

Forwarding about 2 years, I noticed the other day that the freezer food had become mushy. Knowing our fridge can be finicky (it came with the house which was built in 1980), I reset the control at a higher number and went about my business. Later, Genea mentioned she thought it stank. I sort of ignored it, knowing I had a few packets of foil with mysterious contents in there. I was feeling sick that day and Teena was home from school and so we had drive through for dinner and I never went in the fridge again until the next day.

WHOOSH! The stench of Satan's bowels slapped me in the face and I recoiled. But..... how had this happened again? The coffin of evil was plugged in and I had just reset the freezer so.....

What's that? I squint and try to get close without causing olfactory damage. ARGH! Someone had turned the dial off in the fridge! WHY?

I knew there was one person likely to have done it. That person wasn't me. That person loves little things that twist and turn and thinks the universe was created solely for her exploration. Sigh.

Sure enough, Teena came home from school and immediately confessed. Not a care or worry in the world just- yes, she had turned the dial. But nothing happened! So it was ok! Besides, I'd never told her NOT to turn that dial!

ARGH. Maybe all the neurotoxic chemicals I used last time to clean it out had affected her brain because that was the lamest excuse I'd ever heard from her. I prefer, if my kids are going to lie or try to outsmart me, that they put some effort into it. No go. However, when she realized the magnitude of what she had done (melted her ice cream) she commenced to freaking out, twerking through the living room, writhing in grief for her loss. So sad. Really. Ahem.


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