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Ink Quills: Don’t Wave Your Poo-Covered Bum So Hard

Please welcome Scurvy Platypus to the Ink Quills. I’m currently setting up the website so the posts will be here for now. If you’re interested in writing for the Ink Quills, contact me.

My wife says that my inner child is a 13 year old Japanese school-girl, trying desperately to get out. I grew up poor and all over the western side of the U.S.; the rest of my upbringing is messed up enough that you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I lived for the past 9 years in New Zealand, along with my wife of 20 years, 3 cats, and 2 newly adopted children. I suffer from depression, and a sense of humour that my wife informs me I’m too poor to call “eccentric”. My interests are geeky, nerdy, wordy, arty, and musical; for anything more, read my bio.

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Tonight is day five of my captivity; I hadn’t expected to ever be uttering such a phrase before [about poo-covered bums that is], but honestly that’s probably more a failure of imagination on my part than anything. And I’ve got quite the imagination. But, I guess maybe I should back up slightly and explain why I’m captive, and staring at a 3-year-old poo-butt being vigorously waved at me.

…You know, it turns out to be a little bit more difficult to start than I’d thought. The difficulty isn’t really starting, but trying to figure out where to start. Starting at the very beginning would cover some 40 years, a disturbing amount I don’t actually remember, and a whole lot of exposition that would bore the shit out of you.

So, I guess we’ll start in the middle, much like you’re at a cool party and while wandering by, you overhear some lunatic going on about who knows what and you stop to see if it’s an interesting train-wreck that’s happening or just some random ranting. And really, I view my writing much like a conversation; my hope is that someone will actually talk back to me at some point, so I quit being that lunatic talking to himself and instead become the much more socially acceptable lunatic that’s talking to others. Note: You can decide if “others” means other lunatics, or just other people; I’m generous in how I share my conversations and don’t insist on dominating the conversation at all. Unless I actually do and people are just too polite to tell me. I do ramble though, so be prepared for some non-linear conversations and thinking. I like to think of myself as a Salvador Dali of conversations.

At the beginning of April this year, my wife and I received news that we’d been waiting for over two years for… we were being considered as a home for kids. We’re from the U.S. but live in New Zealand as Permanent Residents. We haven’t been successful conceiving, and we’d both agreed that we weren’t willing to do something like IVF. So, we went to Child, Youth, and Family [NZ’s child services] to see what our options were. I’ll skip the details and just note that the way things are done here is really different from what I experienced as a foster-kid and the way the U.S. still does things; I feel like I got the Dark Ages treatment, only without the cool clothes. So, after two years of our lives effectively being on hold, out of the blue we’re told, “We’re considering you for placement and would like to interview you…”

They show up [three social workers], we talk, they show us pictures of a pair of brothers [ages 5 and 3] and they want to know if we’re still willing to take on more than one kid. As the eldest of three brothers that wound up getting split up, I was already committed to that.  A few days after the interview, they ring up and go “Everything seems fine, so we’d like to talk about how we transition the boys into your home. We’re thinking July; we’d rather do it sooner but with the end of the school year approaching, it’d make more sense to do it then. Plus, it’ll give a bit more time for the boys to adjust to the idea, since they’ve been with their current caregivers for a year now.”

First thought: Dude, are they really talking about giving me kids?!?!?
Second thought: Holy shit!! They’re talking about giving me kids!!!
Third thought: Oh shit…they’ve already been in foster care for a year with the same couple…
Fourth thought: I’m not gonna be able to say “shit” anymore. And Gretchin [not my wife’s actual name, but the name her dad called her when she was a kid] is going to have to figure out something to call me besides “asshat”.

We met the kids for the first time in May, a week before the older one turned six. They were living an hour and a half north of us, so each Saturday we’d drive up and spend the day with them. June, they started staying over the weekend with us. After three weekends, the kids were finally told that they were going to be coming to live with us as their “forever home”.

Five days ago, their social worker dropped them off with all of their baggage; that’d be the physical baggage. The emotional baggage is still arriving. It includes an intense sibling rivalry, fear of showers/baths, and attachment issues. Oh yeah, the birth parents are also still involved in the boy’s lives and they’ve got supervised visits with the separated parents every three weeks or so.

Today was the first day of school for the six-year-old [Dee] and since the social worker didn’t get the forms filled in for him [or the forms for kindergarten for the three-year old, Jay], I had to rush around to get him into his new class, get forms filled out and money paid, and then take Gretch to work; I’m taking leave from work right now, so we’ll be switching places come November. Other than the fact that she doesn’t drive, so I’ll still be doing all the transportation…

Weekend visits and a few days of everyone being together still does not prepare you for what I am confronting right now…two formed personalities that I barely know, cultural identities I’m still trying to sort out with adults [I thought baseball was boring until an NZer tried to share their love of cricket with me, which has less happening in it than baseball and can take days for a single game to complete], and a language [English] that I’m only mostly familiar with in comparison to my own [American] that’s filtered through the mouths and brains of children.

All of this is encapsulated by the naked crap-covered butt, currently being gleefully waved at me by an otherwise disgruntled three-year old. After loud protestations that he didn’t need his nappy changed, demands and tears for “grandma” [his previous caregiver] and a glare that could dominate the world if it were weaponised, we make it into the bathroom.

“Alright, assume the position…” Jay wears trainers instead of diapers; so ‘the position’ is hands on the bathtube and legs spread, as if I were a cop searching him; instead of needles and knives, I’ve got to worry about diaper blow-out.

“I dun need a new nappy!”Jay declares grimly, like a hostile teen. The smell, and I’d swear what was an orange mist wafting towards me, indicated otherwise.

“Right. Ok, first come down the pants, and…HOLY?!?…uhhhh…Ok, Houston, we have a problem. Let’s stand nice and quiet for a second while I figure this out buddy…”

“I made a yuck” he announces. His attitude has changed now, shit covered pants around his ankles. He sounds like someone admitting that he was in fact carrying drugs, after a cop finds the stash and shows him. Only nobody would be wanting to buy this particular smuggled package. “I wanna do it myself!!!”

“Yes, you certainly made a WHATAREYOUDOING?!?! FREEZE! Do NOT lift that leg any higher mister!” I’ve caught the offending limb in question and try to delicately extract it from the pants without disturbing the mass. It looks like someone has tried to inexpertly plaster over a wall crack, only featuring a butt instead of a wall and poo instead of plaster. I manage to do the deed and quickly drop the weapon into the rubbish bin outside, just a few steps from the bathroom.

I step back and am confronted by the sight of Jay, giggling like a lunatic and looking over his shoulder at me, as he gyrates and dances in place, hands still firmly gripping the side of the bathtub, and chants “Poo-bum! Poo-bum!” to the beat of whatever internal drummer that boy is marching to.

“Don’t wave your poo-covered bum so hard!!”I’m both amused and aghast.
“Why?” He seems genuinely curious.
“Uhhh….” Oh god, so many reasons…”Because it makes it more difficult to clean your bottom?”
“Ok!” Butt waving immediately recommences.

So now, it’s 02:30 in the morning as I write this and the kids will be awake around 06:00. I’ve got a needy cat trying to walk on my keyboard, a traumatised kitten eyeing me from the couch, and another cat that would like to smack the stupid out of everyone in the house, cat and human alike. It’s winter [Southern Hemisphere y’all, means opposite seasons], I’ve reluctantly concluded I’m probably not going to be able to drink the coffee I made myself this morning [the morning I got up, not in the last couple of hours], and my foot is still sore from the Lego I stepped on earlier.

Holy shit. I’ve got kids…and I am SO unprepared.

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Ink Quills

I had a group blog before but unfortunately, it didn’t work out as planned. Having a group blog was harder than I thought, with more work that I expected but I’m crazy enough to give it another try. I’m not looking for anything in particular, just people who love writing.

I can’t say this enough… if you love writing but don’t have a blog, please contact me. Even if you would only like to contribute once in a blue moon

I have a domain for Ink Quills but I thought I would start publishing the posts on this site to start off with for the first few months. Then I would post here and on the group site. I’d really like to put my Anonymous Parent section to use more as well. It’s for parents and others to really tell it like it is about anything and everything without the worry of people knowing who you are.

Ink Quills is still in the very early stages but I’d like to start posting in the next few months. Just know that I welcome all types of writing. Food, decorating, fashion, crafts, DIY, teaching, poetry, news, art work, photography, guest posts (for this blog and Ink Quills), short stories, humor, flash fiction, television show updates, travel, creative writing, music, book reviews, and anything else you can think of.

Basically, everything under the sun. I’m looking for about four-six people but that may change. Contact me at elle dot mommyhood at gmail dot come and please put Ink Quills in the subject line.

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Flash Fiction: Silence

Prompt: Start the first sentence with ‘The Silence Woke Her’.

Up to 100 words.

Give it a try in the comments.

The silence woke her. She sat up in bed and adjusted her eyes to the dark of the room. Right before she woke up, she had been dreaming of strong hands around her neck. She quickly turned on the bedside light to see that she was alone. But the dream seemed so real. She slowly got out of bed to go check the hall and turned on the light. All was clear. She laughed quietly at herself as she crawled back into her bed. After drifting back to sleep, it was the opening of the closet door that woke her. 

*James Bay

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I’m Not Really Sure What I’m Trying To Say Or If I Even Have A Point So, I Guess It’s Like Anything Else I Write On Here

Obviously, I haven’t been as dedicated to my blog in the last year as I was for the first 4 years. And I’ve been trying to figure out why because I really miss it. I’m still writing but not on here very often. But the other week it hit me. It’s self-doubt, among some other things.

Yes, I may sound like a whiny bitch but when I came across some things last summer about people doubting I was ever pregnant with my son that I lost last year or if I’m even a mom at all what the fuckity fuck?!, that just put a bad taste in my mouth when it comes to writing on my blog and over sharing. I just felt like “fuck this”. I know I’m way too sensitive but it’s hard to accept that there are people like that out there. If I read something I don’t like on a blog, I move on and don’t rip that person to shreds. Especially since there are a billion other blogs to read.

No, not everyone has to love me or what I write but damn, I openly share these things about myself because not only do I feel better when I’m so open… it’s kind of like therapy, I know what it feels like to think you’re the only person out there who’s going through depression, anxiety, the what the fucks of parenting and motherhood, and figuring out what the hell is up with this husband guy I live with and his never ending snoring and grinding of his teeth and lack of talking or talking too much when I have that special one night a year to enjoy The Oscars and the butthead talks all the way through the ceremony and I want to punch him in the balls. Really, hubby? Really? You rarely talk as it is but talk nonstop the one time of year when I’d prefer your usual silence??

So, yeah. I used to think my blog was a safe haven in a way but since last year, I worry about anything I may write and what may possibly be picked apart elsewhere.

But I know I should say fuck it. This type of thing comes along with the territory although knowing there’s a site out there specifically to rip apart women bloggers is unsettling.

The grief I’ve been experiencing more and more from the loss of Ben has also had such an effect on my desire to write. His first birthday would have been June 4th and the closer that date comes, the harder it is to get my ass out of bed and somehow function as best as I can.

We also recently found out that while we have one more year in Maine, the owners are coming back this summer and we have just a few months to find a house, pack, and move by July. And since my husband will be retiring from the Navy next summer, we then have to move again to what we hope will be our permanent home somewhere on the west coast.

I’ve logged into my blog many times to write about each of these things but since knowing that whatever I write may be put under a microscope by others and judged, it sucks. And to be blunt, it’s very hurtful.

But then I think there may still be those who actually read what I write because they like it. At least I hope they do. And that’s exactly who I should put my focus on.

It’s so true how you can have people say 10 positive things about you but it’s the one negative thing that will be what sticks out in your mind.

I need to stop thinking about those who will always have negative things to say or may hate read my blog.

I need to go back to writing the way I used to. Writing without having all of this self-doubt about how others will perceive it.

Fun little fact… I took an Ambien an hour ago so if this doesn’t make a smidgen of sense, there you go!

Comments { 8 }

Blog Love: Caitlin, etc., A Good Enough Mother, But Alas, I Digress, And The Simple Hive

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For Blog Love this time around, I wanted to hear from you and tell me about a site you have. Thank you Caitlin, Alison, and Sherry for sharing your blogs. I always love discovering new ones and sharing them with others. If you want some blog love, please don’t hesitate to let me know by emailing me at elle.mommyhood@gmail.com. Let me know the name of your blog and the link, a brief description, and if desired, links to some of your favorite posts that you’ve written. xoxo

Caitlin, etc.: I write about life, anxiety, and my many adventures with my husband, baby daughter and dog. I also touch on awkwardness, fear of social interaction, and the hobbies I somehow fit into life with a baby.

A Good Enough Mother: This is my mom blog, where I write about everything having to do with the screaming little demon that completely upended my life nigh on 8 months ago. I tend to focus on the harder stuff–postpartum depression, anxiety, terror, colic–but I try to touch on the happy, ooey gooey things sometimes too.

But Alas, I Digress:  I want more people to comment so I can go check out their blogs too! I talk about sewing and craft projects, recipes, and general life. It’s often a little sparse but I try to post at least every month.

The Simple Hive: I share ways in which we deal with homeschooling, multiple food allergies, an insane DIY addiction and the goal of living well, all without losing our minds. Sherry also has an Etsy shop: Simple Hive.

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Blog Love: Katkinslee, Life, Motherhood, And The Pursuit Of Happiness, And The Places You Will Go

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I’m still stuck with some plague from hell. I finally went to the doctor last week and found I have a raging sinus infection on top of a cold so I was prescribed antibiotics. But, I had a nasty reaction to them and was prescribed something different a few days ago. Blech. I am so over feeling like this. The hummingbird hasn’t been feeling very good… again. It seems like we keep passing this cold back and forth.

I never knew just how germy Kindergarten was until the little bird started school last month. I thought we were out of the woods now that she wasn’t in preschool anymore. Ha!

I wrote a little poem on my blog Facebook page about having a cold while having kids to care for. Ready? Ready!

Kill me. Kill me. Omfg, kill me now!

Just fucking kill me.

*bows*

I also decided to go back to school. Eeeek! My night classes started a few weeks ago. I’ve only been to 2 of the classes because of this crappy, crappy cold and sinus yuckiness. Here that? It’s me hyperventilating and panicking over all the studying and homework I need to catch up with. *deep breath* I’ll write more about that later.

In the mean time, here’s blog love for some lovely ladies.

KatkinsleeSTAY CALM!!Cats In Wigs, SURPRISE!!!!, and My Top 5 Most Annoying Book Characters. Twitter: Katkinslee

Life, Motherhood, And The Pursuit Of HappinessThe Great Pizza Meltdown Of 2014, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star… I Really Don’t Care What You Are, 25 Reasons Why I’m Not Cut Out For The Workforce, and An Ordinary Duck.

The Places You Will Go4 Year-olds, It Is Permanent, Maid Or Wife?, and Mother Vs Daughter.

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Blog Love: Rubber Shoes In Hell, Stay At Home Pundit, My Life Suckers, and Temerity Jane.

bloglove1Check out these great blogs and pass on the love!

Rubber Shoes In Hell: Emergency Bags And Leaky Data, Do NOT Touch My Boobs, and Unpleasant Sayings That Apply. Twitter: @RageMichelle

Stay At Home Pundit: A Manifesto On Fucking, Why I Think Transphobia Is Stupid, and Kirk Cameron Is A Bigot. Yeah, I Said It. Twitter: @AtHomePundit

My Life Suckers: Love her blog and Deva is also a contributor for What The Flicka?.: Real Mom Makeup Tutorial (freaking hilarious and relatable), Bedtime (“Timber” Mom Parody), Boob Torture Device AKA The Breast Pump, and The Big Poop Plane Delay. Twitter: @mylifesuckers

Temerity Jane: Love her tagline… It Is Way Better To Be Me Than To Be Someone Who Has To Deal With MeI’m Sorry I Blamed You, Purple Laces, CRAPMAGNET, and Please Don’t Sic Your Flight Attendants On Me And Parenty Rectangles. Twitter: @TemerityJane

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