It's FINALLY time for Last Chance Idol, and as I've been waiting for this opportunity for months, I'm completely over the moon with getting the chance to jump back into LJI in this, it's final full season.
I love how Gary celebrates his birthday weekend by inviting me back into being a regularly scheduled part of Idol again. Good choice, man, good choice.
I love how Gary celebrates his birthday weekend by inviting me back into being a regularly scheduled part of Idol again. Good choice, man, good choice.
Pinwheel whirling, twirling,
Merry-go-'round spinning,
We think we're winning,
Linking arms, one by one, until it all falls apart.
Again we start,
Learning it all by heart,
Not reacting's an art,
We link arms, one by one, then it all falls down.
And we go uptown,
Traipsing through the downtown,
Wild-goose chasing 'round town,
Arm in arm, one by one, when we all fall to ruin.
Merry-go-'round spinning,
We think we're winning,
Linking arms, one by one, until it all falls apart.
Again we start,
Learning it all by heart,
Not reacting's an art,
We link arms, one by one, then it all falls down.
And we go uptown,
Traipsing through the downtown,
Wild-goose chasing 'round town,
Arm in arm, one by one, when we all fall to ruin.
When I was growing up, we were barely scraping by. Though I didn't learn the phrase itself until I was a teen, my family was the embodiment of "use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without." New clothes were an extreme rarity, and new meant from the thrift store or hand-me-downs from friends or older cousins. New shoes were a necessity, but only once a year, and typically only two pair - one for church, and a pair of tennis shoes for school. Even now, at 28, it seems wrong and extremely indulgent to have more than one pair of every day shoes. For the first time in my life, I have three pairs of sandals. I splurged at a Payless sale, and justified it because I have no other non-broken down and holey pairs of shoes, and haven't for almost 9 months now. Besides, it's summer, and I've been overheating in my holey tennis shoes, so sandals only make sense, right?
For most of our K-12 years, my brother and I went to a private school. I'll let that sink in. This family, to whom "new" meant "new-to-us", that never went out to get a haircut, that automatically divided all food that came into the home into four equal parts because that's all we'd get, sent their kids to private school? Yes.
You see, my dad is big on investing, and taking the gamble. He did it with choosing my mom. He bet that his spacial reasoning, intuition, and common sense would combine with her ability to glean knowledge from books and excel academically and his kids would be intelligent. Thank God it didn't go the other way and neither of us ended up lacking on both fronts. Still, he never planned on her bipolar and the toll it would take on us all.
He took the risk in investing in our education, too. Every extra penny went to school costs. Each year, at the end of the school year, it was uncertain if we'd be able to afford to come back the next year. Tuition always went up, and we just had to keep tightening our belts. Sometimes there just wasn't enough, but somehow we always were able to make it work. One year my great-grandparents paid for our tuition. It would be our inheritance from them. With a good education, we could get into any college we wanted, to get even better educations, to get any jobs we wanted - an investment in the future. Once again, he never planned on me to get sick and have to drop out of college 3 weeks to graduation, or for DJ to decide his social life was more important and drop out after a year of college. It would take me 9 years to finish my BA, and DJ's still working on his.
When we started being able to afford a few more splurge items, my dad's company, Sealed Power, decided to start offering stock options and their matching program, it was a no-brainer - of course Dad would invest. In fact, we'd pull the belt tighter than ever and every year he would max out the limit of the matching program. Then, by the time I was ready for college, he'd be able to sell and help me pay my way, same for DJ. Even more so, if the stocks kept going up, like they had been the last year, Dad would have over half of a million dollars by the time he was old enough to retire in 15 years.
It wasn't long, just a few years before Dad had over $50,000 in stock. It kept growing and growing, but $50,000 was the last big number I firmly remember. And though the stocks kept going up, I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew it was time for him to sell, to get out.
But how to get your father, a man 30 years your senior, to listen to you about the stock market when you're barely a teen? Simply put, you don't. At least I had enough sense in my head not to get cocky and taunt him with an "I told you so." You see, he didn't lose it all at once. He lost more than half the first time I told him to sell, and he ignored me. But obviously anyone would be right half of the time on whether the stock market was going up or down on a given day. I was just a child. What did I know? He'd keep his money in and grow it up. "You see," he told me, "the stock market is like a roller coaster. You have to stay in for the long haul. You can't get off after the first hill, or you'll miss the whole ride where you end up on top!"
It was almost six months later, when he'd recouped about a third of his original losses, that I got that same sick feeling. I told him to get out again. I reminded him what had happened last time, but he would hear none of it. This was my future, he reminded me. Mine, and D.J.'s, and his and Mom's retirement. It had to grow. But instead he lost well over half this time. And the trend continued until he finally listened to me. If memory serves, he got less than 10% of his original investment back out.
This week my dad turned 57. It's been over a decade since his company was bought out by DANA Corp., which in turn was bought out by Mahle. It's been just under 10 years since Mahle shipped down to Mexico both his job and the machinery he'd worked on and fixed since he was 18. He should have been looking forward to early retirement, he was on track for it. When he got his permanent layoff from the company six years ago, he was about 6 months away from having enough seniority for early retirement. If he hadn't been laid off for a while when I was small and only received half-time seniority for that period of time, he would have gotten it. But life does what it does, and after a long time on unemployment, he's back on the job, still working 50, 60, 80+ hours a week, just to make ends meet.
There's no sense in mourning the past, but I do still wish that the stubborn old coot had listened to me. He's worked so very hard at multiple jobs, in the foundry pouring iron, pushing carts, fixing machinery, working on cars, hauling scrap, doing everything he could to keep us solvent in a world that has tried so hard to keep us down. But on this roller coaster of life, I think in the long run, he chose right. His investments are paying out. Maybe not in the ways he planned, but paying out nonetheless, for now we're stronger than we might have been, and moreover, we're happy. And those are things that money just can't buy.
For most of our K-12 years, my brother and I went to a private school. I'll let that sink in. This family, to whom "new" meant "new-to-us", that never went out to get a haircut, that automatically divided all food that came into the home into four equal parts because that's all we'd get, sent their kids to private school? Yes.
You see, my dad is big on investing, and taking the gamble. He did it with choosing my mom. He bet that his spacial reasoning, intuition, and common sense would combine with her ability to glean knowledge from books and excel academically and his kids would be intelligent. Thank God it didn't go the other way and neither of us ended up lacking on both fronts. Still, he never planned on her bipolar and the toll it would take on us all.
He took the risk in investing in our education, too. Every extra penny went to school costs. Each year, at the end of the school year, it was uncertain if we'd be able to afford to come back the next year. Tuition always went up, and we just had to keep tightening our belts. Sometimes there just wasn't enough, but somehow we always were able to make it work. One year my great-grandparents paid for our tuition. It would be our inheritance from them. With a good education, we could get into any college we wanted, to get even better educations, to get any jobs we wanted - an investment in the future. Once again, he never planned on me to get sick and have to drop out of college 3 weeks to graduation, or for DJ to decide his social life was more important and drop out after a year of college. It would take me 9 years to finish my BA, and DJ's still working on his.
When we started being able to afford a few more splurge items, my dad's company, Sealed Power, decided to start offering stock options and their matching program, it was a no-brainer - of course Dad would invest. In fact, we'd pull the belt tighter than ever and every year he would max out the limit of the matching program. Then, by the time I was ready for college, he'd be able to sell and help me pay my way, same for DJ. Even more so, if the stocks kept going up, like they had been the last year, Dad would have over half of a million dollars by the time he was old enough to retire in 15 years.
It wasn't long, just a few years before Dad had over $50,000 in stock. It kept growing and growing, but $50,000 was the last big number I firmly remember. And though the stocks kept going up, I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew it was time for him to sell, to get out.
But how to get your father, a man 30 years your senior, to listen to you about the stock market when you're barely a teen? Simply put, you don't. At least I had enough sense in my head not to get cocky and taunt him with an "I told you so." You see, he didn't lose it all at once. He lost more than half the first time I told him to sell, and he ignored me. But obviously anyone would be right half of the time on whether the stock market was going up or down on a given day. I was just a child. What did I know? He'd keep his money in and grow it up. "You see," he told me, "the stock market is like a roller coaster. You have to stay in for the long haul. You can't get off after the first hill, or you'll miss the whole ride where you end up on top!"
It was almost six months later, when he'd recouped about a third of his original losses, that I got that same sick feeling. I told him to get out again. I reminded him what had happened last time, but he would hear none of it. This was my future, he reminded me. Mine, and D.J.'s, and his and Mom's retirement. It had to grow. But instead he lost well over half this time. And the trend continued until he finally listened to me. If memory serves, he got less than 10% of his original investment back out.
This week my dad turned 57. It's been over a decade since his company was bought out by DANA Corp., which in turn was bought out by Mahle. It's been just under 10 years since Mahle shipped down to Mexico both his job and the machinery he'd worked on and fixed since he was 18. He should have been looking forward to early retirement, he was on track for it. When he got his permanent layoff from the company six years ago, he was about 6 months away from having enough seniority for early retirement. If he hadn't been laid off for a while when I was small and only received half-time seniority for that period of time, he would have gotten it. But life does what it does, and after a long time on unemployment, he's back on the job, still working 50, 60, 80+ hours a week, just to make ends meet.
There's no sense in mourning the past, but I do still wish that the stubborn old coot had listened to me. He's worked so very hard at multiple jobs, in the foundry pouring iron, pushing carts, fixing machinery, working on cars, hauling scrap, doing everything he could to keep us solvent in a world that has tried so hard to keep us down. But on this roller coaster of life, I think in the long run, he chose right. His investments are paying out. Maybe not in the ways he planned, but paying out nonetheless, for now we're stronger than we might have been, and moreover, we're happy. And those are things that money just can't buy.
While I'm sure they knew a thing or two about a thing or two, whoever said, "Nobody can ride your back if your back's not bent," either never spent much time with a 3-5 year old, or completely disregarded their climbing ability. As much as I love babysitting for James and Jackie, there were days when this human jungle gym was worn out sooner rather than later.
James' favorite activity, as always, is to climb up me until he has me "tackled" with his arms tight around my neck holding on while he is gently swung down into the couch cushions and tickled into defeat. Jackie joins in the tickling with gusto, but isn't quite adventurous enough yet, having just turned two, to mimic her five year old brother's wiry monkey climb.
After an hour of climbing, tickles, laughter, two potty breaks, and three accidental scratches to me from James, this babysitter is ready for a rest. Since it's almost 7:30, I send James off to pick out pjs and two books. Jackie and I head down to her bedroom to change diaper before getting her into a nightgown. She also picks out two books from her shelf, and we meet back up in the living room about five minutes later. James picks up the tv remote, and, with the seemingly inborn skill of a child of this current tech generation, got the fancy set-up and surround sound going, and the channel set to Sprout for one short show. While the kids watch, I get their evening snack ready and bring the green grapes and graham crackers into the living room along with their milk cups. James and Jackie sit on the floor at the coffee table and devour their snack while I sit back on the couch and enjoy the breather.
James finishes his snack first and joins me on the couch, snuggling close while we finish the show. Jackie abandons her grapes and brings her books and sippie cup up on the couch, too. When the credits start rolling, I send James to grab the remote he left under the table and his books. Jackie's turn to go first with a story tonight. I read them a story about a lost fairy and her search for a shoe, a lamp, and a button followed by James' favorite story about a red steam shovel, then came a battered copy of Disney's Cinderella from their mother's childhood, and finally we ended with a story about a farting dog.
We all head to Jackie's room first, and they brush their teeth in her bathroom. James uses the toilet while Jackie and I start the search for her blanket. With wet hands that he remembered to wash, but not dry, James comes running down the hall to the playroom with the blanket. He remembered that Jackie napped in Mommy and Daddy's room this afternoon, so he went to look there first. It's back to Jackie's room, and James and I tuck her in and make sure she has her nightlight and sound machine on. This weekend her crib is going to be converted to a toddler bed, so this is one of the last nights she'll be barred in. Monitor is on, and we say good night as I close the door behind me and James.
Down the hall to his Spiderman themed room we go, hand in hand until we reach James's doorway. He pulls away and does a running leap into bed, bouncing several times on the springy mattress before I toss his blanket over his head. Giggling, he pulls it off his head and settles down among his pillow while I tuck him in properly and give him a hug goodnight. He whispers in my ear before I pull away, and I wink as I tell him good night and remind him that I'll be in the living room, if he needs anything. I turn off James' light and close the door before padding back down the hallway.
In the living room, I pick up the plates with graham cracker crumbs and the rest of Jackie's grapes. I save the grapes in the fridge and put the plates in the dishwasher. A quick rinse for the milk cups and they join the plates. I wipe down the coffee table and wash my hands. I stretch as I head back to the couch with a book of my own. I'm going to be sore tomorrow, but James's words echo in my ears and make it all worthwhile.
"You're the best babysitter. I like it when you're here."
James' favorite activity, as always, is to climb up me until he has me "tackled" with his arms tight around my neck holding on while he is gently swung down into the couch cushions and tickled into defeat. Jackie joins in the tickling with gusto, but isn't quite adventurous enough yet, having just turned two, to mimic her five year old brother's wiry monkey climb.
After an hour of climbing, tickles, laughter, two potty breaks, and three accidental scratches to me from James, this babysitter is ready for a rest. Since it's almost 7:30, I send James off to pick out pjs and two books. Jackie and I head down to her bedroom to change diaper before getting her into a nightgown. She also picks out two books from her shelf, and we meet back up in the living room about five minutes later. James picks up the tv remote, and, with the seemingly inborn skill of a child of this current tech generation, got the fancy set-up and surround sound going, and the channel set to Sprout for one short show. While the kids watch, I get their evening snack ready and bring the green grapes and graham crackers into the living room along with their milk cups. James and Jackie sit on the floor at the coffee table and devour their snack while I sit back on the couch and enjoy the breather.
James finishes his snack first and joins me on the couch, snuggling close while we finish the show. Jackie abandons her grapes and brings her books and sippie cup up on the couch, too. When the credits start rolling, I send James to grab the remote he left under the table and his books. Jackie's turn to go first with a story tonight. I read them a story about a lost fairy and her search for a shoe, a lamp, and a button followed by James' favorite story about a red steam shovel, then came a battered copy of Disney's Cinderella from their mother's childhood, and finally we ended with a story about a farting dog.
We all head to Jackie's room first, and they brush their teeth in her bathroom. James uses the toilet while Jackie and I start the search for her blanket. With wet hands that he remembered to wash, but not dry, James comes running down the hall to the playroom with the blanket. He remembered that Jackie napped in Mommy and Daddy's room this afternoon, so he went to look there first. It's back to Jackie's room, and James and I tuck her in and make sure she has her nightlight and sound machine on. This weekend her crib is going to be converted to a toddler bed, so this is one of the last nights she'll be barred in. Monitor is on, and we say good night as I close the door behind me and James.
Down the hall to his Spiderman themed room we go, hand in hand until we reach James's doorway. He pulls away and does a running leap into bed, bouncing several times on the springy mattress before I toss his blanket over his head. Giggling, he pulls it off his head and settles down among his pillow while I tuck him in properly and give him a hug goodnight. He whispers in my ear before I pull away, and I wink as I tell him good night and remind him that I'll be in the living room, if he needs anything. I turn off James' light and close the door before padding back down the hallway.
In the living room, I pick up the plates with graham cracker crumbs and the rest of Jackie's grapes. I save the grapes in the fridge and put the plates in the dishwasher. A quick rinse for the milk cups and they join the plates. I wipe down the coffee table and wash my hands. I stretch as I head back to the couch with a book of my own. I'm going to be sore tomorrow, but James's words echo in my ears and make it all worthwhile.
"You're the best babysitter. I like it when you're here."
Though I was never good at playing most of them myself, I've always enjoyed watching others play video games. To me, they were a sort of interactive movie, and for my brother, D.J., I was an extra set of eyes for finding our mission or quest objectives and the person in charge of memorizing the map, including where the hidden worlds were located. I spent many hours of my childhood watching D.J. play various Final Fantasy, Crash Bandicoot, Zelda, Pokemon, and Mario incarnations. No longer a child, I look back at what those games taught me, and I come up with two major life lessons.
The first is that there is always another quest along the journey of your adventure, and after your adventure, there's always another one that will come along. Your adventure is many goals that sometimes come clustered together, and other times come one after another. Sometimes you get a break between them, and sometimes you don't. Life is a series of happenings, not just one goal and The End.
The second is that sometimes you do everything right and you think you've reached your goal and you find out that as you've battled your way through, your princess has been in another castle. Now that you've finished that path, you're still no where closer to your goal than when you've begun. Or are you? When you began, you didn't have half the experience, skills, and know how that you now possess. And aren't these the very things you'll need to have success reaching your princess in her new location?
For me, this was exactly the case when I had worked my tail off to get through 4 years of college, including side quests to summer classes at the local community college and the hidden world of a semester abroad in Ireland, only to find out that at the very end, with 3 weeks to graduation, I was going to have to drop out to have surgery. At the time I was so weak I could barely walk across my dormroom to use the bathroom unassisted, let alone across campus to class, or across the stage to receive my diploma. Even though my professors lobbied for me, the Chair of my department denied my petition to complete the last three weeks via correspondence, stating that, "One of the requirements of these courses is IN CLASS PARTICIPATION, which is unable to be completed if the student is simply turning in her assignments via e-mail." I had reached the end of my adventure and my princess, my goal, my diploma and degree were not to be found.
With no recourse, I learned first hand that "our journey doesn't have a finish line, just another starting point." I ended up on more side quests to live-in nanny jobs, and my story was relocated halfway across the country to Oklahoma where the next World occurred. Like Mario who starts over at Level 1 in World 2, I had to completely start over my major. But like the person playing Mario, I was starting this leg of the adventure with the experience gained in the previous adventure. Now I knew how to write papers, schedule the right classes that compliment each other for the semester, and how much I could handle for a workload in a semester while also working full or double time to try to support myself. Things got harder, I learned more, and soon became adept at figuring out the best paths through the homework bombardment. I found hidden worlds, such as Dragon*Con and the League of Extraordinary Penpals, and found new allies along the way, like my New Mexico cousins and my new Oklahoma friends. Sometimes I got to open a treasure box or earn a power up to help me along my quest. Eventually I got to have my Boss Fight with Bowswer, though the not-so-good King Koopa looked a lot more like a senile Shakespeare professor in my adventure.
The ten years it took to get to my BA in English seems ridiculous at times, much like the excessive hours of play time on a video game, but it was an amazing journey that has helped me become who I am. I don't regret a bit of it. I am, however, very glad that I've come to the end of finding the castle empty. Now I'm onto my next adventure, life in general, which often feels like a race and can be about as hectic as Battle Mode in Mario Kart.
The first is that there is always another quest along the journey of your adventure, and after your adventure, there's always another one that will come along. Your adventure is many goals that sometimes come clustered together, and other times come one after another. Sometimes you get a break between them, and sometimes you don't. Life is a series of happenings, not just one goal and The End.
The second is that sometimes you do everything right and you think you've reached your goal and you find out that as you've battled your way through, your princess has been in another castle. Now that you've finished that path, you're still no where closer to your goal than when you've begun. Or are you? When you began, you didn't have half the experience, skills, and know how that you now possess. And aren't these the very things you'll need to have success reaching your princess in her new location?
For me, this was exactly the case when I had worked my tail off to get through 4 years of college, including side quests to summer classes at the local community college and the hidden world of a semester abroad in Ireland, only to find out that at the very end, with 3 weeks to graduation, I was going to have to drop out to have surgery. At the time I was so weak I could barely walk across my dormroom to use the bathroom unassisted, let alone across campus to class, or across the stage to receive my diploma. Even though my professors lobbied for me, the Chair of my department denied my petition to complete the last three weeks via correspondence, stating that, "One of the requirements of these courses is IN CLASS PARTICIPATION, which is unable to be completed if the student is simply turning in her assignments via e-mail." I had reached the end of my adventure and my princess, my goal, my diploma and degree were not to be found.
With no recourse, I learned first hand that "our journey doesn't have a finish line, just another starting point." I ended up on more side quests to live-in nanny jobs, and my story was relocated halfway across the country to Oklahoma where the next World occurred. Like Mario who starts over at Level 1 in World 2, I had to completely start over my major. But like the person playing Mario, I was starting this leg of the adventure with the experience gained in the previous adventure. Now I knew how to write papers, schedule the right classes that compliment each other for the semester, and how much I could handle for a workload in a semester while also working full or double time to try to support myself. Things got harder, I learned more, and soon became adept at figuring out the best paths through the homework bombardment. I found hidden worlds, such as Dragon*Con and the League of Extraordinary Penpals, and found new allies along the way, like my New Mexico cousins and my new Oklahoma friends. Sometimes I got to open a treasure box or earn a power up to help me along my quest. Eventually I got to have my Boss Fight with Bowswer, though the not-so-good King Koopa looked a lot more like a senile Shakespeare professor in my adventure.
The ten years it took to get to my BA in English seems ridiculous at times, much like the excessive hours of play time on a video game, but it was an amazing journey that has helped me become who I am. I don't regret a bit of it. I am, however, very glad that I've come to the end of finding the castle empty. Now I'm onto my next adventure, life in general, which often feels like a race and can be about as hectic as Battle Mode in Mario Kart.
Jonathan passed it off as a running joke. At parties and dinner nights with friends he would call Crystal, "my not-so-graceful ballerina," as he squeezed her tight or sloppily gave her a kiss on the cheek. Crystal kept her eyes down and flushed a bit and brushed off her apparent clumsiness with the same old line, "I kept climbing, but there were no more stairs."
According to the latest ER report, the cause of injury was tripping on the top step and falling into the bathroom's doorknob. At least, that was the cause of her black eye. The bruised ribs were from the box of books she was carrying and fell onto as well, and the sprained wrist is from where she tried to catch herself on the wall as she fell towards it. It was the latest in a long line of ER reports from the six different area hospitals. None of them networked together, so the intern at St. Jude's could not recognize the identical circumstances between last month's accident and the previous month's at Mercy.
Three more days until pay day. Three more days until Jonathan spent half of their income at Josie's on his way home. Three more days until his monthly binge. Three more days until Crystal would need another excuse. Three more days until she would have to remember to go to Baptist Regional this time. Three more days to stock up on asprin, soup, and ginger ale. Three more days to cook ahead meals for Jonathan to eat while she healed.
"Unless he's the one who 'missed the stair' this month," she thought.
Three more days to plan it out. Three more days to practice what to say. Three more days to find the strength. Three more days until he doesn't come to bed that night. Three more days until she finds him at the bottom of the stairs the next morning. Three more days until she's free.
According to the latest ER report, the cause of injury was tripping on the top step and falling into the bathroom's doorknob. At least, that was the cause of her black eye. The bruised ribs were from the box of books she was carrying and fell onto as well, and the sprained wrist is from where she tried to catch herself on the wall as she fell towards it. It was the latest in a long line of ER reports from the six different area hospitals. None of them networked together, so the intern at St. Jude's could not recognize the identical circumstances between last month's accident and the previous month's at Mercy.
Three more days until pay day. Three more days until Jonathan spent half of their income at Josie's on his way home. Three more days until his monthly binge. Three more days until Crystal would need another excuse. Three more days until she would have to remember to go to Baptist Regional this time. Three more days to stock up on asprin, soup, and ginger ale. Three more days to cook ahead meals for Jonathan to eat while she healed.
"Unless he's the one who 'missed the stair' this month," she thought.
Three more days to plan it out. Three more days to practice what to say. Three more days to find the strength. Three more days until he doesn't come to bed that night. Three more days until she finds him at the bottom of the stairs the next morning. Three more days until she's free.
That is the question I've been weighing lately, whether or not to post links to LJI polls. But in the 11th hour (or roughly 11 hours to the end of the poll), I decided to go ahead and pimp the poll. I know James loved being made aware of when the poll occurred, and loved to read mine and many others' entries. And I'm playing for James this time. So, in his memory, I'm pimping myself out to any who will go vote in Week 1's Poll!
KIDS *click*
Inbox *click*
55D *click*
Unit/Group *click*
My supervisor's name *click*
Jesus... it never ends.
"Two more in the box," I call out. "A P1 and a P2."
"What are they?" my senior worker, M, calls back across the cubicle wall.
"Give me two seconds and I'll read up. Who's up next for the P1, you or T?"
"I think it's me," states T, the junior worker.
B jumps in, "Yeah, it's T. But next week, after my Hands On Testing, we'll have three workers in rotation. I can't wait!"
We're all excited. When B steps up from trainee to worker, we'll finally be back up to half-staffed. I've read the narrative on the Priority 1 referral. Shaking my head I sum it up for all three of my workers to hear.
"Three kids: 4, 3, and 1. The aunt's calling in because of a dirty house, kids are never changed, always in dirty clothes, there's no food, mom and dad are on every drug known to man, they beat the kids, they don't take them to the doctor, they're behind on shots, there's weapons in reach, dad's probably selling drugs and making meth or growing pot, she's not sure which."
By the time I reach the end of it, I'm scoffing. I scroll down and read another tidbit.
"Who's shocked to find out that our dear Auntie was living in the home until two days ago?"
T laughs out.
"Called it!" B shouts, slamming her hand on her desk.
"Make sure you call Auntie before heading out, T," directs our new supervisor. "I just put that P1 on your workload and the referral is printing off now. Kids aren't in daycare, so you should be able to find everyone at home, in theory."
"Ok, let me finish typing up this last paragraph from the interview with the mom on the DV case, and call my mom to pick up my kids for their activities tonight, and then I'll get ready to head out. I was hoping to knock off early tonight, not go out," T replies, letting us all know her plan.
"So the P2 is M's, right?" I ask as I finish reading up on the other case.
"Yeah, let me get T set up with criminal and child welfare history on her case and I'll come staff the P2 with you, M."
That right there is why we love our new supervisor. She helps us in every way she can and prepares us to go out well informed. Not all supervisors are that way and coming off of nearly 3 months without a one at all, we greatly appreciate her.
"Hey M?" I ask for the worker's attention.
"Have you read up on it?"
"Yeah, it's a secondary for Pott County. Mom called in. 8 year old came back from two weeks at Dad's with cigarette burns on his arms and legs, his hair's been buzzed off to nothing, he's been half starved, claims he had to run laps around the house in the snow without a coat or shoes, and he wasn't given his anti-biotic, so the ear infection he went over there with is still raging on instead of cleared up."
"Jesus! Doesn't Dad know you can't do that stuff when you're not with Mom? She's going to notice when her boy comes back. She's going to be all hyper vigilant about that stuff, especially when custody is involved!" M spouts off sarcastically.
We all laugh. Unlike the bogus P1, this one's going to be real. We're hoping that there are no other kids in Dad's home. Please let there be no half-siblings to the boy living there, or his new girlfriend's kids. Still, we laugh.
"Pott County wants you to interview Dad and check out the home. Boy says he had to sleep on the floor with just a blanket by a gas heater. Dad apparently has a new girlfriend and she has two kids. Mom doesn't know if they live there or just stay there from time to time. Mom states that Dad has a record and was violent when they were together. She recommends going out with police," I finish filling M in.
"Great," says M. "Well, it's a P2 and it's my turn to pick up the girls from daycare, so I'll go out on it tomorrow morning after court for the meth baby pick up yesterday.
"Sounds good," calls out our supervisor from her office. "Have O get the police reports on Dad for you so you can read up on him before you head out. Looks like Dad lives on the East side, so you probably will want to call for the police to meet you there. That neighborhood is not pretty."
"Will do."
I pass off a records request form for M to fill out for me, then click over to the inbox again. In the 55D box there are three more waiting for assignment to a supervisor. It's only 4pm, so we might get hit again before On Call takes over at 4:30.
Shaking my head I call out, "Three more in the D box. M, you might still get slammed yet."
"Great. It never ends, does it?"
"If people stopped beating their kids, it might."
Again we're laughing. We don't laugh because it's funny, though. We laugh because the alternative is to cry, to shut down, to rage. We laugh for sanity, not because it's corny or silly. In CPS so often the joke is the parenting choices that people make - so bad we can't help but laugh that it would have ever gone through a person's head to be that way towards a child.
Inbox *click*
55D *click*
Unit/Group *click*
My supervisor's name *click*
Jesus... it never ends.
"Two more in the box," I call out. "A P1 and a P2."
"What are they?" my senior worker, M, calls back across the cubicle wall.
"Give me two seconds and I'll read up. Who's up next for the P1, you or T?"
"I think it's me," states T, the junior worker.
B jumps in, "Yeah, it's T. But next week, after my Hands On Testing, we'll have three workers in rotation. I can't wait!"
We're all excited. When B steps up from trainee to worker, we'll finally be back up to half-staffed. I've read the narrative on the Priority 1 referral. Shaking my head I sum it up for all three of my workers to hear.
"Three kids: 4, 3, and 1. The aunt's calling in because of a dirty house, kids are never changed, always in dirty clothes, there's no food, mom and dad are on every drug known to man, they beat the kids, they don't take them to the doctor, they're behind on shots, there's weapons in reach, dad's probably selling drugs and making meth or growing pot, she's not sure which."
By the time I reach the end of it, I'm scoffing. I scroll down and read another tidbit.
"Who's shocked to find out that our dear Auntie was living in the home until two days ago?"
T laughs out.
"Called it!" B shouts, slamming her hand on her desk.
"Make sure you call Auntie before heading out, T," directs our new supervisor. "I just put that P1 on your workload and the referral is printing off now. Kids aren't in daycare, so you should be able to find everyone at home, in theory."
"Ok, let me finish typing up this last paragraph from the interview with the mom on the DV case, and call my mom to pick up my kids for their activities tonight, and then I'll get ready to head out. I was hoping to knock off early tonight, not go out," T replies, letting us all know her plan.
"So the P2 is M's, right?" I ask as I finish reading up on the other case.
"Yeah, let me get T set up with criminal and child welfare history on her case and I'll come staff the P2 with you, M."
That right there is why we love our new supervisor. She helps us in every way she can and prepares us to go out well informed. Not all supervisors are that way and coming off of nearly 3 months without a one at all, we greatly appreciate her.
"Hey M?" I ask for the worker's attention.
"Have you read up on it?"
"Yeah, it's a secondary for Pott County. Mom called in. 8 year old came back from two weeks at Dad's with cigarette burns on his arms and legs, his hair's been buzzed off to nothing, he's been half starved, claims he had to run laps around the house in the snow without a coat or shoes, and he wasn't given his anti-biotic, so the ear infection he went over there with is still raging on instead of cleared up."
"Jesus! Doesn't Dad know you can't do that stuff when you're not with Mom? She's going to notice when her boy comes back. She's going to be all hyper vigilant about that stuff, especially when custody is involved!" M spouts off sarcastically.
We all laugh. Unlike the bogus P1, this one's going to be real. We're hoping that there are no other kids in Dad's home. Please let there be no half-siblings to the boy living there, or his new girlfriend's kids. Still, we laugh.
"Pott County wants you to interview Dad and check out the home. Boy says he had to sleep on the floor with just a blanket by a gas heater. Dad apparently has a new girlfriend and she has two kids. Mom doesn't know if they live there or just stay there from time to time. Mom states that Dad has a record and was violent when they were together. She recommends going out with police," I finish filling M in.
"Great," says M. "Well, it's a P2 and it's my turn to pick up the girls from daycare, so I'll go out on it tomorrow morning after court for the meth baby pick up yesterday.
"Sounds good," calls out our supervisor from her office. "Have O get the police reports on Dad for you so you can read up on him before you head out. Looks like Dad lives on the East side, so you probably will want to call for the police to meet you there. That neighborhood is not pretty."
"Will do."
I pass off a records request form for M to fill out for me, then click over to the inbox again. In the 55D box there are three more waiting for assignment to a supervisor. It's only 4pm, so we might get hit again before On Call takes over at 4:30.
Shaking my head I call out, "Three more in the D box. M, you might still get slammed yet."
"Great. It never ends, does it?"
"If people stopped beating their kids, it might."
Again we're laughing. We don't laugh because it's funny, though. We laugh because the alternative is to cry, to shut down, to rage. We laugh for sanity, not because it's corny or silly. In CPS so often the joke is the parenting choices that people make - so bad we can't help but laugh that it would have ever gone through a person's head to be that way towards a child.
That's right! It's MY BIRTHDAY!! It's already starting off with a pile of FB messages, and I got two birthday cards on Saturday. My best friend Wendi is taking me out for lunch at Whiskey Cakes, since I've been DYING to go there since it opened. I may head up to Edmond to Cupcakes to Go Go to use my free cupcake card, and I plan to stop at B&N to use a gift card from a penpal to get a fountain pen. Still, with all that happiness and excitement, I have a sad.
Usually for my birthday, I take the day off of work, and I have a Day Out. Last year I had Ethiopian and pedicures with Wendi, then we painted pottery with 4 other friends and had dinner and drinks before heading to see Oz the Great and Powerful with their families. This year I'm working, mostly on a case that is so full of nastiness it makes my stomach churn, and I'm penniless (have been for 2 weeks now), and don't get paid until Friday, when all the money is spoken for anyway. So I can't even afford to have a belated birthday celebration. I thought about just doing a low-key dinner party, but I can't even swing ingredients to cook myself a nice meal (or even regular groceries for that matter...). I'm so damn tired of being so damn poor!
Last night I was doing the ground work for my taxes this year. In 2013, I made $15,800, and half of that was since my first paycheck with DHS on Sept. 23rd. I traveled over 6,000 miles for work in my car. I paid over $5,200 in student loan payments. I paid over $1300 in phone bills (it's fucking expensive to have a phone as a single person). I paid over $2000 in medical expenses. And people wonder why I have to borrow a little from my dad to get by most months. It's overwhelming, but it's validating to see the numbers, to see that I'm not exaggerating or being ridiculous.
On top of those numbers, in 2013 I also had to buy my books for my last semester of college (nearly $400), I moved three times (twice over an hour away involving MULTIPLE loaded down truck and SUV trips, so lots of gas money there), my car died right after I had put brand new $350 tires on it (still haven't been able to sell it), and I had to buy a new car ($3200). I feel quite justified for being overwhelmed by $$ this last year. There have been many days I've not eaten, simply because I had no food, and that one week I had only 1 cup of rice and a sweet potato each day is still playing havoc on my digestive system.
I'm posting this as a reminder to future me of how far we've come and how much we will overcome and get past. I'm not there yet. I still don't know what I'll be eating on Wednesday or Thursday. I am a food insecure adult (i.e. a person who doesn't necessarily know where their next meal is coming from). But I won't always be this way. And a day will come when I don't remember the last time I didn't have enough food to eat or sturdy shoes to wear, or appropriate clothing to put on my back, or fuel for my car. A day will come when I own my own home instead of wondering every day if I will have enough money for rent. I believe it.
Usually for my birthday, I take the day off of work, and I have a Day Out. Last year I had Ethiopian and pedicures with Wendi, then we painted pottery with 4 other friends and had dinner and drinks before heading to see Oz the Great and Powerful with their families. This year I'm working, mostly on a case that is so full of nastiness it makes my stomach churn, and I'm penniless (have been for 2 weeks now), and don't get paid until Friday, when all the money is spoken for anyway. So I can't even afford to have a belated birthday celebration. I thought about just doing a low-key dinner party, but I can't even swing ingredients to cook myself a nice meal (or even regular groceries for that matter...). I'm so damn tired of being so damn poor!
Last night I was doing the ground work for my taxes this year. In 2013, I made $15,800, and half of that was since my first paycheck with DHS on Sept. 23rd. I traveled over 6,000 miles for work in my car. I paid over $5,200 in student loan payments. I paid over $1300 in phone bills (it's fucking expensive to have a phone as a single person). I paid over $2000 in medical expenses. And people wonder why I have to borrow a little from my dad to get by most months. It's overwhelming, but it's validating to see the numbers, to see that I'm not exaggerating or being ridiculous.
On top of those numbers, in 2013 I also had to buy my books for my last semester of college (nearly $400), I moved three times (twice over an hour away involving MULTIPLE loaded down truck and SUV trips, so lots of gas money there), my car died right after I had put brand new $350 tires on it (still haven't been able to sell it), and I had to buy a new car ($3200). I feel quite justified for being overwhelmed by $$ this last year. There have been many days I've not eaten, simply because I had no food, and that one week I had only 1 cup of rice and a sweet potato each day is still playing havoc on my digestive system.
I'm posting this as a reminder to future me of how far we've come and how much we will overcome and get past. I'm not there yet. I still don't know what I'll be eating on Wednesday or Thursday. I am a food insecure adult (i.e. a person who doesn't necessarily know where their next meal is coming from). But I won't always be this way. And a day will come when I don't remember the last time I didn't have enough food to eat or sturdy shoes to wear, or appropriate clothing to put on my back, or fuel for my car. A day will come when I own my own home instead of wondering every day if I will have enough money for rent. I believe it.
INTRODUCING...
ME!!!
In the last year so much of me has changed, stretched, grown, and expanded. I am no longer a full time student and live-out nanny/babysitter. I'm now a college graduate who has a BA in English with which I am a Child Welfare Assistant with the Child Protective Services division of the Oklahoma Department of Human Services, and I still babysit on the side. Where I once rented a room in a house some friends rented by the uni, and then stayed in a friend's spare room to get back on my feet, now I'm a full blown on-the-lease co-renter of an apartment with yet another friend in downtown OKC, 3.2 miles from work. Where I was dipping my toes in the vast ocean of penpalling, I am now a support staff member for a penpal group that is nearly 200 strong and quickly growing, many of whom I correspond with regularly.
With these changes, though, I find that much of me is also unchanged, firm, established, and permanent. I am still a big reader. I still craft as much as I can. I still adore my friends and do all I can for them and to be with them. I still miss my family, and once again have the goal of going home for Christmas, as it's been well over 2 years since I've seen most of them. I still have left the largest part of my heart in Ireland, and I miss it more each passing year. I still love to play with words and children, and especially to play with words in front of children to hear their indignant responses to the tease.
So, who am I in the end? I'm Othella, Thellie, The Thellie Kitty, or Malruniel, your pick, and I'm quite glad to make your acquaintance!
ME!!!
In the last year so much of me has changed, stretched, grown, and expanded. I am no longer a full time student and live-out nanny/babysitter. I'm now a college graduate who has a BA in English with which I am a Child Welfare Assistant with the Child Protective Services division of the Oklahoma Department of Human Services, and I still babysit on the side. Where I once rented a room in a house some friends rented by the uni, and then stayed in a friend's spare room to get back on my feet, now I'm a full blown on-the-lease co-renter of an apartment with yet another friend in downtown OKC, 3.2 miles from work. Where I was dipping my toes in the vast ocean of penpalling, I am now a support staff member for a penpal group that is nearly 200 strong and quickly growing, many of whom I correspond with regularly.
With these changes, though, I find that much of me is also unchanged, firm, established, and permanent. I am still a big reader. I still craft as much as I can. I still adore my friends and do all I can for them and to be with them. I still miss my family, and once again have the goal of going home for Christmas, as it's been well over 2 years since I've seen most of them. I still have left the largest part of my heart in Ireland, and I miss it more each passing year. I still love to play with words and children, and especially to play with words in front of children to hear their indignant responses to the tease.
So, who am I in the end? I'm Othella, Thellie, The Thellie Kitty, or Malruniel, your pick, and I'm quite glad to make your acquaintance!
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