The 13th Apostol

I am drained as hell

I am drained as hell from the last few posts. I had written a ton this morning from 7-11, and then this crappy computer crashed yet again. Lost. I took it as a sign to take Al to the local hippie arts festival in Paseo. My favorite place logistically speaking. It was really good, seeing old friends and getting ideas for projects I'll get around to working on when he's in college. We came home to a letter from TANF in the mail saying we were no longer eligible for any assistance other than $10 a month in food stamps. All I could do was go to the bathroom, turn on the shower and cry. I'm tired of trying to figure out a way to do this. There I am carrying my 7 year old kid, because we can't afford a mobility scooter for long outings, and they cut us off. It's not the governments responsibility to support me and my child. I'm not stupid, I know how this sounds, like all I want is a hand out, that's not it at all. I'd trade food stamps any day for a decent job, quality child care, and a six month reprieve before they started penalizing me for working. It's just tough as hell on a kid being in the system. I have to make choices for him, not me. How many moms live off welfare and are not home with their kids every night? Too many. Welfare allows me to be there for Al, but not very comfortably at all. Now, I have to decide what's more important, keeping him in a safe neighborhood or eating. Poor people don't live in dangerous neighborhoods because they want to, they live there because they have to feed their kids. I had thought this was behind us now, but as long as I'm on public assistance they call the shots, and if they say we only qualify for$10 in food stamps I'lll be hard pressed to show otherwise. I could have lied about how much money there was, but I have to believe that's not how I'm meant to live my life today. Not to mention how I want to raise my son. I am in the Assited Homeowners Program through HUD, but don't have the extra money to clear up the medical bills yet so I can qualify for a loan. I have a perfect track record (so far) with my rental history, (Except for the eviction from their father.) My "Free Will Astrology" Horoscope for this week says: 'I must vow to never again tolerate a relationship with anyone who treats me with chronic disrespect'. Al's dad does not pay child support, and it's humiliating. I used to get angry about it, but that only hurts Al. We are supposed to go to trial in September, but that wont make him love his son like a father should. If five years in juvenille court doesn't change a man enough to want to take care of his child, nothing will. He's lost to us, just like Athena.

Ironically enough, when Athena quit

Ironically enough, when Athena quit screaming, so did I. What I'm going to write about takes much courage, but I'm writing, I've decided for the one person who might read this who needs to know they can survive whatever it is they are facing at this moment. On Memeorial Day Weekend five years ago, I was living alone in project housing on the city's East side. My first section 8 place aquired for me at the hands of the case worker after my childrens father and his brother formally evicted me in civil court. I had spent two months on the street, one month sleeping in my broken down Honda Civic outside an A.A. clubhouse on the Northside, before getting into the projects. The eviction was in part a direct result of my screaming, the other was their shit and their blogs, not mine to tell. I had nothing but the few items I'd been able to put in my car when I left, and it would be three years before some of my belongings started to trickle back to me at his pace. We were never married, so I had no legal rights to my property. Add to that a formal eviction and it was complicated. My apartment was on the forth floor of the forth building closest to the railroad tracks, and the constant flow of trains after 10:00 p.m. was something I never got used to. I had previously loved the lonesome sound of a train at night, but now in light of my experiences surrounding that time in my life, a trains whistle can pull it all back as vividly as if it were happening right this moment. Al was with his father, and honestly I can't remember if it was his father's doing, or DHS, or a sick combination, but Al was not allowed to see me except once a week at the supervised visits with Athena. Once a week they would all come to my empty apartment in the projects for one hour. Once a week the case worker, the foster grandmother, Athena, Al, and their father would come there because I had no car. Athena would not leave the foster grandmother's lap, the case worker and foster grandmother would make fun of their father to me behind his back, Al would try to play with his sister then go find a toy and play by himself, their father would spend the visits trying to get Athena's attention in front of Al, and I would sit there internalizing all of it. Week after week this went on and each time we went to court, progressively skewed versions of these visits and ineractions were relayed in the court reports by the case worker, supervisors, service providers and the foster mother. I was in court ordered counseling with a therapist who believed whole heartedly in Gestalt when you'd lost everything that made life worth living. Needless to say our therapeutic relationship was one based on lies, for when the state has control of your children's destiny, the last thing you want to do is be honest with people who are reporting directly to their captors. The average human being has a breaking point. A point at which they must make the madness stop or so they believe. Some reach it sooner than others, and some, as in the case of concetration camp survivors, amazingly never reach it. Mine came on Memorial Day Weekend in 2001, with a knock on the apartment door next to mine and an indroduction to project housings #1 passtime, the only substance known to man that will drown out the midnight trains, and midnight pains.

After DHS took Athena, I

After DHS took Athena, I spent three months in bed, waking up only to scream. Not anything in particular, just 'throw your head back could a sister get a shot of haldol' kind of screams. The screaming didn't accomplish much, for the first time in my life, but I think it kept me from blowing my brains out. So I would scream, sleep, wake up in the same nightmare I'd fallen asleep in, scream some more, then go back to sleep. I don't recomend this technique for losing baby weight, but it was pretty successful nonetheless. I can't begin to express the amount of self-control it took to have the weekly supervised visits with Athena, and not scream during them. I believe it was in part because my daughter was doing it for me. Screaming in the same uncontrolable fashion as I during every single visit for the first year of her life. The case worker was at a loss, saying she'd never experienced this in 20 years with the department. (20 yrs! Jesus H.) Athena's screaming promped the visits relocation on multiple occasions, in an effort to "Stop the screaming baby". Once, after we had moved them from our house, to DHS, back to our house, back to DHS, and then to a counseling service providers office, the neighboring businesses filed formal complaints with the Department, because of the "Noise from the screaming baby". I remember knowing my daughter was trying to tell me something, tell me, tell them, this was wrong. She needed her mother, needed these people to go away and leave us alone together, everyone to go away and let her be in my arms alone. No case worker, no foster mother, no father who didn't believe in either of us, no scared little brother who at the hands of his father was subjected to this insanity every week for two and a half years. Everyone go please, and leave me alone to hold my daughter. They never did. Eventually Athena did stop screaming, I don't recall exactly when, sometime around her first birthday. What was left in it's place was far worse than the screams, what was left was a little girl with a flat affect, who, until the day I signed away my parental rights...I'd never heard laugh.

We are all hard on

We are all hard on ourselves as mothers, it goes with the territory for some fucked up reason. I didn't bond with Al until he was 3 months old. His dad went to Las Cruces to move his brother back to OKC (to live with us no doubt) and while he was out there they both got the flu. I hate to admit it, but up until that point I was sure this strange creatures mother was going to knock on the door any day to pick him up from a really long visit. I did not feel "It" the "It" that all the books had described, all my friends seemed to feel, and even the slight "It" that I knew Al's dad felt. I knew the whole thing, the me being someones mom thing, had been a huge mistake. Al's dad was insane leaving the house, let alone the state, with me in charge of this fragile little life that had come into the world so sick and small. I would fail. I was terrefied, so scared I remember that first night, I didn't know what to do, where to put him down to sleep. His dad had taken full responsibility for Al after he was born, and in doing so robbed me of the right to grow up and become my sons mother. It was time to take back my right, a right I would give away, and have taken away by this man numerous times before I would finally choose to be a mother over anything else. Al slept with me that night, and I remember the feeling the next morning looking into his beautiful face, touching his warmth, breathing in his Al-ness. (Which I still tell him and it's true, he smells like angels in the morning) I had fallen eternally and unconditionally in love with my child. I have chosen to stay single, not because I hate men, but because my choices in them are so poor. I pick the ones who fail me and in turn fail Al. He deserves as much as the next child, no more, no less. So I've done this alone, rather than increase his pain. I let his dad hurt him to his face. Not just the usual invisible, no child support, mom's got all the stress, living off welfare, no money for shit, kind of hurt. But real, in his face hurt, that the man will never get because it will always be about him. I had placed a wall of distance and inconvenience between them, in order to protect Al from his fathers self centeredness. In honoring Al's wishes to know his father the flood gates were opened, and all I can seem to offer my child is a life preserver. A ring of hope from a woman who had been scared to death of you, hope that some how, someday the man that is your dad will see you not as an extension of himself, but as your own person full of grace.

I should have just kept

I should have just kept Al home all day, but he wanted to see his "Friends" before summer break started. It was, unbeknownst to me, Achievement Recognition Day at Al's school. Last year I was honored by the 1st grade teachers for my volunteer work at the school. This year I could barely bring myself to sign my name when I was checking him out early. I totally opted out after the treatment of my son by the administration at the begining of the school year. I will say this much about my present frame of mind regarding my son and his education. Today solidified some things for me, that had previously been vague or wishy washy at best. I'm going to overlook the fact that my precious child was not given any type of public acknowledgement during the ceremony, because in the real world there are always going to be others who are better than you at something, who will get the recognition. Real life stuff. If educators go around giving all these little human beings awards for what they each do well, they would be in for a huge disapointment when they got out in the real world ya know. I mean it would just be wrong to give Bobby an award for having the nicest smile so his self esteem would remain somewhat intact, when Suzie had to actually work on that science fair project! But I must draw the line regarding what I saw when I walked in to Al's classroom this afternoon. I look over and across the room, isolated from the rest of the class, but near the teacher, sat Al's little desk positioned so his back is to everyone else. She isolated my child. She separated him from the pack. She turned him out from his peers. She excluded him physically in the only way she could. Al say's he's had to sit that way since the first of May. Not for anything other than talking to his neighbors. I'm so sad for my child. I want to tell him that life isn't supposed to be this hard... but he'd know I was lying.

I'm extremely dramatic when I'm

I'm extremely dramatic when I'm tired. I pulled the other post from late last night, which was something like " I will pray to anyones god for this child" yada, blah, ya, ya. Very Greek. Al started having chest pains yesterday evening, which proceeded to increase in intensity over the course of about an hour. I have to initially treat all pains as normal growing pains, right? Because otherwise I'd have a neurotic little kid on my hands. So "mama I can't breathe" is a little over the top. Is it a pulled muscle, from watching t.v. upside down with your feet, one on the couch, the other on the cat? Or is it a gas pocket from scarfing down your hamburger so you could go play? Is it anxiety over finding out on Sunday your best friend was adopted? (Al was openly angy over this information, in light of the little info he has on his stolen sister who was 'adopted') Or could it be the sadness you've felt over your dad bringing someone else's daughter to the church picnic on Sunday, and ignoring you the entire time? (Sunday was a tuffy) I watch, I wait, I ask stupid mom questions, urging Al to try and fart along the way. After an hour the pain was greater and it was time to go to the E.R. About $8,000 worth of tests later, the Dr. informs me what I already knew: Al's heart is enlarged, but theres nothing they can do about it. Give him motrin, and follow up with his Cardiologist immediately. Through his pain, Al had a vision of a simians awakening, a revelation of sorts, though I'm somewhat at a loss for analytical content.

NCCPR New York Child Welfare

NCCPR New York Child Welfare Blog. Read "When the Mask Slips"

I am not a believer,

I am not a believer, but this guy has always made me question my intellectual rationale. Take the time to watch this one all the way through to the end. Life church is a local phenomena gaining national attention. Craig Groschel is charismatic at least, prophetic at best. His ability to reach the masses using personal character defects and technology, defines the supernatural growth of Life Church.TV. Watch Video However, the old adage about "talking the talk, vs. walking the walk" is not soon erased from my mind. Stay out of my schools, leave my reproductive freedom mine, and I won't come to your church and blasphemize your god. I sometimes like to fantasize (shut uuup!) about doing things I would never in all reality have the testicalia to do. Like going to Life Church , standing at any one of the five main entrances, and passing out tracts on global warming, recycling, equal pay propaganda, etc-and see how long it took for one of the six OKC police officers they hire to direct traffic, to escort me off the premises. (side bar) When I was attending Life Church and my POS truck with 250K miles on it broke down for the 92nd time, Al was seeing the Cardiologist weekly at this point, I humbled my stupid ass and asked the church for help getting a used car. They asked me if I was a member yet, as in, have you officially joined Life Church? Well no, I never know from week to week if the truck will run to get here or not. They hated to inform me, they just weren't in a position to help me at that point, but she did pray with me. So kind.

This has to be the

This has to be the best read yet on Duke, and from one falsley accused perp to another, you go boys! Guess I'm a racist now. Full story here.

I had really good parents.

I had really good parents. Hard to believe these days, but I did, and I always knew they loved me. I never went through the phase when you hate your parents, we always had very good communication and my brother and I were always given respect as human beings. We always knew we were precious to our parents equally. They never shamed us, never put us down or made us feel like we were a problem. It was good to have them as my mom and dad. My first big dose of shame came when DHS took my children. I know that sounds far fetched, but it's completely true. This blog is my first attempt to write about my experiences at the hands of some of the most shamed people I've ever met. I don't know why some people can bounce back from adversity better than others? I'm suprised by the degree to which these series of experiences have caused me to shut down. I have been through things comparatively speaking much more difficult, but I think the key is the shame. When you are picked apart by a group of people, who consistently undermind your intelligence on a daily basis for five years, who treat you as a predator, who take away every once of dignity you have, then hand back one of your children and tell you not to let them down ...well, I could keep going, but what I'm getting to is that I am ashamed. Ashamed not just that the state took my children, making up the lies as they went, but that I took it. That I caved and let them win out of fear. I am ashamed I allowed myself to make a deal with terrorists and there is nothing I can do about it except suck it up. Suck it up and go get the most beautiful child I've ever seen, the king Playdoh eating champ-Al. Statistically, parents who have lost their children and had them returned after a period of time, will lose them again within two years. The time frame I'm sure varies greatly, but If my own feelings are any indicator, there comes a point after the relief of just having them back in your arms wears off, when you start to realize just what's been done and to what extent The Department of Human Services had power over your life. If drugs/alcohol was ever an issue, and with over 80% of these parents it was, I can imagine then would be as good a time as any to numb those feelings of outrage, hence subsequent removals and eventual termination of rights. I think having access to private citizens phone records is heinous, but this is the same govermnent that had the right to walk in to my living room with a court order signed by a Judge on hearsay from a mentally ill case worker playing god, and take Al from me. I am afraid still, that writing here about it could warrant a repeat of history and what could I do differently this time? I understand the premise behind the child welfare system, but it has failed miserably. Ask any parent who has been involved with CPS and they will recite a litany of horrors in the name of "The childs best interest", yet funds continue to pour in and children in DHS custody continue to die. My fear is that Kelsey's Law will only put a gun in the hands of already unstable people.

I am a notorious pesimist.

I am a notorious pesimist. You don't say? Well I am, and I mean pretty much about everything except Al. I am vigilant about not being that way towards him, and yet I forget he's not a moron. He sees me interact with others, or rather not interact, and he hears me lay (lie?) in judgment. My life experiences have given me a license to moan and moan I do, quite loudly at times. Wailing Wall type of moaning about woe is me, me , me. I am bitter, yes. I am hurt deeply, yes. But my core beliefs, regardless of my experiences, are that human beings are basically good, kind, love-needy things, who given the right set of circustances will seek approval at any cost. My friend Marne fought breast cancer over the winter. When her hair fell out from the chemo she slapped on a knit beanie and kept on trudging. Not because she was ashamed of the way she looked, but because it was winter. People pulled away from Marne because they were afraid of their own mortality, not Marne's. Even at a Unitarian church, regardless of what we say we believe, death is scary as shit...especially when you can see it coming. The week Marne announced she was having her last round of chemo, I watched in shame (there's that judgement) as people started hugging, chatting, sitting by, and all around being friends again with Marne. Including myself. Maybe not that theatrically, but you get the point. Last weekend Marne organized a Mothers Day May Pole for all the children at church. Her hair is coming back in now, and she's teaching dance again, this time for herself. She is full of more life, or rather, living life more fully, than she was PC. She'll tell you she's an old Hippie and her daughter Grace, with eyes rolling, will concur. As we all danced around the May Pole to the beat of a drum and Marne's tambourine, I had the idea that it's not the sickness that kills you its the response to the sickness. It's not your life experiences that destroy your spirit, it's your response to those experiences. I realize the entire planet has probably figured this one out already, but I'm a bit daft. Like I said, this was on Sunday.

From Paida- "Failure To

From Paida- "Failure To Protect"

(Only two blue eyes can

(Only two blue eyes can be seen in the rear view.) "Al, what's in your mouth?" "Nnthng." "I know you have something in your mouth, what is it?" "Nn dnt." "Al, you know how I feel about you putting 'non' food items in your mouth, now what is it?" (pregnant pause) "Red Playdo."

"How was your day Al?"

"How was your day Al?" "Good" "Anything fabulous happen?" "Yeah, I got 80% accuracy on my overall Accelerated Reader" "Did you just use the word 'Accuracy' in a sentence?" "Uh huh" "Al, what does the word 'accuracy' mean?" "It means how many times you are correct about me having stuff in my mouth."

How pissed am I that

How pissed am I that I missed the first half of the second (stay with me) half of the season finale of "Grey's Anatomy" last night? Yeah, that pissed. I'm sure I'm not the only one as ABC did a crappy job of publicizing the special (Here we go) two part, two hour long, second half. Half the nation shut the damn thing off after jackass 1 spewed forth crap he didn't even want to say, but he's so GD desperate to save his ass he'd do a shot of jagermeister if they told him it would help. What drove me to near hysteria though was the down right cruel preempting of Oprah's Legends Ball. I had guests coming over for christ's sake. What I'll do with all that food I don't know. God I hate the fact that I'm getting sucked into the political crap, I mean I'm supposed to be GRIEVING and that's all. I just wanna get over my own shit K? But heck no, gotta getallupin (it's ethnic) the old arena, of which I have zero bidness (also ethnic) being a part of due to my utter lack of political knowledge and/or experience including voting. (Once, the last time, only out of fear). I had previously chosen to opt out due to my disgust over politics since Watergate. It left a huge impact on my young mind, cancelling "Gilligan's Island" reruns for an entire summer and leaving a resentment that has been nursed, weaned, and sent off to college. When CPS (a mere extension of this administration and it's policies) took my nine hour old baby, (I'll repeat that, NINE hours old. Not days, not weeks, but HOURS.) almost from my womb, I learned first hand what's capable of happening to anyone who is poor in this country. They want to take our reproductive freedom, they want to take our rights to decide what happens to our own bodies, not suprising they take babies from poor women, and give them to wealthier families. Making it impossible for us to ever get our children returned due to poverty and the inability to fight a corrupt system. Not once in all the years I spent outside the courtrooms at the juvenille courthouse, did I ever see a family going to court trying to get their kids back who weren't poor. Doesn't happen, because OKDHS doesn't snatch babies/children from middle class families, just doesn't happen. What, don't rich people neglect/abuse their kids? I went to private school I know the answer to that one. Now I don't know what's going on in other states, but I can tell you something is seriously amiss here in the bible belt, and my fear is that it's contagious. As one case worker said to me "You hatch 'em, we snatch 'em". So be forewarned, if you plan on having kids in Oklahoma and don't make six figs, you better find a safe place to lay those eggs. Lest they hatch in the wrong zip code.

I couldn't even ping my

I couldn't even ping my post for like 2 hours because of that madmans speech. So here's the deal, you know them 'mezican' jesus and mary candles you get at big ass grocery stores for a buck? You know the ones that burn forever and have all them 'mezican' saints on em and shit? Right, right those, I say we all buy up every single one of them 'mezican' candle we can find and line them up along the U.S. borders so all the Aliens can see us better! Huh what, Oh not those aliens? Well shit who knew?

He truly is a lil'

He truly is a lil' dictator. Itty bitty lil' DICtator.

Happy Mudda's Day, where do

Happy Mudda's Day, where do I begin? Always bitter sweet so let's focus on the damned sweet for a change. My angel in little boys clothing announced last evening he was in need of a ride to "Dollar Tree" and would it be too much trouble? Me, not thinking "Al, if you can just be patient, I'm sure that tooth will be out any day now, and you can add whatever the "Tooth GLBT Person" brings you to your savings and then hit dollar tree". "No mom, I think it can't wait because I won't lose my tooth by tomorrow" (Lightbulb) So for the first time ever, I took my kid to the store to buy a Mudda's Day present. Fully expecting my gift to consist of a watergun or a human body that has three clear plastic organs exposed and visible for all the world to see, and yet much to my suprise and maternal delight I was mistaken. From around the other side of the isle where I'd been hovering, pretending to shop while all the while keeping an assasins lock on a swatch of blue transformers t-shirt, came the child who by his very entrance into this world saved my life. In his tiny hands were two bouqets of pale pink roses and Orchids, and in the other hand was the agreed upon amount of two dollars. Al had the look of a CEO on the eve of a merger, and it was painfully obvious he needed some monetary relief of some sort. I knelt down to see the flowers, "I have to say Al, I have never seen such glorious colors. Are these by any chance for me?" "I don't know yet mom, I know this is dollar tree, but I think it would be better for their business if they called it "Dollar Tree plus tax" and quit lying to all us consumers" Yes, Al I agree. So I paid my Mudda's Day Tax, and with the change that was left Al got some tomato seeds to plant in the garden.

I am a minimalist in

I am a minimalist in every sense of the word. I wasn't always, I've spent more than my fare share of time and money at Chanel. Thousands of dollars on handbags and shoes from Prada to Manalo, because when all else fails if you have those you'll be allright. Ah yes, my years spent chasing external bliss! Engaged to multiple men, but never quite being willing to follow through with the act. The notion that I was somehow incomplete until I was someones wife seemed absurd even as a child. Societal pressures were greatest in my twenties, so I made the attempt several times. By thirty I was being groomed to be the attornys wife, complete with a $30,000 rock and a new sports car. I had come from money as a child, prior to the oil bust my family was one of the wealthiest in the state. But he had been dirt poor as a kid, so money, or rather the acquisition of money, was his god. I kept trying to picture us with children, or after the children were grown and we were alone again, or if some catastrophic event put one of us in a state of utter dependence on the other, or (this was the biggie) what if he found out I had an opinion? So after a three-year-long engagement (during which time I walked my dad out of a life well lived) I traded him, the rock, and the car, for a man who was unemployed, lived with his mother, and gave a shit about what I thought. I still believe marraige to be a publicity stunt. I recall the case worker (double agent) at one point telling me I needed to get married to someone in order to help get my children back. This in a state (Oklahoma) smack dab in the middle of the bible belt where divorce rates are the 2nd highest in the nation. The very religious sectors screaming about the sanctity of marraige, and how same sex unions are an abomination, have a higher divorce rate than Atheists!

It's Friday, and Al's class

It's Friday, and Al's class has a field trip to a nature park. Because of his disabilities he can't go without a parent. Are you sitting down? His dad is going to accompany him on the field trip. This is a huge deal, as his father has never participated in this fashion before. He just called me in utter shock as he left the school on his way to the nature park. He finally got to experience first hand what I've been reeling about for the past two years concerning the powers that be at Al's school. He was genuinely shaken up by how the Principal spoke to these children, and yes Al's teacher shrieked at the class in front of him also. He conceded the message being sent is this: "I am miserable, and it's YOUR fault." For the last three weeks these educators (lightly used) have been threatening the loss of participation in scheduled field trips and end of year festivities if exemplary behavior was not maintained on a daily basis. Al has been a nervous wreck, expressing nightly at bathtime his anxiety over the possible loss of jollification. When I picked him up yesterday he was fucking crying. She had set the kid up to fail again, pairing him with another small child for sports during "Super Kids Day". I don't understand how these women can be so insensetive to children and be educators? The volunteering I've done, and field trips I've chaperoned have affected me. Some of these children obviously have rough home situations, and they seem to get the most verbal abuse. It appears they are targets, dumping grounds for all the issues these women haven't worked through, and they know there's not a parent at home who will defend them. I finally managed to get Al on an Individualized Education Plan, but it took the entire school year to do it. The teachers at his school that are worth a damn are so intimidated by the Principal they don't say anything for fear of losing their jobs! I have no control over these women personally, it's just shameful that we don't care more about our children's education in this country, that we can spend billions of dollars slaughtering innocent people, but we can't provide quality education for our most precious commodities.

What's with this "Bot" thing

What's with this "Bot" thing anyway? I mean there's no way a human being could look at this site and think-"This site needs ads for flippin churches" I'm having a meltdown here. There's like 1/3 of the worlds population saying "Jesus is trying to SHOW you something Sista!" And I say to that, what about the other 3/4's! I'm not a math whiz by any means, but come ON! We are right and you are going to hell? I'm out on this if I can't figure out this stupid content filter. I have a problem with organized religion, so shoot me I don't care because I'm not going anywhere! Good Morning.

You know that old saying

You know that old saying about "What you don't know can't hurt you"? Or in this case "What you can't see can't hurt you" . Now I'm probably breaking one of the Google adsense 10 commandments by even talking about this, and god knows I wouldn't know if I was because I didn't read the rules and regulations (that's part of my problem I'm a habitual box checker. The local Starbuck's knows me as "The chick with every box checked") but I'm a little taken aback by the ad that's on my site. I just now saw it this afternoon. Hello where have I been? Nowhere, I mean I couldn't see it before...literally. I've been doing my best pain in the ass impression with the guys at google all week trying to troubleshoot the reason as to why. Operator error, no such thing as too safe right? So I go into the system and lo and behold (no pun intended) the problem is on this end. Thanks guys, good work. I pull the page back up and...well like I said, sometimes it's just better not to know. I am in no way implying that the good people at the above mentioned site would want to hurt, and or mame me in any way. Not at all. It just appears to be somewhat of a conflict of interest. Sort of.

On Auto-Pilot

The first time the Assistant District Atty. offered me a "Deal" was when Athena was 18 months old. Now I'm jumping ahead so bear with me. I had finally allowed both the children to be adjudicated, which essentially means stipulated to the petition and I plead guilty. Let me back up a bit, after they took Athena I went to court the following Monday assuming it would be dismissed due to the absurdity of the charges.

1. Abuse/neglect due to Athena testing positive (they changed it from addicted) for benzodiazapines (valium prescribed by my Dr.- I took two, 10 mg. valium the last month of my pregnancy, per Dr.'s orders )
2. Abuse/neglect due to domestic strife

The later charge enabled CPS to include Al on the petition, although they left him in my custody. Something I have learned is highly out of the ordinary, as a rule when they take one, they take the other. They used this as a blackmailing technique multiple times throughout the course of five years, threatening to, and then carrying out a 'pick up' of my son to force my hand.

The later also allowed CPS to charge Al and Athena's father with a "Crime", insuring Athena would not be returned to him. No one has ever been able to give me an adequate definition of "Domestic Strife", but apparently it qualifies you for losing your baby.

The thing about the Juvenille Justice System in Oklahoma is this: The courts are so swamped because of all these unethical pick ups, it drags out month after month after month until irreparable damage has been done to the very children these people are enlisted to 'protect'.

So as I began, the first "Deal" I was offered came the very day I was talked into pleading guilty. My  court appointed lawyer convinced me if I stipulated we could get it pushed through, and I'd have Athena back by Christmas.

At recess the ADA approached me with her deal: Voluntarily relinquish my parental rights to Athena, and allow the foster mother to adopt her,  and she would personally see to it that all charges were dropped  regarding Al. Time for a quiz:

• What foster mother went to the same church as the Dr. who delivered Athena?
• What foster mother had a friend on the Post Adjudication Review Board?
• What foster mother had never been a foster mother before?
• What foster mother used her parents as child care while she was working?
• What foster mother attended, or had her mother attend, every single supervised visit I had with my daughter for the first two years per case workers orders?
• What foster mom had a personal relationship with Athena's Court Appointed Special Advocate?
• What foster mother had a 'Business' relationship with said case worker?
• What foster mother wrote numerous letters to the judge, giving her "Opinion" of me, per case workers request?
• What foster mom repeatedly refused my request to attend Transition Counseling with her?
• What foster mom made bogus referrals as directed by case worker, detailed in court documents?
• What foster mom adopted my daughter after I was forced to relinquish my rights in order to get Al back?

The really tragic part is that the judge never saw the stacks of proof I had pertaining to the referrals that lead to Al's removal. Never. In one day my children's lives were forever altered because these people were so desperate to obtain my rights.

They had no way of legally preventing my daughters return. The only fair and impartial person in this case was the judge, but he had the case worker, CASA, ADA, foster mother, and foster grandmother all screaming "Do something!" what could he do? He had no choice but to issue the  pick up order for Al. I honestly would have done the same thing in his shoes.

Afterwards, the state moved for temination of my parental rights to  both of my children.

Nawwww.

Nawwww.

"What if's" are starting up.

"What if's" are starting up. And I'm not sure they're the bad kind of "what if's". Like What if, I start a page for and to Athena? What if I tell her everything about who she is, where she comes from, why I chose to have her and her brother even against the odds? What if I actually decide to do something constructive with this pain, instead of all this self absorbed, self defeating, self pity? What if, in spite of the injustices against me and my family, something positive eventually came out of it all? And what if through some psychic shift in the universe, I was to heal and really good stuff began to happen as a result? My anger has kept me alive for so long. Anger over moms Alzheimers, dad's death, my brother not being a part of my life. Then my children and their father. What if there is a god that intervenes on my behalf? Why hasn't he all those times I asked? It makes no sense. I believe it's time to try something different, because I can't handle this anger much longer. Anger that I didn't even know was there three weeks ago. Anger that is destroying my 'today' day after day, and has left no room for joy to reside amidst the enchanted chaos of a time in my sons life that once gone, will never be here again.

Got word from the Charter

Got word from the Charter school in the mail today concerning Al's interview. He did not get accepted for next Fall. I haven't told him yet. Now my only option at this point is to move into a better district, but a worse neighborhood. I have to think long term. What is going to be more important to Al's future? It's a catch-22. If I move into a better district, the housing I'll be able to afford will be in a crappy neighborhood, but if I can keep him in the house most of the time like I used to where we lived previously he'll be away from the gang shit. If we stay here he can play and ride his bike, but hes not getting an education worth a damn. I've considered homeschooling, but he needs social interaction too much, and the only extracurricular home school activities are so fundamental you'd think jesus taught laguage arts. If that works for them, fine. I don't believe in that so it doesn't work for me. Would you expect a Muslim mother to send her Muslim Babies to a synagogue if she didn't have to? No. She doesn't believe the same things. Where am I GOING? I AM ANGRY HE DIDNT GET ACCEPTED DAMNIT! I'm angry that a decent education in this country is contingent on money. I'm angry that my very bright child can't have the same opportunities as coder dads kid. I'm angry and I want to go do something about it, but I can't afford the gas to get there!

I've been waiting for the

I've been waiting for the "thumbs up" from all the little U.U.'s parents before I post any pics of the choir from Sunday. Not that my stupid phone takes Man Ray shots or anything, I'm just proud of the little guys. They've been working on it since February and it's a big damn deal! So all but one of them were like "Sure, yeah, by all means, send me copies, etc". Wouldn't you just know, the one kid who's dad was like "We don't allow pictures of blank on the Web unless it's in a secure folder blah, blah, blah, (the guys a damn coder, he's knows more than is good for any human being to know) is directly behind Al in the only shot of his solo I got! I mean come ON people, I was asking to be polite. Whatever, wait till she's a teenager dad. Christ I hope he doesn't read this, never should have given them the option of checking it out. (Love ya D.) Some people can handle who I am and others cannot. The "Others" usually consist of people who's lives perhaps have not been as 'colorful' as mine, and feel as though they are somehow better than me because of this fact. I have to imagine that if anyone at that church knew everything I'd gone through, they would either think I was lying or flee shrieking in the opposite direction. Why do I always have to make it about me? Jeez. The following shots DO NOT include BLANK.

What I believe, is that

What I believe, is that there was never a moment after my daughter was taken into "Protective Custody" when anyone involved intended on making any legitimate attempt at returning her to me. I don't want to write about any of this anymore. It's that old familiar feeling of "Whats the use?" I want my life back, but don't want to do the work. I'm so over the isolation. Walking around in a crowd of people and not being able to get past the plexiglass reinforcements I've created. How's this helping Al, who I have to promise at least only once a month now, that they wont come take him again? And the anger at the cat. What's that about? I used to love animals, and now I'm just like "Do not under any circumstances love me." Is this one of those John Wayne, pull myself up by my boot strap kind of things? And if so, could I use a damn hoist cuz this crap I'm luggin around is heavy!

The First Unitarian Church Youth

The First Unitarian Church Youth Choir performs this morning during service. I am so proud of my child, of all these beautiful little freethinkers of ours. They are strong, accepting, open-minded individuals, who are learning to do the right thing because it is the right thing to do. Not out of guilt or fear of eternal damnation. They have been raised knowing they are not damaged goods in need of absolution. They know that what we do today affects others today, and thats what is important...not some fairy tail promise (threat?) that no one could wrap their brain around if they were to be honest about it. I'm going the wrong way with this, all I wanted to say is this: Al will sing at First U. this morning, and I will cry tears of joy for my sons beauty. Across town at a Baptist church my daughter will sit wondering why she feels the way she does, and all I can do is wait.

So I find this amazing

So I find this amazing site"Rubysoho" but of course I don't know how to link the sonofa...well, anyway it's worth the visit. (As you can see two pots of coffee later, I got it.) Anyway, here's this adoptive mom of a beauty of a girl, writing about her fam. I am devouring this site, couldn't stop till I'd read it all, when I stumble across one of the links on the adoption agencys site World Assoc of Children And Parents WACAP. It shows a breakdown of funds that the federal goverment allocates to each state. Federal and state tax breaks and reimbursement programs. As I travel down the page curious to see what exactly is happening here in hell, I'm sickened to see how the funds are allocated in Oklahoma. There are so many parents who's rights are "Legally Terminated" here in Oklahoma, that there appears to be an $800 bonus involved.

All I've ever wanted to

All I've ever wanted to do was write. Even as a kid when my friends wanted to be princesses, I wanted to be Patty Hurst. Why? Because I knew I'd have something to write about. Plus I knew she was really just telling her family to go screw themselves. We were living in the Florida keys that summer, the summer of 1974 when my political self was formed. A main stream aproach to anything has been a challenge, but politics, well I learned that summer what could happen if one had blind faith in the illusion of puritanical, patriarchal, power. What does a nine-year-old have in common with a bunch of drunk deisel mechanics and fishermen sitting at a TiKi bar on a hot August night in 1974? Opinions my dear, a pocketful of opinions of which I finally had an audience for. I started this post bitching about the technical problems I am experiencing, but realized in that poetic moment of clarity, that I'd lost my focus somewhere along this path of healing. Going from a writer, to a bitcher, to a seeker of audiences, as I always have since that hot August night some thirty plus years ago. So I may never get this stupid thing to "Feed" or "Link" or do anything other than be a vehicle for my drive back to 'Sanityville', I suspect that's enough. It's been a long time.

My friend, no wait that's

My friend, no wait that's a lie I shit on her too... I know this girl named Suzi, and Suzi is pretty much a negative image of me. All the way around, from our spiritual life to the kind of clothes we wear, we are complete opposites. That's not true about her not being my friend anymore, Suzi is the type of person who loves you no matter what. But I did shit on her. I didn't sleep with her husband, or rip her off, none of the stuff I would've done say, twenty years ago. What I did was go away. No rhyme or reason I just went, and stayed went for the duration of her time left here before she moved to Florida. Four months of no phone calls, no laughing our asses off, no crying jags (always mine) at midnight over anything other that what was really going on. Four months of not drinking coffee on her deck while Al and her dog Jade played in the sprinkler, four months of me not being there to help her leave the only home she's ever known and all of her family, to be with the man she adored. Shitty as hell. I call this the 'Fallout Factor'. It's a direct response to the losses in my life, namely my mother and my daughter. Suzi was my last attempt at a friendship. She went to Florida, married the most wonderful man in the world, and gave birth to a beautiful baby boy on Athena's birthday. She sends general delivery emails with pictures, but no real communication since she found out she was pregnant. Everything I do, everything I touch is poisoned by the guilt I feel over letting Athena go, twice. I left my mother alone, I let my daughter go, I am not under the impression that Jesus saves, so what's a girl to do? Keep writing, keep writing, keep writing.

But you look so sane!

But you look so sane! why would CPS take YOUR children?

Me and My

Me and My Arrow

On the way home from

On the way home from Choir practice this evening Al was singing in the car at the top of his lungs. He is a happy child by nature, even keeled and accepting in ways his mother most definately is not. While he sang I went to a thing. First Unitarian hosted a panel discussion on the theme Is Religious Liberty Endangered? The panel included a member of the states Atheist Association, The Buddist Community, and Respect Diversity Foundation. The event was co-sponsored by the states Chapter of Americans United for the Separation of Church and State. I usually try to imagine the foster mom who eventually adopted Athena attending a fuction like this. (She actually participated in the theiving, so she's not a typical loving adoptive mom.) Anything not southern baptist is of satan. Any woman who puts a newborn in shoes every day of her life is of satan! I am wondering at this moment if my resentment will kill me before I get to the other side?

As I lay in the

As I lay in the hospital bed holding my daughter, I am alone. I can't tell you where anyone was. Earlier that day everyone had been there. My best friend Holly, who was my coach. Al and Athena's dad wasn't stable enough at the time, but he was there when she was born. His father, stepmother and brother. But now I am alone with my daughter, and the realization that these people think I have intentionally harmed her. I am trying to figure out what to do next, how I could get the window open and spidey down nine stories to escape with my baby, when the social worker enters the room again. She tells me that a police officer is going to come in and interview me, then he will decide whether or not Athena is taken into protective custody. (A police officer? What do they think I've done for gods sake?) I keep asking them to please test me, but they don't. They tell me all that matters is that Athena has tested positive for benzodiazapines, is in withdrawls from them, and that's enough. I ask her, if that's the case then why aren't you doing something for her medically? They inform me they can't legally unless she is taken into custody. There is nothing wrong with my daughter, she is sleeping peacefully in my arms. Any minute Rod Serling will walk out of the bathroom, or Allen Funt...no wait not Allen Funt. The policeman walks in and he's the size of Mt. Olympus. I can't tell you what he asked me, but it wasn't the kind of questions that would help an individual determine if one was fit, or dangerous, or for that matter even intoxicated or altered in any way. That's all I could think was they thought I was strung out on downers, abusing with no concern for the life growing within. As if addiction gives a shit about maternal instincts. He walks out. They walk in. She informs me that yes in fact, the officer does feel it's in Athena's best interest to be in protective custody. He is standing next to her. I wanted to grab the rail of the bed to steady myself, but knew if I didnt have both hands wrapped around my daughter they might grab her. They tell me they are taking her to the nursery to receive treatment now, and I need to "let go of the baby ma'am" (I could just push "it" out) The siren from an approaching ambulance drills into my brain. I dont want it to wake Athena, oh please dont wake Athena so she doesnt know whats happening here. Her eyelids flutter, and she purses her lips. The siren, tell them to shut off the GD siren! The huge officer moves toward us as the siren breaks her slumber, leaving an indelible image somewhere on that newborn map. She is screaming now, in tandem with the siren and I have forgotten how to use my arms. He reaches down and deftly lifts her tiny frame, as if he's done this inumerable times before. He does not say a word. They walk out of the room like a happy new family, and again I am alone, the siren louder still.

How do you cut off

How do you cut off a disabled kids medical covrage? I just came back from attempting to pick up one of Al's prescriptions. The Pharmacist informed me Al was no longer covered. Thank you incompetent TANF worker. If I were to purchase this medication it would cost me $300. Three of them I pay for out of pocket anyway, because Medicaid won't cover compounded prescriptions, and Al can't swallow pills. The script I tried to get today can be sprinkeled on food. I am ill. He has enough GD challenges without this shit. He has successes also. Al has typical bully problems at school. So today he tells me "some big bullys (aka 4th graders) had to come be in my class, because their teachers friend got shot in Dallas and so she wasn't there today." (Is that so Al?) "Yeah and um, one of the big bullys let me have cuts in the lunch room and then told me his name was really 'WooWoo', not Richard like Mrs. Monroe said" (WooWoo?) "Yeah and um, then on the playground WooWoo and some of his friends played with me, so they ended up not being big bullys after all, but BIG FRIENDS!" I stuck my hand in the back seat and he promptly gave me five. I utterly adore this little guy. Al is small, so small people think he's in Kindergarten. I don't sugar coat it, he knows he'll never play for the NBA. Al has mitral valve regurgitation, a tricuspid aortic valve and an increasingly enlarged aorta. These are secondary to a connected tissue dissorder called Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. There are nine' types' of EDS and Al has a bastardized version of vascular EDS...they think. He definately has classic EDS, with the hyper extensible joints and doughy thin skin, which is not all that uncommon. Jim Carey for example or The Great Harry Houdini perhaps. But the cardiovascular and GI symptoms Al has are all vascular EDS, which can, without proper prophylactic measures, be life threatening. The problem with the treatment, began with the diagnosis. As a rule, individuals with Classic EDS can't have vascular EDS, and visa versa. Oh yeah? Al and I are both in a study's at Johns Hopkins Univ and The Univ of Washington to try and determine the... ok, this is where if I keep writting about this topic, those of you with a medical background will realize I have no idea what I'm talking about other than what his Geneticist has told me. I learned the hard way not to Google EDS and drive. I have to get creative quick, because if I wait for TANF to correct this mistake it will be too late for my child.

"Push it out. Come on

"Push it out. Come on now, push it out so I can go home and go back to bed!" He was the Obstetrician to the stars so to speak, used to wealthy, private pay clients who needed a fertility expert; because they had placed child bearing on hold until their careers were in place. My age, and back to back pregnancies placed me in the high risk category. I was his medicaid quota. Medicaid is insurance for the poor. He resented from day one that I expected to fully participate in my pregnancy. It wasn't until the last trimester, when I started seeing him weekly that he became verbally abusive. You can't just switch  doctors on medicaid, and Athena was almost here so I just cried alot and sucked it up. This was a far cry from my experience with Al, who had an amazing doc, and was born in a birthing center. I remember saying something to Dr. S.  about my child birth classes, and he said "Why?" That "Why?" could go so many different ways, and has over the last six years. Dr. S.  is on the Board at the hospital where Athena finally came into this world, and he is a very powerful man in that fish tank existence. I did as he said and I pushed "It" out, my beautiful dark haired baby girl Athena George. He turned and walked out of the room. The next morning a social worker from the hospital and a pediatrician came to my room. They informed me Athena was showing signs of withrawl. Withdrawl? From what prenatal vitamins? They said she was shaking uncontrollably. Are they crazy? "Are you crazy?" The room is now spinning and I am having a difficult time making sense of what they are saying. Benzodiazapines...test positive...addicted... No, "Dr. S knows I take the valium as needed.  I have had the same bottle for six months, Dr. C. presribes it, call Dr. C. he will tell you. No wait, test ME! I took one three weeks ago, and one on Easter, it's impossible for  my baby to be having withdrawls... just test me! I can get the bottle so you can see I have hardly taken any...AND DR.  S. SAID IT WAS ALLRIGHT!!!!!!" They leave. I am holding Athena so tightly I am afraid I will hurt her. She is purring. Not shaking. What is happening?

Anger, my gracious motivator. Preheat

Anger, my gracious motivator. Preheat at 425. Chicken nuggets and french fries enable me to write for 15 minutes as opposed to something healthier that would give me only five. Shoot me. I need this to stay alive long enough to live. Big Trash Day tomorrow, but I'm a much better scavenger than releaser... or whatever that would be called. My great Big Trash Day finds: The queen size bed I sleep on. It's actually the best matress and box springs I've ever had, perched atop an old IKEA frame I salvaged from a parking lot. Probably the casualty of a domestic altercation gone awry. A conncrete bird bath with the "bath" missing, that I let live on my porch. I had it inside when we lived in the hood, for two reasons. One was the obvious yet irrational fear it would be stolen, And two, the wood floors in that historic old duplex could sustain it's weight. I miss that place, but not the crime and violence. Oppression oozing up from the drainage ditches. We were in "The Bermuda Triangle" of cultural violence. Blacks on the East side, The Barrio to the South, and Asians to the West. I'm not talking about FAMILIES, I'm talking about the city. We had moved there from a strictly black side of town, where at least I felt safe. Blacks don't scare me. Republicans scare me. With love, Katrina.

"Temporary Assistance For Needy Families".

"Temporary Assistance For Needy Families". That's what they call Welfare in this state. I just had a lovely phone conversation with my TANF worker, after receiving a letter from her on Saturday. The letter stated that my case was being closed effective May 1st because their records indicated I was employed. I had until today to provide check stubs so that they could adjust my assistance accordingly. I am not emplyed. Oh don't get me wrong, there was a time when I tried. When I was naive enough to believe it was possible to get off assistance. That "adjusting of assistance accordingly" is a polite way of saying we will not allow you to get ahead enough to NOT be a needy family. Zero wiggle room. We will pay for your childcare so you can work a minimum wage job, but for every dollar you make you lose a dollar of assistance somewhere. Housing, medical, food etc., but won't you feel good about yourself knowing you are being productive! Productive? If abandoning my disabled child to state sactioned daycare facilities where he's neglected and abused by "caregivers" is an acceptable form of parenting, sure where do I sign up? Multiple centers and two home daycare left Al's central nervous system fried. The last one, the fundamental christian lady, had a serious case of OCD. The place was spotless though and that was a far cry better than the one before with all the roach feces on the kitchen counter. Al had been there about six months when I noticed changes in him. Sullen, crying, which is highly unusual for Al, and the one that really stood out was he started refering to his penis as his "privates". In our home a penis is a penis, no euphamisms, no big deal. It was christmas, I was working at the mall and got off at 5:30 to get to FCDL house by 5:45 when she closed. I was 5 minutes late because of traffic in the mall parking lot and she charged me $10, demanded it right there in front of Al. Why? Because THATS WHAT JESUS WOULD DO. Then she asks for $2 from the parents to get all the kids ice cream one day. No prob. a nice treat considering they never leave the house. I ask Al how going for ice cream was, and he informs me the ice cream came out of...you guessed it, her freezer. That's just petty crap I know, but the proverbial straw came when Al lost it at school, crying uncontrolably. It turned out FCDL had been screaming at these kids pretty much on a daily basis for at least three months. Over stupid ass shit like making messes. Why? Because...THATS WHAT JESUS WOULD DO of course. She had apparently told them that they "better be good because no other daycare has an XBOX". Al and one of the little girls had talked in the bathroom (which was a refuge of sorts) about telling their parents. This is the part when I want to throw up. Al had strongly advized the little girl not to seek her parents for support in the matter, warning her that CPS could come and take her even if she did nothing wrong. She chose to heed his advice. Now you might be wondering what I did about FCDL? (I'll be right back, must vomit) I did what any mother who had spent 5 years tormented by the state would do, I did nothing. When Al was in a center facility last year there was an incident in the boys bathroom concerning Al and a 13 year old who pushed him off the toilet. (hold my hair?) I found out prior to making a referal on the facility to CPS, that by law if there is even a hint of possible sexual abuse involved, they pick the child up regardless. This in theory allows CPS to rule out any perpetrators in the home. No thanks. But what about the other children, don't you have an obligation to protect them? Nope. At one time in my life, yes. I would've risked it all to right injustice, I nearly did. Aren't referals to a hotline ANONYMOUS? Are you really that naive? As far as FCDL goes, well I'll just let her Jesus deal with her, and hope that those kids parents give the church enough money , then they too can be forgiven.