Thursday, April 12, 2012
Developments
DHS must have sensed a disturbance in the Force... We got a last minute appointment today, drove to Paul's Valley (which is apparently somewhere in Texas), and entered inquiries on a dozen or so kids.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
And the beat goes on...
3/27: Lisa sends email about latest list of kids from DHS.
4/4: Lisa sends email reminder.
4/5: DHS responds, can't meet until "late next week" at the earliest. Lisa immediately asks for an appointment time.
4/11: "Late next week" is now "late this week", as in tomorrow or the day after. Still no response.
4/4: Lisa sends email reminder.
4/5: DHS responds, can't meet until "late next week" at the earliest. Lisa immediately asks for an appointment time.
4/11: "Late next week" is now "late this week", as in tomorrow or the day after. Still no response.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Once more into the breach...
We have another meeting with DHS coming up soon. We've got a new list of kids that was already weeks old by the time it got to us. We responded immediately, and of course waited another two to three weeks for a response. They're making another list Tuesday, and our meeting is later in the week.
In this age of instantaneous global communications, it is seriously disheartening to deal with a 19th-century communication lag on something as important as the welfare of children.
In this age of instantaneous global communications, it is seriously disheartening to deal with a 19th-century communication lag on something as important as the welfare of children.
Monday, February 6, 2012
As expected...
...the two girls we inquired about have already been placed. Only took DHS 2 months to get back to us from the time of the original match. I think they're competing with Dell for worst customer service.
Monday, January 16, 2012
So here's where we are...
Right after Thanksgiving, when we had been trying to contact our social worker for about a month to find out what was going on with our case, we received a list of children for whom we had been "staffed" (matched). The rules state that we have to arrange a meeting with our social worker to come into the DHS office to read the profiles. The profiles cannot be copied or taken from the DHS office, and the only person who will talk to us is our social worker.
Except that she doesn't. We immediately sent her an email and asked for a meeting. A week went by. Two. Three. Lisa followed up with another email. Another week. Another. Those wondering why I don't post much lately should understand that what I'm mostly doing is waiting. Endlessly waiting. Just to receive a response to an email or voicemail. For weeks at a time.
Finally, last week Lisa sent another followup, this time being a little snippy, and finally got a response. We arranged a meeting and went in to read the profiles. In the process, we learned that another staffing meeting had taken place and we'd been matched with a whole new set of kids, and no information was available about the first set. So apparently the game is to play with a one month information lag.
The profiles are woefully depressing to read. The litany of abuses and horrors these children have suffered reads like an account of the Inquisition. It seriously makes us wonder how much we can handle, and at this point we're just hoping to be able to find some kids we can work with. We've also asked to be signed up on the national websites, which apparently also requires some kind of OK from ourgatekeeper social worker.
We have formally inquired about the status of two little girls, aged 5 and 3. We feel fairly confident they're already taken, but we'll see what happens. Of course, in my mind I've already walked them down the aisle. It's crazy what this process does to your emotions.
Friends of ours who started at roughly the same time have had their kids at home for 6 months now. They went overseas to adopt. After dealing with DHS this past year, I'm beginning to understand why people do that.
Except that she doesn't. We immediately sent her an email and asked for a meeting. A week went by. Two. Three. Lisa followed up with another email. Another week. Another. Those wondering why I don't post much lately should understand that what I'm mostly doing is waiting. Endlessly waiting. Just to receive a response to an email or voicemail. For weeks at a time.
Finally, last week Lisa sent another followup, this time being a little snippy, and finally got a response. We arranged a meeting and went in to read the profiles. In the process, we learned that another staffing meeting had taken place and we'd been matched with a whole new set of kids, and no information was available about the first set. So apparently the game is to play with a one month information lag.
The profiles are woefully depressing to read. The litany of abuses and horrors these children have suffered reads like an account of the Inquisition. It seriously makes us wonder how much we can handle, and at this point we're just hoping to be able to find some kids we can work with. We've also asked to be signed up on the national websites, which apparently also requires some kind of OK from our
We have formally inquired about the status of two little girls, aged 5 and 3. We feel fairly confident they're already taken, but we'll see what happens. Of course, in my mind I've already walked them down the aisle. It's crazy what this process does to your emotions.
Friends of ours who started at roughly the same time have had their kids at home for 6 months now. They went overseas to adopt. After dealing with DHS this past year, I'm beginning to understand why people do that.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
And out of the blue...
...just received first list of adoption candidates from DHS. Suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
This is the worst
Today's parenting class topic: child abuse and neglect. AKA "all the different ways that someone could have ****ed up your adoptive child." It's like a parade of demons.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Quote of the Day
"The victory condition, the highest goal you can achieve, is to make your children exactly as f***ed up as you are."
-- Jerry Holkins, Penny Arcade
-- Jerry Holkins, Penny Arcade
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Oh yeah...
"Almost" 18 years of marriage has turned into "actual" 18 years of marriage. Guess I'd better update the sidebar.
Into the breach
This past week we completed about 90% of the verbal colonoscopy that is the home study process. The contractor, a pleasant middle-aged man named Dennis, came over and interrogated interviewed us for about 8 hours, 5 on one visit and 3 on a follow-up. It was exhausting, to say the least, but nowhere near as much as the class we attended on Saturday.
We have 9 sessions to attend, 2 per Saturday for the next 5 weeks, with a break on Labor Day weekend. We've now completed the first two, which are largely introductory and relatively benign. Most of the conversation seemed to be about navigating the bureaucracy, managing expectations, and keeping DHS looking like a wonderful shiny happy organization. After all, it's for the children.
That last part comes off a little cynical, perhaps because it is. There's a lot of whitewashing going on, even when the folks sitting at my table and directly across from me brought up their direct, recent experiences with the bureaucratic heavy-handedness of that same organization. Like 80% of the class, they're involved in a kinship adoption, but for some reason one of the children involved has been institutionalized and they're getting stonewalled by DHS regarding her care. They're being told quite bluntly that not only is she "none of their concern", but if they don't drop it DHS can and will take the other kids away from them too. It's downright surreal, coming from an organization which throughout the class had been portrayed as having nothing but every child's happiness and well-being in mind.
Granted, much of this may be perception and perspective, but government bureaucracies are notoriously intractable, so I'm inclined to believe the gist if remaining skeptical on the particulars.
That said, the class itself isn't particularly difficult, since like all government programs it is made to accommodate the lowest common denominator. For example, I distinctly remember reading one section which painstakingly described a concept in several sentences that could have been summarized in a single word had the writer assumed the intended audience to have a high-school graduate's vocabulary. Most of what is said is basic common sense -- perhaps not to some, but to anyone with a little brains and a modicum of compassion. There are a few legal factoids that were new to me, but they could have been summarized on a 3x5 index card. I didn't really need 6 hours of lecture to pick them up, and they mostly pertained to foster families, which doesn't really apply to us.
The greatest danger of the class is boredom and fatigue. My brain checked out with about 30 minutes left in the second session. Luckily all they were doing at that point was reviewing -- again -- those half-dozen items which had been explained in grueling detail for the previous 2.5 hours. Not even the mighty power of 5-Hour Energy could keep me focused at that point.
Lest it sound like I'm being snarky (which I totally am), I should give props to the ladies doing the teaching of the class. They have a required syllabus handed down from on high, and they're not really allowed to deviate from it much. But they are doing their level best to keep it as interesting as possible, even though the curriculum has all the flavor and consistency of oatmeal and they're basically allotted 5 metaphorical raisins to drop in it.
Only 7 more sessions to go.
We have 9 sessions to attend, 2 per Saturday for the next 5 weeks, with a break on Labor Day weekend. We've now completed the first two, which are largely introductory and relatively benign. Most of the conversation seemed to be about navigating the bureaucracy, managing expectations, and keeping DHS looking like a wonderful shiny happy organization. After all, it's for the children.
That last part comes off a little cynical, perhaps because it is. There's a lot of whitewashing going on, even when the folks sitting at my table and directly across from me brought up their direct, recent experiences with the bureaucratic heavy-handedness of that same organization. Like 80% of the class, they're involved in a kinship adoption, but for some reason one of the children involved has been institutionalized and they're getting stonewalled by DHS regarding her care. They're being told quite bluntly that not only is she "none of their concern", but if they don't drop it DHS can and will take the other kids away from them too. It's downright surreal, coming from an organization which throughout the class had been portrayed as having nothing but every child's happiness and well-being in mind.
Granted, much of this may be perception and perspective, but government bureaucracies are notoriously intractable, so I'm inclined to believe the gist if remaining skeptical on the particulars.
That said, the class itself isn't particularly difficult, since like all government programs it is made to accommodate the lowest common denominator. For example, I distinctly remember reading one section which painstakingly described a concept in several sentences that could have been summarized in a single word had the writer assumed the intended audience to have a high-school graduate's vocabulary. Most of what is said is basic common sense -- perhaps not to some, but to anyone with a little brains and a modicum of compassion. There are a few legal factoids that were new to me, but they could have been summarized on a 3x5 index card. I didn't really need 6 hours of lecture to pick them up, and they mostly pertained to foster families, which doesn't really apply to us.
The greatest danger of the class is boredom and fatigue. My brain checked out with about 30 minutes left in the second session. Luckily all they were doing at that point was reviewing -- again -- those half-dozen items which had been explained in grueling detail for the previous 2.5 hours. Not even the mighty power of 5-Hour Energy could keep me focused at that point.
Lest it sound like I'm being snarky (which I totally am), I should give props to the ladies doing the teaching of the class. They have a required syllabus handed down from on high, and they're not really allowed to deviate from it much. But they are doing their level best to keep it as interesting as possible, even though the curriculum has all the flavor and consistency of oatmeal and they're basically allotted 5 metaphorical raisins to drop in it.
Only 7 more sessions to go.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Things are starting to happen...
Color me shocked, but the home study contractor is actually calling my references. This is perhaps the first time in 20+ years of job interviews and various other forms. I'd come to think that the "references" section of any form was just a test to see if you had 3 imaginary friends.
Imagine my horror when folks who actually know me started saying that they got a call from "the guy" asking all sorts of impertinent questions. One such question was, of course, "would you recommend him as a parent?" My boss told me privately that he had no idea, really... all he knows with confidence is my worth as an employee and some random bits about my interests. But he's heard I have dogs, and they're still alive, so he figured that counts.
Let's hope my other references at least thought of that much.
Imagine my horror when folks who actually know me started saying that they got a call from "the guy" asking all sorts of impertinent questions. One such question was, of course, "would you recommend him as a parent?" My boss told me privately that he had no idea, really... all he knows with confidence is my worth as an employee and some random bits about my interests. But he's heard I have dogs, and they're still alive, so he figured that counts.
Let's hope my other references at least thought of that much.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
It moved! A little.
At the beginning of May, we filed the paperwork to get the home study going and our classes set up.
About a month later, we got a call from Tonya, who scheduled our classes for August-September, which is the first round of Saturday classes available (we didn't fancy the idea of going after work for weeks on end).
Yesterday, we finally got a notice from the home study contractor that they've taken our case out of their inbox. So it only took 2 months to be notified that our paperwork had made it that far through the bureaucracy. Moving at the speed of government, this must be a new record!
About a month later, we got a call from Tonya, who scheduled our classes for August-September, which is the first round of Saturday classes available (we didn't fancy the idea of going after work for weeks on end).
Yesterday, we finally got a notice from the home study contractor that they've taken our case out of their inbox. So it only took 2 months to be notified that our paperwork had made it that far through the bureaucracy. Moving at the speed of government, this must be a new record!
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Preach it Sister!!!
I want to marry this post and have like ten thousand of its babies:
Momastery: On Profanity
Favorite bit:
I try to keep my language clean, I honestly do. But I refuse to feel as guilty as some think I should when it proves difficult or impossible to maintain the facade. Like many/most(/all?) men, I am a bottler of emotions. There's a microbrewery in my heart that serves up a creamy ale in frosty shatterproof bottles of the finest sublimation. Occasionally the bottles get shaken up and the tops pop off and then there's a giant mess to clean up.
To prevent this, I've been practicing at expressing myself instead, especially when it comes to anger or frustration, and sometimes that just has to include the naughty words because no other words will do. Some have suggested this is evidence of a weak mind or vocabulary, but I think it has more to do with the fact that some emotions are violent and require violent language, otherwise you're not really expressing them.
Momastery: On Profanity
Favorite bit:
Or maybe He’s talking about language intended to exclude people. Religious talk does that sometimes. Religious words can be used to make people feel in and other people feel out and if they’re used that way, to suggest that some people are “God people” and others aren’t, then I think religious words become profane.
I try to keep my language clean, I honestly do. But I refuse to feel as guilty as some think I should when it proves difficult or impossible to maintain the facade. Like many/most(/all?) men, I am a bottler of emotions. There's a microbrewery in my heart that serves up a creamy ale in frosty shatterproof bottles of the finest sublimation. Occasionally the bottles get shaken up and the tops pop off and then there's a giant mess to clean up.
To prevent this, I've been practicing at expressing myself instead, especially when it comes to anger or frustration, and sometimes that just has to include the naughty words because no other words will do. Some have suggested this is evidence of a weak mind or vocabulary, but I think it has more to do with the fact that some emotions are violent and require violent language, otherwise you're not really expressing them.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Watchin' the dog...
...watchin' you.
This article has some great research and commentary on canine behavior. We've got three pooches hanging around the house, and I can attest that they miss no opportunity to associate some cue with some action.
Our TV makes a characteristic musical tone when we shut it off. The dogs have learned that when they hear that tone, it's time to go outside and go potty before bed. I've demonstrated this for the delight of various visitors: watching TV late at night, all three dogs conked out on the floor in various places, completely dead to the world. We'll be talking in normal tones, the dogs never waking or stirring, and I'll say "watch this".
Remote: *click*
TV: "bee-dee-boop"
All three dogs will go from complete unconsciousness to on their feet in about the space of a second, then scamper to the kitchen door to be let out.
What's even more interesting is treat time... they know their individual tricks:
Zeus: speak, roll over, down, up, etc.
Zoe: speak, high-five, down, sit, etc.
Zack: "I can sit."
"Zack, speak!"
"I can sit."
"Zack, roll over!"
"I can sit."
Yeah, he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, though I'd still bet on him in a contest against Simple Dog.
Where was I? Oh yeah... my point was, when it's treat time, if you hold up a treat but don't give them a cue, they will actually start running through their repertoire of tricks (or in Zack's case, he can look more and more pathetic as he sits and drools) in order to get the treat.
All of this is leads me to my observations of my cousins and brother, with their kids, which say to me that it's pretty much the same with kids -- with the added wrinkle that kids can actually communicate in English. I've seen my cousin's husband simply give his kids a look, and they quiet down, change direction, shut up, or whatever. I've seen my brother giving nonverbal cues that prompt my little nephew to immediately anticipate that something's going to happen, even if he's not exactly sure what it is. And I'm sure that the added language element factors in, in ways far too complex to map with my limited interactions.
Of course, from the Tricia debacle and my own experience with dogs, I know all too well how easy it is to "teach" bad behaviors by not being cognizant of the constant observation. I know what's required to have perfectly behaved dogs, and frankly it's more than I'm willing to invest, so I settle for dogs that mind when it's important for them to mind and who understand how to peacefully coexist in my house (e.g. stay off the furniture, don't poop on the rug, food that's on the floor is fair game but anywhere else is cause to get your snout slapped, etc.).
The interesting thing will be trying to do this with kids. A friend recently told me that as you are with your dogs, you will be with your kids. So I don't expect to be trying to wring perfect behavior out of them; I just want them to coexist peacefully, mind when it's important to do so, and learn a few things (tricks?) along the way, like not pooping on the rug.
This article has some great research and commentary on canine behavior. We've got three pooches hanging around the house, and I can attest that they miss no opportunity to associate some cue with some action.
Our TV makes a characteristic musical tone when we shut it off. The dogs have learned that when they hear that tone, it's time to go outside and go potty before bed. I've demonstrated this for the delight of various visitors: watching TV late at night, all three dogs conked out on the floor in various places, completely dead to the world. We'll be talking in normal tones, the dogs never waking or stirring, and I'll say "watch this".
Remote: *click*
TV: "bee-dee-boop"
All three dogs will go from complete unconsciousness to on their feet in about the space of a second, then scamper to the kitchen door to be let out.
What's even more interesting is treat time... they know their individual tricks:
Zeus: speak, roll over, down, up, etc.
Zoe: speak, high-five, down, sit, etc.
Zack: "I can sit."
"Zack, speak!"
"I can sit."
"Zack, roll over!"
"I can sit."
Yeah, he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, though I'd still bet on him in a contest against Simple Dog.
Where was I? Oh yeah... my point was, when it's treat time, if you hold up a treat but don't give them a cue, they will actually start running through their repertoire of tricks (or in Zack's case, he can look more and more pathetic as he sits and drools) in order to get the treat.
All of this is leads me to my observations of my cousins and brother, with their kids, which say to me that it's pretty much the same with kids -- with the added wrinkle that kids can actually communicate in English. I've seen my cousin's husband simply give his kids a look, and they quiet down, change direction, shut up, or whatever. I've seen my brother giving nonverbal cues that prompt my little nephew to immediately anticipate that something's going to happen, even if he's not exactly sure what it is. And I'm sure that the added language element factors in, in ways far too complex to map with my limited interactions.
Of course, from the Tricia debacle and my own experience with dogs, I know all too well how easy it is to "teach" bad behaviors by not being cognizant of the constant observation. I know what's required to have perfectly behaved dogs, and frankly it's more than I'm willing to invest, so I settle for dogs that mind when it's important for them to mind and who understand how to peacefully coexist in my house (e.g. stay off the furniture, don't poop on the rug, food that's on the floor is fair game but anywhere else is cause to get your snout slapped, etc.).
The interesting thing will be trying to do this with kids. A friend recently told me that as you are with your dogs, you will be with your kids. So I don't expect to be trying to wring perfect behavior out of them; I just want them to coexist peacefully, mind when it's important to do so, and learn a few things (tricks?) along the way, like not pooping on the rug.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Fitness
One of my goals as a potential father is to instill a desire for physical fitness in the kids. It was never really discussed around our house; my brother and I participated in a few sports in Jr. High, but neither of us were very good at it. The term "athlete" was not in the top 10 words one would think of to describe us. But we were teenage boys, fairly active anyway, and not getting fat on our own, so the subject of fitness was sort of taken for granted.
That's why it came as a surprise to me at the time (but shouldn't have) when I woke up one day at 25 years of age and 50+ pounds overweight. I didn't really do anything about it for another 10 years, and now I deeply regret all that time I wasted as a fat guy, especially during my 20's. So among other things, I'd like to give our kids some pro-fitness ideals; not in the idea that they're going to be participating in varsity-level sports (though it's fine if they do), but with the idea that physical fitness is a thing worth pursuing for its own sake.
I work out regularly (5-6 times a week) doing the P90X and similar workouts, but I've never been much of a runner. I do like getting on the bicycle though, something for which I haven't had any time since moving into our current house 2 years ago. So this past weekend, with the wife-unit off shopping, I decided to dig out the ol' WalMart special and put 10 or 20 miles on it (wound up being 20 -- /flex).
After pumping up the tires and packing all my essentials into a little handlebar bag, I took off in a random direction with no real plan except "go that way until I get tired of it, then turn". It was 95 degrees out, but I'm used to that kind of weather, so that wasn't a big deal. All my time in the gym ensured that the effort didn't really bother me either.
What did bother me though, was my rear end. I didn't realize it was possible to get saddle sores from a bicycle. By the end of the ride I felt like I'd been whacked in the crotch with a 4x4, repeatedly, for the last 2 hours.
Does not make a good seat
I always kind of smirked at my dad's insistence on a big cushy bicycle seat, figuring I was tough enough to handle the bar of hard plastic that comes with the average WalMart special, but I'll be darned if I didn't wave the white flag right then and there. I ran off to the local sporting goods store and found a nice cushy seat and mounted it on the bike straightaway. Apparently my butt has aged less gracefully than the rest of me (in just the last 2 years!), because that new seat is the bee's knees. And after the wife-unit tried it out, she bought one for herself.
As a result of my little adventure though, she's gotten a renewed interest in going for bike rides as a way to spend time together, and I think it will carry forward into the kid-future. I'm still working on just how much I want to play "father as gym coach" and force the little rugrats (well, at least the teens) to get off the couch and do some P90X with the old man. That aside, I can definitely see bicycling -- especially with the distances and difficulty we have in our local area -- as being a good start to communicating the fitness ideal.
That's why it came as a surprise to me at the time (but shouldn't have) when I woke up one day at 25 years of age and 50+ pounds overweight. I didn't really do anything about it for another 10 years, and now I deeply regret all that time I wasted as a fat guy, especially during my 20's. So among other things, I'd like to give our kids some pro-fitness ideals; not in the idea that they're going to be participating in varsity-level sports (though it's fine if they do), but with the idea that physical fitness is a thing worth pursuing for its own sake.
I work out regularly (5-6 times a week) doing the P90X and similar workouts, but I've never been much of a runner. I do like getting on the bicycle though, something for which I haven't had any time since moving into our current house 2 years ago. So this past weekend, with the wife-unit off shopping, I decided to dig out the ol' WalMart special and put 10 or 20 miles on it (wound up being 20 -- /flex).
After pumping up the tires and packing all my essentials into a little handlebar bag, I took off in a random direction with no real plan except "go that way until I get tired of it, then turn". It was 95 degrees out, but I'm used to that kind of weather, so that wasn't a big deal. All my time in the gym ensured that the effort didn't really bother me either.
What did bother me though, was my rear end. I didn't realize it was possible to get saddle sores from a bicycle. By the end of the ride I felt like I'd been whacked in the crotch with a 4x4, repeatedly, for the last 2 hours.
Does not make a good seat
I always kind of smirked at my dad's insistence on a big cushy bicycle seat, figuring I was tough enough to handle the bar of hard plastic that comes with the average WalMart special, but I'll be darned if I didn't wave the white flag right then and there. I ran off to the local sporting goods store and found a nice cushy seat and mounted it on the bike straightaway. Apparently my butt has aged less gracefully than the rest of me (in just the last 2 years!), because that new seat is the bee's knees. And after the wife-unit tried it out, she bought one for herself.
As a result of my little adventure though, she's gotten a renewed interest in going for bike rides as a way to spend time together, and I think it will carry forward into the kid-future. I'm still working on just how much I want to play "father as gym coach" and force the little rugrats (well, at least the teens) to get off the couch and do some P90X with the old man. That aside, I can definitely see bicycling -- especially with the distances and difficulty we have in our local area -- as being a good start to communicating the fitness ideal.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Holy crap, it's been a month already?
Where does the time go...
I took a vacation, we're waiting (again) on DHS to give us some information, and nothing much is happening.
While on vacation, I did get the chance to observe some parenting "in the wild" as it were, take some mental notes, and discuss my ideas with various folks who have done the deed. I'm fascinated by the process of parenting, and honestly can't wait to take our required classes to see how they mesh with what I'm thinking.
Back to the phones and voicemail tag...
I took a vacation, we're waiting (again) on DHS to give us some information, and nothing much is happening.
While on vacation, I did get the chance to observe some parenting "in the wild" as it were, take some mental notes, and discuss my ideas with various folks who have done the deed. I'm fascinated by the process of parenting, and honestly can't wait to take our required classes to see how they mesh with what I'm thinking.
Back to the phones and voicemail tag...
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Hmm...
Somehow I don't think DHS would endorse this particular method of child-rearing...
...even though it looks like the kid is having a ball.
...even though it looks like the kid is having a ball.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Somethin' for Dinner
One day back when I was about 10 or 11 years old, my Uncle Jack was babysitting, and he pulled out the blender to make himself a protein shake. We asked what he was making, but he didn't have a name for it (and he always liked messing with our heads), so he said "Somethin'".
After whipping himself up a batch of Somethin', he made some for us. To help the taste, he put Hershey's Chocolate Syrup in it, and called it Chocolate Somethin'. To this day, every time I make a dish with no real goal or list of ingredients, I call it Somethin', and remember Uncle Jack's protein shake. I hear his voice in my head every time I do it.
The wife-unit and I have been rather unmotivated lately in the grocery shopping department, so we've been getting really light on the vittles in stock. Last night, after looking in the fridge, the freezer, and the pantry for about the fourth time, I just started pulling stuff out at random.
I figured I might as well get used to doing some improvisational cooking, because apparently kids expect to be fed on a daily basis. Who knew?
One serving's worth of Hot & Sour Soup mix... check
A cup or so of whole wheat noodles... check
Pound of hamburger... check
Unopened jar of Ragu spaghetti sauce... check
I had the pans out and on the stove when the wife-unit piped up: "What are you making?"
"Somethin'"
I imagined a group of kids working on their homework at the dining room table, or arguing, or talking on the phone, and saying "dad, what's for dinner?"
And in my head, Uncle Jack said, "Somethin'"
Then there was my brother's version... "A great big plate of Eat What Yo Papa Fix!"
The noodles and soup mix went into one pan, the burger into another, and 15 minutes later it was all drained and tossed together. I don't know if it was a good dish, but it didn't taste horrible, and with a little salt was fine by me.
Which of course means my wife won't touch it and our kids might need some chocolate syrup to help it go down. But for me and the dogs, it's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.
Except the dogs aren't getting any.
After whipping himself up a batch of Somethin', he made some for us. To help the taste, he put Hershey's Chocolate Syrup in it, and called it Chocolate Somethin'. To this day, every time I make a dish with no real goal or list of ingredients, I call it Somethin', and remember Uncle Jack's protein shake. I hear his voice in my head every time I do it.
The wife-unit and I have been rather unmotivated lately in the grocery shopping department, so we've been getting really light on the vittles in stock. Last night, after looking in the fridge, the freezer, and the pantry for about the fourth time, I just started pulling stuff out at random.
I figured I might as well get used to doing some improvisational cooking, because apparently kids expect to be fed on a daily basis. Who knew?
One serving's worth of Hot & Sour Soup mix... check
A cup or so of whole wheat noodles... check
Pound of hamburger... check
Unopened jar of Ragu spaghetti sauce... check
I had the pans out and on the stove when the wife-unit piped up: "What are you making?"
"Somethin'"
I imagined a group of kids working on their homework at the dining room table, or arguing, or talking on the phone, and saying "dad, what's for dinner?"
And in my head, Uncle Jack said, "Somethin'"
Then there was my brother's version... "A great big plate of Eat What Yo Papa Fix!"
The noodles and soup mix went into one pan, the burger into another, and 15 minutes later it was all drained and tossed together. I don't know if it was a good dish, but it didn't taste horrible, and with a little salt was fine by me.
Which of course means my wife won't touch it and our kids might need some chocolate syrup to help it go down. But for me and the dogs, it's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.
Except the dogs aren't getting any.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Prints
We went for the fingerprinting today. They used the electronic version this time... last time I was fingerprinted it was with old-fashioned ink and got screwed up along the way so it had to be redone. This time the computer complained if it wasn't clear enough, prompting the officer to clear the print and start over.
$40 and 20 minutes later, we're ready to be booked into prison or become adoptive parents. Take your pick.
$40 and 20 minutes later, we're ready to be booked into prison or become adoptive parents. Take your pick.
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