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The Dam Breaker

This past Friday night we attended a Silent Auction at the kids’ school. It was complete craziness, but we had a great time. We ate too many cold hot dogs and soggy Sloppy Joes, wandered in and out of the building checking on our latest bids, strategized the best way to win the treasures we really wanted, and ended up spending far too much money. While My Hubby, Shaggy, Daphne and I manned our individual bids, Velma spent most of the time with her closest friend, we’ll call her Courtney.

Courtney and Velma have been stuck together like glue all school year long. At first, we were really excited for Velma. She’s not the type of kid that makes a million friends. She’s not a social butterfly. There have been tears upon tears in the past several years because of her difficulties with making friends. So when she came home and announced that she had made a great friend–not just an acquaintance, but a best friend, even–we were excited for her.

Courtney has been an interesting influence over the school year. We’ve heard about Courtney and Velma’s tendency to get together and act silly at school (I believe “lose a rung or two on the maturity ladder” was the exact verbiage used by their math teacher), and we’ve witnessed it firsthand at home. I worked from home one day–when school was out and daycare was closed–and Velma invited Courtney over to hang out with her for the day. I figured it would be no big deal. I mean, they’re fifth graders, right? How hard could it be?

Seriously. I could hardly even hear myself think over their raucous giggling. Velma transformed, right before my very eyes, from a quiet, almost meek, kid into a loud, boisterous, devil-may-care, rule-breaking and downright defiant child in Courtney’s presence. I had several discussions with her and, at one point, even threatened to send Courtney home if she didn’t get a grip. Worse, I had to have the same conversation with Courtney. With the other kiddos that have graced the doorstep of our home, a stern look from me followed by a discussion with the kiddo who did the inviting usually does the trick. Our kiddo seems to be able to pass along the house rules and the guest seems able to understand and comply. Healthy respect for authority and all that. Not so much, Courtney.

When Courtney left for the day, I sat Velma down and we discussed the expectations, should she want Courtney to come back over any time in say the next 50 years. She understood. She apologized. She said she was just so excited that she had such a wonderful friend. She didn’t mean to be disprespectful. It wouldn’t happen again. Could she, please, please, please, please, just have one more chance? I relented. And we haven’t seen that kind of behavior for awhile. But I still have felt a little uneasy about Courtney. I can’t really put my finger on why.

We’ve managed to work through the school issues. And we’ve dealt with our fair share of fifth grade drama (watch out Middle School, here they come). But things seem to have settled a bit. I still watch them together and wonder how Velma moves, almost immediately, into another emotional world. The smiles are bigger, the giggling is louder, the body is more animated… she’s a different child. Did I do that when I was her age? I don’t remember it, though I imagine it was quite possible. I’ve just never seen her do it before — and though she hasn’t had a million different friends, like Daphne, she’s had plenty of them come over to the house in the past few years. Weird.

Anyway, Velma spent the evening with Courtney. When it came time to leave, she was disappointed. We’d been there for almost three hours. It was late. We were tired. My Hubby headed to the car with Daphne, Velma and Shaggy, while I stayed a minute to say goodbye to Freddy who was leaving with his Dad (you know, the sane one–the one that we can actually attend things like the Silent Auction with and enjoy each other’s company).

When I arrived at the car, Velma was in full-blown meltdown mode. She had tears pouring down her face, and she was screaming at the top of her lungs. She’s 10, OK? But picture a three-year-old in the middle of the most amazing tantrum you’ve ever seen and that’s our Velma. I sighed, because this is not a new thing. This is one of the reasons we started going to therapy in the first place. I know in my brain that she can’t help it, can’t control the emotions, can’t keep it inside. But my emotions get the better of me, too, and darn it, we’d just had such a fun night. I hate to end things that have been enjoyable with something like that.

No sooner had the sigh left my lips, than Velma crossed her arms over her chest, screwed up her face, her eyes sparking with a glare that could melt the paint off the car, and spat at My Hubby, “And I’m NOT MAD!” Clearly. I can’t even find the words to describe the tone in her voice — disdainful, angry, venomous. I had an immediate picture of her mother fill my head. He turned, slowly, breathed deeply and said, “You, young lady, are grounded for the next week. Do not EVER speak to me like that again. Do we understand each other?”

The anger in her voice and body melted away into sobbing, her shoulders slumped and her feet dragging as she shuffled her way to the car, still howling like a wounded animal. Love those moments, don’t you? A thousand kids and parents pouring out the front of the school, all eyes turned toward us and the spectacle that Velma was making in the parking lot. Ugh. As we drove out of the parking lot, My Hubby’s face hot with embarrassment, I asked what had happened.

Evidently, Shaggy asked her if she was sad. She said she wasn’t. When Shaggy then suggested to My Hubby that she was sad, that pushed her right over the edge of the cliff into insanity (really, those people that care drive me nuts, too). She bit Shaggy’s head off, and then My Hubby suggested that she wasn’t sad, she was mad. That was the end of it all.

Alrighty then…

I don’t know what to do. It seems like her time with Courtney precedes these meltdown moments. It’s like she moves into some heightened emotional state and she can’t come down from it.

I know there’s a lot more on her mind than leaving the Silent Auction earlier than planned. I know she’s conflicted about all kinds of things, not the least of which is our next court date. I know that she was thinking about spending the weekend with The Egg Donor (ED). I know she has a million emotions swirling around inside of her–about her parents, about the whole ugly situation, about losing more time with ED, about starting Middle School next year, about world peace, for all I know–and they’re bound to come out somehow.

But Courtney seems to be a trigger for her, the crack in the dam that, under just enough pressure, causes every drop of emotion inside the child to come gushing out, flattening everything and everyone in its path. I don’t want to ban her from spending time with Courtney, her one and only best friend on the planet. But we just can’t take the aftermath of time with her. There’s got to be a solution out there — I just can’t seem to come up with it.

Any of you run into something like this? What did you do?

Sad

If you haven’t already stopped by James Rhoades’ blog, please do it today and let him know you’re thinking of him.

Yesterday, the Kentucky Supreme Court ruled that James did not have “standing” to be a part of his son’s life. I read most of the ruling, including the opinions, and was fairly well appalled at the outcome of the case.  You can see James’ post and read the rest of the ruling here.

These are pieces from Justice Cunningham’s opinion (with which I strongly disagree):

The severely wounded institution of marriage in Kentucky surely protects the parties from unwanted interlopers claiming parenthood of a child conceived and born during their coverture. If not, then I am left to wonder if marriage has any legal meaning at all.

We all agree that the overriding concern in this case is the welfare of the child. When considering the integrity of marriage, as we do here, we are not only dealing with this particular child, but with all children born to married couples. Marriage is an institutional umbrella under whose shade the protection, support, and nurturing of children looms vital. This critical protection extends to the children born of the marriage, if not of the bodies of the marriage.

Said Justice Stephens, “Such suits invite abuse. . . . Not only is a defendant in these suits victim to vindictive or purely mercenary motives of the plaintiff, but such suits are likely to expose minor children of the marriage to one of their parent’s extramarital activities, and may even require the children to testify to details of the family relationship in open court.”‘ 824 S.W. 2d at 427.

By diverting our attention from what rights and protections a married couple has in this state, we turn the focus away from what, I believe, is the main issue . We are selling the pasture to buy the horse. The dissent gives no heed to what is at the center of this controversy – that is, the marriage contract to which the Appellants are parties, and all the rights, privileges, protections, and immunities attached to this long-standing legal arrangement.

The truth is a child was born during a couple’s marriage . The truth is a third party claims parenthood of that child through an adulterous relationship with the child’s mother. The truth is the couple remains married and wishes to raise the child born during their marriage – a child legally presumed to be the husband’s under KRS 406 .011 – without the interference of the interloper.

I truly can’t believe that the focus here is on the legally binding nature of the marriage contract, rather than the fact that a child was biologically born to the wife of the marriage and someone other than her husband. I am awed by the power our judicial system has handed to women with this kind of opinion. If Julia wanted James’ money, then she could go after him for it and the Court would hold him responsible. I believe that if she and her husband eventually divorce, she can still seek suport from James. But if she would rather forget that she was half of the affair that produced this child, she can exclude James from his child’s life until the child is eighteen. One of the Justices suggested, during oral arguments, that they would be making mothers into uber-parents, and that is exactly what this does.

I am particularly disheartened by the fact that their legalese makes James and “unwanted interloper”, although Julia Ricketts definitely didn’t consider him either unwanted or an interloper during their year and a half affair. Why is there no burden on her? Why is she automatically assumed to be the legal parent of this child, though she was half of creating this scenario in the first place, just because she was married at the time that the child was born? Uber-parent, indeed.

And I think it’s also important to note that mothers would never be in this situation. There is never a doubt that a woman is the mother of the child, right? If she gives birth to the child (outside of special circumstances like surrogates), she is the mother. Period. Only men will ever be in this situation.

I agreed strongly with Justice Abramson’s opinion. She says:

Moreover, as explained below, laws which allow for establishment of the biological truth as to the paternity of a child do far more to advance society’s interest in preserving families than those which lock the courthouse doors to anyone but the mother and her husband.

Is the father of a child generally considered to be the man who provided half of the child’s genetic makeup or the man married to the mother who gave birth to the child?

The “marital relationship between the husband and wife” referenced in KRS 406.011 can certainly be said to “cease” when the wife is having sexual intercourse with another man. The “marriage” may still exist as a matter of law and “marital relations” (i.e., sexual intercourse) may still occur between the husband and wife on occasion, or even with regularity, but the monogamous “marital relationship” on which our society is based “ceased” when that third party entered the picture.

This interpretation has the added advantage of comporting with common sense because few people would question that a child born to a married woman and a lover who is not her husband is indeed born out of wedlock.

First, how is the family strengthened when a mother can conceive a child outside of marriage and be assured that she alone knows the child’s biological origins and can control their discovery? She can harbor this secret until divorce, revealing the truth at that juncture if it serves her purposes.

Second, for those who think it places the child in an untenable position vis-a-vis his or her in-home father and perhaps other siblings, there are tens of thousands of blended families all across Kentucky who deal with those types of issues daily. Many marriages include children who are “yours and mine” or “yours, mine and ours” and those families cope with weekend and summer visitation, shared holidays and other aspects of blended families.

Third, knowing the truth about one’s genetic background has both medical and psychological consequences . Is it appropriate to leave a child without such genetic knowledge that could be crucial in the course of his or her life in medical situations? As for the psychological component, it is commonplace that adoptive parents are encouraged to share with their children the fact of their adoption at an appropriate time. Why should children like J.A.R. not have a similar right to know? In short, hiding the truth does not support the integrity of the family or advance the best interests of the child.

In short, our world is full of inconvenient truths. We accomplish nothing for families, the broader community and our justice system when we deny those truths…

Unfortunately, Justice Abramson did not share the majority opinion on this case. And the majority opinion had far more to do with the verbiage of law than with the spirit of law, or with the best interests of this child.

However, I do see light at the end of the tunnel. It sounded very much to me like lobbying the Kentucky General Assembly to adopt the Uniform Parentage Act is the way to go. Once that has occurred, it would seem to me that this could be approached again, with the correct “legalese” in place.

James, I am so sorry for the situation. I am sorry for you and for Julian. I very much want to see Kentucky change their stance on this and allow you and Julian the chance to know each other before he is an adult. I consider this ruling a grave injustice… a major setback for fathers everywhere that are fighting to be a part of their children’s lives. I hope you will continue to fight to be a part of his life. I hope you do lobby the General Assembly and get the letter of the law changed so that you, and other fathers out there, have the ability to know their children.

Until that happens you are, as always, in our prayers.

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Type-A Twitch – Part 3, Permission Slips

Aside from the disorganization of the movie field trip, and the play and practice scheduling, the field trip forms this year are killing me. Seriously.

The most recent field trip “issue” happened right after Daphne came home from a few days of Outdoor Education. The kiddos left on a Monday and came back on Wednesday afternoon. They were exhausted. The spent the whole three days getting back to nature, taking hikes, learning about astronomy, doing ropes courses, talking wilderness survival lingo, bunking with their friends, and staying up way too late.

And the preparation it took for this deal? Unbelievable. We had to go to a mandatory parent meeting two months ago and we’ve spent what feels like every waking moment since then looking for all of the things Daphne would need to pack in order to go–wool socks (multiple pairs of them), snow boots (long after snow-boot season), new sneakers, and the gazillion pairs of gloves we’ve purchased in the last six months but couldn’t find. We shopped, we searched, we compromised and bought some cotton blend socks because wool were long gone, we cursed the number of sporting goods stores out there with no snow boots left. We finally got it all packed… and on Monday when we dropped her off, we breathed a sigh of relief.

Needless to say, when they all finally returned on the bus on Wednesday, and we could get her a little early from school and just hang out with her, we were excited for that. My Hubby picked her up and they went out for some one-on-one time at a local restaurant, just a Daddy/daughter date. It was nice. She told him all about her experiences and, though she was tired, she had a blast. As My Hubby conveyed all of this over the phone later, it sounded like everything had gone just as expected. I thought the school had redeemed itself.

Then? At 8:00pm, as we were all snuggled on the couch, winding down from long work days, long school days, and full bellies, Daphne made an announcement.

“Oh yeah. Did the assistant principal call you?”

“Um, no,” I replied, immediately wondering what on earth the assistant principal and I would need to discuss. Daphne is a star student with zero in the way of behavioral issues at school. A thousand things ran through my mind, but I couldn’t make any of them fit. I looked at My Hubby. He shook his head, too. No phone call.

“Well, she said she would because I have a field trip tomorrow.”

“You do?” I asked, incredulous. “Right after you just got back from Outdoor Ed?”

“Yeah,” she continued. “It’s for my Math competition. It’s at a school way down south.”

I nodded.

“And I have to be there at 6:30 in the morning.”

Ugh.

“Oh, and I need a lunch. Let me go get the permission slip.”

I saw the school’s redemption grow wings and fly up and out the window. Seriously? They scheduled a field trip for a bunch of kids that had just gotten back from Outdoor Ed the day prior? And they had to be at the school at 6:30 in the morning? With a lunch in hand? And they didn’t send the permission slip home even the week before? What on earth were they thinking?

In their defense, I know this competition is a statewide thing, so I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt on the scheduling part. I imagine this whole deal had been scheduled many moons ago. But I also know that the folks managing the math competition at our school likely knew about it many moons ago.

Why wait until they have an exhausted sixth grader on their hands to send home a field trip permission form? Especially when somebody has to be at the school to drop Daphne off at 6:30 in the morning? Surely we’re not the only family with multiple kids and two parents working. Do they think that everyone can just rearrange whatever schedule they have to accommodate that? Do they understand that not everyone has a flexible work arrangement like I do? That a lot of folks would have had to submit schedule changes a week in advance?

As I made a mad dash to the grocery store, at 8:30 at night, to pick up stuff for a cold lunch, I wondered what exactly these people were teaching my kids. I appreciate very much all that they’re learning in their classrooms, but I wish the teachers and staff understood that their actions teach our kids volumes, too. If they’re disorganized, the kids emulate that. If they have no concern for the families and their schedules, neither will the kids. If they’re consistently late with things and wreak havoc on our best laid plans, the kids will think that’s normal, despite our best efforts to teach them planning and forethought.

I’m just not alright with that.

Maybe the principal and I need to have a little meeting.

Help Bring Back the Smirk

Taking a break from my annoyances with Daphne’s school and their difficulties with organization to encourage you to stop by The Smirking Cat’s blog.

She’s a dynamite writer and an amazing Stepmom, who has gone through some tough stuff. The crazy ex-wife in her life has caused enough drama to sink a ship, and she’s still going.

More recently, though, something has happened to her dear Gary and they need support. For someone with a crazy sense of humor, her blog entries have been sad lately. Help her get her smirk back, would you? Send her an e-mail and let her know you’re thinking of her, or stop by her blog and donate if you can.

Type-A Twitch – Part 2, The Movie Debacle

While I thought the Play Tryouts and Practice Schedule thing was disorganized, that was nothing compared to the Movie Debacle.

Some brilliant soul decided that it would be a great idea to commandeer several school buses to take the entirety of the sixth grade (about 450 kids) to the movies. Now, while I’m all about taking them on field trips to do fun and educational things, the movies was a bit of a stretch for me. The original intent was to take them to see something (can’t remember the name of it now) that aligned with their curriculum. I was good with that, although I won’t go into the budget shortfall last year and the financial ramifications of jaunting off to the movies with district transportation for the afternoon.

Then they found out that the release of that particular movie was delayed significantly. I would have just cancelled the trip at that point, saved the district some money, saved myself some sanity, and planned a different field trip with higher educational value later in the year.

Nope. They decided to take them to see something else instead. They tossed around “Horton Hears a Who” and “Spiderwick”. I’m a big fan of Dr. Seuss but honestly, I think that would have been a better field trip for 50 2nd graders, than 450 6th graders. “Spiderwick” maybe, although I know every, single soul in our household had already seen it and I really didn’t want to pay another eight bucks for a second viewing. Regardless, the school powers-that-be had spoken, and off to the movies they would go, just as soon as we signed the permission slip and ponied up the cash.

Shortly after the permission slip and money went to school, Daphne came home with the request that one of us assist in chaperoning the trip. She had already asked The Egg Donor (ED), who said that she was “starting classes” that day (which really means she doesn’t want to be bothered with taking the time off of work for her children–likely because she had already taken time off to spend with Letch), and due to her inability to participate, wanted one of us to go instead. I have taken time off to go with each of the other kiddos this year, so I agreed to go with her.

Through my prior bus-riding adventures, with Kindergarteners all the way up through fifth graders, I have learned that I like to take my own car and meet them there. That way, I still have sanity left when we actually arrive at wherever we’re going. So I drove… all the way across town (over 30 miles)… to the theater… attached to a ginormous mall… to watch The Spiderwick Chroncles with 450 sixth graders. What was I thinking?

It turns out that the teaching staff thought it would be a great idea to let all 450 kids get something from the concession stand, too. Did I mention that they arrived just 15 minutes prior to the movie starting? Yeah. And did I also mention that they did not limit said purchases to a pre-arranged selection? Like, if you paid six bucks ahead of time, you get a small popcorn and a small drink? That would be already set out and just waiting for each of those 450 kids to walk by and grab it? No…

That would have been too easy. Perhaps I have some additional knowledge that these people did not, because after all, My Hubby and I used to cater. I’m used to serving large crowds. But I really thought something like that would have been easy to figure out. Simple math. 450 kids divided by 5 registers divided by 72 different choices of things to buy equals a LOT longer than 15 minutes. So as soon as they opened the door to the theater, 250 of those 450 were already in line, backed up all the way to the door, so that the remaining 200 or so couldn’t even get in.

It took several teachers (and parents) almost all of that 15 minutes to determine that half of the kids should go into the theaters and find seats, rather than just wait in that extraordinarily long line. So, Daphne and I, along with her little group of friends, headed for the theater. Teachers rotated in and out several times, telling the kids that the lines were still very long, but that they would come in and excuse them by row once the lines had dwindled. That was a positive sign.

We waited. The 15 minutes was up. The movie started. 30 minutes into the movie, a teacher came in and excused our row to go stand in the concession line. It was still at least 10 kids deep at each register, but we took our place and waited some more. 10 minutes went by and we had moved about halfway. At that point, a little group of teachers and parents was gathering at the back of the lines. One woman (still don’t know whether she was a teacher or a parent) was particularly hacked off about this whole turn of events. She stood at the back, loudly making snide comments directed at the kids.

“All they care about is popcorn,” she said at the top of her lungs. “They don’t even care if they miss the whole movie.”

I ignored her at first, but she kept going, and it started to get on my nerves. Of course they care about the popcorn. They’re 12 years old. Going to the movies is an experience. It’s all about the Icees, the Nibs, the Goobers, the nachos, the Twizzlers, the Sour Patch Kids, the M & Ms, and yes, the popcorn. They were told ahead of time that they would be able to purchase concessions. They’ve all wheedled and cajoled the cash out of their parents, the other half of them has already had well over 30 minutes to enjoy their sugar and their salt. Why should this group of kids, most of whom had already seen the movie, NOT want to do the same?

“I guess they just don’t care that we’ve done all of this so they can see the movie,” she said again, and I had had enough. I turned to her and responded.

“There are teachers in there excusing them to come out her and get food and drinks,” I said. “They were told ahead of time that they would be able to do this. The other half of them has had the opportunity. It is not their fault that someone failed to account for how long this would take.”

She humphed, turned on her heel, and stalked back over to another group of teachers. Thankfully, she didn’t say any more. I was irritated enough by the obvious lack of planning for this whole deal. I certainly did not want to pay eight bucks for Daphne to come to the movies and have a miserable time because some ridiculous woman couldn’t understand the logistics problem she was seeing. It was most assuredly NOT the kids’ fault.

Anyway, we eventually got to the front of the line and got our popcorn, Icees, and whatever else. We missed about half of the movie. I didn’t really care. This little event was not so much about the movie, at least for the kids, as it was about the experience. I think Daphne enjoyed herself. That was what mattered to me.

When the movie was over, Daphne announced that we were heading to the Food Court in the mall for lunch. I was quite taken aback. I had a brief moment where I thought that Daphne might be out of her mind. Maybe this was just an attempt to get me to take her over there for lunch. 450 sixth graders? At one time? In the Food Court? That just seemed to me to be a recipe for disaster. Evidently, no saner minds won out on this one, and sure enough, all 450 kids, plus teachers and parents, headed right over to the Food Court.

Where. They. Just. Turned. Them. Loose.

The teachers all sat at one table while the 450 kids swarmed every food place they could find. For a school that requires a Driver’s License, swiped into their system, which runs a criminal history, prior to stepping foot inside the building, this seemed absolutely crazy to me. Daphne and I ran for the Subway line, so that she could get lunch in under five hours time. She got her lunch and we finally found a table.

“What time are you supposed to be back at the bus?” I asked her. She was going home with me, but she had several friends at the table with us and I wanted to make sure they made it there on time. She shrugged her shoulders.

“You don’t know?” I looked around at the faces of the other kids at the table. Blank. Every, single one of them.

“They didn’t give you a time? Do we even know where the buses are?” I continued.

Still blank.

Unbelievable.

When they were all finished with their lunch, I ventured over to the teacher’s table and asked.

“1:00,” one of the teachers answered. “They’re parked over behind the theater.”

“OK,” I said. “I’m taking Daphne home with me. Is there something I need to sign?”

One of the teachers pulled out a blank sheet of paper, handed it to me, sans pen, and said, “Just write her name on the back and sign yours. That’s all you need to do.”

While I dug in my purse for a pen, I contemplated the outright craziness of this entire endeavor. While I understand that the kids are in Middle School, I had visions of kids being left behind, leaving the Food Court and wandering the mall, of some stranger coming over to sign the paper, or just snatching a kid from the McDonald’s line while nobody was paying attention. The whole thing made my head swim. I signed the paper, passed the information from the teachers along to the kids at the table, and Daphne and I headed home. I worried for the rest of the afternoon about kids that might not have made it to the bus.

The next day, Daphne reported that everyone made it back to the school just fine. I don’t know if that was really true or not, because I imagine that she only knew about her little circle of friends. Either way, I certainly hope someone plans better for this next year. I think I’ll put it permanently in my planner to attend, because there is NO way I’m letting Velma, or Freddy, or Shaggy, go alone.

Stay tuned for the next installment, “Field Trip Forms – How to freak parents out by sending them home the night before”…