tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65420371418661250622024-03-19T02:35:08.723-05:00Life in a Group HomeWhere Crazy is Just our Way of LifeQueen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.comBlogger137125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-2569759924690283852014-09-06T22:33:00.000-05:002014-09-06T22:33:46.173-05:00Two Years!So it's been two whole years since I last posted on this blog. I've gotten lots of encouragement to start back but it's hard. It's like seeing an old friend who you haven't seen in years and who doesn't happen to be on Facebook, or Instagram, or Twitter, so you truly have no idea what's happening in their lives. Where do you start? And that's how I feel.<br />
<br />
But yesterday a friend asked what I was doing this weekend. When I said I didn't have any plans because with our lives our Saturday is essentially the same as our Monday, he said I should blog. He told me to "just start, because you won't ever start until you start." And he was right. So here it is. I think a two-year hiatus is long enough. <br />
<br />
So for a quick recap, we still have two gentlemen living with us. It's the same two we started with two years ago. Although they are pretty settled in and we don't have quite the behavior problems we used to have, we still have the crazy. For instance, last night we could hear one of the guys crying in the middle of the night. I went to check on him and he was standing against the wall in his dark room. He looked like he was in some strange kind of time out. Turns out he had gone to the bathroom, come back to his room, and his eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the dark. He was crying because he couldn't quite find his bed. He was just wandering around like a blind man in a newly rearranged room.<br />
<br />
And then there's the other one. If you've followed my blog long, it's the little guy who likes to play the piano. And be naked. And we love him like he is our own. We'd keep him even if we weren't getting paid. (But don't tell that to the people who write the checks!) It's one of those things where the heart makes a decision that the mind can't understand. He can't talk. He gets really mad when he doesn't get his way. He keeps us up all night (more often than not here lately - more on that later). He slams doors for no apparent reason at all - like until the door frame falls off slamming doors. And yes, that really happens. But we can't help but smile when he walks in the room.<br />
<br />
And then we have an 18 year old son. How is that even possible? We are looking at colleges and other states and scholarships and grades and ACT tests and all that goes with being a senior. And that's about all I can say about that without crying. It's going to be awful. So we probably won't be discussing that anymore!<br />
<br />
Life in a nutshell. It's good to be back.Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-58873631474125034062012-06-04T22:21:00.001-05:002012-06-04T22:21:22.176-05:00A New NoodleI realized tonight when I walked next door and saw our resident chef cooking that I really should never have stopped blogging. <br /><br />He was making a frozen pasta meal - the kind where you cook what's in the bag and then make your own pasta to serve with the meat and sauce. Except he was cooking it all in one pot. And the noodles were hot pink.<br /><br />Hot pink. Noodles. Gross. <br /><br />He then proudly tells me that he's figured out a great new way to cook pasta. Instead of using water, boil them in cranberry grape juice. It gives the noodles a great flavor apparently. <br /><br />After I left the room to gag for a while, I went back for a picture. <br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=12/06/04/3351.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/12/06/04/s_3351.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />Although the color in the picture didn't come out the true hot pink you can get the idea. Nothing like adding a whole container of macaroni and cheese powdered cheese and a bottle of juice to a your pasta dinner. <br /><br />Excuse me while I gag some more...<br />Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-58782987263059004612012-02-14T09:12:00.001-06:002012-02-14T09:12:24.605-06:00He's Not Weather-DiscriminatoryNeither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays this man from swiftly discarding of his property out the window any time he is mad. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=12/02/14/973.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/12/02/14/s_973.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-69776402637676081842011-12-09T14:34:00.003-06:002011-12-13T21:14:33.363-06:00My Fantasy Football ExperimentI've mentioned a time or two (or eighty) that fantasy football is a religion of sorts here in my house. The guys have been in a league with some friends from church but then realized other friends wanted to play so they started a league of their own.<br /><br />Now if you know me, then you know I'm a game girl. I am super competitive and will do what it takes to win. I am not one of those moms who will throw a game of Candy Land so my kid can win. Oh no. If you beat me, it's going to be a hard-earned win. And then you have to deal with me pouting about it the rest of the day. All that to say, I love games. <br /><br />But, and here goes the heresy, I think fantasy football is dumb. I mean, I get the idea. I do. And I kind of understand the appeal. But when they guys needed one more person to have a team in their league, my first thought was not, "Oh <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">yay</span>! I'm so glad I get to play."<br /><br />But I agreed. When they explained how the draft worked, I thought about it for a microsecond and decided to let the computer pick my team for me. (And because of scheduling issues, everyone else did the same.) But then they all started changing and dropping and trading and dealing with something called waivers, and well, I don't really understand all the rules. So I decided to do an experiment. I told the guys I was naming my team "Luck o' the Draw" and sticking with whatever I was randomly given. They thought this was so crazy. <br /><br />I took it relatively seriously. I downloaded a couple fantasy football apps to my phone so I could keep up with it all. I paid enough attention so as to change players out (but only those from my own team) if someone had a bye week. Lowell tried to get me to make some trades at one point using the excuse that THREE of my players were hurt and not playing. Yes, THREE. And, oh, I was tempted. Because I still like to win, even if the game's dumb. But I didn't give in. I knew he was just setting me up so if I won, he could use the argument that I actually played. So I stuck with my players. Nobody can accuse me of being a fair-weather fan.<br /><br />And then I started having fun. Throughout the season I found myself fairly regularly checking my points. I started looking forward to Monday night football. Not to watch it really, just to check my games when it was over to see if I won that week. At week six, I was in the lead. I almost blogged then, but I didn't want to jinx it.<br /><br />But I figure now that it's fantasy football playoff week, I can let y'all in on my season. Check it out.<br /><br /><br /><center><a href="http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/12/09/1833.jpg"><img src="http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/12/09/s_1833.jpg" style="margin: 5px;" border="0" width="187" height="281" /></a></center><br />Yep, that would be Luck o' the Draw in position one. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Numero</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Uno</span>. That's me. I may lose it all in playoffs. But that's okay. I think I proved my point. Fantasy football takes no skill or knowledge of the game of football. Fantasy football is dumb. And I honestly can't wait until next season...Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-88141916966850029532011-10-20T10:59:00.002-05:002011-10-20T11:00:59.349-05:00Airing Our Dirty LaundryWell once again, life's gotten crazy. We have a new guy. He moved in at the end of August, which is why there haven't been any posts. He keeps us on our toes.<br /><br />Our guy with zero short-term memory moved out on August 31st. He called us every day for a month to check in. But we think maybe his lack of memory has gotten the better of him because we haven't heard from him in a couple of weeks now. Which is good. Because some days, even having to answer the phone was enough to push us over the edge.<br /><br />New guy is a tad, shall we say, busier, than old guy. He's an active little fellow. Literally. He's a smidgen over four feet tall and weighs about 100 pounds. And he could win a strongman competition when he's mad. It's odd. Anyway, he is non-verbal (which, I must add was a welcome break from Mr. "Talks ALL the time and then repeats it all because I don't remember what I just told you.")<br /><br />So he's quiet. Except he plays the piano. Not so quietly. Sometimes he plays in such a way as you might think you are in a jazz bar. Sometimes, a haunted house. He doesn't know how to play so to speak but he plays in a different way than a toddler might. It's not just banging. But it's certainly not playing.<br /><br />Another "quirk" of our Pianoman is that his preferred state is naked. I could say that one took me a bit to get used to. But honestly I don't think you ever get used to a grown man stripping down to nothing. This month I've said the words, "If you want to be naked you need to be in your room" and "We don't play the piano naked" more times that I could count.<br /><br />He also changes clothes more often than a teenage girl getting ready for a first date. It's ridiculous. He's very particular about what he wears. Maybe that's why he prefers naked. So he will rip off his clothes and run to the laundry area. He then stuffs his clothing in the washer (or sometimes the dryer), no matter if there are clothes in there already or not. So him adding dirty clothes to the already clean clothes means we are doing more laundry than the local dry cleaners. It's ridiculous. It's hard to think of it as a "teaching moment" when there is a four foot naked man standing in front of you, but we've been really working on teaching that the dirty laundry goes in a basket. It's a steep learning curve around here ya' know!<br /><br />So anyway, last night we realized that he had changed clothes but hadn't put them in the washing machine. We got a tad excited thinking that our days of non-stop laundry might finally be over. He's learned to use the laundry basket. But alas, we were wrong.<br /><br />When Lowell went outside this morning, this is what he saw:<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href="http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/10/20/1521.jpg"><img src="http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/10/20/s_1521.jpg" style="margin: 5px;" border="0" width="210" height="281" /></a></center><br /><br />A basket seems so limiting when there is a whole yard right outside the window. Just push out the screen and toss the clothes as far as you can. So it's not quite in the laundry basket. But maybe we are getting closer. Baby steps, y'all, baby steps.Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-35793571120396594802011-08-27T13:24:00.001-05:002011-08-27T13:24:00.857-05:00Football - It's That ImportantFootball is pretty important in our house. And that's putting it mildly. If you remember last year, we missed what turned out to be a <a target="_blank" href="http://www.lifeinagrouphome.com/2010/04/draft-in-air.html">very important banquet</a> because some idiot scheduled it on draft day.<br /><br />And while we L. O. V. E. real football, <i>fantasy</i> football is a very close second. You may remember my family's preferred <a target="_blank" href="http://www.lifeinagrouphome.com/2009/08/where-do-you-keep-your-fantasy-football.html">decor</a> from last year's fantasy football "preseason". <br /><br />And it's that time of year again. It's ridiculous really. (We went out to eat while on vacation and the waitress gave us paper placemats. The boys immediately took this to be their invitation to write up a mock draft while we waited for our food. Gotta be prepared right?)<br /><br />So I'm not sure why the events of this week were surprising really. I called Lowell while on the way home from an appointment and he told me he'd been working on his draft. And then I hear the smoke alarm. And no Lowell. So I rush home to see this:<br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/27/2967.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/27/s_2967.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />The smell hits me before I can get to the door. And I walk in my house to see two firemen and an unimaginable mess. I said, "Smells good honey, what's for dinner?" (The firemen thought this was funny. Apparently most wives would be freaking out. Not sure what it says about our life that a fire in the kitchen is a little thing.)<br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/27/2968.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/27/s_2968.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Did you know that if you put a kettle on and then go get so engrossed in your draft that you forget about it, the tea kettle will catch fire? And oh, if it has a plastic handle it will completely melt into the stovetop? And that those microwave doors melt? And that if you spray a fire extinguisher, you will find the dust in every drawer and cabinet in the room and somewhere in every other room in the house? It's all true. I know. <br /><br />But no worries. The kitchen may have burned up but the fantasy football rosters are safe. And isn't that really what matters??<br /><br />Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-88564212666262152492011-08-23T19:02:00.001-05:002011-08-23T19:02:07.899-05:00Our Beach SafariWe just got back from a MUCH NEEDED vacation to the beach (thanks G-Dad!). We stayed in a really nice condo, but the decorations were a little, well, crazy. <br /><br />I am totally that person who walks through TJ Maxx and sees all the cute beach decorations and thinks, "If I had a beach house, I'd definitely be buying that." Because there is A LOT of cute beachy decor out there. I get it. However, our condo wasn't just beachy. <br /><br />It was almost as if Ms. Condo owner walks through TJ Maxx and thinks, "If I only had an African Safari home, I'd buy that." And then decided to go ahead and buy it anyway because, hey, what doesn't go with beach theme????<br /><br />So this was our home away from home for the week. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3901.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3901.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Really nice furniture, but don't miss the parrots nesting on top. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3903.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3903.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />And who doesn't want to bathe with an anchor, sea shells, African elephant, and Mr. Scaryface? He was all over the place. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3904.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3904.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3906.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3906.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3908.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3908.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />But no worries, we also had Jesus by the bed. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3909.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3909.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />I love Jesus, I really do. But it's still a little weird for me to have an image of Him by the bed. (He was screwed to the wall by the way.)<br /><br />Here's another good example of "it just doesn't go together." (Don't miss the parrot heads peaking out behind the flowers.)<br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3911.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3911.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />And how's this for fancy?<br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3912.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3912.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />And how's this for, well I don't even have a word for the spiral cat sitting by the lighthouse. Odd, maybe that's the word I'm looking for. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3914.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3914.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />I guess I'd choose sleeping next to Jesus and African idols over frogs. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3915.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3915.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3917.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3917.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />And doesn't every beach house need a good wasp's nest over the tv?<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3919.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3919.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Notice the note on the corner of the mirror. It said, "Do not recline sofas. They are screwed shut." And although this would have been sufficient there were at least eight other places that had similar notes. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3920.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3920.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Like the entertainment center. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3921.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3921.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />And the lamp. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3922.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3922.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />And the curtains. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3923.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3923.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />And the refrigerator. <br /><br />And I don't even know why we were surprised to open the pantry door and find another. But we were. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3924.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3924.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />They REALLY didn't want us to try to recline the sofa. <br /><br />So we didn't. Although they certainly made it tempting. <br /><br />So our accommodations were at the same time weird and wonderful and all in all we had such a great time. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3925.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3925.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Doing a little physical therapy (you had to be there). <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3927.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3927.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Catching crabs by the bucketful! I swear I am reminded of the story of Noah as he opened the doors to the ark and the animals came. I think Joshua just has to put his net in the water and ocean critters just jump in. We had crabs all week. He caught jellyfish like crazy. And also several of these:<br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3928.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3928.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />I get the heeby-jeebies just looking at it. (It's an electric ray by the way).<br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3929.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3929.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Lowell built me a sand, uh, wall? I guess. And the whole time the waves were crashing over it the children's church song about the wise man building his house on the rock kept playing in my head. <br /><br />And we had fun dinners out with extended family. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3930.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3930.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />And we ended the week all tan and refreshed and relaxed. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/23/3931.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/23/s_3931.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />And now back to reality...<br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-38255500001522952752011-08-14T06:24:00.001-05:002011-08-14T06:24:45.734-05:00Let Me Just Say...That I would oh so much rather wake up every morning to this:<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/14/767.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/14/s_767.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />Rather than this:<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/14/768.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/14/s_768.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />(that's a radio that was thrown at me)<br /><br />And rather than this:<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/14/769.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/14/s_769.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />(and this one would be hair grease smeared around every coil of the stovetop)<br /><br />And rather than this:<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/14/770.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/14/s_770.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />(This would be chocolate ovaltine mix that was dumped on the floor and left "chocolate milk" footprints EVERYWHERE!)<br /><br />And rather than this:<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/14/771.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/14/s_771.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />Yep, a beach vacation is EXACTLY what I need...<br /><br /><br /><br />Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-69626444058106014322011-08-06T21:25:00.001-05:002011-08-06T21:25:37.237-05:00Full of GleeI'll admit it. I'm a closet "Glee" watcher. I'm not going to say I'm proud of it. But I do watch. For those who don't watch it's a high school show about the drama that is high school. The show centers around the school's glee club and each individual's search to find where they fit in. Of course, since Glee Club members are often not the most popular students in the school, these kids endure lots of harassing/bullying. One particular form of harassment exclusive to these students is to be "slushee'd" or "slurpee'd" or whatever the term. Essentially, a football player takes a frozen slush-type drink and throws it in the faces of the Glee Club member at random times. <br /><br />So all that background leads to a personal experience for me last weekend. On Saturday, one of the staff from next door runs over and yells that they need help. One of the ladies in that house is having a bad day and has chosen to take out her frustrations on the other folks in the house as well as the house itself. <br /><br />So I rush over and the other staff all go outside. I'm staying relaxed and making jokes and thinking that the situation is calming down when here it comes. Not a slushee thank goodness, but it was a whole pitcher of red Kool-Aid. Thrown right in my face. And the first thought that came into my mind was Glee. And how I'd have to admit that I watch it. Because this is funny. (I did get a little peeved later when i had to throw my shirt away.)<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/06/4746.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/06/s_4746.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />I was able to get most of it out of my shoes! Good times. Good, good times. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/06/4747.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/06/s_4747.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-28424068881089891482011-07-05T14:23:00.004-05:002011-07-05T15:20:12.076-05:00Independence DayApparently, at our house, we think Independence Day is the day where we stand up for ourselves and our ability to exert our independence. Because that's what happened yesterday. And it wasn't fun.<br /><br />The day started okay. And even up until around 6 pm, it was fine. Lowell and Joshua were headed to a party at a friend's house and I was going to hang with the guys. I even gave Lowell a big "now you go have a good time and don't worry about a thing here at the house because I have it all under control" speech before he left.<br /><br />And then it happened. All hell broke loose.<br /><br />I was supposed to take our grocery <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">sacker</span> to work. Totally not a big deal. Except it was. He got in the van and was mad. No idea what triggered it. But he was mad. He was mad that he has to live in a group home. He was mad that someone else is in charge of his finances. He was mad that he has to go on other people's schedules. He was just mad.<br /><br />So he took all that anger and turned it into, "I'm mad because you told me I have to wear a seat belt." It sounds silly I know. It's just a seat belt. But last night, it became oh so much more. So I sat in the van waiting for him to put on his seat belt while he yelled and cussed and hollered about how nowhere in the Bill of Rights does it say anything at all about wearing a seat belt. And on that exact note, I guess he was right. But I tried to counter with the whole rights vs. responsibilities argument. And I don't know why I even tried. I've never won it. He cannot comprehend it. Or at least he has made a firm choice not to.<br /><br />So at the point where I was feeling like it might not be safe for me (and another resident) to remain in the van with this guy, I grab the keys and slide out. At this point Lowell has been gone <span style="font-style: italic;">maybe</span> twenty minutes when I, ("Ms. I have it all together, don't worry about a thing"), call him and tell him to come home NOW, because I think the van may be about to blow up. Because apparently there is some game for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">XBOX</span> that tells you exactly how to hot-wire a car. So, by golly that was the plan. Hot-wire the van. Drive yourself to work. Sans seat belt.<br /><br />It didn't work. However, he did somehow manage to cause the hazard lights to flash rapidly. This is what we were left with.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdF7G7bQ1nqTABPY96D9Y60MAhfjqVWLfx6TGEm4Ot72SGQJ8mMelTk6WqcPPilAXjm3rCfCwjdI9Dtc3gPvRXvmuV32K8CB_3uLZDTOWXZ1wENozvT2zY3vQnVh9BmjOZFUColLQeu_W6/s1600/hotwire.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdF7G7bQ1nqTABPY96D9Y60MAhfjqVWLfx6TGEm4Ot72SGQJ8mMelTk6WqcPPilAXjm3rCfCwjdI9Dtc3gPvRXvmuV32K8CB_3uLZDTOWXZ1wENozvT2zY3vQnVh9BmjOZFUColLQeu_W6/s320/hotwire.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625954190691773762" border="0" /></a><br />So then he jumps out of the van and runs down the street. I call my supervisor to let her know and she asks, "Will the van still start?" And I'm all, "Who knows, but I am not about to be the one to stick a key in the ignition right above the cut-and-dangling wires and try. Isn't that what our maintenance team is for?"<br /><br />So I borrow a van from down the street (because, this was after all, the company's <span style="font-style: italic;">one spare</span> van since ours is still in the shop due to the <a href="http://www.lifeinagrouphome.com/2011/06/how-to-irritate-farmer.html">bean field incident</a>.) And I take off after him. I tell him that if he wants a ride, he just has to buckle up. If not, we will follow him to work to make sure he gets there safely. Because, clearly, safety is our number one priority!<br /><br />Lowell comes and trades off with me. It takes this guy an hour and forty minutes to get to work. So he has about an hour and a half left of his three hour shift. <br /><br />I go pick Joshua up at the party and let Lowell handle the end-of-shift transportation. We were both thinking that this guy is tired and will get in the van without argument, buckle up and go home. We were both wrong.<br /><br />Except this time after he cusses and yells and demands that his "rights" be met, he walks off in the opposite direction of home. So again Lowell follows behind. He follows for around thirty minutes until this guy starts picking up rocks threatening to throw them at the van if Lowell won't stop freaking following him around (I paraphrased that to keep it PG). Not wanting our home to be responsible for putting THREE vans in the shop, Lowell backs off a bit, and the guy completely ditches him. We call our supervisors, his dad, and the local police to file a missing persons report. Then ensues several hours of several people driving around searching for a guy who does not want to be found. And who most certainly does not want to wear a seat belt if and when he is found.<br /><br />Four hours later, he comes home, heats up some leftover chicken nuggets, and heads to his room. We have no idea where he's been. We honestly don't really care. We again are on the phone with supervisors, parents, and the police. He's in bed, because he's "been up all night and is worn out."<br /><br />This morning he came down to complain of a "killer blister" on the back of his heel. But other than the blister, all was well. No threats, no nothing. Just back to normal. Whatever that is.Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-73779800547920754372011-06-21T14:08:00.006-05:002011-06-21T14:40:16.237-05:00How To Irritate a FarmerSo we decided to take a couple of vacation days. We are here at the house and therefore, we are "first on call" if something happens. But this isn't really one of those houses where we can say we weren't worried about it because "nothing ever happens." This is more of a "something <span style="font-style: italic;">always</span> happens" house.<br /><br />So about 10:15 this morning, I get a call from the substitute working in our house that he's had a "little accident." He says that he "slid off the road a bit" and was "stuck in the mud." He's called the other supervisors and maintenance to give him a tow. Nobody is injured. I thank him for letting me know and go back to watching the Law & Order marathon.<br /><br />About an hour later, this guy calls again saying the police need information on the client who was with him in the van. I tell him where to find all the information he needs and then I question him about the fact that they are still stuck "on the side of the road". He tells me that the tow truck hasn't arrived yet. Knowing that the particular client who is with him has the potential to completely freak out at any point now, I volunteer to go pick up the client while he is waiting for the tow.<br /><br />So imagine my shock when I arrive to find two police cars and see our van here:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGVM2GsUM-CwQwK7eq_3C9YZKX4TtlGACVaiGaVWxCovhSR3vFas0t3Ez3R-J4moK5WjHnZ0-a4kxBnHz_IwVt4HpRcJ2E4oicDjILioy_LHSQ66Snndf-mOp-Lz3Td1kZvRnTjYKy7OA2/s1600/photo%25286%2529.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 287px; height: 383px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGVM2GsUM-CwQwK7eq_3C9YZKX4TtlGACVaiGaVWxCovhSR3vFas0t3Ez3R-J4moK5WjHnZ0-a4kxBnHz_IwVt4HpRcJ2E4oicDjILioy_LHSQ66Snndf-mOp-Lz3Td1kZvRnTjYKy7OA2/s320/photo%25286%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620754625933816034" border="0" /></a><br />This was one of those times that reminded me of when you are young and a parent says, "Not telling the WHOLE truth is the same as telling a lie." Because, yes, the van was "off the road." But I think a better description would be, "The van is in a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">BEANFIELD</span>." But maybe that's just me.<br /><br />Truly now, how does that even happen?? So I talk to one of the officers. And I'm trying not to laugh at the absurdity that my employee somehow jumped the ditch and landed our van in the MIDDLE OF A <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">BEANFIELD</span>. And the officer just points out what a beautiful day it is and how he can only speculate about what may or may not have happened. He says he is waiting for the tow truck to get there because they will have to "shut down the road" to get the van out of the field.<br /><br />So I begin the journey through the ditch, the mud and the beans to get to the van. When I get there, the staff tells me that he's really embarrassed. I couldn't figure out why really. I mean, don't we all park in the middle of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">beanfields</span> every now and then?? And then he says, "I'm not sure what happened. I wasn't really speeding at all. I just couldn't slow down enough to make the turn."<br /><br />And the only thought that screams its way through my head is: ISN'T THAT THE VERY DEFINITION OF SPEEDING??????? <br /><br />So I get the client and he and I traipse our way back through this <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">beanfield</span>. I'm trying to be careful not to step on the beans when I realize that my staff has driven through and is currently parked in this poor farmer's field. Stepping on the beans after someone has driven over them probably won't hurt them much. We cross over the muddy ditch and I just know they had to have been airborne at some point to get to their landing point. (And the particular client in the van happens to say "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Wheeee</span>!" every time we drive over a bridge, so I'm sure he thought it was better than a ride at Disney.)<br /><br />Apparently when the tow truck got there, one of the back tires was off the rim and under the van. The wheel itself was completely bent underneath. The staff said it probably happened when he cut the wheel so sharply to try to make the turn. Because as we all know, anytime you make a sharp turn, the tires have a tendency to fall off, right?? I personally would speculate that it was likely that particular tire that our 15 passenger van landed on after it jumped the ditch. But what do I know? I just work here.<br /><br />Now, back to my vacation...Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-91089918472859413992011-05-16T22:25:00.003-05:002011-05-16T22:52:42.437-05:00A Night at the ClubBecause we are all kinds of cool up in this house, our resident grocery-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">bagger</span> decided he wants to go to nightclubs after work. He gets off of work at 10 pm and hears other employees discussing going "clubbing" and he wants so desperately to fit in. And bless his heart, he is just so socially awkward that he's likely never going to be in the "in crowd" of the grocery store employees (if such a group exists). He did ask one girl out - the story of which could have it's own blog entry complete with him wanting to dress up in costume so she wouldn't recognize him; to making up a name as a secret admirer; and finally to writing secret notes and <span style="font-style: italic;">trying</span> to have Lowell deliver them (I can just see explaining to our friends and family why my husband is in jail for soliciting a minor!) - and she was very sweet when she declined. But I digress.<br /><br />So a couple of nights ago, Lowell picks him up after work and he says he wants to go to a certain nightclub that he overheard some people talking about. He tells Lowell where it is, and Lowell, knowing full well that there is no nightclub at this address, drives there anyway in an attempt to put an end to the nightclub discussion. However, once they got there and there was no club, Lowell was asked if he would drive around to look for it. So as they are driving down the street, they discover another club. Grocery-boy gets really excited and stops to ask somebody if they know where the other club is. They don't. But lo and behold it's "one dollar cover charge night" there so he goes on in while Lowell waits for him in the van. While he is inside, Lowell <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">googles</span> the place and gets a good chuckle when he sees this written on the website: "genre: gay/lesbian". He really laughs when said guy comes back out and says, "I'm gonna hang out in there for a while, but if I pick up a girl and come out with her, will you be cool and all?" Lowell promises to be "cool and all" about it, but the idea of this guy going into a gay/lesbian nightclub and emerging with an interested female is crazy enough. But to think that he would actually meet someone who would be willing to come with him to meet his STAFF is downright laughable.<br /><br />He stays in there for seriously over an hour. All the while Lowell is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">texting</span> me. He's waved to a couple people from church who were out walking their dog. We know that every time they see us from now on, they will be wondering if they should fill me in on the fact that my husband hangs out in front of gay nightclubs. And I won't be able to stop laughing. <br /><br />When he finally comes out (no pun intended), he says to Lowell, "I had to leave. There weren't any women worth picking up. The band was good, but the men just announced how long they'd been married. Men are married. The men in the band are married!" <br /><br />At least he figured it out. And it only took him an hour. And a huge club-wide announcement. And we seem to have gotten the "want to go to a nightclub bug" completely out of our system. So I guess it was worth it!Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-46507177003532717992011-04-22T17:02:00.005-05:002011-04-22T17:25:16.306-05:00Helpful Hints from A Group HomeRemember Heloise? I used to enjoy reading her helpful hints in the newspaper. She always knew how to get that stain out, what ingredient could be a substitute for whatever you are lacking, and how to make your own laundry detergent. And now, I know I am no Heloise, nor am I Martha Stewart, but I've learned some decorating tips and useful household hints throughout my time in a group home. So turn off the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">HGTV</span> and see what I have to share!<br /><br />What do you do when you are chopping vegetables and can't find that pesky cutting board anywhere?? It's easy, just open the nearest cabinet, clear the closest shelf of whatever dishes might be residing on it, pull that shelf off of the pegs and Voila, you have a cutting board. How nifty is that??<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzDqFh1dFlHNay6BCTnYHVj-itTqvgSI7GRQYgDqJXc-pPNW_aErwMREi36mMEYsAeDxLHVh8_29xnj_fuzu40IDMAax5T2H6dQpmxN0Fwmh91tRXwSy9o5RfpYgLIUWAFS2wRz04pIq0/s1600/photo%25283%2529.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzDqFh1dFlHNay6BCTnYHVj-itTqvgSI7GRQYgDqJXc-pPNW_aErwMREi36mMEYsAeDxLHVh8_29xnj_fuzu40IDMAax5T2H6dQpmxN0Fwmh91tRXwSy9o5RfpYgLIUWAFS2wRz04pIq0/s320/photo%25283%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598535649695514450" border="0" /></a><br />And what about when those cabinet doors seem to always be in the way. You just despise having to open one anytime you need to get something from the cabinet (a cutting board, maybe). Did you know you can just pull really hard on them and they'll pop right off? No need to worry yourself further with the task of opening and closing!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAaj5g_t605rnA1IGNuv0S43C9LSIdqNiNenkPB3JcYj780evaEvkC1m06K-LXNfLMyWv0W7UV32YkTOZGqa1oNq4SzYAViur_nEUJURA_m9jHpXMQubj2z0BhSji__bKBo8PJXKOGA9CU/s1600/photo%25284%2529.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAaj5g_t605rnA1IGNuv0S43C9LSIdqNiNenkPB3JcYj780evaEvkC1m06K-LXNfLMyWv0W7UV32YkTOZGqa1oNq4SzYAViur_nEUJURA_m9jHpXMQubj2z0BhSji__bKBo8PJXKOGA9CU/s320/photo%25284%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598536188051725794" border="0" /></a><br />And how many of you have ever wished for new <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">countertops</span>? You visit a friend and they have new granite, someone else has beautiful tile. But you have ugly white laminate and really can't afford to have it replaced. Well do I ever have a solution for you! Grab a Sharpie!! It's amazing what you can do.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEo7QwoJqLHbMsZpxiE7vokxq46e3iS1akSPqqvKnB98l1uVdGzanVd6Zn7SCUDVDjoNW3v1VxeeJJ7pTQyIjsC4kqx3oQLvxpasQwGol4iiHUGN1jcWM__ZQokSJB2WbtZY0WNbd9Gl3t/s1600/photo%25285%2529.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEo7QwoJqLHbMsZpxiE7vokxq46e3iS1akSPqqvKnB98l1uVdGzanVd6Zn7SCUDVDjoNW3v1VxeeJJ7pTQyIjsC4kqx3oQLvxpasQwGol4iiHUGN1jcWM__ZQokSJB2WbtZY0WNbd9Gl3t/s320/photo%25285%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598536692015527282" border="0" /></a>Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-37304367160192517512011-04-21T18:02:00.004-05:002011-04-21T18:39:36.424-05:00Maybe I'm BackOkay, so I'm a tad embarrassed. December 15<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span> was the last time I blogged? Can that be true? I mean, I know it's been a while, but really? Four months, wow!<br /><br />And now the problem is, I don't even know where to start! Uh, so Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I guess I have been in one of those blogging "funks" that I think most <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bloggers</span> have from time to time. Life is happening, life is sad, life is funny, life is hard, life is wonderful, and you still just feel like there is not a lot to say, or at least not a lot of time in which to say it.<br /><br />So nothing has really changed in our lives over the last four months, in which I haven't been blogging, but nothing ever remains the same either.<br /><br />Our guys are the same. And even though it seems like we repeat the same day over and over and over and over, there's always a little bit of crazy thrown in. <br /><br />We think one of our guys is depressed right now. Or at least that's the psychiatrist's most recent diagnosis. I think it's like living with a colicky baby. He's crying ALL the time. And he's fed, and he's clean, and his schedule hasn't changed, and everything is in place that should be in place to make him happy. And yet he still cries. And I understand, though would <span style="font-style: italic;">NEVER</span> condone, where shaken baby syndrome originated. Lowell and I have both learned that when we get to that point, we have to pass off responsibilities to the other person and go to the local bar for a stiff drink or two. (Just kidding about that of course, but it's a thought that's crossed my mind.) Here's hoping that the new antidepressant will solve the problem, and we'll have a little less screaming and a lot fewer tears, for all of us, not just for the resident Eeyore.<br /><br />One of our guys knocked on the door a few weeks ago in the middle of the night, was holding his right side, and said, "Can you take me to the emergency room? I think I need my appendix out." And would you believe, he was right? So Lowell got to spend the whole evening and a good portion of the next day in the hospital with "Mr. I Know How to Diagnose Myself". He was released a lot earlier than they had originally planned. We are pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that he was continually asking for a meal and complaining that there was no Sci-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Fi</span> Network on the hospital televisions. When he started asking for video games and Microsoft points, they decided he was ready to come home. That was over three weeks ago. The surgery was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">laparoscopic</span>, so the healing time was about 2 days. He went back to work this week. Talk about somebody MILKING an injury. Pathetic doesn't begin to describe it.<br /><br />And then we have "Mr. My Short-Term Memory Gets Worse by the Second". The loops that he gets on could be scripted. We know exactly what he is going to say and when he is going to say it. And then he's going to say it again. He loves to talk about the weather. Any time you drive past one of those digital time and temperature signs, he will tell you the temperature over and over until we pass another one, and then he points out how much the temperature has changed. And the loop goes on. The first few times that he made statements like, "It's 50 degrees. Kind of cold for a Tuesday," we laughed. But we have since decided that hearing, "it's warm for a Friday" or "kind of rainy for a Thursday" just isn't that funny anymore. I've tried to steer him by saying, "yeah, kind of warm for FEBRUARY," but it's been to no avail. I give up. I remind myself that this is the same sports nut, who, the Wednesday after the Super Bowl, told us <span style="font-style: italic;">several</span> times that they were having a huge parade in Green Bay because they like celebrating Wednesdays. Again, no use explaining that the residents of Green Bay aren't just big fans of Wednesday!<br /><br />Anyway, that's pretty much life as we know it. Hopefully, I can get over the non-blogging funk that's had me down. I'm going to go turn the heat up. It's kind of cold here for a Thursday.Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-13026191219123248732010-12-15T22:40:00.000-06:002010-12-15T22:41:30.140-06:00O Christmas TreeThis time of year makes me miss my daddy. I know a lot of people miss their parents around the holidays, but it's usually because they are deceased. Thankfully, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">mine's</span> not. But this time of year makes me think of him and wish we lived closer.<br /><br />Why? Partly because it's the Christmas holidays and being close to family is nice. But the main reason is because, without him, I'm on my own to get Christmas tree.<br /><br />I have the best memories of being a little girl and going out to hunt for the perfect tree. It would be sacrilegious to have an artificial tree, as everybody knows. And we weren't ones to buy one from the Optimist Club in the Kroger parking lot. Heck, we didn't even go to a Christmas tree farm. We were the kind of family that did it right!<br /><br />We got all bundled up nice and warm and loaded into my dad's pickup truck. We didn't really have a destination, just a purpose: find the perfect tree. We'd drive around and dad would slow down and look around, then drive on. Then he'd slow down and we'd hear him say, "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">hmmm</span>" followed shortly after by, "I bet... <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">hmm</span>. Come on kids, let's see what we can find."<br /><br />We'd then park on the side of the road, grab the saw and go searching for a tree. I learned all about barbed wire and how to judge if it's best to go over or under. We'd find a great tree, saw it down, throw it over the barbed wire, toss it in the truck and be on our merry way. What's funny about all this is that I had NO IDEA we were trespassing on somebody <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">else's</span> property and cutting down their trees. I just thought it was how everybody got a Christmas tree. But as an adult, and seeing how much trees are, I now know it was because we were POOR. (Isn't it funny though how as kids we don't realize the reasons behind the things our parents do?)<br /><br />As I got older, we did begin to go to the Christmas tree farms and choose our trees legally. To this day, I don't know if that's because we had more financial stability or if my dad grew a conscience. Or maybe he was worried that now that we were older and not quite as little and cute, people would be less likely to be in the "Christmas Spirit" and let it go if we got caught.<br /><br />One year my mom bought an artificial tree and quickly got the wrath of my brother and me. (<span style="font-style: italic;">And we were grown, not even living at home</span>.) But now that I have to clean up after a real tree, I can certainly see the allure.<br /><br />So I knew that I wanted my kids to have the real tree experience. I was excited the first year my dad came to pick up Joshua to take him to the Christmas tree farm down the road and let him pick out and saw down a tree. And it became a tradition. So much that last year, after we had moved 450 miles away, Joshua asked when Grandpa Phil was coming to take him to get a tree! (I was kind of wondering myself...)<br /><br />Anyway, although I miss the tradition, and I miss my dad having a part in it, we have a tree. A real one. And the local Optimist Club members sitting in their trailer in the Kroger parking lot have way too much of my money.<br /><br />The upside though, no clothes have to be replaced due to being caught and torn on the barbed wire.Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-87709450985369637912010-12-09T22:10:00.008-06:002010-12-09T22:48:09.542-06:00Glass Half-Empty or Half-FullIn this house, there is no half-empty or half-full. It's just plain EMPTY. And we aren't just talking about one particular gentleman's outlook on life. We are talking about his <span style="font-weight: bold;">VERY</span> odd perception that when something only has a little left, it's gone.<br /><br />To better explain, he came to me the other day and said, "We are out of laundry detergent." Well that's just plain laughable. We order our laundry detergent through the food bank and I am not even kidding when I say that we probably have close to thirty bottles of detergent in the house. But he was referring to the bottles on the shelf in the laundry area.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeHESwkIJpCu9tAumiLApKQniwRCU-qr0MkRQbWUVsp4GMbwRMfG3CJJtj00qskuEz0XhLhuAvBKr2xZZEFCIFs9taZcDpQGwBXnnYCDXyTUd1FGn7P0frvNYo0gE1IpOzhx9l-2P7h8iF/s1600/detergent"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 225px; height: 277px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeHESwkIJpCu9tAumiLApKQniwRCU-qr0MkRQbWUVsp4GMbwRMfG3CJJtj00qskuEz0XhLhuAvBKr2xZZEFCIFs9taZcDpQGwBXnnYCDXyTUd1FGn7P0frvNYo0gE1IpOzhx9l-2P7h8iF/s320/detergent" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548909387328469602" border="0" /></a><br />So you can see that there are at least six bottles of detergent on the shelf. And they may not all be full, but I can assure you none of them is empty.<br /><br />And when he makes a bowl of cereal in the morning, he almost always says, "We're out of milk." And he doesn't mean, "we're <span style="font-style: italic;">almost </span>out" because unless I catch him first, he will inevitably throw the jug of milk away.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrPaYVQowUr3xKDg0i1RJZvx6up7B9DDhA4RVZQtmlzsLEe4MHwhgdg3vc_AyDSvDC9ppdxGfZcmJJfbC3eRfJ-2IwFqMPIm9K0C8Ob9BWxLyindCGGU_MHwqz_Z-5pgqAtI4l9ii2rdc/s1600/milk"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrPaYVQowUr3xKDg0i1RJZvx6up7B9DDhA4RVZQtmlzsLEe4MHwhgdg3vc_AyDSvDC9ppdxGfZcmJJfbC3eRfJ-2IwFqMPIm9K0C8Ob9BWxLyindCGGU_MHwqz_Z-5pgqAtI4l9ii2rdc/s320/milk" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548907078226906402" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But I really thought I might scream today when he came to me and said, "We are out of toilet paper. We only have one roll left." I went into his bathroom and this is what I saw.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHy_KvZ1kCNJPDKo4xInEnqkdNAbEgQH82PyUqLOYQwhFflxckKPj2XTC3UoY1bDbm95FFkhA1x70xVtY-5G6Cns7FOcI7BGuAOGmNbHTT3IkBGTQcceRXstlz-TQ20OItC4JGGXP2elD/s1600/toilet+paper"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHy_KvZ1kCNJPDKo4xInEnqkdNAbEgQH82PyUqLOYQwhFflxckKPj2XTC3UoY1bDbm95FFkhA1x70xVtY-5G6Cns7FOcI7BGuAOGmNbHTT3IkBGTQcceRXstlz-TQ20OItC4JGGXP2elD/s320/toilet+paper" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548907765620057186" border="0" /></a><br />Can you guess which "one" is the only one left? Of course, in his mind, the only roll we have is the one that hasn't been touched. However, I CANNOT for the life of me figure out why he truly CANNOT see that there are seventeen, count 'em, seventeen other rolls that still have a substantial amount of toilet paper on them. But he can't. He really can't. He is truly convinced that we are out of toilet paper. There is no arguing with him. And it makes me want to cry and yell. But I don't. I just walk away. And tell Lowell that one of the guys next door wants to talk to him.Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-71106416441750853022010-11-29T22:05:00.002-06:002010-11-29T22:22:05.238-06:00How to Make a Donkey MadSo for the last several weeks, we have been in deep discussions with one of our guys about getting a cat. We honestly think he wants the cat so that he will have a reason to buy pet insurance. (Logic is not one of his stronger attributes). Anyway, Lowell and I have been anti-cat, for various reasons. We aren't really cat people. This guy can't keep his room clean to save his life. And mainly, we are worried that we are going to have a dead cat on our hands in just a few short months.<br /><br />However, there's a fine line between being against having a cat and letting him know we are against having a cat. We have been having to play both sides of the fence, dealing with him, his guardians, and the company we work for. It's not been easy.<br /><br />So the other night, to stir up some fun, Lowell says something along the lines of, "Why a cat? Why not get a goat?" To which he seriously responds, "No, I don't have enough room for a goat." (This was also his response concerning smaller pets such as a hamster or turtle.) He wants a cat because he wants a pet that will be waiting for him when he gets home and will "snuggle up" with him at night. When we point out that cats aren't known too much for waiting at the door for their owners to get home so they can "snuggle," he says that he is planning on training his cat to do what he wants. After some time of forcing it to sleep with him, the cat will learn to snuggle and be happy to see him. Are ya' seeing where our concerns are coming in??<br /><br />Anyway, after the goat comment he goes on to say if he had to get a pet such as a goat, he would get a donkey. He thinks it would be fun to have a donkey, mainly because their "real names" are jackass. He proceeds to tell us that "people don't call them jackasses though because it would look funny. Imagine hearing your neighbors outside calling their donkey in - 'here jackass, here jackass, come on jackass.' And not only that, imagine how mad and confused the donkeys would be hearing their owners call them jackasses. They would be upset knowing that they hadn't done anything wrong and would wonder why they were being called a jackass. It'd probably make them so mad that they would wait until their owners were standing behind them and then they'd buck up and kick them. Because, you know, donkeys don't know their real names are jackass."<br /><br />And there really isn't even a response from Lowell or me. I mean, honestly, how does one respond to that conversation?<br /><br />Anybody wanna join a pool on how long the cat survives???Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-31755502192045319162010-11-27T08:40:00.000-06:002010-11-27T08:40:29.199-06:00A Penny for your ThoughtsOne of our guys loves money. All money. Dollars, quarters, dimes, nickels, pennies. All money. When working with him, we have to be very aware of our surroundings, because he will literally walk in the middle of the road if he sees something resembling change. He doesn't have a good understanding of the values, but he does know that the silver ones are more valuable than the copper, but that's never kept him from jumping out of the van to get the copper.<br /><br />We recently had to call our maintenance department because our garbage disposal wasn't working properly. The guy came to fix it and pulled this out of the disposal:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicIs4Ym2PxZN_Dro_TeAIJCfYy-R9jQ4cU7CVJBFem0HXje1DGoD3uPADYYwyd6ixS5_fZlvBBa-L7tff1sxyISspywwgC9M350ZeCscKevKZ3Ocxzfuef-F2JJkJPVMGiqANsv71-eZa2/s1600/pennies.aspx"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 257px; height: 193px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicIs4Ym2PxZN_Dro_TeAIJCfYy-R9jQ4cU7CVJBFem0HXje1DGoD3uPADYYwyd6ixS5_fZlvBBa-L7tff1sxyISspywwgC9M350ZeCscKevKZ3Ocxzfuef-F2JJkJPVMGiqANsv71-eZa2/s320/pennies.aspx" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544239048418647986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />And it just blew our minds. We thought we had figured out who the culprit was though. Certainly not the money hungry one. Surely not the one who definitely knows better. It had to be the one who knew better but would think it was funny. So we talked to him and talked to him about how if it happened again, he would be responsible for the maintenance charges to get the garbage disposal fixed. And he swore over and over again that this was stupid and asked why on earth we would think he would do that.<br /><br />Two days later, the garbage disposal is once again just barely humming. We reach in there ourselves this time, and again pull out a handful of pennies. This time, there were even more than the first time. And we notice that some of the pennies are more beaten-looking because they were the same pennies that were in there the first time that Mr. I Love Money swiped off the counter as soon as Maintenance put them there. He was the culprit!<br /><br />So that's been our latest behavior issue. And although better than some of the other behaviors we've had to deal with, it still feels odd every time I say, "Now where do we put the pennies we don't want? Do we put them in the sink? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Noooo</span>. We put them in the jar right??" This has been mildly successful. And we have caught him recently just throwing them in the trash. And although I am not a fan of throwing any money away, at least we don't have to call maintenance!Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-86043555405802533202010-11-24T17:27:00.003-06:002010-11-24T19:15:24.121-06:00How My Cup Runneth OverI've never been big on Thanksgiving. Not so much the giving thanks part, but the getting together to give thanks part. It's never bothered me to have to work on Thanksgiving Day. Honestly, I usually enjoy it. In the line of work that we do, a big holiday normally means we have fewer people to work with. And that makes for a nice break.<br /><br />But this year was different. My brother and sister-in-law and their kids are in Arkansas for the week. And I'm in Kansas. Joshua took on the duty of being our family representative so he is hanging with my people while I am here taking a psychotic guy to get an EKG, arguing the pros and cons of getting a cat with another, and listening over and over again to whatever happens to be the conversation of the day for our guy with no short-term memory. And so, while I am thankful I have a job, I've also thought a lot about the other things I am thankful for.<br /><br />I am so thankful for my family (including the wonderful family I was fortunate to marry into). We certainly have had our share of dysfunction (no more or less probably than most families - we've had the divorces, the addictions, the remarriages, the griefs, the crazies, the relocations, the arguments, the FBI investigations - kidding, <span style="font-style: italic;">kind of - </span>etc.) but we get through it. I know the saying about not being able to pick your family, but I'd choose these people over and over again if given the chance. All of them - even the really crazy one, because she's made us who we are. And I really like who we are.<br /><br />I am so thankful for a husband who loves me no matter what stupid thing I say or do. He loves me when our house is a mess because I just don't feel like doing anything about it. He loves me when I get up in the morning, and even after being with me ALL DAY LONG, he still loves me when we go to bed at night. What more could a girl want?<br /><br />I am thankful that I have the most amazing kid in the world. I'm not saying he doesn't drive me up the wall, because nobody does that any better. He makes me CRAZY. But he also makes me laugh like nobody else can make me laugh. He is truly so stinkin' funny! And besides having a great sense of humor, he is sensitive and compassionate and loves people well. He's gonna do great things one day. Mark my words on that one.<br /><br />I am thankful that I have great friends. When we moved away from home (Arkansas) two years ago, I thought to myself, "I'll never have friends like I do now." And guess what? I was right. But what I didn't realize then was that I didn't need proximity friendships. I have friends that I know I will have FOREVER who live all over the country. And I know that if I even need those people in a way that requires their physical presence, they will drop whatever they are doing and be at more door. And I would do the same for them. How blessed I am!<br /><br />I am thankful for my job. I have a job that allows me to stay home with my husband and son. I have the opportunity to make a difference every day in somebody's life. I may have to deal with crazy. A LOT of crazy. But honestly, we are pretty good at crazy. Why we had to be the people gifted at dealing with crazy, I don't know. I just know we are. So I will try to embrace that. But I will probably always wonder why us.<br /><br />I am thankful for Jesus. He loves me more than I could ever deserve to be loved. The other day when I <span style="font-style: italic;">might</span> have been yelling at Joshua when I was trying to teach him math, he looked up at me and calmly says, "Do you need some Jesus?" (<span style="font-style: italic;">Told ya' he's funny!</span>) Lowell walked through and said, "No, she has Jesus, she's just hiding Him under a bushel!" I think I do that too much. I don't want to hide Him. Even with my wonderful family, friends, husband, child, and job, I have nothing without Jesus.<br /><br />So those are the big things. I'm also thankful for LOTS of little things, many of them materialistic things, but hey, I'm being honest. I am thankful for my iphone, books, and almost all reality television. I am thankful for vacations, convenience stores, Amazon.com, and eBay. I am thankful to live in a country where I can choose where to live, where and how to worship, and where and how to educate my child. I am thankful that I have to miss Thanksgiving with the <a href="http://www.lifeinagrouphome.com/2009/12/now-that-christmas-is-over.html">family I dined with last year</a>, and I am thankful that I will be missed at the table in Arkansas.<br /><br />I could go on, but I will stop, say "Happy Thanksgiving" and return to trying to get caught up on all the blogs about my life, in a group home.Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-86124299508506834522010-10-08T22:07:00.006-05:002010-10-11T12:54:05.533-05:00Beware the SnarlSo, about a month ago, I said I was back from my summer blogging break and would get all caught up. And that was the last you've heard from me.<br /><br />Life's been crazy. And the problem was not the guys, it was our staff. We try really hard to be good supervisors. And we understand that we all have families and lives outside of our jobs, so we've been understanding. We've never written her up for being tardy. We've never told her no when she's needed time off (even when she had ZERO vacation hours.) We've let her run home and check on her kids periodically throughout the day, etc. I think we've been more than fair.<br /><br />Since the job isn't sitting behind a desk, she works for eight hours and doesn't get a lunch hour. Mind you, a good portion of the day, our guys are in their rooms or at work so she would watch Judge Mathis, or Law and Order, or one of those true crime stories. There wasn't a lot for her to do, so we never really called her out on any of these things.<br /><br />But recently, she started taking advantage of the inches we were giving. And boy did she take miles. It started with a "I'm going to drive through somewhere to pick up lunch." (Which was fine.) But then it became a "I'm running home to grab a bite." (Which was also fine, until it was more than just a bite.) For instance, she would drop off one of the guys at work at noon. She'd show back up at the house around 1:45, take another to work at 2:30, and we wouldn't see her again until she picked the first guy up a little after 4:00. So we were calculating a good 2.5 to 3 hours of her eight hour workday that she was hanging out at home.<br /><br />We tried subtlety several times. It didn't work. So we finally hit a breaking point, where I very nicely told her that she needed to come straight back and couldn't have the company van at her house at all. I think most reasonable people would think, "Well, I got away with that for a long time, too bad the good times are over." But if you read <a href="http://www.lifeinagrouphome.com/2009/02/its-getting-weirder-all-time.html">this post</a> about the cornstarch addiction, "reasonable" might not be the first word to come to mind when you think of her.<br /><br />And indeed, she did not have a reasonable response. She yelled and got mad and blamed us. She even complained to Human Resources, who quickly informed her that she ought not be advertising the fact that she'd been away from her job upwards of three hours a day.<br /><br />Things were extremely uncomfortable for about a month, but slowly getting better. And then the administration changed her hours. Oh, she was certain it was our doing. She claimed we were "retaliating" against her for taking her lunch. HR reminded her that we would have no reason to retaliate as we didn't lose anything, but she didn't seem to get that.<br /><br />She quit talking to us completely. <span style="font-style: italic;">To</span> us. Certainly not <span style="font-style: italic;">about</span> us. We heard from several of our neighbors that we were "sneaky" people and they'd been warned to stay away from us. Thankfully, they knew the source and didn't heed the warning.<br /><br />But all that's just the background to the war that broke out in the house earlier this week. Since she wasn't talking to us, it really made it uncomfortable to be on the guys side of the house. If we can't be over there, we can't really do our job. So it hit a point that we had to discuss it all. And we all got mad. And we all yelled. But when it was all said and done I had to laugh. I mean, it's not funny when someone attacks your character (and boy did she!), but some of the things she said were just so ridiculous.<br /><br />She said we were "dark-hearted people with a sneaky side" who "wore nice clothes on the outside but were wolves on the inside." (Pretty sure she was calling us wolves in sheep's clothing, not commenting on our brand-name Goodwill/<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">TJMaxx</span> wardrobes, but maybe.) She said we were viciously angry people and that the day I told her she no longer got a lunch hour, I was so angry at her that my lip snarled up. (I've never known myself to have a lip snarl, but I've been practicing all week!)<br /><br />All these things were, of course, hard to hear. But you know the old sticks and stones adage, so we were just rolling along with the argument, uh, conversation. Until this happened: I mentioned the fact that she hasn't spoken to us at all and how awkward that is for us and must also be for her. She responded that she will do her job, but nowhere in her job description does it say she has to "make small talk or be polite to her supervisors" so she had no intention of doing so. Well knock me over with a feather. Doesn't she know that I'm from the South and have never ever ever ever ever ever heard of such craziness?? Doesn't she know that I was raised such that if the spawn of Satan shows up at my door, I'm gonna just invite him on in, offer him a glass of sweet tea and ask him how his momma and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">them's</span> doing?? Doesn't she know?? Call me what you want. Say I have a dark heart and a lip snarl. But don't say you don't have to be polite or make small talk. Because that's just not true! Small talk and politeness make the world go 'round! At least in my corner of the world.<br /><br />It's just too bad we can't all live in my little corner of the world.<br /><br />(And just FYI, I no longer have to worry about the lack of politeness in my home, because she is no longer a part of it.)Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-80509823190694578052010-08-30T10:44:00.003-05:002010-08-30T11:18:11.775-05:00My Love Language - InterruptedI remember years ago reading Dr. Gary Chapman's book "5 Love Languages." Later published were many spin-offs of this book: Five Love Languages for Children; Five Love Languages for Teens; For Men; For Singles, etc, etc. The five languages that convey love are affirmation, quality time, gifts, acts of service, and physical touch. And supposedly we all fall into one of these categories.<br /><br />But I don't think mine is included. And this may sound completely off-the-wall, BUT, I feel really loved when a person I love watches a television show I love. Crazy right?? And you may say, "Oh that falls under quality time." But no, it doesn't. 'Cause see, they don't have to watch it <span style="font-style: italic;">with<span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span> me. They just have to watch it. So we can talk about it later. <br /><br />I hesitated to even write this, because even I think it sounds a tad, or a lot, ludicrous. I feel loved when someone I love watches a TV show I love. But there it is, in black and white, out there for the world to see.<br /><br />Now, on to the story. There really aren't many shows I "love." I L.O.V.E.D the show LOST. But it's over. And I will watch pretty much any reality show out there. (As Joshua can attest. He watches Survivor, and Amazing Race, and Next Food Network Star with me because he also loves those shows. He watches Project Runway SOLELY because I love it, and he loves me!) But my most recent television obsession has been "Drop Dead Diva" on Lifetime. I won't even go into the premise because it's so dumb it's embarrassing. But my super sweet husband watches it with me. And lest anyone question his manhood over this, I don't think he enjoys it too much. He just likes how happy it makes me to be able to talk about the show with him.<br /><br />So last night was the two-hour season finale. I watched it when it was on of course, but it so happened to be on at the same times as the Denver-Pittsburgh preseason game. And I would never be the kind of wife who pulled her husband away from an NFL game. Because after all, I was DVRing "Drop Dead Diva" and there was an encore presentation on Lifetime later in the evening. <br /><br />So at ten, we put Joshua to bed and start watching. I have to leave at eleven to go "sleep" next door (yes, I agreed to do it again!) but I told Lowell to text or call me at midnight when the show was over so we could talk about the cliffhanger that happens in the last 2 minutes of the show. <br /><br />So, imagine my shock and surprise when my phone rings at 11:55 (not 12, like it was supposed to.) My first thought was, "oh how sweet, he wants to be on the phone with me when the aforementioned cliffhanger happens." But as soon as I answered the phone, all I could hear on the other end was our house alarm. So I am yelling the code and how to turn it off to him. And then he hangs up because the alarm company is calling. And then we meet outside to see and hear the big hook and ladder fire truck making it's way down our street. <br /><br />And of course there's no fire. Just our resident cook making some (smoked/smoky/burned)sausage. What's funny is that when Lowell heard the alarm and ran next door, the guy just looks up at him and says, "Can you turn that thing off?" and continues cooking. Like Lowell was the one who set it off! But after dealing with the firemen and restoring some semblance of order to the house, there was no chance to get back to seeing the shock of Grayson being hit by a car as he is chasing after Jane as she dramatically left the restaurant after learning that Grayson had asked Vanessa to marry him. <br /><br />Lowell seemed pretty okay with missing this. I was sad for him to have missed it. But I filled him in. And we talked about it together. And I felt happy. And very very loved!<br /><br />And I also know we have it on DVR in case he decides he needs to see it for himself.Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-36828222697229379282010-08-24T20:50:00.005-05:002010-08-25T15:49:34.802-05:00Somebody's Watching YouWhen we moved into the group home in Arkansas, I would NEVER sleep in the common area of the house. I knew if I did, and I woke up and somebody was standing over me, it would totally freak me out to the point that I would never ever be able to get over it. I would awaken in a panic if I accidentally fell asleep on the couch in the living area, even if no clients were in the house at the time. I was just that adamant that nobody was going to be watching me sleep. I thought that was a characteristic about me that would never change.<br /><br />I was wrong. I don't know what happened really. Maybe I realized that probably nothing is going to happen (after I get over the initial shock of course). Maybe I realized that these guys have to intention to hurt someone (except when the voices in their heads tell them to). Or maybe, and most likely, I'm just tired.<br /><br />The company for whom we work has several homes like ours around town. This summer, there were several couples who left for other jobs, had babies, and/or took vacations. Due to lack of staff we were asked if we would be willing to do some overnights in the homes with no couples. This essentially meant going to the home and sleeping on the couch from 11 pm until 7 am when the day staff arrived. Our initial thought was something like, "Heck yeah, we can get paid to sleep?? Why say no?"<br /><br />But you know how some things just aren't worth the money? Overnights just may be on that list. <br /><br />In our house, people sleep. (Well, technically one stays up playing video games but he is in his room for the most part and doesn't come downstairs.) Apparently our house is the exception. The first night Lowell stayed at another house, he didn't sleep. One guy raced around the house all night. Literally ran around the house. Didn't need anything. Just wanted to speedwalk. Another got up before the sun came up, walked outside and urinated on the house next door. Apparently this is an attention-seeking behavior that he has tried before on new staff. It's a real shocker and definitely gets attention, but Lowell handled it like a champ and didn't make a big deal about it, so the guy walked back in and said, "not appropriate to pee outside." Yeah, like he was telling Lowell something he didn't already know. <br /><br />The next house (yes, we agreed to do it again) was not much better. This one was supposed to be better because he wasn't going to have to stay on the side with the guys. He was told he could stay on the couple's side of the house and monitor the cameras to make sure everything was okay. What he wasn't told was that one guy walked outside every chance he got and an alarm on the couple's side of the house said, "FRONT DOOR" every time the door was opened, because of course the guy is not supposed to be outside alone at all hours of the night. When Lowell thought he was finally ready to settle in for the night, he looked at the monitor and watched this same guy eat a whole package of hot dog buns. When he started looking for more food, Lowell felt obliged to go back over and try once more to get the guy to go to sleep. <br /><br />So this week, we were again asked if we could do the overnight shift at the house next door. We know these girls and we were under the impression that they all three sleep. And it's next door. However, one of the girls has a real fascination with men and for reasons left unsaid, we felt it was best for him not to be sleeping on their couch. So it fell to me. And since I am past my issues with people watching me sleep, I thought it would be cool.<br /><br />The night kind of reminded me of a hospital stay. You know, where someone comes in every couple of hours to check on you. My first wake-up was actually another staff. She said she was just coming around to make sure I'd locked all the doors. Seriously?? Why wake someone up to see if the doors are locked?? My next wake-up was when one of the ladies was standing in the living room saying (in a very spooky voice), "Nicole, is that you? Is that you Nicole? I don't know who you are." Nicole is the day staff at that house and she and I look nothing alike, nor are we even the same race. And then every hour on the hour, there she was again. "Nicole, is that you? Is that you Nicole? I don't know who you are." I might have rather heard a loud alarm saying, "Front Door" than "Nicole, is that you? Is that you Nicole? I don't know who you are." In between the freaky stares and questions, she would go back to her room and listen to the radio. Except she would only listen to around 20 seconds of each song and then change the station. That is until the song, "Somebody's Watching You" (yes, the one from the 80s, or the Geico commercial depending on how old you are). This particular song, she listened to in its entirety. I'm not lying or even stretching the truth on this. Freaky doesn't begin to describe it.<br /><br />Maybe my irrational fear of sleeping in someone else's living room and being stared at while I sleep was not so irrational after all.Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-41839113343224739872010-08-24T15:45:00.002-05:002010-08-24T16:09:51.401-05:00A "Family" ConferenceSo I just noticed that it's been two months since I blogged. I guess maybe I took the summer off. I thought about blogging several times. It just didn't happen. Maybe I'll backtrack and catch up. Maybe I won't. I think that even though our life seems crazy to others; to us, it's just our life and sometimes just doesn't seem that interesting.<br /><br />But the other night, we lost power. For hours. One would think that the guys would have just gone to bed being as it was dark anyway, and past at least two of their normal bedtimes. But no. We sat in the living room and held flashlights and looked at one another. I decide that it would be a good time to have a family meeting. (We are supposed to have these regularly, but since we cannot get the guys to sit down at the dinner table at the same time without major disruption, we don't have them nearly as often as we should.) But we were all in the dark together, so I suggest we have our family conference. One guy laughs, another just looks at me and the third says, very dryly, "The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">tv's</span> broke. I guess we gotta talk to each other."<br /><br />I start by asking if anybody has any problems or concerns they want to address. One guy is "just fine", another just looks at me and the third says, "Yes I do." He brought up the fact that he did not like for other people to use his bathroom. We explained that he rents his room and that just because the bathroom is upstairs, it is a part of the house just like the living room or kitchen and it is a common area that can be used. We also assured him that the only time anyone has ever used his bathroom was once months ago when the downstairs toilet was having issues. He was not satisfied with this response and threatened to sue if anyone went into "his" restroom. We said that we would be sure nobody ever entered his bathroom if he promised to quit going in the living room. He didn't like this suggestion so he went into the garage to "fix the electricity."<br /><br />We hear him flipping every breaker switch out there while we moved on to activities we'd like to do next week. One guy says "whatever", another just looks at me. The guy in the garage is quiet and we wonder briefly if he's maybe electrocuted himself. But, alas, he came back in. He apparently heard the next topic because he suggested we all get a room at the Great Wolf Lodge for a fun activity. Seriously?? I can't even begin to go there in my mind. Can I imagine much worse than being in a hotel, in a waterpark, with these three, ALL TOGETHER??? Nope, I can't.<br /><br />So I move on and ask if there are any special meals anyone wants next week. One guy says, "I'm happy with whatever you make," another just looks at me, and the electrician proceeds to give me a twenty-five item grocery list before flipping every light switch in the house to see if maybe <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> will get the electricity going. <br /><br />It didn't work.<br /><br />So - I kid you not - he goes outside in the pouring rain and starts banging on the side of the house. When we asked what he was doing, he responded that he thought if maybe he hit something hard enough it would jiggle the wires and reboot the power of the house. <br /><br />And what we learned from his trial and error, is when the electricity is out, there is really nothing you can do but wait patiently for it to come back on. And have a family conference. Or not.Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-19741669900770802402010-06-16T15:50:00.000-05:002010-06-16T15:50:45.363-05:00Eat More ChickenThe guys qualify to order food from a local food bank so we go about once a month and get groceries there. Last month, we saw "Buttery Garlic Whole Chicken" and thought, that sounds good and easy. We'll order that. Had we been paying attention to the extra detail out to the side we probably would have noticed that it said "42 pounds of chicken." When I opened the box, there were eight whole buttery garlic chickens completely frozen together. Knowing that once they defrosted, I would have to cook them all, I sincerely considered just throwing the box away. BUT that would be wasteful and we wouldn't want to be wasteful. We decided that it would be easier to just cook them all and then we could refreeze the meat for later use.<br /><br />So Joshua and I took on the task of a chicken-cooking day. All was going well until he was called to go to a friend's house and boy did he ever jump on that offer. (Not that I blame him). We had chickens everywhere.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0dnLworE3nbl9AbUlrls-uZZ5fINZClpVA56haKybSrjoFCRCmHECl6YocQRJ_jsvkS_f18QEa9dV7-griTfKGxYCE7tWEffCIJTgGvbC88YnS5gJq5FkdoSr3hReLVmmjVfEq9pKueN4/s1600/DSC00281.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0dnLworE3nbl9AbUlrls-uZZ5fINZClpVA56haKybSrjoFCRCmHECl6YocQRJ_jsvkS_f18QEa9dV7-griTfKGxYCE7tWEffCIJTgGvbC88YnS5gJq5FkdoSr3hReLVmmjVfEq9pKueN4/s320/DSC00281.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477862690236472658" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />In the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">crockpot</span></span>.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-kh14WflRkw41lI30BFp1_wfKbEWlrs7BbqCoBOSzeZZ36ASJqUWUABeN9tSTS3yTBSyjtwMo5RIhnAA5ca_JyO9xRMITPNg6ckbLkBRXoUhV6q06OALVF2NbVojsetqNvIFhx72h4usA/s1600/DSC00282.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-kh14WflRkw41lI30BFp1_wfKbEWlrs7BbqCoBOSzeZZ36ASJqUWUABeN9tSTS3yTBSyjtwMo5RIhnAA5ca_JyO9xRMITPNg6ckbLkBRXoUhV6q06OALVF2NbVojsetqNvIFhx72h4usA/s320/DSC00282.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477863798521653170" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">In the oven.<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />In the rotisserie.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii8bnDcHTK0Ul0TSeUe8bTgKq2fM6x316-N9sK98n_GKj9MVASHXasD8f2HCPmxm_JH4w2bKc7-xdEpVbbqqSdfXUKI8EQEvTrYQwUc66smvp1C_ipe4Anqf8qxnJOkN8vMsGP-a_802Du/s1600/DSC00283.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii8bnDcHTK0Ul0TSeUe8bTgKq2fM6x316-N9sK98n_GKj9MVASHXasD8f2HCPmxm_JH4w2bKc7-xdEpVbbqqSdfXUKI8EQEvTrYQwUc66smvp1C_ipe4Anqf8qxnJOkN8vMsGP-a_802Du/s320/DSC00283.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477864304774587394" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrc-ik_I-YIBQJsg0bBiSJpQYOQzXmN1mO4Df2-W3oQR5hyphenhyphenub6d2MCrwc00_qua-ieLxTvRBeCX-OlimR6rIDEXcnJOcMMZz0o77vUc02de2aPPz-Q8Bzr7F9555d13acd0XfHzfArma3n/s1600/DSC00286.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrc-ik_I-YIBQJsg0bBiSJpQYOQzXmN1mO4Df2-W3oQR5hyphenhyphenub6d2MCrwc00_qua-ieLxTvRBeCX-OlimR6rIDEXcnJOcMMZz0o77vUc02de2aPPz-Q8Bzr7F9555d13acd0XfHzfArma3n/s320/DSC00286.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477863415932624930" border="0" /></a><br />And then there was this guy. I guess rigor <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">mortis</span></span> set in early for him. He was totally stuck this way, doing his high kick. He had to wait for the oven to free up because he wouldn't fit in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">crockpot</span></span> with his leg up and he wouldn't turn in the rotisserie. (Once cooked, his leg did lay nicely.)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />We had Chicken Spaghetti, Chicken and Dumplings, Chicken Fajitas, Chicken <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Quesadillas</span></span>, and we still have four more chickens in the freezer. I'm thinking we'll pay closer attention to what we are ordering next time!Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6542037141866125062.post-60232064613432013342010-06-14T21:18:00.003-05:002010-06-14T21:36:25.406-05:00Where'd You Guys Park?Joshua is what many would call a "social butterfly." He doesn't meet a stranger and always makes a friend wherever he goes. Lowell and I aren't quite like that. So having lived here over a year now, this is essentially home to Joshua. Lowell and I still feel like we aren't quite sure where we belong, but Joshua is happy, so it's all cool.<br /><br />Except for the thirty minute period after church when Joshua is busy socializing with his people while Lowell and I smile at some folks, shake the pastor's hand and are ready to leave. We either sit on the couch in the foyer looking awkward or we sit in the car while we wait for Joshua to finish and realize that we are waiting for him.<br /><br />So a few weeks ago, after an exceptionally long period of waiting, we had a conversation about how we truly are glad he has lots of friends, but that it is really rude to just wander off and not tell us how long he will be gone or where he will be. He acknowledged this, and then the next week, the same thing happened. We again pointed out that not telling us where he is or how long he will be essentially puts him in charge of the family. We explained that we are fine with him talking to his friends but that he needs to discuss this with us first so that we are all on the same page and so that he can make sure he is not disturbing our plans. We are the parents, we are in charge. You expecting us to wait and us waiting puts you in charge. And that's just not okay. We explained that if it happened in the future, we were going to go on about our day and not take him into consideration just like he has done to us.<br /><br />Well let me tell ya' what. Yesterday after church when Joshua bounced off to visit with his friends, Lowell and I shook the pastor's hand, got in the car and drove home. (Before you go calling DCFS, the kid is 14, we only live about 2 miles from the church, and he certainly knows enough people that he could bum a ride off of.) But I think it about shocked his shoes off thirty minutes later when he called and said, "Hey, where'd you guys park?" and he got the response "in the driveway."<br /><br />The funny thing about him is that he wasn't mad at us. He indeed got a ride home from a friend of ours who thought it was the most hilarious thing. She said that Joshua kept saying, "they said they were gonna do that but I never really thought they would." He has assured us that next week, he'll be the first to the car. We told him that next time that happens, we aren't just coming home, we are going out to lunch too. For some reason, I think he believes us.Queen of the Castlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397888215925361200noreply@blogger.com2