Save Veronica - Charleston, SC Child Removed from Adoptive Parents at Age Two

I can't imagine the anguish these parents are feeling.  To watch this video, I imagine myself having to carry one of my own children in this same scene.  I would not be able to walk.

There is a link at the bottom of this one to a website created to Save Veronica. CNN is apparently considering picking up the story. 

If you can imagine the anguish of the parents, imagine what the baby is going through right now. 

If you are one of my readers, I urge you to follow this story and respond.  There is a petition you can sign.  You can also contact CNN to show your support of having them cover this story.

There is also a facebook page called Saving Veronica.

God bless this family.

Couple forced to turn over 2-year-old

A Case for Bad Mothering

As four of the six Hoovers spent Christmas on restriction and all the Hoovers were presented, on Christmas Eve, with the New Hooverville Level System that will be utilized to monitor (eg reward and punish) their behavior, I'm glad the following issue already has legal precedent:

Read article here

Christmas Eve

Okay, if I admit I don't like this time of the year, I get all sorts of groans and moans from everyone  --  especially those people I live with.

My husband leads the attempt every year to get me to get some Christmas spirit.  In fact, right now, the house is full of tiny candles.  Fake ones.  Fake tea lights with little switches underneath them.  I imagine they all have watch batteries inside (there's no room for anything else) which WON'T be replaced.

The thought of all of it does nothing for my Christmas cheer.  It just reminds me that...

I DON'T LIKE THIS TIME OF YEAR!

It's been all I could do to "do" Christmas this year.  The gifts have been sparse.  The house is barely decorated (save the fake tea lights). 

Tomorrow morning won't be as well planned as those in the past.  It has only been with some help that I've been able to do what I have.

I'm ready to move on now. 

My favorite month is January when it's time for organizing, resolutions, re-do's. 

Hopefully, some better, more organized posts. 

Merry Christmas, everyone. 

It Has Been Decided

It has been decided that December 22 will pass without revelation from us regarding the hell we have lived through in the past nine months.

I will attempt to focus on the positive or the slightly negative only.  Positive was that my baby turned 11 yesterday  -  the baby who we did not know would live to eleven with the neuroglogical condition that he has.  He was quite proud of himself and actually acted more mature this evening. 

Until Captain Rex took missing.  I would not know this Captain Rex characvter except that my husband bought him for the baby's birthday.  Captain Rex is a character in Star Wars.  When I saw Star Wars many moons ago, there was no Captain Rex.  Now, my husband is quite glad that there is such a character.  This particular toy has buttons that can be pushed, one of which causes the character to say, "Hi, I am Captain Rex.  But you can call me 'Mister'."  Something like that.  My husband, Rex, likes that .  I suspect he secretly bought the toy for himself.

Captain Rex was no where to be found at bedtime tonight.  Hoovers sleep with their presents for several nights until they are told they cannot any longer.  Even hard, electronic toys.  I assured the baby that Captain Rex was somewhere in the house sleeping soundly, but that was not good enough.  Eventually, I convinced the purchaser of Captain Rex to go looking for him.  The baby would not sleep and would turn the sleep of the others upside down to find Captain Rex.

Captain Rex was found and returned to his proper, new owner. 

And my last baby turns 11 on December 26.  Until then, the Hoovers are 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, and 19. 

Makes me tired.

Christmas Cards, Letters, and December 22

There are still miracles all around us.  One is that in the middle of all the chaos of this thing we now call life, I managed to get a great groupon for some fabulous photo Christmas cards from some site called Mixbook. 

The compounding miracle is that they are going in the mail tomorrow. 

Not only did I buy the groupon.  But I assembled the photos on the card.  Had them shipped.  Opened the box.  Addressed the envelopes. 

Honestly, an unbelievable follow-through of events for me at this point.

The photos on the card and on this site were taken before.  They show the darling faces of children who had struggles.  But nothing like now.  Now, the eyes are not as bright.  The smiles are not as big.  The confidence of one has been shattered. 

In the past, I've always generated a Christmas letter.  One that filters out the "bad" stuff and lists all the lovely things happening in our lives.

This year, the cards will go out without letters enclosed.  Inside the cards will be a link to this blog.

The Christmas letter has been written, but it is not pretty or happy.  There was no way to filter out anything of the past year.  To actually print it on paper at this point was more than I could bear. 

The news of the past year is written in the most factual manner possible for me.  It is scheduled to post here on December 22.  Nine months after the news broke that would change our lives forever.

My silence of the past nine months will break with that posting.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

If I Should Have a Daughter...

Absolutely incredible video that shapes me every time I watch it.  Worth the time, as well, to watch to the end to see the performance of "Hiroshima".

http://www.ted.com/talks/sarah_kay_if_i_should_have_a_daughter.html

The Hoover Mom Prepares to Break Her Silence

The Hoover Mom has been uncharacteristically silent since March.  For a reason.  Now she is preparing to break her silence. 

A story that could not be predicted.  One that is not over yet.  One that may never end.  One that has brought her to her knees and kept her there, her head held under water until she has had to struggle to breathe. 

There she has floated.  Since.  Trying to keep the others from drowning.  Unsuccessfully.  Or possibly successfully.  She really doesn't know much any more.

There is nothing left to laugh about.  There is only the struggle to survive.  And it is only the children who need her and the husband who loves her who have kept her alive.  Pulling her up for air just enough.

Barely.

December 22 will be nine months since.  Since the devil himself unleashed his wrath.  Since the Hoover mom was changed for what she thinks will be forever.  Since the loves of her life were sacrificed to never be the same again.

Nine months.  Quiet. 

Nine months.  Oh, dear God.  Screaming silently.

How?

WHY!?!

The Hoover Mom Got the Finger

The Hoover mom needs a device that de-dramatizes anything it touches. She would pay good money for this sort of device. Hell, she'd wire the money to a foreign country for just the promise of something of the sort.



As she began writing this post, she was sitting in the middle of the most flu-infested location known to man --the pediatricians' office. And she was there because of a finger. Not two fingers or more.  But a single finger.

Just one finger on hand of the most ungrateful Hoover of the six, and it's not even a finger on the hand he writes with. It is an expendable finger (in the Hoover mom's opinion) on the left hand. This finger is certainly not worth exposure to the flu.  But drama and quasi-medicine mixed that day at the school, and the finger that was poked Friday with a pencil, spent the weekend at home with not ne'er a mention, and even entered the school that morning without rearing its ugly head began to lead its owner straight toward the promised land that morning.

Where is the promised land, the reader might ask?  

For a Hoover, it's the nurse's office.  The Hoovers collectively have already used up more passes to the nurse's office than mankind EVER intended for them to receive.  Before moving to the Hoover mom's school, when the Hoover mom was a stay at home mom, and when she might have a moment or two without an entire string of Hoovers in tow, it never failed that the school nurse would call the Hoover mom.  Should the Hoover mom EVER have the pleasure of eating lunch with a friend in a restaurant that just might happen to play music fairly loudly at lunch, she could be certain that the damn school nurse would call just at the time a country song would come on so that it could easily appear, on the other end of the phone, that the Hoover mom spent her "free" time at Juke joints while the Hoovers were busy trying not to die at school.

The Hoover mom was called any time a band aid was applied to a Hoover. Anytime a mosquito bite was scratched to the point of bleeding, it was for sure the Hoover mom would get an urgent call from the nurse.  In fact, the Hoover mom was called once to be told that Betty had gone blind in her resource class (the reader should remember that this is NONFICTION) and the nurse likely thought that the Hoover mom would panic and cry and come running up to the school.  Instead, the Hoover mom talked to the newly- stricken child and healed the blindness over the phone by offering to come up to the school and heal it on-site. 

The nurse just could not let it soak into her head that a mother of six children does not get too worked up over something that a band aid will cover.  Or over sudden blindness.

The poor nurse literally killed herself trying to over care for the Hoovers. On her last day of work, she walked out the front door of the school and fell into the bushes, blond wig and all.  Her example is why the Hoover mom won't get too bent out of shape over some Hoover ailments.  Very little is worth falling into the bushes over!  In addition, the Hoover mom does believe that each person is placed on this earth for a certain number of days, and that if the Ingrate was going to pass that day because of this finger, he would have passed that day anyway.  Three days, some fried chicken, brown rice, and deviled eggs along with a few folding chairs and an awning, and the Hoover family would have had themselves what is known in Hooverville as "a proper burial". 

(For the sake of reference, the Hoover's first (and only) cat was helped along into cat heaven at the veterinarian.  When asked if she wanted to retrieve the cat post-mortem, the Hoover mom declined.  However, the Hoovers became too inquisitive about what the vet did with the cat once the cat was given "the shot that helped him die".  The Hoover mom had to answer something, so she said that the cat "had a proper burial".  It was a response that apparently left the Hoovers at complete peace about the whole situation.  Not ne'er a Hoover asked a question and accepted the fact that a "proper burial" was just that  --  "a burial that was proper."  Therefore, the standard in Hooverville for any breathing thing that dies or that might commence to dying is that it will be given a "proper burial".)

So back to the Hoover mom and the finger, first the teacher called before most teachers had even had time to take attendance (the same teacher upon whose portable classroom the patient pissed just a mere two months ago) and said that the finger appeared to be red and was painful. Although the Hoover mom was aware of the potential outcome, she agreed for the Ingrate (aka The Whiz) to visit the school nurse. When the Hoover mom's desk phone rang a few minutes later she was not at all surprised. However sometimes it still gets to be a little much for the Hoover mom, in spite of her being a doctor among her many degrees and classifications.  

As it was reported to the Hoover mom, the finger was reddening before the eyes of the school nurse.  Now, of course the Hoover mom wanted to say something to the effect of "Seriously!?!" or "Are you crazy, too?!?" Or even, "Please don't say you're buying this crap, too!"

But to maintain peace and harmony among all, the Hoover mom often doesn't speak her mind.  Instead, she assured the school nurse that she would make an appointment with the pediatrician as soon as was practical (which means in Hoover mom-speak, "I'm not clocking out over a finger.")

So, the Hoover mom retrieved the Ingrate once school was out and headed to the pediatrician's office.  By this time, although she had previously examined the red finger with her own eyes prior to making the appointment, the redness was gone except for a small space around the original pencil-poked hole.  Apparently, the finger had forgotten to get into character for the show at the doctor's office. 

The doctor, so as not to be accused of not doing her job, wore gloves to make the entire situation appear official.  The finger was bent at each isolated joint and there was only minimal pain at the previously pencil-poked joint.  She declared that some bactroban and a band aid were definitely in order along with approximately three antibiotic pills.  She likely though she was easing the Hoover mom's mind when she turned and declared that it was not Mersa.  She couldn't read the Hoover mom's mind which is probably for the best.  The Hoover mom was still weighing the value of the finger over the exposure to the flu, and then she had to weigh the value of the finger against the flu and Mersa. 

The Hoover mom then began to think that the finger had needed a proper burial rather than a trip to the pediatrician's office.  Again, it was an expendable finger and now, it had not only exposed the Hoover mom and the Ingrate to the inconvenient diseases but also the deadly ones.  The Hoover mom knew that finger was not worth all the attention it was receiving.

The finger has not made ne'er a sound since returning home, probably for fear of that awning and the folding chairs.  However, it appears that another Hoover has lived through a life threatening case of ..... nothing. 

The Hoover Mom Could Not Be More Relieved

Now, yes, the Hoover mom is WAY behind in blogging.  She has not even blogged about the events of this past week with the spinal tap and all of the events surrounding and following. 

And right now, she just about wants to stop blogging right in the middle and just lie down flat on her office floor.  One of those "OMG" lie downs that you feel like doing when things have either gone terribly right or terribly wrong.

Today is the terribly right.

The Hoover mom has just hired a "Mother's Helper".  That sounds a whole lot less snobby than "Nanny."  The poor woman practically HAD to take the job.  Even the Hoover mom, in all of her professional jobs, has never had a FIVE hour interview.  Once you've interviewed for five hours, the Hoover mom thinks that one's head is spinning so much that she probably took the job just because she'd already invested so much in it.

The Hoovers have given her a rounding endorsement.  It is likely that they are already planning their honeymoon phase with her, because they like to lock people in before they "give it their all".  The Hoover mom predicts by mid-March, they'll be ready to give her the old 1-2-3 and break her in.

The dogs have already approved her.  They sniffed her from head to toe, and Henry, our BIG dog said he didn't care if he DID weigh more than she did.  He thought we ought to keep her.  He said she looked like somebody who would sneak him a cookie or a piece of bread every now and then.  Stella looked at the Hoover mom and asked why her life story couldn't be told to the new lady, but the Hoover mom told her that we had to leave the Hoovers something to talk about. 

The Hoover mom finds it very cute that her new "Mother's Helper" has feet smaller than Betty!  And she's definitely older than 13.  Old enough to have some experience and old enough to have some sense. 

The Hoover mom is so relieved that she can't think about anything other than sleeping.  Of course, since Miss Smarty Pants talked about the Hoover mom and dad while they were gone to Charleston, the Hoover mom feels like she might shouldn't go to bed so early.  Miss Smarty Pants, with her infinite wisdom and with completely forgetting where she came from, told the Hoover mom's father that the Hoover parents hadn't taken her to church in a while because they have slept late.  And she also felt it appropriate to tell the Hoover mom's dad that the Hoover mom and dad drank beer to calm down.

So the Hoover mom was met at the door by her father who said, "I hear you've been sleeping through church and drinking beer." 

Now there was a time in her life (like 20 years ago) when the Hoover mom would have never argued with someone about beer being a completely appropriate breakfast beverage even though she didn't like it.  But to hear this statement fly out of the mouth of the Hoover grandfather, it made it sound as though the Hoover parents made it a habit to sleep late and throw a couple back around 11am on Sunday mornings. 

Now, Miss Smarty Pants is completely in the here and now because she has completely forgotten about the cinder block building she lived in when she came to Hooverville.  And she's completely insane because the Hoover mom doesn't drink beer.  Never has. 

Anyway, the Hoover mom has already dealt with Miss Smarty Pants.  And she can't remember the last time she had a "cocktail".  And she's about to go to bed and enjoy her relief that someone, although a miniature size, is reliable and is going to pick up the Hoovers on Monday AND cook dinner. 

The Hoover mom has been blessed!

The Trip Toward a Diagnosis

On occasion, the Hoover mom tackles a topic that is difficult and does not lend itself much to humor or to the Hoover mom talking in third person.


This is one of those times. As I’m writing this, we are heading down I-26 on the way to Charleston, a convoy of sorts. I couldn’t go alone this time as there is no way I’d be able to hold up should something happen. And the likelihood of something happening is high.

So, in our suburban, Rex is driving and I’m riding. Behind us sits Ethan. And following behind us are our two dear and dedicated autism therapists, with Nicholas riding with them.


It’s almost as though the two boys can tell there is a difference in their experiences planned tomorrow, although neither knows anything other than the fact that they are headed to Charleston. Charleston to them is the hotel and the breakfast buffet at the hotel. And a few boats parked outside along the bay. They don’t mention the endless hours spent with the doctors.  And this will be first procedure. This trip will likely change the perception of Charleston from being about a hotel and food and boats and water to one of pain and suffering.  And again, although neither boy knows anything other than we are going to stay in a hotel and that Dell and Amanda have come along with us this time, the demeanor of both indicates that somehow they know what the next day does hold for each.


Ethan, the youngest, is sticking near mom. He’s riding behind me, and we just sang along together to Darius Rucker’s “My Bad Come Back Song”. Ethan sat beside me at dinner and was subdued and quiet the whole time. Nicholas, the older brother, is riding with Dell and Amanda behind us and was beside himself at dinner. Like we’re headed to Disney world. He nearly knocked into a waitress swinging his hands around to explain what he was trying to tell all of us, in his loud voice that he seemed helples to control.


Ethan is scheduled for a spinal tap at 7:30 am tomorrow. I can hardly stand myself right now with the fear and worry that I have. I've done nothing this past weekend other than cry and sleep.  We’ve avoided this step since he was three or four years old and there is no more avoidance. Should this show no results, the next steps will be muscle and skin biopsies, more tests we have avoided for years. More than I sometimes think I can take.  And I'm not the one who will be feeling the pain.

The spinal tap is done by ICU doctors and critical care nurses. That was enough for me to know that I would not be able to be down here by myself. Supermom, I am. But if something were to happen to this baby and Rex were not here, what would I do? Although it’s two hours from home, two hours is too long for anyone to get to me and him.


So tomorrow morning, with our adjoining rooms, Dell and Amanda will care for Nick while Rex and I take Ethan for the procedure. Afterwards, we’ll be able to feed Ethan which is his whole reason for wanting to come to Charleston to start with: the breakfast buffet at the hotel. Afterwards, four doctor’s appointments attended by four adults and two children. Then the trip back home.


The input of four adults is vital to the information that the doctor’s need. And someone has to keep the kids entertained while the doctors are talking to us and giving us advice about where to go next.


Either way, by tomorrow night at this time. We’ll hopefully be home.

And closer to a diagnosis.