Hiatus

Once  upon a time, I had a blog. I had some followers.

Then I stopped.

Not that anyone noticed, maybe. My ego is not that profoundly bloated anymore. I’m not sure even I noticed. Wait a minute … nope, didn’t notice. I’ll get to that.

So should a year gap be explained?

Truth is: I had children.

Not much of an explanation, is it? In the world of Mommy Blogs and Daddy Blogs and Parenting Blogs and baby tweeting and baby selfies, why wouldn’t I just jump on in there with the rest of them?

But it is an explanation, if you think about getting three children at once. Not infants. A toddler, a pre-schooler and a grade-schooler, all at once.  Okay, maybe not at once. We got two at once and a third six weeks later. We adopted, but that went without saying by now, didn’t it? Then there were the intermittent jobs that lasted until some manager or another realized I was serious about my kids; you know, they weren’t a hobby.

Then there was DCF. That’s all I’m going to say. Google DCF: any state. Read the bad stuff. Then come right back once your jaw gets off the floor. Welcome to my world.

That will knock the writing bug right out of you. And alot of other things.

And just when my husband and I got up and running again: sick mother with dementia, three kids, two of whom were seriously traumatized, well, Mom died.

Someone once said something very wise about life happening and interfering with writing, or something. I don’t know. I’m too tired to look it up. Really. If anyone out there knows, send it to me. I’m a huge fan of outsourcing now.

The truth is, they say everything changes when you have kids, and it’s true. Thing is, though, everything changes to a different place when you have traumatized kids, deal with a broken foster care system, experience serious loss and damage.  That’s bugging me right now: how birth moms can’t quite get adoptive moms, what we do, what we go through. The RAD, ADHD, PTSD. Then how adoptive moms of babies can’t quite get the challenges of adoptive moms with older children. Truth is, every time I see a mother with a special needs child, that — I get. My hours at DCF offices, meetings with therapists and social workers. Their hours with doctors, in hospitals. Our careers tank. Our children get sick and we can’t do anything about it and we’re not sure if we can save them. We lose our minds because the strain is more than any mere civilian was built for. People run away because they don’t know what to do. Hell, we don’t know what to do. Forget babysitters.

Then my mom died. I mentioned that. I think it was important enough to mention again.

I slept alot. I slept through the whole month of February, 2014. I did. Too bad it wasn’t a leap year, I might have woken up before March.

There it is.

More later. One can only hope.

 

 

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