BUT! T did send me a message on FB this morning offering me the opportunity to use her free month of Netflix. You know, because that's what's important right now.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Update on my nephew...
Nothing. No word. No effort on T's part to find out anything about her son. If I were her, I'd be on the phone every 45 seconds calling someone, ANYONE to find out the fate of my child... not that I'd ever have any of them taken away from me.
BUT! T did send me a message on FB this morning offering me the opportunity to use her free month of Netflix. You know, because that's what's important right now.
BUT! T did send me a message on FB this morning offering me the opportunity to use her free month of Netflix. You know, because that's what's important right now.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Dear Christian Louboutin,
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| The pair from my dream |
I often dream of your shoes. Just the other night I dreamt about Blake Lively and a pair of cobalt blue pumps. I was wearing the shoes. Blake Lively died suntanning on a beach. It was gross. The shoes were awesomesauce. I digress.
There is a pair of shoes that I want. Guilaine crepe satin flats. In black. I can only find hot pink ones online. I did see a pair of them at the Christian Louboutin store at the Palazzo in Las Vegas in summer 2009. Sadly, they weren't in my size. :( There was a white pair, though. I tried them on. They just weren't the same. I don't think that you make them anymore. :(
Please, I want these shoes. I will literally do ANYTHING for a pair of these. In black.
If somehow you can make this happen for me, I swear that I will never ever ever take them off. I'll wear them all day long, I'll sleep in them, I'll shower in them, I'll swim in them, I'll run a marathon in them, I'll space walk in them, I'll sniper someone for you in them, I'll give birth in them, I'll beat up Jimmy Choo for you!
Sincerely,
Cheri Loo Who (proud Christian Louboutin Wallis mary jane owner, future Christian Louboutin Guilaine crepe satin flats {in black} owner)
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| The hot pink nuh-uhs |
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| Just not the same in white |
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| My beloved desire |
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| Hello, Wallis, my love! |
Saturday, January 29, 2011
A Bomb Was Dropped on Me...
Last week my sister, T, sent me a message on Facebook.
Long story short, she asked me to adopt her son, my nephew.
Long story long, she hasn't had custody of him since he was 9 months old. He is now over 2.5 years old. He's been in foster care (thankfully in one home only) since then. My sister claims that he was taken away because of a hooker. T lived next to a hooker. The hooker's johns and pimps would often come knocking on her door. T finally had had enough and got into an altercation with the hooker. T called the police. The hooker threatened revenge. The hooker, her johns and her pimps all called Children's services and reported T as being a neglectful mother, who often left my infant nephew home alone. The Children's services believed the hooker! WOW! Was I ever misinformed by family members.
I MUST have stupid written on my forehead.
So, this just proves that the fact that T is on methadone (not for drug abuse, she claims, but as a pain reliever for her Crohn's disease), has nothing to do with her parenting skills. The rumoured fact that my nephew was born drug dependant has nothing to do with her parenting skills.
Long story short, she asked me to adopt her son, my nephew.
Long story long, she hasn't had custody of him since he was 9 months old. He is now over 2.5 years old. He's been in foster care (thankfully in one home only) since then. My sister claims that he was taken away because of a hooker. T lived next to a hooker. The hooker's johns and pimps would often come knocking on her door. T finally had had enough and got into an altercation with the hooker. T called the police. The hooker threatened revenge. The hooker, her johns and her pimps all called Children's services and reported T as being a neglectful mother, who often left my infant nephew home alone. The Children's services believed the hooker! WOW! Was I ever misinformed by family members.I MUST have stupid written on my forehead.
So, this just proves that the fact that T is on methadone (not for drug abuse, she claims, but as a pain reliever for her Crohn's disease), has nothing to do with her parenting skills. The rumoured fact that my nephew was born drug dependant has nothing to do with her parenting skills.
Yes, the hooker is the problem.
So, there was a trial this week to terminate T's parental rights. The baby daddy might have won custody or had his rights terminated as well. T does not know the outcome of the trial and has not bothered to find out. Not that I would ever lose my children, but if I did, I would certainly be on the phone every second looking for an outcome!
I went through a weekend of hell last week with this moral dilemma. Do I adopt my nephew to keep him in the family, and risk potential behavioural problems and learning disabilities, thus taking away from my kids; or do I not adopt my nephew, face the moral implications, have my sister never speak to me again (not really a deal breaker), and lose yet another nephew/niece? I have no idea what the right answer is. And, what is the point of even looking for one, if I don't even know if my nephew is out for adoption?!
I feel like I'm contemplating whether or not to have an abortion...
Saturday, January 22, 2011
My Older Sister
I have a sister, T, who is three years older than me. Growing up with her wasn't easy. She tortured the living hell out of me. We were never close. I was a complete burden for her. I could never look up to her. She used to tell me that I was adopted, until she decided that she hated our mum and then started saying that she was adopted.
My sister and my mum fought day and night. I remember standing there every time, tears streaming down my face yelling "STOP IT!" to them, although it was mostly directed at T, because my mum was merely defending herself. T was out of control. At 12 years old, she would stay out all hours of the night, date older men (I'm talking in their 20s), drink, smoke and likely do drugs (although she never admits that she's done drugs). A few times my mum and sister had knock down, drag out fights. One time my sister pulled a knife on my mum. I, a scared 9 year old, cowered in the corner and called 911. T took off before the police arrived. But they took my statement, my mum's statement. I imagine that they even took photos of the scratches and cuts that T inflicted on mum.
Finally, at 13 years old, my mum turned T over to the Children's Aid Society. Mum couldn't handle T anymore, and my childhood was being tragically lost. T was sent to a group home. I remember visiting her a couple of times there. It was scary. T loved it. She loved the freedom; so much so that she got pregnant at 14 years old. Her and her boyfriend (another group home child) used to have sex in the parking garage down the street. Klassy. T gave birth to her first child a week before her 15th birthday. I believe that T had the baby taken away from her about 6 months later. The baby was adopted by a family, who I hope are loving and kind and have provided the baby a safe home for the past 20 years.
A few months after that T moved to the west coast. At 17 she got pregnant with twins, but aborted them. At 18 she got pregnant again. She had this baby, a girl. She is the only one I have contact with. She's a gorgeous, lovely teenager now.
T began a relationship with another man, a very nice man, in her mid 20s. She had a baby by him as well. That baby, a girl is now 9 years old. T does not have custody of the teenager or the child. Both live with their dads. She only is in contact with the teen.
About 4 years ago, T began a relationship with a foreign man, who lived in her city. He treated her like shit. He'd never met me and chewed me out for not flying my sister out for my destination wedding. Why would I fly my sister to my wedding when I didn't have a relationship with her. She's only my sister because we share the same DNA. Anyway, she got pregnant by this lovely man. The baby, a boy, was taken from them at 9 months old and put into foster care. I will expand on this in another post.
My sister has never had a job. Went to school until grade 7. She claims to have her GED. When I was in college, I sacrificed what little money I had to give her kids Christmas one year. I bought her a vacuum one year, even though I needed one. I've offered countless hours of help, advice, etc. I've given her money, charity and love. She's given me nothing. She's just taken advantage of me. I go back and forth in between needing to save her or not. She is un-save-able.
Up until last week, she was living in a homeless shelter for 4 months. She was living with the foreign boyfriend and his mom, until the mom kicked T out. She has crohns disease which is a severe case for her, but not enough to stop her from working at every job that has ever existed. She's always been on welfare or disability. She is a drain on society and refuses to be anything but.
I've never longed for a sister. I've never missed her. I've never needed her.
Right now, she really needs me...
My sister and my mum fought day and night. I remember standing there every time, tears streaming down my face yelling "STOP IT!" to them, although it was mostly directed at T, because my mum was merely defending herself. T was out of control. At 12 years old, she would stay out all hours of the night, date older men (I'm talking in their 20s), drink, smoke and likely do drugs (although she never admits that she's done drugs). A few times my mum and sister had knock down, drag out fights. One time my sister pulled a knife on my mum. I, a scared 9 year old, cowered in the corner and called 911. T took off before the police arrived. But they took my statement, my mum's statement. I imagine that they even took photos of the scratches and cuts that T inflicted on mum.
Finally, at 13 years old, my mum turned T over to the Children's Aid Society. Mum couldn't handle T anymore, and my childhood was being tragically lost. T was sent to a group home. I remember visiting her a couple of times there. It was scary. T loved it. She loved the freedom; so much so that she got pregnant at 14 years old. Her and her boyfriend (another group home child) used to have sex in the parking garage down the street. Klassy. T gave birth to her first child a week before her 15th birthday. I believe that T had the baby taken away from her about 6 months later. The baby was adopted by a family, who I hope are loving and kind and have provided the baby a safe home for the past 20 years.
A few months after that T moved to the west coast. At 17 she got pregnant with twins, but aborted them. At 18 she got pregnant again. She had this baby, a girl. She is the only one I have contact with. She's a gorgeous, lovely teenager now.
T began a relationship with another man, a very nice man, in her mid 20s. She had a baby by him as well. That baby, a girl is now 9 years old. T does not have custody of the teenager or the child. Both live with their dads. She only is in contact with the teen.
About 4 years ago, T began a relationship with a foreign man, who lived in her city. He treated her like shit. He'd never met me and chewed me out for not flying my sister out for my destination wedding. Why would I fly my sister to my wedding when I didn't have a relationship with her. She's only my sister because we share the same DNA. Anyway, she got pregnant by this lovely man. The baby, a boy, was taken from them at 9 months old and put into foster care. I will expand on this in another post.
My sister has never had a job. Went to school until grade 7. She claims to have her GED. When I was in college, I sacrificed what little money I had to give her kids Christmas one year. I bought her a vacuum one year, even though I needed one. I've offered countless hours of help, advice, etc. I've given her money, charity and love. She's given me nothing. She's just taken advantage of me. I go back and forth in between needing to save her or not. She is un-save-able.
Up until last week, she was living in a homeless shelter for 4 months. She was living with the foreign boyfriend and his mom, until the mom kicked T out. She has crohns disease which is a severe case for her, but not enough to stop her from working at every job that has ever existed. She's always been on welfare or disability. She is a drain on society and refuses to be anything but.
I've never longed for a sister. I've never missed her. I've never needed her.
Right now, she really needs me...
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
My Stupid Allergy!
I am allergic to yellow. Sadly, it's my favourite colour.
It's a real pain in the ass to be allergic to yellow (known as Yellow 5 or Tartrazine). It is in EVERYTHING! My allergic reaction varies depending on the amount of Tartrazine present. I'm allergic to dish soap (allergic to dishes! Yeah!), Kraft Dinner, most OTC medicines with colour coatings, certain gum, certain toothpaste, certain shampoos/conditioners, soap, juice, candy, detergent... the list goes on!
I have an insane rash on my fingers because of dish soap. I've tried every OTC cream and prescription cream out there. Nothing is clearing it up. It's really quite painful and ITCHY! I bought some Benedryl cream today. Let's hope it works.
Yesterday I had a craving for KD. So I indulged. Bad idea. :( I had the worst pain, my throat swelled, my nose got runny, I was sneezy, my face was itchy. It was terrible. I ended up taking some Benedryl and the symptoms dissipated. It was pretty scary actually. I'd never had a reaction that bad before.
I began reading labels. It got annoying, so I stopped. After last night's fiasco I've started reading labels again. Here's to the 75 hour trip to the grocery store, standing in the aisles forever reading labels. BLAH!
Yellow... yellow... I love thee so much, but you cause me pain. Yellow... yellow... ::le sigh::
It's a real pain in the ass to be allergic to yellow (known as Yellow 5 or Tartrazine). It is in EVERYTHING! My allergic reaction varies depending on the amount of Tartrazine present. I'm allergic to dish soap (allergic to dishes! Yeah!), Kraft Dinner, most OTC medicines with colour coatings, certain gum, certain toothpaste, certain shampoos/conditioners, soap, juice, candy, detergent... the list goes on!
I have an insane rash on my fingers because of dish soap. I've tried every OTC cream and prescription cream out there. Nothing is clearing it up. It's really quite painful and ITCHY! I bought some Benedryl cream today. Let's hope it works.
Yesterday I had a craving for KD. So I indulged. Bad idea. :( I had the worst pain, my throat swelled, my nose got runny, I was sneezy, my face was itchy. It was terrible. I ended up taking some Benedryl and the symptoms dissipated. It was pretty scary actually. I'd never had a reaction that bad before. I began reading labels. It got annoying, so I stopped. After last night's fiasco I've started reading labels again. Here's to the 75 hour trip to the grocery store, standing in the aisles forever reading labels. BLAH!
Yellow... yellow... I love thee so much, but you cause me pain. Yellow... yellow... ::le sigh::
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
NO SOUP FOR YOU!
Soup.
Me thinking of soup.
I've always had a love/hate relationship with soup. When I was a child, I would ONLY eat Campbell's chicken noodle or vegetable soup. And then I would ONLY eat the contents, not the broth. This drove my mum up the wall. I never liked the broth. I can't explain it; it's just a dislike on the cellular level.
My dislike for soup was solidified when I had 2 of my wisdom teeth out in 2003. I bought a can of soup broth, because chewing was impossible. And it was beyond disgusting. I think it was garlic chicken broth. It tasted like a leather boot. BLEH!
My FIL and M make AMAZING soup. But, I can't get past the fact that it looks like vomit. The smell even makes my stomach churn now.
The last time I had soup was at my BFF's wedding in 2005. ABC served tomato basil soup as a starter. I'd never had tomato soup before. So I gave it a whirl. I quite liked it! Then later that evening in the pub at the golf course where her wedding was M and I had a bowl of carrot ginger soup (it was also a puree). That was the best soup I've ever had! So it appears that I'm not entirely adverse to soup. I like the purees. They do not look like vomit. No broth, no chunks.
The other day I bought a can of butternut squash/carrot soup, and a can of tomato soup. I plan to have these soups, but I think I'll have when H is having lunch, so she can have it if I don't like them. She likes butternut squash and she likes tomatoes.
I want to like soup. I've got that weight loss New Years resolution to keep up with, and soup is hearty and low in calories. So... here's to soup and sandwiches! Here's to soup and salad. Here's to soup, soup, soup, soupidy soup!
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Epiphany!
I previously posted about my loathing of New Years.
I had an epiphany that night. An awakening, if you will.
M & I watched the Eastern feed for the ball drop in Times Square, knowing that we wouldn't make it to midnight (we live on the West Coast). Sure enough, we only made it to 10:30pm! ha ha ha!
While watching the ball drop in Times Square, I noticed that I was smiling to myself. I don't smile at New Years. But this time, I was grinning to myself!
Later on, I woke up sometime after midnight to feed H a bottle. I felt a sense of calm that I'd never felt before. A sense of peace. A sense of hope. 2010 was an intensely horrible year. I'd never had a more stressful year. The only bright spot was giving birth to H, but with that came a debilitating depression, making it a bittersweet experience at best.
I have a renewed attitude. A fresh perspective. A brighter outlook.
I am going to use 2011 to find myself again. I vow to get back the body I had in college (after that I may strive for the body I never had!), be happy for most of everyday, not be short with my kids, be positive, listen more, ask for help, get a hair cut, get a tattoo or two.
This need for change is mostly inspired by my e-friend P. She is a new mom as well (her daughter is 4 days younger than H). She recently changed her body. She's HOT and toned and healthy. She is a true inspiration and a shining example that one can rebuild their body and self-image. I want to thank P for changing my perspective and for giving me the will to change.
I'm stoked for my treadmill to come on January 21! I have a job interview on Thursday (for a job I had just out of college that I loved). I have my tattooist (yes, I have one) doing up artwork for my next tattoo (I'll likely get it in February). I'm going to dye away the grey hair, and I want a wavy bob-like hair do. I will write more. I will paint more. I want to learn how to make jewelry. I will smile more. I will get my other 2 wisdom teeth pulled, and I will not fear it. I will fix myself. I will find me.
And right now I will publish this blog post!
I had an epiphany that night. An awakening, if you will.
M & I watched the Eastern feed for the ball drop in Times Square, knowing that we wouldn't make it to midnight (we live on the West Coast). Sure enough, we only made it to 10:30pm! ha ha ha!
While watching the ball drop in Times Square, I noticed that I was smiling to myself. I don't smile at New Years. But this time, I was grinning to myself!
Later on, I woke up sometime after midnight to feed H a bottle. I felt a sense of calm that I'd never felt before. A sense of peace. A sense of hope. 2010 was an intensely horrible year. I'd never had a more stressful year. The only bright spot was giving birth to H, but with that came a debilitating depression, making it a bittersweet experience at best.
I have a renewed attitude. A fresh perspective. A brighter outlook.
I am going to use 2011 to find myself again. I vow to get back the body I had in college (after that I may strive for the body I never had!), be happy for most of everyday, not be short with my kids, be positive, listen more, ask for help, get a hair cut, get a tattoo or two.
I'm stoked for my treadmill to come on January 21! I have a job interview on Thursday (for a job I had just out of college that I loved). I have my tattooist (yes, I have one) doing up artwork for my next tattoo (I'll likely get it in February). I'm going to dye away the grey hair, and I want a wavy bob-like hair do. I will write more. I will paint more. I want to learn how to make jewelry. I will smile more. I will get my other 2 wisdom teeth pulled, and I will not fear it. I will fix myself. I will find me.
And right now I will publish this blog post!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Irony at it's finest?
Every family supper I play a game of Scrabble with my mother-in-Law (MIL) and my sister-in-law (SIL). Occasionally we're joined by my brother-in-law (BIL) or father-in-law (FIL). 90% of the time I win. It's my favourite board game.
I used to play it as a child by myself. My mum had an old copy of the game. The box was falling apart; the broken corners no longer held together by scotch tape that had long lost it's adhesive. The tiles were kept together in one of my father's old black socks. I was THRILLED when my mum gave the game to me when I moved out on my own. Over the years I've acquired a travel version and a fancy version with the spinning board.
So, this evening, after a fantastic New Years Day family dinner, my MIL, SIL and myself sat down for a game. My MIL had invited her neighbour over for dinner, too. The neighbour (J) is an author and teacher. I was excited to play with a professional "wordy". The first sentence out of her mouth as she sat down to join us was "I'm not really good with words." ::insert bubble pop here:: Really? An author and teacher is self-proclaimed "not good with words". I was so disappointed.
My initial excitement to play Scrabble with an author overshadowed my ability to tolerate J in very small doses. She's an odd duck. She's eccentric, flighty and has no social filter. And the fact that she didn't know how to play Scrabble and questioned EVERY word any of us laid on the board, made our usual game seem 100 hours long. J drove me up the wall. It was excruciating!
Ironic? Yes, I think so.
I used to play it as a child by myself. My mum had an old copy of the game. The box was falling apart; the broken corners no longer held together by scotch tape that had long lost it's adhesive. The tiles were kept together in one of my father's old black socks. I was THRILLED when my mum gave the game to me when I moved out on my own. Over the years I've acquired a travel version and a fancy version with the spinning board.
So, this evening, after a fantastic New Years Day family dinner, my MIL, SIL and myself sat down for a game. My MIL had invited her neighbour over for dinner, too. The neighbour (J) is an author and teacher. I was excited to play with a professional "wordy". The first sentence out of her mouth as she sat down to join us was "I'm not really good with words." ::insert bubble pop here:: Really? An author and teacher is self-proclaimed "not good with words". I was so disappointed.
My initial excitement to play Scrabble with an author overshadowed my ability to tolerate J in very small doses. She's an odd duck. She's eccentric, flighty and has no social filter. And the fact that she didn't know how to play Scrabble and questioned EVERY word any of us laid on the board, made our usual game seem 100 hours long. J drove me up the wall. It was excruciating!
Ironic? Yes, I think so.
http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/scrabble.png
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