Oh, Nothing, really....

So I saw the mouse climb out of my stove top. My stove top. Mouse. Climbed out of.

I can't go anywhere else with that.

It just peeked out from under my couch. Maybe I should just re-frame the way I see this mouse? Maybe I should just welcome it. Accept it. A mini mini vacuum?

I'm so excited about my kids being at camp...it's almost.. well... it's almost pathetic!! It just totally fills me with the warm fuzzies.... They're spending their day's in the woods, with other kids, doing sports, doing crafts, drama, music and it just makes me feel SO GOOD. I guess I feel like I'm really giving them something tangible. Creating experiences. Memories. But I tell you, I think about it & I just can't stop grinning!

My week at work has been --- well, let's just say that I've been trying to write about it for a week, but I'm not really sure how. It's a long, convoluted story -- and I'm not 100% sure how to make it short. And translatable. (From socialworkese to blogese.)

I guess the long and the short of it is I have a client. She is 94. She is demented. She has no capacity to make decisions. About anything. She has no family. She has two home attendants (one during the week & one on the weekends) and some friends in the community (who take her for dinners, etc...) I have worked with her for two years. I go over to her house each week and write the checks for her home attendant. Then I help her sign them.

Two years ago we referred her to APS - Adult Protective Services. We asked them to apply for guardianship for her. She could not look after herself, and it was not appropriate that my agency manages her money. Plus there has to be somebody there to "supervise" the home care and I go home at 5 pm. What if something happens at night?

Fast forward to now. She has no more money. APS has done nothing. All her money has been spent on her homecare - which is fine. But now she has nothing. Cannot pay her homecare. I tell APS this about two months earlier: "Client is running out of money. You will need to apply for Medicaid, so we can keep her in her house. Not in a nursing home."

Nothing.

So, last Friday comes & her homecare cannot come over the weekend. It's too iffy. She needs to be paid. So, I call the ambulance. I tell them she has a urinary tract infection. They take her in. I also tell them : "oh, by the way - she can't come back home. She has no home care."

The weekend was spent praying that the social worker at the hospital would not just ship her off to a nursing home.

Today the SW there said they would apply for Medicaid for her. To go back home. She said: "I spoke to the APS caseworker - they've really done nothing, huh?" And the worst thing is - this caseworker is telling people *I* am not returning *her* calls.... Ugh.

Then today I sent another client to the hospital. As I approached this client's apartment last week I noticed air fresheners all around the outside of his door. I knocked. He opened. Imagine Charles Manson with frayed clothing, bags of garbage with roaches crawling in and out of them, piles of pizza boxes, kitchen table strewn with empty icecream containers, Snapple bottles.... His hair was long and greasy, unshaven, hadn't bathed in years, clothes in tatters.....

Yep.

I talked with this client for a while. It seems he knows things are not right; that he is "not right" but felt it was "too late." I told him it wasn't. We made a contract that he would go to the hospital today. He went. Tomorrow we're talking to cleaning services to clean his place.

I love my job.

I love my kids.

The mouse? Not so much.

First Day of Camp

Nice haircuts, huh?

Soomer than expected

I just looked (again) at Max's report card & a fresh wave of frustration just ran through my body.

He got an amazing report card. Really. Amazing.

His teacher who does not like to give "4" (above grade level) gave him nearly all fours in reading (the rest 3's) and two (out of four) 4's in Math.

He got threes (meets grade level standards) in everything else. Except one thing. All year he has gotten 2's in "Works and Plays cooperatively with others." Even last year (he had the same teacher) she gave him that.

The first time I was really annoyed that she would give him that grade without talking to me. If he's misbehaving, tell me. Don't just give him a bad grade, let's work on it. Fix it. But now I've learned that this is just how she is. I've learned the type of teacher and the type of student that he is - and well - whatever.

(And I have to add that he twos for past two grades in "Respects class and school rules" but went up to a three for this grading period. So. One two.

X calls me yesterday (you knew this would be about him when I said "frustration", didn't you?) before I saw the report card. "Max got a two." I respond, oh - the teacher never told me there was a problem. He's all "don't blame the teacher..." and I said I'm not - but if she is having a problem with him, it's also part of her job to tell us. We can help. We should know.

He goes on to say that he "talked to Max" and "Max cried." I said I'd talk to Max, too.

I got home & saw this amazing report card. I saw how he went UP in general behavior. And got amazing grades. He didn't want to show me the card. "I got a two." I told him how proud I was of him. I told him how many GOOD grades he got, how he went UP in behavior. I talked to him about NOT focusing on the ONE bad thing, but to look at all the good he did.

X called me later. "Did you see it? Did you talk to him." I said I saw it. I said how he went up in behavior (school rules) and asked X if he told Max how well he did in everything else? Why did he focus on the negative?

X responded that Max is "going to be a man" he has to work on these things.

I told X I had to go and hung up.

We were out for dinner with my parents. They came back & wanted to see the report cards. Max did not want to show his. My parents finally looked & also told him how proud they were of him.

Ugh. X.

(Not to leave him out! Nathan got all threes and two fours in Math!!)

Ok, ok - they went to the barber with my Dad, and got (muffled voice) good cuts. (My mom went to, to supervise!)

It was cool, I guess, 'cause Vinny (barber) has been cutting my Dad's hair for nearly 20 years, cuts my brother's hair... and now my kids. They were all getting into the multi-generational thing.

(My Mom also says that Vinny is "very handsome".)

Done. Finished. Lesson learned.

I'll post more - later on. Things have been crazy at work & I've just been exhausted....

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008)

Goosebumps.

Don't laugh

 But I'm stymied.  Absolutely and totally stymied.  I have to make a decision.  One of absolutely utmost importance.  I mean, if I mess up on this decision... the repercussions will be endless.  Endless!!

So you get the seriousness of this, right?

You're concerned?

You're in this with me?  How can you help?  What can you do?  What can be done to ease this?

I thank you.  I thank you for your concern.  It touches me.

The issue is:  Haircuts.

I'll wait for a minute while you gather yourselves.  Catch your breath.  Have a seat.  Maybe somebody can bring you a glass of cold water....

I have huge haircut issues.  For myself and for my boys.  Since their first haircut I had brought them to a children's salon out on Long Island - where my parents are.  But the woman who cut their hair.... well... it pains me to say this but she --- left.  With nary a word.  So I was stranded.

Brought the boys to the local Super Cuts and their hair was butchered!  (Swat team was called in.  That woman will no longer be cutting hair.)

Then the next time I brought them to this little trendy hipster place in the East Village.  $60 later they had trendy little hipster haircuts....  AND they still looked the same as the other   haircuts!  Imagine how thrilled I was to spend that much more on haircuts!  But,  now I could say they "get their hair cut in the East Village."  Instead of Long Island.  So you get it why it's worth it for me to pay nearly double the price?  Right?

Yeah.  Me too.

SO ANYHOW. 

Their hair is getting long & I looked at my calendar... and... as scary as this sounds there's literally no free weekend to get their hair cut until mid July!  So, I started thinking that I'd take the day off after their last day of school -- take them out in Manhattan, have a fun day, get their hair cut at their cool, hip, trendy East Village haircuttery.... but then realized I'd be taking time off two days that week -- so I can't really take that day off.

Then.

My father offered to take them to his.......

Barber.

Bar-ber.

Barber.

Like with shears.  Razors.  Red, white and blue poles... And... bowl cuts!  And shaved heads!!

Gah!

I'm making myownself sick!  THe stupid thing about this is I really don't like it when guys go to "salons" - I'm a total minimalist when it comes to grooming and guys... but for some reason... when it comes to my kids.... I'm going through this whole snobby thing...(Said in snooty voice:) "No child of mine will go to a ... a... barber!"  And I'm even entertaining the thought of taking them to my old salon and paying over $35 each!

Am I mad?

I think so.

And I can't even believe this is a "thing".

And I can't even believe I'm blogging about this.

But I do believe in fairies!

Blogged with the Flock Browser

Everything old is new again

This and this.
I don't get it.
They're the same, no?
What am I missing?

(Remember that movie? "Number 5 is Alive!")

Siiiggghhh

Nathan. He used to be so quiet. So sweet. So even tempered. Always full of smiles... But lately... I'm not so sure. (Is he signing "I love you" or is that the heavy metal devil sign?)

Last week, at Max's little league game Nathan went off to play with some of the "big kids." I told him he could - if he stayed where I could see him. He said ok. Next thing I know, I look up and he's not there. He is alllllllll the way down the end of the other field! He sees me walking towards him & starts running back. Quickly.

I ask him: "What did I say." He says: "I can't remember! I can't be expected to remember everything you say!" (Ok, I'm paraphrasing a bit - but that's the meaning behind what he said!)I responded with a questioning "oh?" And he goes on to say: "Yes! You said to me "blah, blah, blah, blah!' How could I remember that?!?!

I stop. I look at him. I surpress a smile, and take him back to the seat with me, telling him that he can no longer play with the big kids, and maybe next time he will be able to remember what I said!

("Blah, blah, blah!" It's funny! Annoying as hell, but it's funny!)