Apparently, Bacon likes to surf the intarwebz when I'm not watching him. This is what I found him doing last night when I wasn't paying attention:

Come September, things may change for me. Then again, they may not. I'll be 27. And I have a few important appointments to make, nothing having to do with anything other than child bearing. I'll spare you the sickening and most likely boring details; this journal is not going to become yet another one floating around that is all about fucking biological clocks. Pardon my language. It got the best of me.

Goodnight.

Samantha's trial was today. The charge of Felony Attempted Murder was reduced to Misdemeanor Disorderly Conduct, and she was convicted of that. The order of protection against her was amended so that she could come within a certain distance of Don and the baby. If the police are called on her at any point during the next year, there will be no plea bargaining, they will convict her of a felony and lock her up. She also had to pay a $95 fine.

My grandmother has skin cancer. It's a minor form; in fact the same kind that my mother has gotten removed twice or more a year for the past three or so years. It's on her face.

I've been referred again to an endocrinologist. Yay. Maybe this time he won't decide for me what I'd like to do about our situation.

I'm becoming more assertive at work, and I'm not sure that's a good thing. It's not bad, but I think I'm going to end up saying something to the wrong person one day. I argued with someone about taking a chart, and told her she couldn't. She said she was going to, anyway. I told her that I'd give her five minutes with it, and if I didn't have it in my hands in five minutes, I was going to her supervisor and making her deliver it to me personally. Then I followed through.

On the other hand, people are actually treating me like a supervisor lately, and I guess that's a good thing.

I'm tired. It's my own fault. Maybe tonight I'll be smart enough to get my ass to bed earlier.

Today I've found work increasingly more frustrating. It has nothing to do with my job, but with what goes on around me. We have a very irritating woman sitting at the front desk who argues with everybody who walks in, and bitches non-stop about things that aren't true. She was telling a patient's family member that they were not entitled to a parking validation. They are. She gave it to them anyway, otherwise I would have gone up there and informed her of the fact that she was wrong. I haven't been very good at keeping my mouth shut today with things that I don't agree with. I've been muttering things that the director of the department could probably hear, and I probably shouldn't do that, since it's mostly about her or the she-beast she has sitting at the front desk.

Also, I just went to the bathroom and almost dragged a woman back into the stall that she had vacated so that she could wipe the seat off. That's so disgusting. I don't want to sit in her pee just because she's decided her ass is too delicate to touch the seat, and then she's decided that her pee is unsanitary, and she's not touching that, either. Afterwards, when i was washing my hands, I realized that the CEO must've cut the budget on the paper towels, because they're now about as thick as the toilet paper, and they won't come out of the dispenser if you grab them with wet hands. They just rip into little pieces until your hands are dry.

To top this off, I have to work out tonight, and I don't feel like it, so I'm cranky.

What a bitch I am. A Bitchy bitch.

On Saturday, it was our fifth wedding anniversary. That's a long-assed time to be married. Well, not really as long as 50 years, but it seems like a long time sometimes. It's gone fast so far, which has, at times, thrown us off, but it's actually a good thing. It means we're getting along.

My family will soon re-invigorate their efforts at pressuring us into procreation. They don't know the truth, so I can't blame them. Five years is a long time without a child.

In any event, we took a little jaunt over to Connecticut and we had a great time. Maybe I'll actually post pictures when I'm not just about to go to bed.

In other news, I just heard one of my relatives fart in their sleep. The sound traveled through my ceiling (their floor), and I can't get off of the couch now because I'm laughing too hard. Damn pigs.

Well, off to bed.

Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday scullyraptor
Happy Birthday to you!

You old fart.

This is for my dear husband, cretaceousrick:

My maternal grandfather died five years ago, just under six months before Rick and I got married. Since that time, I've had a slot open for a new grandfather. No one could ever replace the one I lost, but this is pretty much what I would like to do one day:




I should visit his grave sometime. It's been quite a while.

...and despite the fact that it was the most terrifying day of my life, I couldn't help but laugh my ass off:




Clearly, I am going to hell. The fact that I belong there is no longer under debate.

I had been worried about my annual evaluation. I knew that it was going to take place today because my contract is up tomorrow. I had been thinking, "Well, Kathy set up my evaluation for 3:30, which is toward the end of a work day, and it's on Friday, which is the end of a work week, and when do most people get fired? At the end of the day on a Friday. I'm fucked."

I figured I was doubly fucked when I saw two people emerge from my boss's office, sobbing. One of them had been in an argument with her supervisor and wanted to quit, and the other one was actually being evaluated today because she was promoted the same day that I was last year. I'm not sure what happened with Danielle (the second woman), but it was mentioned that she's "stepping down" (which could mean that she was forced to, or was just too overwhelmed and felt she needed to). I always thought she was a good supervisor, but apparently someone disagreed, as she wouldn't be doing this if her evaluation had gone well.

I stepped into Kathy's office and closed the door and I was really nervous. Kathy said that she was very nervous this morning, too, because she had submitted my evaluation to the director (it had to get okayed by her first), and she was sure that Joanne was not pleased with what has transpired back here over the past year. Then she said that she was very happy with my performance over the year, and that Joanne surprised her by approving what Kathy had written about me. Kathy didn't let me hang for the bad things that happened--on the evaluation she blamed the time that we were backed up for months on the fact that we had no staff. It was the truth, but she was surprised that Joanne accepted that reason. She wrote that I am an integral part of the department, very professional and conscientious. She thought that Joanne was going to say that I was too weak and non-assertive to survive in my position for much longer, but Kathy has seen me in action and said that I'm assertive when I need to be, and that I really do take charge, it's just not obvious since I'm not incredibly vocal.

She also said that I have a "different personality" from everyone here, and assured me that that wasn't a bad thing, just that I was different. She said that I'm obviously smart and know my stuff, and she felt bad that she had to kick me in the ass in March, but that the pressure was on her to do something.

Well, that's it. I'm sure you're all bored by this, but I was quite pleased.

How does this beautiful little creature:




Become this blurry beautiful little girl?:




How did she grow so fast?

6:36 AM, June 21, 2008

Even after sleep deprivation, she still makes me smile. She had slept on my chest in this recliner all night, and this was a few seconds after waking up. Be merciful on me, I was half asleep.

Yesterday, I dropped Faith off back home with her dad. It was such a happy reunion! She had been crying in her car seat, and I pulled up and couldn't find a parking space (damn Queens streets), so I told Don that he could reach in and take her. The second she saw him and was in his arms, it was like there was no more crisis at all, and they were both all smiles. Finally, I found a spot and walked back to Don's place. We talked for a bit, my mother, brother, and I. I shared with him my fears that Samantha may have Borderline Personality Disorder, and that he should be careful, because she can go off again. He said that she only gets that way when she's drunk, and she's not allowed to drink anymore if she wants to continue to live with him and see their daughter. He then called her and invited her home.

She was a bit reluctant to come home because she knew that my mother and I were there. She's not afraid of my mother, but I get the sense that she's intimidated by me. I would do anything for my family, and, had she started any drama, I felt I would have had to kill her without regard for where that might put me. Anyway, she was nice and on her best behavior. There were still remnants of her scribblings in the bathroom, as the marker had stained the sink and the grout between the tiles on the walls. What still kind of upsets me was that my brother made sure that she had a really nice Mother's Day. Poignantly scrawled on the bathroom door, in blue marker, was "Happy Father's Day Don!" along with the other missives like, "I hate Don," "Faith was a mistake!" and "I hope Ali still loves me". It was his first Father's Day. It didn't need to happen that way.

Anyway, it looked like things were basically back to normal. Samantha seemed in a good mood, Don was over the moon at having his daughter back, and there was no bickering between Don and my mom. Faith was all smiles the whole time, and their apartment was the cleanest I had ever seen it. Don was blown away that Faith can now pull herself up into a standing position, and she was only too happy to oblige showing him over and over again how big she's gotten in only a week. i also got to see a more domesticated side of Don, because he was reluctantly giving my mom her ceramic insert to her crock pot. He loved that thing, because he liked to make roast beef and lasagna and casseroles in it. I can't even master roast beef, and here he is lamenting that he didn't want to give it back because it was the best cooking utensil he'd ever had. I told him I'd buy him one for his birthday in three days.

It was all very surreal and happy. I was happy just seeing everyone else happy, and it almost made me forget all of the terrible things that occurred there last week. On the way back to my car, my brother reiterated the conditions that he had given Samantha upon her return: Neither of them could drink, not even for a little bit. Both of them had to attend couples counseling. And everything they do from now on had to be for the well-being of their daughter. It was the most mature thing I'd ever heard him say, though it made me sad that he actually had to say it, and that they hadn't been following that creed all along.

I hope this lasts for more than a week. I really hope.

In other news, my mom commented on how attached Faith was to me. She kept clinging to me and burying her head in my chest every time my mom tried to interact with her. I wrapped the baby up in my arms and showered her with kisses, and she smiled. Then my mom was trying to play with her, which made her scared, which resulted in more nuzzling. After a moment, she seemed to crave it, and then she determined that my mom was not so bad, after all.

And now, everyone who had a part in taking care of her for the past week (Rick and I included) are getting sick because Faith was sick. And we thought it was just teething.

In which I can't type worth a shit dare you to continue being in a bad mood after viewing these:

"Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every 'superstar,' every 'supreme leader,' every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there--on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known."
--Carl Sagan, 1994

This was not an entirely unexpected outcome, but it is very disappointing. My brother is trying to get the attempted murder charges against Samantha dropped, or at least downgraded. He's now saying that the charges don't reflect what he put on his witness affidavit at all. I told him that it was very unlikely that Samantha was actually charged with attempted murder, because they would not let her out over the course of two days, especially not of her own reconnaissance. I said that it was much more likely that they were going to go for the lesser charge of assault with a deadly weapon. Don said that assault with a deadly weapon doesn't fit the ordeal, either. I asked, "Did she come at you with a knife?" He said, "No! She was only trying to stab herself and I was trying to take it away from her." I asked, "Well, didn't she lob that huge vase at you and the baby?" "No," was his response, "She threw it at the floor."

Are you frigging kidding me?! That contradicts what he's been telling me. Now he wants to get the DA to drop the charges so that they can just move on.

I said, "Don, do you have ANY idea how traumatized your daughter was?" He said he did. I said that it couldn't happen again, and he said that he knew that. He said that he and Sam have now quit drinking and are going to counseling, and are "living for Faith" now.

WHY WASN'T HE LIVING FOR HIS DAUGHTER IN THE FIRST PLACE?! I told him that I really hoped that major changes were taking place, because, well really, how many times do you think it's going to be okay to do this to a baby? Even this one time was not okay. It cannot happen again. I've told him that this had better not be a new and more creative cycle in Faith's young life.

I told him to keep her away from Sam. He insists that everything is okay now. He interrupted me when I was trying to tell him something very important: If anyone finds out that he is exposing his daughter to her mother, he could be found incompetent as a parent, because he would be (in the eyes of the law) failing to keep her out of explicit danger. He said the cops "made him" put down that he wanted an Order of Protection against Samantha.

I just give the hell up. I will always protect my niece to the best of my ability, but there is just no accounting for the dumb shits she has for parents. My dad's going to be pissed.

Rick and I spent the night at my aunt's house, taking care of Faith. That poor child. She's actually doing rather well now, it's just that I know that she'll have to go back, and most likely deal with the same shit, at least for a time.

Samantha was released from the hospital yesterday, and is staying with her brother supposedly until her trial. She told Don that she's pissed off at him because she's being charged with attempted murder.

I told Don that Faith seemed to have a nightmare last night, and has been seeming to have nightmares since this ordeal began. She'll just wake up crying, and be inconsolable until she either wears herself out or has been held in someone's arms for an extended period of time. Last night, she didn't want her diaper changed or her bottle, or to be held while we were sitting on the bed. She wanted me to walk to the couch and sit there so that she could fall asleep. Her positioning wasn't any different; she still had her head tucked either under my chin or nestled into my shoulder. It seemed to be all about location.

Anyway, Don is concerned about the nightmares and wanted Faith home tonight. I asked him if his apartment was cleaned up. He told me that he had it "mostly" cleaned up. I told him that he needed to clean it more, because I wasn't going to send her home just to get all cut up. I also told him that he needed to assure me that the baby was going to be safe, even if that means hiring another babysitter (I don't feel I can trust this babysitter to not release Faith to Samantha while Don's at work). I said that I wasn't going to keep his daughter from him, but I needed to know that she was going to be safe. He said he'd call me back.

Also, I sometimes feel as if my dad is one bad phone call away from a drinking binge. I hope that's not the case.

According to Don, Samantha was supposed to be released from jail today, but then they called him and told him that she was being put into a psych ward. He doesn't know how long she'll be there.

Samantha called Don and told him that she hates him for everything that she's been going through, and that it was all his fault. There's a custody hearing set for next month, and I'm not sure whether I should attend or my dad should attend (because he was there when everything happened, I figured that they'd want testimony or something). Samantha told Don that she wasn't going to the custody hearing, that she didn't even want the baby. I'm sure that was just said in anger, but a small part of me was excited that maybe ding dong, the witch was actually dead (and going back to Trinidad empty-handed or something). When I hear from Don later I'll tell him to request a pro bono lawyer from the judge (they must supply one if it is requested), and to suggest that, if Don were to gain custody of Faith, that Samantha only be allowed monitored visits (so she doesn't try and kidnap her).

A social worker called my aunt today to ask about Faith. Right now an Order of protection was taken out against Samantha, and she is not allowed near Don, his apartment, or Faith until their court date. I want to ask Don if he needs my mom and I to come out there and help him clean up the apartment, and maybe set up a bedroom for the baby. I know CPS will be coming at some point to inspect the apartment, and the less they have to complain about, the better. Especially if Samantha happens to obtain an apartment herself and they have to decide which environment is better for the baby.

I feel bad that I can't do more, but I can't be out from work for the extended period of time that this is going to take to be fixed.

I'm also thinking of what to do with Samantha's belongings, because I don't think they belong in my brother's apartment any longer.

My grandparents bought Faith a porta-crib to sleep in, and I'm hoping to be able to set up an actual crib in Don's apartment one of these days. Also, to child-proof the cabinets and toilet seat.

Hmmmm....