A Small Light

We went to court- we saw the probation officer / social worker- we saw the magistrate* and we survived- it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. They didn’t take my child away and they didn’t lock him up. I prayed all week for the people who would be deciding Damien’s fate to be fair, and for the whole thing to be over quickly. Well, we spent almost all of yesterday at the magistrate’s court. We arrived at 8am, with the court due to start at 8:30am. The probation officer only called for Damien at about 11am. So after freezing our backsides solid on uncomfortable chairs in the open corridor outside the courtroom for 3 hours, with all the other waiting juveniles, we almost had to run to keep up with the probation officer. We went down to where the probation officers are “holed up” which is also where the holding cells are. It was also freezing down there, and gloomy and scary. She asked Damien a bunch of questions, like why did he do it and did he learn anything from it* and was he scared? Boy was he scared! Needless to say we were both absolutely terrified. I am surprised my heart didn’t give out on the spot when they called his name. Damien clung to my hand while the social worker quizzed him, then she told him that he would have to attend a two day “youth crime prevention” programme where his attendance and attitude would be reported on (I have to be there too, on the second day), and then report back to the court, where we’ll sit for another day waiting for our case to be called. If his attendance, behaviour and attitude at the programme are good (according to what they are looking for), then his record will be expunged. We then had to go back and wait outside the court room for the actual magistrate to announce what the social worker had told us. God answered my prayer in this instance- we were literally in and out of the magistrate’s court in less than 2 minutes! We left the court house at about 1pm! We hadn’t had anything to eat or drink while we were there- we were too afraid to go anywhere in case they called Damien and decided he hadn’t arrived. He gets a second chance because he made a mistake. If he gets caught again however, there will be no second chance. He will have to plead, he will be tried and he will have a record. It’s a horrible experience. There is no sympathy, no leeway. I truly hope Damien learnt his lesson. I am so relieved that that part is over.
I slept a little better last night, but I am still worried- obviously. Damien was literally released into my custody as his mother and guardian, now I wonder how long it will be before I can let him go anywhere alone again. Before I can trust him again* it’s going to take a lot of work from both of us.
I don’t think I’ve found the lesson God wanted me to learn/ find in this yet* I’m still looking/ listening though.


i didn’t sleep last night, my back is killing me – no matter how i sit or stand, it hurts. when i stress, my back gets sore… now thats driving me mad too. my mind hasn’t stopped – i am taking a short break from work to type this – to get it off my chest – so to speak. i don’t want to stop working because then at least my brain is occupied with other things. i don’t want to see anyone because the few people who know what has happened treat me differently now and want to talk aout it and i don’t want to talk about it yet. i want to ask my housechurch to pray for me and damien but i don’t want to tell them why. i don’t want to even go to housechurch but i do want to go because i need it and i will probably feel better… my mind keeps harping on the consequences. what about his future career? will he ever be able to leave the country? will he ever be able to get the job he wants? will this be with him forever or only until he’s 21? what about high school, and his current school? do i need to tell them – will his high school still accept him if i tell them he has a record? will his current school let him stay? if i tell friends and or family what happened and whats going on – will they ever be able to look for something thats missing without wondering when last damien was in their house? what if the social worker goes to the complete extreme and decides i’m not good enough for my precious child – i don’t even want to finish that thought. i don’t want social workers watching me period! what if damien gets so worried about all of this that he runs away – i don’t know why that one keeps coming back, i am completely paranoid about where he is lately. i think i a hundrede times last night to make sure he was still in his bed.
i really hope tomorrow is quick and “painless”. i don’t know whats going to happen when we get there – or how they do this…
can’t think about it anymore right now…

Weekend Report

Well, to put it bluntly, it could have been better. We were supposed to have another movie night at my place on Saturday – and due to budget constraints and generally feeling miserable… I cancelled. I cancelled – can you believe it, the one who always bitches about other people cancelling at the last minute! But I really did feel rotten. I only got out of be after 5 on Saturday afternoon – having slept most of the day. Luckily Damien is at an age where if he’s hungry he can make himself something, leaving me to sleep. I felt a little better on Sunday, and with a lot of work to catch up on, I spent Sunday evening on my laptop! My dad was sweet enough to let me watch the F1 grand prix (which he has no interest in) when my mom invited D & I to stay for lunch after church.
I was so looking forward to our movie night, I’ll have to make it up to the girls soon.

Here Kitty Kitty…

I received this from a fellow cat lover in my e-mail and I nearly choked on my hysterical laughter and tears! I don’t know how true it is, but it is really really funny.

Cat lover or Not, this is hysterical!

We’ve all had trouble with our animals, but I don’t think anyone can top this one: Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks I’m lying. On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway, because the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I reasoned, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on the top of my head. The accident occurred mainly
because I had given in to my wife’s wishes to adopt a cute little kitty.
Initially, the new acquisition was no problem.
Then one morning, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen: “Honey! The garbage disposal is dead again. Please come reset it.”
“You know where the button is,” I protested through the shower pitter-patter and steam. “Reset it yourself!”
“But I’m scared!” she persisted. “What if it starts going and sucks me in?” There was a meaningful pause and then, “C’mon, it’ll only take you a second.”
So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping that my silent outraged nudity would make a statement about how I perceived her behavior as extremely cowardly. Sighing loudly, I squatted down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is the last action I remember performing. It struck without warning, and without any respect to my circumstances.
No, it wasn’t the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, who discovered the fascinating dangling objects she spied hanging between my legs. She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink. And, at the precise moment when I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws. I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements, blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region. Wild animals are sometimes faced with a “fight or flight” situation. Men, in this predicament, choose only the “flight” option. I know this from experience. I was fleeing straight up into the air when the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully impeded my ascent.
The impact knocked me out cold.
When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Now there are not many things in this life worse than finding oneself lying on the kitchen floor buck naked in front of a group of “been-there, done-that” paramedics. Even worse, having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics were all snorting loudly as they tried to conduct their work, all the while trying to suppress their hysterical laughter… and not succeeding. Somehow I lived through it all. A few days later I finally made it back in to the office, where colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me about my head injury I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about, which it was.
“What’s the matter?” They all asked, “Cat got your tongue?”
If they only knew…

Am I Just Another “SATC” Wannabe?

It’s my absolute all time favourite TV program. I mean, isn’t it everybody’s?
I have seen every episode of every season, and now I’m watching all the reruns– again. At some point in my life, I have been able to relate to all the girls, except to Charlotte, her I-just-want-to-find-‘the-one’-get-married-and-have-a-baby naiveté is fine on TV, but I don’t think I’ve ever been like that. I have definitely been a Samantha, and a Carrie, and a Miranda, I’d kill for their wardrobes, and occasionally for their lifestyles, of course that’s what made it so successful as a TV program. I bawled my eyes out and used half a box of tissues during the final episode.
My mom was never very impressed with it but I think maybe she and my dad just found it a little “too” for their taste (I think they watched an episode or two when I raved about it constantly). I have always wished I had a couple of girlfriends to visit and talk with like they do on SATC, but I think even some of my friends find ME a little “too” sometimes. And then of course, they’re all married or seriously involved. Admittedly I like the “limelight” and I love to shock people, but this country is still so very conservative– I mean, I get funny looks when I paint all my finger nails different colours, or wear a bandanna in public, and that’s not even a little bit shocking!
Oh, to discuss my latest read, my newest accessory acquisition (one of my addictions), my “goodie drawer,” my “conquests” (with appropriate nick-names of course) and even blogging with a couple of girls who will give me an honest answer and opinion to any question or suggestion…
But our conversation inevitably turns to our kids, to our kid’s achievements, our kid’s schools, our families and our jobs. It’s like we don’t exist as individuals anymore, like everything else falls by he wayside when you get married or have kids. And as much as I love my son, I do long to be just me sometimes. Our monthly ladies movie nights are great fun, but they’re not “ladies nights” as such, it’s just like our usual visits, just not with the kids actually in attendance. They’re there in every other way though.
Why do we put things (careers, hobbies, interests) off until later when we start a family, are we SUPPOSED to sacrifice everything that makes us who we are as individuals when we have our own families?