I know, I know

I had every intention of doing the adoption stories posts but it has been crazy here trying to get the ducks lined up for Sissy's return. I managed to convince the RTC that I could work today and get her Saturday morning with the IFI team meeting us at the house by 4 pm.

I still have housework and bills to do, a behavior contract to make (and get approved by the IFI team)[1] and I want a few minutes to myself before I go to sleep and make the bloomin' six hour round trip once more. May I be fortunate enough to avoid this trip for a very long time. Death and loathing to I20 in GA, exits 190-36 and back again!

On the school front, the 504 coordinator said that the law is set up so that if a student is not exhibiting their extreme behavior issues during the class day, whether they have an emotional/behavioral illness or not, an IEP can not be written. If Sissy was cognitively impaired, that would be another issue altogether. But gosh darn it, the sweet little bumpkin is smart.

So, I told her teacher "off the record", "don't be nice. No second chances, no honeymoon, none of it. Expect from Sissy EXACTLY what you'd academically and behaviorally expect of the average, mentally and emotionally stable fourth grade student."

She was also unaware of the law and was equally astounded. Thankfully, having 10 years in mental health, she's familiar with our problematic RADishes and is on board with my "trigger at will" plan. With any luck, Sissy's resolve will be broken by her sheer frustration and exhaustion in keeping up with her lies and she'll act out. I told the teacher, "when she acts up, document like crazy. Put it all down on paper. use strong language like, 'i'm professionally inadequate to meet this child's emotional and behavioral needs' or 'i'm concerned for the safety of my other students' and best yet, 'i'm feeling unsafe with this student in my classroom.'"

Then I told the asst. principal, "if I get behaviors from her in the car rider lane, I'm parking my van and walking back into the building. period." The thinking is, if I haven't left the school grounds, any behaviors she exhibits while on school property during a school day (from drop off to dismissal) it's a school related behavior issue. Asst. Principal is on board and has even come up with a plan for that - make all three children wait in their respective classrooms to be dismissed only when I arrive and contact the office. I'm glad for this plan for Aspie Boy's sake alone. He has a lot of trouble at the car rider lane.

And, that said, I WILL write the adoption story posts but it might need to wait until next week when the insanity has slowed to a dull roar.

Since I got so much feedback about my tree beating behaviors and the squirrel stew, here are my Lob-lolly pines replete with the squirrel nest. I took the pictures today while laying on the trampoline, rotating clockwise. (the squirrel nest is the big black blob halfway up a tree in pictures 1 and 5)











There, you see? I didn't lie. I have a lot of these hideous trees. And you should see the tree litter they drop year round! My backyard is perennially covered in the refuse of these blasted Lob-lollies. The Dad has to shimmy up a ladder to blow the straw off the roof four times a year. Grass? what grass? Grow a vegetable garden? In loamy soil created by these gosh dern pines? I don't think so. It's box and pot gardening for me.

[1]i'll post my behavior contract when it's complete for those who'd like to use it as a template for their own RADishes.

Wacky Words Wednesdays and a Change in thinking

see the label to this post to find out what Wacky Words Wednesdays is all about. then pass on the fun!

We have a family rule that the children get to play with their new items from birthdays and Christmas for the first day without having to share or be pestered by their siblings to play with the new toys.

One year Wonder Girl had gotten a make up set for her birthday the night before. She had left the items in the packaging until she was ready to play with it. Sissy was not keen on that idea.

The next morning at breakfast, Sissy walked into the kitchen, holding the package to the make up set which had been torn to shreds, some of the make up items still haphazardly hanging out of the packaging, a few plastic press-on nails plinking to the floor as she stood there, looked me dead in the eye and said,

"it opened up all by itself."

_____________________________________________
Sissy will be home in a few days, whether we like it or not and I've been pretty honest about how that impacts me and how I believe it will impact the rest of my family. This whole experience has been the hardest thing I've gone through in my life and I feel like I'm just beginning the journey. When I say I feel like Sissy's return to the home is equal to a return to hell, I'm not exaggerating.

The last three months I've really enjoyed having a family home life that is free of chaos and daily crisis. I've learned that I'm a good mom. I've laughed and snuggled with the other two without retaliating behaviors from Sissy. It has been amazing to not feel like I'm looking over my shoulder every second, preparing for another 3 hour scream fest. At night when I fall asleep, I no longer hear the phantom echos of Sissy's rages. At dawn, i no longer wake up to a seething Sissy glowering at my vulnerable sleeping body.

It has been eye opening to realize how much I've endured, how much my family has endured because we wanted Sissy to be better, to feel safe, to make progress when she only got worse. It has been staggering to survey photos and to reminisce about our life up to this point with Sissy and accept how much her mental illness has progressed. It has been grievous to know that her illness will continue to progress, that it is progressing faster than birth mom's, that RADs is just one of the many issues Sissy contends with.

It has been gut wrenching to admit that I'm not sufficient to meet my child's needs. It has been mind-blowing to learn that my IRL friends have severely autistic adult children on lower doses of anti-psychotic medication than what Sissy requires daily. It has been angering to accept that none of this, not one stitch of the reality I now live, was discussed with us as a possibility when we adopted, that we dove in head first, blindly, and into a pool without water. It is with despair that I acknowledge that RAD therapy may not even help, that it is very likely an exercise in futility.

I know there is one hope that is sure, for all of us. That God's grace is sufficient, that His hand is mighty to save, that it might take until we are in our perfected forms seated at the right hand of God before I get to spend time with a fully healed and cognitively alert Sissy. I hope when that moment comes, she'll have grace and forgiveness for me too. Because the hardest part is not really Sissy's needs, it's not the struggle, it's not finding a balance in my life, it's always wondering. Wondering if I'm making it worse, screwing it up, not doing enough, missing the boat, or being the wrong "match" for Sissy as her adoptive mom.

Just as Sissy's RADical needs demand absolution so she can receive the grace of unconditional love, so do I need absolution from my imperfections as her ill-equipped, unprepared, grieving, traumatized, anxious, fretting mother. Katherine Leslie talks of the starring role in a play we expect our RADishes to automatically know about, that we have to give them their unscripted lines, coach them for correct responses and prepare them for the difficult scenes. But RAD moms are equally unprepared for our role as director/stagehand/producer/screenwriter/audience/coach/choreographer/choir director.

I've used this blog as my punching bag, my battering ram, and my sounding board. My direct intent was to help people see the rawness and the reality while at the same time, eliminate my internal emotional challenges so that my IRL daily events weren't charged with my emotions. I've achieved success on both fronts but it has left me wondering if my readers have a genuine taste of who I am, the person you'd get if I came over for an afternoon. Actually, I'm a really nice person. I'm just going through the hardest time in my life to date. There'll be harder times, I accept that. I just wasn't prepared for how angry and bitter I'd be. I was hoping I could shake off those two evil twin brothers BEFORE Sissy returned home. I really wanted to be strong on my two feet when she walked back through the front door. Instead, I feel like I've just gone through a double amputation and I'm still on a morphine drip for the pain.

So I'm changing it up for a few days. The next three posts are going to be the children's adoption stories from this Mommy's point of view. I want to accentuate the positive. I want to remind myself why I got on this insane Mommy train to begin with. I want to recapture the joy I had when I discovered I was given the golden ticket to ride. I want to remind myself that deep down, I'm a nice, loving, kind person, not Atilla the Hun. I want to search my heart and see if there is still a hope in me for Sissy and maybe, just maybe, to open my heart again to other hurting children. I want to believe in myself again and rest easy that my heart hasn't turned to stone after all.

When Sissy brought me that torn up package that was Wonder Girl's present, my first response was to laugh outright. Such a silly thing, really, and after all, although she wasn't honest about it, she DID bring it to me. I want to hang on to that split second when I laughed and I saw in her eyes the glimmer of safety and love that a stupid toy wasn't something to go insane over, that I was a safe mom that loved her no matter what. Then i want to make that second last a life time so that she never wants to go back to another three hour screaming rage of fear and panic again.

meetings in the A.M.

first meeting - phone conference with Sissy's RTC education team.

I hung up the phone in tears, angry, cussing and wanting to punch my fist through a wall. We accomplished nothing in that meeting beyond them telling me that Sissy is a bright student that doesn't show her behaviors in the classroom so she shouldn't have an IEP that reflects her emotional/behavioral issues because it's a non-issue at school.

pointing out that they are comparing her academic progress to a classroom of 6 emotionally/behaviorally impaired children so it can't equate to the mainstream public school classroom, accomplished nothing.

pointing out that her behaviors ARE exacerbated by her education but I'm the only one that sees those behaviors, accomplished nothing.

pointing out that her public school teacher that has 10 years of RTC education on her resume and said to me that she did not think the public school classroom was an appropriate placement for Sissy after RTC, got me in trouble. "well Mrs. S, why does her report card from that same teacher say that Sissy was making strides toward independence? It's incongruent."

in other words, what they were saying without saying it was hey mom, apparently you're the part of Sissy's equation that is *BLEEPIN* it up because Sissy is a smart kid and on her report cards, her teachers says so.

(note to self: next time I have a teacher confide in me something they think about what my child needs or doesn't need, get them to *bleepin* put it in writing so it doesn't come back and bite me on the @ss. like it did today. OMG. i want to go beat another loblolly)

here's what The Dad had to say about that yeah. Stalin was smart. Hitler was smart. Jeffery Dahmer was smart. Lots of people are geniuses, that doesn't mean that they are emotionally/behaviorally safe!

*tips hat to The Dad who thinks he isn't good with words but is cunningly poignant when put to the task*

and all it takes is a quick survey of local news to discover that intelligent people can suffer debilitating mental health illnesses that have tragic results for innocent bystanders! Virgina Tech shooting? The soldier on the Texas fort last fall? The recent biology PhD at the U of Alabama? Smart people with mental health illnesses that went unaddressed because they were smart. Too smart. Scary smart.

Unfortunately, The Dad made his point to me and not the RTC education team.

Unfortunately, once again, it is our fault as parents, not the truth that globally, the system fails mental health patients and consequently the innocent ones whose lives cross the paths of these patients.

I've said it a million times, "I'm advocating for Sissy until I'm blue in the face but who the *bleep* is advocating for me?"

My plan isn't to set Sissy up for failure, although no matter what I do, Sissy will likely meet a failing course in life. My plan is to help her be successful in whatever way is reasonably possible. And I do all of it knowing that she isn't reciprocating in the relationship, isn't capable of reciprocating, isn't working toward learning how to reciprocate. But it's my butt that gets thrown under the bus. every.time.

(this is why nice people attempt suicide - they can't catch a break)
(no, I'm not suicidal, just sayin'. don't ya'll go reportin' my butt. I see my therapist on Thursday)

Not my style

Before parenting special needs kids, I was so nice, so sweet, so kind and considerate, compassionate and merciful, loving and gentle. People really liked this about me. I liked this about me. It's just not my style to be mean, ruthless, cutthroat, confrontational, combative, ugly, ornery and a general pain in the arse.

And then I became an adoptive parent of special needs kids.

I quickly discovered that my Sweet Sue attitude wasn't going to accomplish anything. Ever. So I morphed against the grain of my DNA and became

Atilla the Hun.


Just got off the phone with Judy, the very sweet lady at special services records department in my county's board of education department. She and I have tried for two weeks to get Sissy's records from RTC so we can do an emergency IEP. With the discharge date looming and no records in the county's hands despite numerous attempts, I'm getting ... annoyed.

Judy and I had a good laugh. "I'm persistent," I joked.

"I understand," she quipped back. She raised a son with special needs so she gets it.

"If nothing else, Mrs. Judy, they're going to do what I ask them to do..."

and Judy finished my sentence, "...so you'll quit calling and leave them the heck alone!"

"EXACTLY!" I snickered back.

Because who else is going to wage war for our kids if not us parents?

No one.

Atilla, move over. Someone meaner, uglier, nastier and more heartless has taken your place.

I am that woman.

Lean on Faith

My emotions pendulum-swing from one extreme to another, gradually losing kinetic energy to friction so that I eventually come back to a neutral or centralized point that I can lay hold of, anchor my thoughts to, and propel myself forward in a positive, newly energized direction of hope and optimism. After the anguish and despair of yesterday's post, written directly after reading the email from the therapist, a culmination of ruminations of emotions for the last two weeks, I allowed the pendulum of my emotions to swing toward the polar opposite, taking my usual course toward eventual centrality.

Cognitively, I know that unless I purge myself of my extreme emotions, I am useless to my family and most poignantly, to helping Sissy. I'm not a self-centered beast of a mother that can't feel the reality of my child's pain, I'm simply realizing the depth of my own pain, allowing myself to feel the raw emotion now, before she returns, so I don't exact more harm on her when she's headlong in a fight-or-flight rage about brushing her teeth.

Recently, though, the arched swing of my pendulum is bumping into a road block that rebounds it prematurely, and with a dangerous wobble, right back into the raging emotional arc. My opposing emotional arc typically takes me to the healing I get from my faith so it is disconcerting to be continually diverted from this peace. But I think I've finally put a name to the roadblock my pendulum is hitting, it is the rogue and impossible man-made rhetoric of religious faith.

Previously, I've postulated on the meaning of faith and how that faith can be applied to the extreme challenges of life. There are many debilitating and destructive daily challenges people endure, besides raising RADishes. Every day, people live through harrowing, difficult things that go above and beyond normal life issues. Many of those people daily live that chaos for years on end without respite. But does admitting the pain of those events equate to not having faith that God will see us through them? Is being honest about those challenges and the mental and emotional toll they take ignoring God's deliverance from the wages of sin and death? Is asking for worldly assistance the same as denying God's ability to do something supernatural? Is accepting and verbally acknowledging a child's mental health illness and developmental delay and preparing for the long term prognosis equivalent to claiming that God isn't capable of miraculously healing those issues? Is admitting my fear and trepidation a sin because I'm not relying on faith to see me through?

What is "faith" anyway?

Today in Sunday School, another family was citing their current life challenges. My heart aches for them. It seems like an impossible road ahead of them as they prepare to sell a house in an inundated market so they can stay employed with the company that is relocating to another city. Not being "in the boat" with them as they traverse these murky waters of transplanting a family in an economic recession, I can look down the time line of life and see that they'll come out on the other end of it, one way or another. But I know that those words aren't helpful, the "God is in control" comments are hollow and empty, especially when fear is a factor. The leader got up and wrote on the white board, "Lean on Faith." He wasn't dismissing their concerns, in fact, he cited some of his own personal struggles as he sat down. He was simply redirecting us all to the truth, to the hope we have that is sure, that Christ is sufficient in all things, no matter what.

In the absence of a true definition of faith and how it applies to my religion, I decided to do some research. What is faith and do I have it or do I lack in it?

Merriam-Webster defines "faith" as this:
1 a : allegiance to duty or a person : loyalty b (1) : fidelity to one's promises (2) : sincerity of intentions
2 a (1) : belief and trust in and loyalty to God (2) : belief in the traditional doctrines of a religion b (1) : firm belief in something for which there is no proof (2) : complete trust
3 : something that is believed especially with strong conviction; especially : a system of religious beliefs
synonyms see belief

— on faith : without question

Britanica says this:
Greek - Pistis, Latin - Fides

inner attitude, conviction, or trust relating man to a supreme God or ultimate salvation. In religious traditions stressing divine grace, it is the inner certainty or attitude of love granted by God himself. In Christian theology, faith is the divinely inspired human response to God’s historical revelation through Jesus Christ and, consequently, is of crucial significance.

No definition allows for identification of “faith” with “religion.” Some inner attitude has its part in all religious traditions, but it is not always of central significance

An excerpt from Wikipedia:
Faith is the confident belief or trust in the truth or trustworthiness of a person, concept or thing.[1][2] The English word is thought to date from 1200–50, from the Latin fidem or fidēs, meaning trust, derived from the verb fīdere, to trust.[1]

The term is employed in a religious or theological context to refer to a confident belief in a transcendent reality, a religious teacher, a set of scriptures, teachings or a Supreme Being. It may be used to refer to a particular religious tradition or to religion in general.

Since faith implies a trusting reliance upon future events or outcomes, it is often taken by its detractors as inevitably synonymous with a belief "not resting on logical proof or material evidence."[3][4]

Faith is in general the persuasion of the mind that a certain statement is true,[5] belief in and assent to the truth of what is declared by another, based on his or her supposed authority and truthfulness.[6] Informal usage can be quite broad, and the the word is often used as a mere substitute for trust or belief.

And finally, Hebrews 11:1 says:
Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

Hebrews 11:6 describes the meaning and the practical role of faith: "Without faith it is impossible to please [God], for he who comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him."

EUREKA!

By definition, I have faith! I LEAN on faith. I am a faithful person. I have faith in God. I don't have to strive for my mustard seed's worth, I have a Stone Mountain's worth! I can officially annihilate that road block in my emotional machinations. Faith is not an issue for me 'cause Baby, I got it!

And all that other ridiculous religious rhetoric? Garbage. I'm not sure why a mystical religious faith became an ideal we have to strive for when we meet challenges in our life that we struggle with. Or rather, that faith becomes something we lack in because we express that we have a challenge we're overwhelmed by. By definition, that's not what faith is. The substance of faith, is simply saying "God, help me through this hard thing, I can't do it on my own."

God never promises us a life without trial but He does promise to be by our side every minute of it, to never leave us nor forsake us. If anything, living a life that is filled with trial and tribulation gives us more cause to exhaust our own resources so that we find the only path to peace despite our trials, is to have faith that God is with us every second.

Today is the second Sunday of Lent, a 40 day season of personal reflection and sacrifice toward Jerusalem and the cross that saves us all. 40 is a number that shows up in scripture many times, it means "God at work." I challenge you to find the ways God is at work in your life in the midst of your struggles and trials and to live in the truth that by doing so, you are, in fact, leaning on faith.

discharge

Email transmission at 3:00 pm Friday: Sissy's discharge date is Friday, 3-5-10.

This is not a discharge from RTC that she has completed her therapy successfully. This is a discharge from insurance that says she no longer meets their criteria for in patient care (but they still haven't told me what that criteria is).

In phone conference on Thursday afternoon, the therapist admitted:
1. Sissy is not better
2. Sissy will reescalate
3. Sissy is still a threat to her siblings
4. We have not had enough time to recover from Sissy's trauma
5. Sissy is not safe in a home setting
6. Sissy will probably end up back at RTC

Our options:
1. CBAY waiver
2. Pay privately for group home or continued stay at RTC
3. Foster care (which goes on our criminal record and ruins any future plans we might have dallied with for adopting again. but right now? I'll scream it from the top of Stone Mountain, "NEVER AGAIN!")
4. IFI program

we've opted for CBAY and IFI (but I'm cringing about IFI because I'm really anxious that we'll get some fresh-out-of-college rookie that is still gung-ho about saving the world one psychotic kid at a time)

Plans in the works:
1. emergency IEP for EBD placement if and only if RTC cooperates and releases her records in time so we can avoid her going back to mainstream classroom on 3-8-10. but I'm not hopeful. Keeping her at home until appropriate placement can be arranged = me getting a criminal charge of truancy
2. calling the deputy that patrols our area, again, to let him know she's coming home and to anticipate dispatches to our house
3. getting back on the calendar for weekly therapy with the RAD therapist and monthly appointments with the psychiatrist
4. getting insurance to extend the waiver for her anti-psychotic med (she's not diagnosed as ASD on paper which is the only way resperidone is approved by FDA for children her age)
5. determining if a dual diagnosis on paper gets her MORE services or makes it harder for her to get them. (of course, it gets her resperidone - see #4)
6. stocking up on alcohol? OK. maybe not. but right now, altering my state of mind sounds like a really good idea

Things we need that we're not getting:
1. respite care
2. a safety plan for Aspie Boy and Wonder Girl
3. prevention from family chaos and crisis (because three one-hour weekly visits from IFI is not sufficient to prevent chaos and crisis if in 12 hours last weekend Sissy could completely upend three months of recovery)
4. financial assistance
5. hope

Things we're getting that we don't need:
1. chritian rhetoric and placating phrases like
- "god won't give you more than you can handle" or
- "God gave you these kids so he knew you could handle it" or
- "god can heal everything" or
- "we rebuke Sissy's illness in the name of Jesus" or
- "we bind all generational curses" or
- "this will all be behind you soon and Sissy will recover and be just fine" or
- "we're praying for Sissy's healing" or
- "god is in control so don't worry"

I know that people don't know what to say or how to respond and that they feel really inadequate to say or do anything that is helpful. I accept that. I know that for some people, God is their rock and hope and the first thing they run to and that I should probably do that too. I accept that as well. But it's like being slapped in the face with a cold cod fish when all of that rhetoric is spouted off, it feels dismissive of my pain. It doesn't acknowledge that Sissy's illness is progressive and that she is a sinking ship that robs us of joy, hope and a future.

If people could imagine their successful children and all of the joys they've had raising those children being turned upside-down, inside-out in a second and then being told that it's all broken, forever, it would begin to help them understand the pain we're enduring. Hearing about their child's school projects or their BFFs or they A+ they got on a math test or their academic trips they get to take as a select group of excelling students, or their missions trip plans for the summer to help inner-city kids, all of it is a sucker-punch to the gut.

My parenting experience has been a downward spiral of chaos, crisis, hopelessness and despair IN ADDITION TO knowing that I have one child that is not impaired, who is capable of doing all of those wonderful normal childhood things but who will continue to suffer because of Sissy, Sissy who will be sent home on Friday even though she's not better, Sissy, who has injured her sister in the past and without a 24/7 watchful eye (impossible!) will likely hurt her sister again.

If people, in their efforts to make me feel better with their feel-good christian rhetoric, could keep these thoughts in their back pocket before they said anything, it would prevent the cold cod fish slaps I keep getting.

And because I'm telling my readers, which includes non-virtual family and friends what I DON'T want and need, it requires that I tell you what I DO need. I can do this best with an analogy.

Analogy:
I'm in a hole I was forced to dig because of my child's needs, a hole that may or may not eventually lead to a brighter future and potential success for my child but because I love her, I have to try. I've been digging the hole by myself and with my spouse, 24/7 for 9 years. As I've dug the hole, I've been isolated from the things my peers have done: going out with their spouses, going to their children's events, enjoying the financial rewards of a career, going to sleep without worry, etc. As i've dug the hole, I've had only God to talk to for comfort and hope. God and I have a very intimate relationship because we've spent a lot of time in this hole together.

My hole is now too deep for me to get out of without help. I can see the top of the hole and some sunlight but that's it. I'm covered in dirt, mud and muck. Scraped knuckles and aching muscles from endless digging, I have no fresh water, a worn out shovel and only a rope/pulley system to haul up buckets full of earth debris at a time.

People stand at the top of my hole and look in on me and my progress. They inadvertently kick dirt and rocks back in as they stand there, shouting at me, "hey jennie, good job! nice hole you got there! you'll be finished soon!" then they walk away and I'm alone again. I can see nothing but walls of earth, rock, bugs and hours of toil.

Then, a ladder comes down the hole. A bright happy face and rested body shimmies down the ladder. This person is laden with canteens of water, protein bars, an mp3 player synced with my favorite tunes and a cache of fresh batteries to keep it working, head lamps, wash cloths to wipe myself clean, a belt loaded with useful gadgets, and two fresh shovels.

"wow!" says the unexpected helper. "you've gotten a lot done! Did you do this all by yourself?"

I nod my head like a bobble head on a dashboard.

"Phew, girl! that's impressive!" then my helper hugs my filthy, stinking body. "you're amazing!"

we pause for a minute and take a swig of water, surveying the progress. "So," says my helper. "mind if I help?"

I hand my helper a shovel and we keep digging but my helper takes my shovel from my hand and says, "go up for a little while," nodding toward the ladder. "take a breather. I've got this. Come back down when you're ready."

THIS.

This is what I need.
This is what I seem completely unable to find.

wacky words wedensdays

It's Wacky Words Wednesday again! Did you miss it last week? Did you forget to pass along the fun? Click the label for this post to find out all about it.

This Week's Wacky Words Wednesday Post
These are actually wacky words from my friend's RADish

C~ came for a visit. It had just been The Dad's birthday. In our house, a birthday tradition is to get that person his/her favorite candy bar. The Dad's candy bar was on his dresser and C~ saw it.

"Mrs. S. What's this?"

"A candy bar."

"oh." long pause. "why?"

"The Dad got it as a birthday gift."

"why didn't he eat it?"

"He just hasn't yet." long pause. "C~? Don't eat the candy bar."

"oh. I won't" but of course, she'd yet to take her eyes off the thing. I attempted to distract her with some laundry and I thought the episode was over. Later, as I was driving C~ home The Dad called my cell phone.

"Ask C~ if she knows where my candy bar is."

So i asked C~ who was sitting beside me in the van, "C~, where's the candy bar?"

Her response? "Tell him not to look under the bed."

LOL! It still makes me giggle and it's been almost a year. When I remind C~ about it she says, "Mrs. S. we're not going there." Which makes me laugh harder!

Of course, C~ ate the candy bar. And no, there was nothing under the bed. Not even the empty wrapper.