kiwords

Mid-day phone ringing! It must be Clay! It could be a hundred other people, most of whom tend to be representing charitable organizations that are hoping we have used clothing to donate (ha! used SHREDS of clothing, maybe), but let's hope.

"Hello?"

"Hi there, beautiful," it IS Clay! Either that, or the Lupus Foundation is finessing their approach. "Whatcha doing?"

"Oh, Max and Raphi were just out front, gazing in awe at a butterfly landing on the purple mums. So I slid open the window and barked at them to get inside and get to work. The work of spirit-squashing, it never ends."

"Yeah, well, numbers 250 and 251 are like that. They wander off."

"Uh...are we referring to the kids by numbers now?"

"The kids ARE numbers now."

There was a pause while I considered this for a moment. Then it dawned on me.

"You mean...like...COURT CASE NUMBERS?"

"Exactly."

I will spare you the next part of the conversation, wherein I cooed my admiration of him, and he modestly pointed out that there will probably be issues to be confronted in the future. For, you see, the court case numbers he was referring to would be the result of months of paper-chasing on his part, culminating in the packet he turned into the court this morning.

So he can adopt the boys.

Wheels in motion, hoops to be jumped through...we have to have a home study done, which makes me completely paranoid. We're hoping for a court date by Christmas. Makes me cry, just typing that.

"Hey," I said, as Max fell off his chair and proceeded to roll around in the dog hair under his desk, and Raphael brought me his printing workbook to show me how he'd done a whole page in letters like a robot would, "do you think now that they're numbers they'll be a little more orderly in their behavior?

"Well, it all depends on if they follow mathematical principals. 249? Sure. But 250 and 251? I doubt it."