Saturday, November 10, 2007

Yup, still on this

I just wanted to post some further information. I belong to a message board for Christian mothers who parent naturally and gently, and Mary Anaya has recently joined. She asked that those who are blogging about this post addresses (including a new one which I will post below, as well as her quote along with it) and most importantly, her request that people PRAY for her and her family, and those who are fighting this situation right now.

Please remember, this has nothing to do with whether you believe the genetic test should be done or not- this has everything to do with armed men coming into an American citizen's home and kidnapping her newborn, over a test that indicates diseases that all together, have a 0.16% chance of happening. That's sixteen hundredths of one percent.

When I was still teaching outside of Chicago, I had one of the roughest, most high-needs classroom in the school. I distinctly recall having to contact DCFS on so many sad situations in my class. Two in particular stand out- both because nothing was done about it. One was when Limited English made allegations against a family member that they "hit (him) with one of those things you hang shirts on," (his words to me) and later Little Cutie Boy, whose 22 year old brother hit him on the face on the way to school, and he came into my classroom with blood from his forehead to his chin. DCFS told me that as neither was life-threatening, they had no time to do anything about it. Yet somehow, a Nebraska Court spent how many tax dollars prosecuting (persecuting?) a family for not allowing their son's heel to be cut and his blood spread on dots on an index card.

Here's the DCA's address:
Nicole Goaley
Deputy County Attorney
Juvenile Division
(I imagine she can be reached at the same Supreme Court address as posted in the last post).

From Mary- "She is the one who made the decision to seize custody and refused to dismiss the case until the test results came back. None of the previous county attorneys prosecuted us and she had the power to dismiss the case from the beginning. She had indicated initially to our lawyer that she was powerless to dismiss the case until after the hearing before the judge. However, we later learned that was not true. Even though our lawyer asked her to move the case out of juvenile to district court like it stated in the statute, she refused. That meant our lawyer could not present legal arguments and Joel was held as a hostage. "

Please write. Please write, and if not a NE citizen, at least write and explain that the nation is watching, and this is unacceptable. If for whatever reason you cannot write (and if I can type a letter one handed while nursing and burping my baby, who is scratching me and gnawing on my shoulder, well...) please pray.

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Regarding previous blog

For everyone who wants to get off their rears and take some action (with letters; let's not get dramatic), here are important addresses:

Judge Elizabeth Crnkovich
Suite 600
Hall of Justice1701
Farnam Street
Omaha NE 68183

And here are her superiors. Hathor, the lovely "cowgoddess" (bear with me here) has suggested writing to them, and copying the letter to the dishonorable Judge Crnkovich as well.

Nebraska Judicial Council
Administrative Office of the Courts
1445 K Street1213 State Capitol
P. O. Box 98910
Lincoln, NE 68509-8910
Phone: 402-471-3730
Fax: 402-471-2197

Commission on Judicial Qualifications
ATTN: Secretary
Nebraska Supreme Court
PO Box 98910
Lincoln, Nebraska 68509
Please mail in an envelope marked CONFIDENTIAL

If you have any kinds of feelings of outrage about this, particularly that the judge ordered the baby out of the courthouse, when it was crying to be fed by his mother, and demanded that the distraught mother continue her testimony, write a letter. It takes very little time, a stamp, and will hopefully, en masse, have an effect. Let's get this sorry excuse for a judge disbarred!

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

This is what nightmares are made of...

Seriously, chilling to my core. Brief synopsis: a couple birthed their ninth child in the state of Nebraska, which has a rigid rule regarding blood testing of newborns for rare genetic diseases. This couple declined the test, and their five week old was forcibly removed from his nursing mother to foster care for 5 and a half days. The social workers were ordered to give the baby formula.

Get this: if for some reason this small baby did have one of the diseases (PKU) that the test was looking for, formula would have killed him.

The social workers and foster mother, fortunately, took pity on mom and baby (hey how about that, the system actually worked in that respect) and called the mother every few hours to come and feed her son on the sly, as the visits were technically unauthorized.

Here is a link to the blog of this family's attorney, and the segment that appeared on Rush Limbaugh.

Here are a few links to the people who can make the change that NEEDS to be made, for the sake of babies and families in this state (directly taken from a message board that the mother posted to:)

"For 2 legislative sessions, State Senator Synowiecki has proposed exemption legislation. The 2nd time we had high hopes. We had more people testifying in favor of the bill than against, signed testimonies of the trauma the screening had caused other parents, and a petition signed by over 100 people. There were only a couple of testimonies from the state against the bill. However, it was killed in the health and human services committee and never made it to the floor for a vote. Here are e-mails for the committee:";;;;;;;

Think of the choices you make every day, not even necessarily parenting choices. What if, one day, one of those choices turns into this type of nightmare for your family?

When we had G in a hospital in Lansing, we were harassed every day of our five day stay over our decision to forgo the antibacterial eye drops, the Vitamin K injection, and the Hepatitis B vaccination. We had nurses, residents, and finally the doctors themselves coming into our room scratching their heads and wondering about our reasoning. We have our reasons- mainly, that there is so little risk of G needing any of the above, that the risks involved with injecting or dripping her with any of it outweigh the benefits. Above all, I AM THE MOTHER, AND I SAID SO. The blood test that is described in Nebraska law is also demanded by MI law, and we did allow this. However, had we decided to decline consent, our rights as parents should be respected.

Please write to these government officials.

Saturday, November 03, 2007

One Year Later

One year ago today, I POAS (To those of you not up on your conception lingo, that means "peed on a stick." Ewww.) and received the happiest sight ever (unless you happen to be the head cheerleader)- a bright pink line! I screamed and yelled and danced with the dog, who to this day wonders why we never do things like that anymore. I tell her that when she quits digging under the compost, we'll talk.

Clever me- I wrote little poems and stuck them all over the house, and had Mr. Clarateaches go on a hunt for clues. He happened to have worked from midnight until 8 AM that morning, deep in the engineering lair, doing something fun with engines, so he was exhausted. But, hunt he did, and when he at last came upon the positive pregnancy test, he turned to me and said in his most romantic voice....

"Does this still have pee on it?"

Babies are fun. Apparently, everyone thinks my baby is public property, which is why I want to carry a firearm. I settle for carrying her in a sling, usually her Moby wrap. This, according to my fellow crunchies, will stop people from using their gross, never-washed-after-the-bathroom, always-in-their-noses, petting-strange-dogs-hands. What it really does is turn us into an elaborate spectacle, as people don't usually see anyone wearing a baby 'round these parts. The name of the game for some people is to be as hands-off with their sprouts as possible, but by God, I wanted this bambina for so long, she gets to be my baby kangaroo.

This will be the post of many run-ons.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the masses of the great unwashed who wish to touch my child. Or, who wish to offer me crackhead parenting advice.

On one occasion, in my favorite little gourmet and produce store, a woman who probably could have been a linebacker beelined right over to me. She did the usual, "Oh, what a cute baby," but then sealed her fate by touching my arm sympathetically and asking me in a hushed tone usually reserved for fatal diseases, "Um, isn't she a little small for her age?" I stared at this lady Leviathan and said, "No, she's pretty normal."

On another, I was in a mega-grocery with La Bambina in her wrap, who had fallen asleep sometime in the coffee aisle. I was at the cashier, trying to watch the teenager scanning my groceries so that she didn't do something silly like chuck four pounds of apples on top of squishy things, or put the five pound bag of potatoes and gallon of cider in the same bag so that it hilariously smashes to the parking lot later (ahem- I'm looking at right at you, cashier of today). A woman was behind me with her teenage daughter who was a "Spoiled Brat" if you believe the glitter on her rear. "Spoiled Brat" blathered into her cell phone to someone about the gala time that they all were going to have tonight when mom and dad drove them to the R rated movie. The mother stared at me and my peacefully sleeping girl (Not a "Spoiled Brat") and said, "That looks uncomfortable."
Ever ready to convert others to babywearing, I started to describe all of the reasons why the Moby was very comfortable, how it distributed the baby's weight to my entire body and held her in the middle. She interrupted me. "No, I mean, the baby's not comfortable in that."

Beg your effing pardon? I looked down at my angel, peacefully sleeping and sucking on her lower lip. She couldn't have been more comfortable. "Hmmm," was my response, and I turned my back to her completely to focus on the credit card reader. In NY, that would be a signal for the woman to mind her own beeswax if she knew what was good for her, but in MI it seems to mean "keep right on talking."

"I always put them right there, right in the cart. Got 'em used to it," she said wistfully, hearkening back to the days of "Spoiled Brat's" youth. "Where's her shoes?"

I looked at G's little socked feet. "No shoes yet," I said. "Her feet are growing too fast to keep up, and besides, she's not walking."

The woman shook her head. "Tsk, tsk. I always put shoes on their feet, got 'em used to it."

Why was I talking to this person? I turned my back again, and waited for the cashier to finish. The woman behind me gave me the once over. "Looks like you got your shape back real quick, huh?" OH MY LORD.

I turned and loudly said, "Yup, she sucked all the pregnancy weight right off me." I almost squirted her in the eye with some breastmilk, but I think that's what Mr. Clarateaches was talking about when he said that sometimes my interactions with strangers go "too far." The woman stared at me, mouth agape for a few beats. The cashier smirked and handed me a receipt. The woman regained herself long enough to say to the cashier (whispering when she talked about the actual breast), "Oh breastfeeding. I breastfed my girls too, you know. Not too long though, got to get 'em used to..." I walked away at that point. No use wasting a good strangle on this hopeless woman.

My little girl- one year ago today, you were the size of a lentil, and making me sick all day long and only able to eat Ramen and lemonade. Today you are busting out of the 3-6 month clothing and making sure I don't accidentally get more than 5 hours of sleep in any 24 hour period. My sweet girl!