My wife is...

Sweet. Kind. Caring. 5'3". Curly headed. Good in the kitchen. Good in the living room too. Bad in only one room, but I won't talk about that here. Insane. A fair driver. A garage saler. A voracious reader.

Wait one minute, John! Did You say INSANE?!

Why, it seems I did. How did that get in there? Let me look.

I see the problem. I typed it. That's how it got in there. Maybe I should retract that statement.

Hold on, let me check.

(Jeopardy Music Here)

Nope, can't retract it. I have sworn to friend and foe to be honest here and I must say that my wife is insane.

Ok, I see you're wanting some background on that statement. Here goes.

I'm tooling along I-65 headed from Indy to Louisville, home of the Slugger, and my phone rings. I can't talk well right now but I answer it cause it's her ring. The usual "how you doin"'s are exchanged and then she says,"Par... called me."

Par..., also known as Par... Family Advocates, is the agency that Sheila and I are associated with in regards to fostering children. Now you all now that we just adopted the last foster child to come into our home, which puts us at 4 kids. When you add the cousins, nieces, nephews, neighbors, and the Bush Twins, we're pretty much busting at the seams. All the kids were playing in the yard last summer and the Police charged us with congregating without a permit. But I digress, and also digest but that's another topic.

So what did PFA want you ask. Seems there's this little boy that they are interested in us taking in as a foster child. Sheila starts reading me off the list of things that he's dealing with, battling with, and doing to others around him, his requirements, his needs, and his shoe size and I'm thinking 'No Way'. How can we take another child in when Preston is settling in to the idea of being adopted,when this new boy would require his own private room, and when
we still haven't gotten all the tar out of the cats fur?

She says, "what do you think?" I put my best 'man of the house' face on, which is stupid since she's on the phone and can't see my best 'man of the house' face, and say, "well, what do you think?"

Hey, I know which side my cats buttered on.

"I think we should do it", she says.That's when I break and say "are you insane?" And I outline my fears, which really only scare me it seems. Then I realize I don't know if it's a teenager and I'm assuming it is.

"How old," I say.

"Three", she says.

Three. How can you say no to a three year old. She says, "He still has a chance."

I think it's already decided.

We'll know tomorrow I guess.


PS: I love my wife. She's got a monstrously humongous heart.


But she's still insane.