Last Wednesday was our home study.
We had been talking about it with The Angel and The Dinosaur for weeks.
Because those of you who have adopted before know that
once a social worker steps foot in your house,
your children know one thing:
You cannot kill them.
We seriously could entertain the entire House and Senate at our dinner table
and The Angel and The Dinosaur would behave normally.
But the level of heathen behavior at the Andrews' household is
paramount when we have a post-placement visit.
We encouraged The Angel and The Dinosaur to mind their manners,
don't scream at one another and generally attempt to act as if we
are trying to teach them to be upright, outstanding citizens.
(Our last two post placement visits,
The Hero and I were convinced The Dinosaur might sprout horns and
The Angel had a megaphone inserted into her lungs.)
Sure enough, the door bell rings on Wednesday and the kids fling the door open.
Completely forgetting "Stranger Danger."
But things started to go badly when The Dinosaur brought down his piggy bank.
Remember, it wasn't two months ago he swallowed copper?
He dumped his entire savings on the floor, and began swimming through them.
And immediately became bored.
As The Dinosaur did cartwheels off our furniture,
The Angel quietly sat on the floor between our social worker
and The Hero and I.
And only interrupted to ask me to take a picture of her new creation.
She's good.
Real good.
And she's ready for a sibling.
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