The Visitor Monica s Diary Thursday July 13
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The Visitor: Monica's Diary: Thursday July 6 free porn video
The Visitor Monica's Diary: Thursday, July 6
I must have given Timothy an exam over every subject for which I had a
standardized test. After church last night, I stayed up past midnight
scoring them all. According to everyone with whom I've spoken, he is
supposed to be going into the 10th grade this fall, but I don't know. He
scored worse than half of all homeschoolers tested in each of his core
subjects. In terms of actual grade level, his reading, writing, and
computational skills placed him no higher than Sarah or maybe Elizabeth.
His one bright spot seems to be creativity. He has a vivid imagination
but lacks the basic abilities to express it.
After seeing Nathan off this morning, I lay down on the sofa to try and
catch up on some of the sleep I had missed last night. When the kids
started getting up, I roused myself to get dressed and get breakfast
ready. We were behind schedule, so I simply got out cereal and milk and
set the table. The kids filed in, fully clothed and in their right minds,
and then Sarah went to get Timothy.
Just like yesterday morning, he came padding in, his floor-length yellow,
cotton night gown wrinkled up around him like he'd been wrestling with it
all night. His hair seemed to explode out of his head in as many
directions as there are degrees on a compass. He could not stop yawning
and scratching the side of his left leg. He slumped down on his chair at
the table and let his eyes fall shut.
"Skyla," I said. There was no response. "Awake thou that sleepest and
arise from the dead!" The children giggled, and Timothy opened his eyes.
"Look around you. Do you notice any incongruity at this table?" He gave
me that get-her-what-language-is-she-speaking expression on his face. He
looked to the other kids for help.
"She means you aren't ready to come to the table," Hannah said.
"You don't have your clothes on," said Elizabeth.
"Your hair isn't brushed," added Sarah.
"You gotta wash your face, Stinky," Josiah intoned.
"Yeah, get with the program, Stinks, we're hungry." That was Mark.
"Follow me," I commanded, rising from the table and walking to his room.
He did, and once we were both inside, I closed the door. "Since you never
got to live as you wish to live while at home with your parents or at the
boys' ranch, I am sure you were never instructed in the behavior suitable
to your age and the condition to which you aspire. From now on, you will
wash your face, brush your hair, and use mouthwash and deodorant first
thing in the morning. You will put on a clean change of clothes,
including underthings. You will do all this before coming to the
breakfast table. You will never come to any meal in a state of
dishabille. Do you understand me?"
"Mark and Josiah don't do that," Timothy instantly protested.
"Are you telling me now that you are a boy, indeed a little boy, lacking
the maturity to comprehend what it means to live in polite society?"
He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "Okay, alright, I'll do it; don't
get your..." He started and stopped.
"We shall await your convenience," I said, opening his bedroom door. "But
only today; should there be a repetition of this, you go without
breakfast."
"Fine!" He said and turned his back to me.
It didn't take Timothy long to rejoin us. When he took his seat, I opened
with a reading from Daily Light. I returned thanks for our meal, and we
began to dig in. None of us had taken more than a spoonful or two of our
cereal when we heard a horrible, guttural sound coming from Timothy. We
turned and saw his hands over his mouth and his eyes bulging. He scooted
his chair back sharply from the table and was in the midst of getting to
his feet when the sound repeated and a combination of solid and liquid
erupted from his mouth. He ran screaming to the sink where he spat and
heaved and spat again. Then he grabbed the nearest cup, filled it with
water, and took mouthful after mouthful, which he promptly spat, mouthful
after mouthful, into the sink.
This happened in less time than it takes to tell. Needless to say, we
were transfixed by the explosive suddenness of it all. None of us had yet
to move when he turned from the kitchen sink back to us.
"What was that crap!" He shouted, obviously angry. "It tasted like
sewage." He kept rubbing his mouth with his forearm.
"It was just milk and cereal," I answered. What could be wrong with that.
"It was rotten," he said and spat back into the sink.
I looked to Hannah.
"The milk is fresh, Mama, I milked the goats yesterday morning first
thing."
I looked at the other children, and none of them seemed the least bit
disdainful of what they had just swallowed. Mark and Josiah were eating
and watching the show at the same time. I tasted my cereal again. "Ours
is just fine," I said.
"Wait a minute," Timothy turned to Hannah. "Did you say 'goats'?"
"Yes. I milked them yesterday, and the milk has been in the refrigerator
ever since. It couldn't have gone bad yet."
"Goats milk!" Timothy shouted. He turned to the sink and began dry-
heaving.
"Apparently, he's never had it before," I said. Hannah nodded.
"Hey, everybody, listen" Sarah said. "Is that a car?"
Sure enough, it was.
"It's getting louder," Elizabeth said. As one, we rose to our feet and
headed for the porch. In no time at all, the same frumpy little State-of-
Texas vehicle we had seen once before appeared, trailing dust behind it.
"It must be Rachel!" Sarah said.
"Talk about perfect timing," Hannah smirked.
"Indeed," I answered. I turned to tell Timothy to go change into
something clean but discovered he wasn't with us. I looked back into the
house and saw him again bent over the kitchen sink. He straightened up,
wiped his mouth with his forearm, and then reached out for a dish towel.
Before I could do anything, Rachel's car had come to a stop and out she
had popped, dressed in much the same hiking outfit as we'd seen her last
time. Naturally I smiled and went forward to greet her.
"Just in time for breakfast," I said.
"Hope you like goat's milk," Josiah added with a grin.
"Thank you, no," Rachel answered with a big smile. "I had my morning
apple on the way. I thought I'd dash in and see how our newest girlfriend
is adjusting to her life of freedom and beauty."
"Oh she's in the kitchen adjusting right now," Hannah answered with a
smile every bit the equal to Rachel's.
"Wonderful!" Rachel sailed past us and into the house with the
anticipation of a child looking under the Christmas tree on December
25th.
What she found--what we all saw--was Timothy on his hands and knees trying
to wipe up the mess he'd made on the kitchen floor. His hair had lost
what little shape it had had. There was vomited cereal and goats' milk
stains down the front of his shirt and skirt.
"Skyla," I said. "This is Rachel Berry from Family and Protective
Services. She's your caseworker."
What happened next really wasn't Timothy's fault. I know he'd worn a
short skirt from time to time in his past, but what he was wearing today
was probably longer than anything with which he had had even a little
experience. Instead of simply standing up, as he could have done with the
little denim thing we'd found him in in the creek, he needed to have
rocked back on his heels a little and made sure he wasn't actually
standing on the skirt when he attempted to rise. But he didn't, and when
he did attempt to get up, he tripped himself into the table. He shot out
a hand to keep from falling. The hand hit his cereal bowl, flipping its
contents right back at him and the bowl onto the floor where it proceeded
to shatter. Josiah and Mark immediately exploded in laughter. Elizabeth
and Sarah's mouths fell open. They promptly covered them with both hands.
As you can well imagine by this time, after one horrified look at all
around him, Timothy began to cry.
"Come on, come on, let's go get you changed. It was an accident; it could
happen to anyone." Hannah said all this as she took Timothy in hand,
turned him away from us, and hustled him off to his room.
"Boys!" I said. "Out!" They raced out the front door, but we could all
still hear them laughing in the front yard. "Girls, let's pick up the
pieces and mop up the spill." They went off to fetch dustpan, broom, and
mop.
"What just happened?" Rachel asked.
"As it turns out," I said, gesturing to the sofa where we both went and
sat down. "Skyla has apparently never tasted goats milk before. She
vomited and made the original mess you saw her cleaning up. As for the
rest, I think she just tripped on her skirt."
"Does she always cry like that?" Rachel asked.
"Skyla has been crying like that since the day we found her in the
creek," I said.
"Poor thing must have suffered horribly," Rachel replied.
"Has and is, I think."
"Well, it's a good thing I came today. I was talking to Ms. Wortman about
Skyla's case and situation. She thinks it absolutely imperative that she
see Skyla as soon as possible. In fact, she has an opening tomorrow at 10
a.m. She thinks that if there is any way at all that you could make it,
you should have Skyla there and be prepared to stay at least until noon."
"Certainly," I replied.
"And I've arranged to have you and Skyla meet Ms. Macafee immediately
after that. Since it's summer vacation, she thinks she can have a few of
her Living It Out young people over to meet Skyla and introduce her to
the Wednesday night programs."
"Okay," I said. Timothy's door opened and out came Hannah with his nasty
clothes, which she took straight to the washing machine and got going
with whatever else was available.
The little girls had gotten Timothy's mess cleaned up, and Hannah had
started the washing machine. All three had gathered with us in the living
room, but Timothy had yet to make his appearance.
"What's keeping Skyla?" I asked.
"Probably still crying from embarrassment," Hannah answered.
I got up and went to his room. "Skyla," I said, tapping at the door.
"Yes."
"May I come in?"
"You will anyway."
I did and found him sitting on his bed staring out the window.
Apparently, Mark and Josiah had gone around to the backyard and were
absorbing Timothy's attention.
"Rachel, your caseworker, is here to see you."
"She already saw me. Does she want something else to laugh about?"
"Skyla, she's not here to laugh at you; she's here to help you reach the
goal you have set for yourself."
"Why is it that everyone you say is supposed to be helping me always
makes me look or feel like a fool?"
"What? Skyla, no. It's not deliberate. If you had never walked for the
first fifteen years of your life and then tried, it would seem impossible
just like it does for a toddler. A toddler doesn't look like a fool or
feel like one because it is too young and ingenuous to know any better.
You're embarrassed because you can't do something you've never practiced
and were not originally designed to do. I warned you that reality will
take quite a bit of patience on your part. You can't just break down and
cry over every little thing."
"But women cry all the time!"
"They do, and they don't. Your crying is not womanly; it is cowardly."
"What's the difference?"
"That's what you will have to learn. Now the person arranging the lessons
is sitting in the living room waiting to get you started. Do you have the
courage to face her?"
Timothy sighed his impatience and then stood up. "You know," he said,
walking around his bed and facing me, "you and Hannah aren't as smart as
you think you are, and you don't know everything."
"Of course you're right," I responded. "I'm sorry we have given you that
impression. By the same token, 'There are more things in heaven and
Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' We weren't the
ones who put you in that creek."
He rolled his eyes and scowled. "Always with the Bible," he said and went
into the living room.
"There's our pretty girl," Rachel gushed when Timothy appeared. She
jumped up, rushed over, and hugged him. She stepped back, took both of
his hands, and looked him up and down. "You are blooming already!" She
turned to my daughters. "Isn't she just radiant!"
The girls smiled reflexively but said nothing. They looked a bit
confused. Undeterred, Rachel took Timothy over to the sofa and sat him
down in front of her small stack of papers.
"Are you ready to start the thrill ride of your life?" She asked. He
nodded, looking more than a little overwhelmed with her enthusiasm.
"Great! You are a natural beauty, and when we're finished, you're going
to be absolutely gorgeous!" Rachel turned to us again. "She's going to
need a stick to keep all the boys away. Am I right or am I right?" The
girls didn't smile this time. They looked at each other and then at me.
Timothy, however, was turning red. His hands tightened into fists in his
lap, and ever so slightly he drew back. Rachel proceeded to tell him what
she had told me in our previous meeting and about the interviews she had
scheduled for him tomorrow. I noticed that the moment Rachel ended her
effusions of flattery and began outlining the steps on his road to what
she called 'transition', Timothy returned to his normal hue, relaxed, and
began to eagerly take in what she was saying. When she was done, he was
smiling.
"We have just one more thing," Rachel said, turning to me. "Whenever I
come for these little visits, I will need to spend some time alone with
our little girl."
"Certainly," I replied. "You can go into Skyla's room, or I can call the
boys in, and you two can walk around outside, perhaps down the driveway
toward Old Muddy."
"Perfect!" Rachel smiled. I went to get the boys but could not help
noticing that Rachel sent Timothy into his room. When I got back with
them, I saw Timothy showing the little diary Dr. van Norfleet had given
him to Rachel, who was taking pictures of each page with her smart phone.
They quickly left and were soon out of sight.
They were gone much longer than I had anticipated, a good half hour at
least. When they returned, they were both smiling. Timothy looked happy.
Rachel left shortly after that, and we turned to our work for the day.
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