Raw Emotions

I dunno, call me cynical, but when the orthodontist quotes a price, then has a summer special of $1000 off, if you sign the contract before August 31st, I simply wonder if the first price was jacked up to reflect the discount? Oh well, zero interest, I can pay by the month and get the $4480, after discount, knocked out within two years time, and CW will be even more handsome than he is now. Another line item on my nerdy budget Excel spreadsheet, right after the excess-over-contract I'm still paying to make Martin's teeth beautiful.

We had a pretty quiet, decent day yesterday. Sarah's healing rapidly, Yolie brought the kids to swim, my kids were no more boisterous than usual, and I spent the evening on the road toting Chuy and Dubs to football practice, and kids and grandkids to VBS, spending the few idle moments in between, working out front in my hideously tangled front gardens that look like unmitigated crap.

One of my sons got dumped by a go-steady girlfriend over the phone around nine last night, prompting me to lauch into my usual insensitive spiel about 'y'all are too young anyway, move on now' while he surprisingly burst into real tears of pain in response, I thought, to my blustering psycho-babble.

And I was wrong.

He was absolutely broken-hearted, not necessarily over this girl, but, as he talked, it was representative of his entire life. It was the whole birth-mom-rejection/abandonment scabbed over, primal wound that'll always be there, over-shadowing everything.

Several other sons joined us in his bedroom, curious as to why he was crying, and to my astonishment, another son, known for his massive insensitivity and raucous behavior, began crying as well.

This floored me, there's nothing quite as heart-wrenching maybe as the sound of manly crying, deep sobs from deep voices, the other boys sat quietly, heads hung down, not about to speak up, only there to offer emotional support by their silence and their presence. One of them trying to break the heavy moment, piped up, "Oh honey, I'll cuddle with you," thereby allowing laughter and guffaws to seep into the heavy moment, hairy leg comparisons followed.

We all talked later into the night, the fact that there was tears instead of punched in walls was reassuring, evident signs of emotional progress here, after too many years of physical altercations and inappropriate responses to frustration.

Again, I get it, I really do, and I get equally as frustrated as my children when I see their self-sabotaging behaviors and white-hot anger.

Last night though I was briefly allowed to just see the unguarded pain that remains forever within their hearts from their perceived abandonment, and the lack of self-worth, that results from such a painful primal wound. A strong healthy beating heart with a major unseen crack slap down the middle.

I can identify the situation, but I'm still learning that it is a lifelong healing process. My kids had sort of seen an older kid lose it last week, still crying after all these years, a kid they all love and respect, and the fact that this particular child lost it in front of mama kind of silently gave them all permission to do so as well.

The one who'd cried the hardest last night had recently been chatting on the computer with Edgar who'd told them essentially, "well just mind mama, she's right. Everything she told me and taught me was right on target," which is, on the surface, so seemingly self-defeating, as they just wanna buck me on everything, hurting themselves in the process, making me feel it might've been easier if I'd been a turdy mom that they'd rebel against oppositionally - and then turn out right -which doesn't make any sense, I know, but just illustrates my ongoing frustration.

"Well then, LISTEN to me," I'd squawked last night, "Quit fighting against me."

He'd sobbed, "Just keep reminding me, mom," as if I hadn't been doing so all these years?

By then, the other one had cried himself to sleep on the other bed across from us, the rest of the boys had drifted away, bored with my words, in the living room watching an old movie on TV before bedtime, while I went upstairs, another crisis averted, but so pissed off at the damage inflicted upon my children by uncaring adults in their early years of life.

Who IS This Girl?

Paloma is as changed as a person as anyone I've ever seen in my life. Is it the Abilfy and Lithium combo? Time? Therapy? All of the above? Whatever. I'm just grateful, but, of course, wary, knowing it is cyclical.

It's our week of Vacation Bible School each evening.

Last night my Bubbas voluntarily chose to haul wood chips for me, as I ruthlessly ripped out four o'clocks and Rudbeckia that's reseeding everywhere, encroaching where I grow food. A storm blew up, dousing us with precious, needed water that was instantly sucked into dry soil, not evaporating due to a heavy wood chip mulch.

If this post seems stilted, it's because I'd lost what I'd written earlier. Once I write it and figuratively flush it, I'm over it, ready to move on, and trying to repeat it now, to dredge it back up seems cumbersome and awkward. I usually vomit out my words, feel better, and get busy with my day. Now what am I doing but regurgitating already spewed out feelings?

The thing is, I was absolutely overcome with simplicity and happiness last night. Turning 55 this month, emotionally secure, strong and healthy, and glad about life, even though it's precarious at times, what with the detonations that occur instantaneously and without warning, overall I'm simply simple and even blissful. Listening quietly to raucous bullfrogs, inhaling heady blossoming scents and eating blackberries while I stand in my gardens simply thrills my worn out heart and over-burdened soul.

Owing no one except the orthodontist and the mortgage company, owning little materially that matters, not worrying about protecting and maintain dumb possessions, when I could better spend my time gardening, makes for a much easier, less stressful life.

Paloma had thin-sliced the freshly dug potatoes last night, brushed them with olive oil and added seasoning, baking to a slight crisp in the oven...these safely unpeeled potatoes were a treat from Heaven, washed down with sparkling well water and blackberries...this is living.

For lunch I'd had a huge bowl of chopped tomatoes and various colored bell peppers with a fresh onion all from the garden. Does it get any better than this?

Like a secondarily traumatized human, can I trust my sense of well-being? Will it be gone in a flash? Is it real? Am I paranoid? Damaged? Weird? Why is happiness suspect?

Long ago my caseworker had literally given me permission to be free with my mistakes, of which I've made plenty. Allowing me to demonstrate this ability to my children, to not expect anything close to perfection, to that which we can't even strive for, is so totally freeing, in and of itself. This doesn't, or didn't, work? I can change it. Learn from what failed and continue forward, not dogging myself about it all.

John Maxwell wrote some wonderful books on this subject that I'd absorbed, even though I'm hard on myself, expecting a great deal of self-discipline, it has served me well, making me tend to stuff around here even when I sure didn't feel like it. A man must be big enough to admit his mistakes, smart enough to profit from them, and strong enough to correct them.

Loving kids who don't return the love, fixing what they break, cooking that which they complain about, and washing the clothes that are slung every whichaway. It isn't about expectations, but rather just about getting it done at times, reminding myself constantly that I'm working for God, not for man.

The greatest day in your life and mine is when we take total responsibility for our attitudes. That's the day we truly grow up.

If one looks hard, one can see a perfectly round watermelon peeking out from below the flowers.

Thinking About Kari's Pain Sponges

The first time my niece, Lauren, came to visit after Tabby moved in, she found herself with a wild-eyed toddler glued to her hip who was somewhat surprisingly distant on the second trip. In our world, that emotional distance was sparked by Tabby's inner perception that she'd been abandoned by Lauren.

In the mind of a severely traumatized child, goodbyes are painful and final, people come and go, there are no attachments, no trust, no stability, and no security. Now in her fifth year here within our family, Tabby is beginning to comprehend that she will see Lauren again at some point. This past visit, Tabby was appropriately affectionate and attached. Heck, if I hate to see Lauren leave, how much more difficult must it be for a child like Tabby?

Kari wrote about pain sponges...that's what we are, we who are parenting troubled children, and even me using the word troubled seems insensitive. The children were not born with this label, they were labeled after a series of adults let them down hard, via abuse and neglect, failure to parent, and then the further damage inflicted by foster care.

Although I am able to usually pull back and observe, to understand what's going on, I must preface it with usually, as there've been many times in which I didn't think I could endure another minute of it.

Yesterday we'd had yet another sit down meeting, the 16 kids still at home and myself, in which I again reminded them of my minimal expectations for decency. It took about an hour to get my point across and I knew there'd later be fallout, but it too was less than usual. As each day ticks by, as each layer of experience within our family is solidified, as each mile marker is passed, it becomes easier.

I was annoyingly insistent about one particular aspect of our difficulties, Javy and Chuy wanted to emotionally control their response to that which I would not back down from no matter what. I am the authority figure here, no matter if I am outgunned nor out-weighed. I am the parent, not the cool friend, and finally they comprehended my point, agreeing that it was a necessary principle in family dynamics.

Dr. Mandy helped me understand recently that no child can endure the repeated trauma and come out unscathed. Resiliency, such as Sabrina's seemingly always smiling persona embodies, eventually cracks, and slips away into destructive behavior or bad choices, while others might make zero progress, or stuff it down until another time. Some kids can and do use sports as an outlet for their fury and aggression, others might not trust anyone for years, might hold back their affection for decades. Maybe it took me parenting 39 children to fully begin to understand the various manners of acting out? Maybe I'm just a slow learner.

Sometimes I do think I've lost my mind as I keep on expecting school performance, chore-helping, church attendance, and the many other activities that a normal family might be expected to participate in reasonably. Maybe I should lower my standards, but no part of me feels like any child should eventually venture forth in the world unprepared. It intimidates me to think about how much learning I need to instill in children, particularly those who don't come here until they're 12 or 13 years old, parentified and nearly destroyed.

Some children have self-immolated, unable to continue within what they perceive is as the stifling confines of a family, unable to function later in society, one had called me in the middle of the night, addled by drugs, incoherent yet sub-consciously reaching out for the mama they'd spent years rejecting. Go figure.

I don't have the answers, just the descriptions. I'm holding a flashlight, it feels as if, and peering into a very dark unknown, treading my way lightly, my hands on the walls to maintain my equilibrium, often shocked by the monsters that attack from behind, sometimes fearful of putting one foot in front of another, but forced by life to continue doing so every day.

It ain't easy.

And worse yet, I need to face Wal-Mart today after church, as I'll still be clean and spiffy enough to go to town. We don't even have a downstairs phone anymore as it was busted on the floor, an eight dollar piece of poo, but why spend the big bucks on it, knowing it's likely predestined fate?

The kids ate 12 loaves of bread in a 30 hour time period, asleep for nine of those hours, is this ridiculous or what? My sweet and charming brother, Jimbo, brought sacks and sacks of oranges from Florida, chowed down and demolished by the kids within minutes.

And all y'all emailing and asking how you can help? Me, having no suggestions because none of us, including me, are magicians. Sarah re-installed my site meter that I'd lost in changing over my blog layout. I need the meter, I need to be reassured that folks are reading what I write, since I interpret that to show to me that folks understand. I only have a few followers, compared to the numbers the meter reflects, even though I'd forever lost the stats of the past week.

On a Diet and On a Mission

Maybe in my 60s, my monster appetite will catch up with me, but if I keep on eating like this, I'll likely remain the same weight I've been my entire adult life.

I finally got outside to my dried up gardens, I told everyone we weren't out of the drought, and sadly, I'm right. My blackberries are finished, but I ate a ton of them, my blueberries are pathetic this year, I have too many tomato plants with blossom end rot for some reason I can't figure out, but since I planted a couple of hundred tomato plants, there's still plenty, I even froze some tonight to enjoy this winter. The peppers are glorious, the cucumbers are productive, and my onions have been delightful.

I grow the heirloom tomatoes so they're smaller than the artificial looking ones at the supermarket, but way tastier. I keep replanting, dropping more seeds in everywhere I can spare the planting space in order to continue eating and harvesting. The weeds are creeping explosively every whichaway, and even though it's hotter than a blast furnace out there, it's so peaceful to me, and extremely rewarding.

CW picked and ate a Czech Hot Black Pepper that had turned red, I warned him, he wanted to be macho and quickly burst into flames, jumping into the sprinkler, trying to suck water in that was waving back and forth this evening, while I giggled smugly...like I could've handled it? Nah. Not raw.

I never officially planted my beloved Moon & Stars watermelons, but volunteers sprang up where I'd spit seeds out last year, and healthy vines are crawling over antique roses and snaking through the four o'clocks that reseed themselves each year. The old compost pile that I'd not finished moving has produced heavily from scattered seeds...a bonus.

But as I pored over the above mentioned article, it so sang my song, and my mission is to continue growing and preserving as much of it as is possible for an over-worked mama with 39 children and 19 grandbabies.

Trust and Obey

The first thing I did this morning was to read Cindy Adams' update and then I just sat here in stunned silence. I tried to comment, second time I've tried, and maybe it's my coordination, or the lack thereof, but it didn't go through. So I continued to just sit here shocked and upset, drinking coffee, and thinking.

Her inner strength floors me, I'm blessed by her friendship, I'm awed at her wisdom, maybe even internally I was comparing how I'd act at a time like this, if I were in her shoes, and I know my blatant immaturity would shine through like a warped spotlight. Her grace eludes me.

Sharon reminded us all that Melanie Billings used to be in the FFLF group, her email address rang a bell in my very stunned, shut-down mind.

To think that she and her husband had been murdered...I again have no words. You can imagine my thoughts upon initially learning of this literally unspeakable tragedy.

Overall, life is very, very hard.

Everytime I say good-bye to my niece, Lauren, it reminds me of losing my sister Ellen, when Lauren was only seven years old. I cannot imagine the emotional pain and the loss that Lauren feels every single day.

I can't even think of any words of comfort, yet I use millions of words here constantly in my struggle to understand everything that doesn't make sense.

In the end, it's our faith that sustains us. It is for me. Cindy said it all, she explained it better than I can begin to comprehend. I cannot imagine how folks with no faith can face any single moment in their lives.

The Billings are gone, they left all of their wealth behind, as we will all do, but their legacy remains within their children. Their children need them...how can this happen? Cindy's children need her, she needs her strength, yet she's having to use most of it to fight this war that cancer is raging within her. HOW IS THIS FAIR?

I think about folks within my own community, or the many moms I've met who are very similar in lifestyle to me within The Foundation for Large Families, or friends at church, and I know that everyone is, or has been, or will soon face devastating trials and circumstances. I know that. I know that we're all going to be battered and eventually omitted from life.

I get it.

I struggle with the unfairness of everything, but even then, or later, I ponder what's even fair?

My children began life unfairly...in monumentally difficult circumstances that effect every subsequent step they'll ever take. Without maturity, or basic coping skills, even with therapeutic intervention, it's a very mean world out there. I want to protect them all, while not enabling anyone, but I also stumble, struggle and falter at times.

Theresa's children have also had a terribly difficult time this week.

I feel so helpless and so inadequate, so useless and so insensitive at times.

Life blows me away.

I've used all these words now, and truly, I sit here this morning understanding even less than I did when I woke up.

But all I really have to do it to trust and obey God. And obviously, I struggle with that as well.

Yes, I'm strong emotionally and spiritually, and I'd sure be nothing without my faith, and the grace, the unmerited favor, that God gives us, but my human nature trips me up so much.

The beach picture is from my friend, Pat, who I'd met years ago within FFLF. This picture was taken this week, not far from where Melanie and her husband were murdered outside Pensacola. Pat lives a similarly difficult and parallel life to mine...as do all the mamas on FFLF and all the mamas in the world, and the daddies too.

We just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, holding God's hand in prayer.

I cope by engaging in physically strenuous activity, and fortunately, there's enough to do around here to keep my mind occupied.

Your tooth?

Fabian's been clingy lately, still wanting to argue about EVERYTHING, just trash talking that gets on my last nerve when I'd rather discuss something halfway important.

Daniel captivated Chuy and Dubs, drawing out football plays, explaining wing T stuff and other things I know less than nothing about. They both hung on his every word in contrast to JoJo and Allen nutting up with Fabian. But that's the nature of the different symbiotic or antagonistic relationships within our home.

Having company, Kevin, Lauren and Patrick here, was delightful as 13 grandkids also showed up yesterday. What I wouldn't do to have Jesse and Lena drop by with Isaiah...

Fabian's not showing his toothy smile because half of his front tooth was in Mayra's pocket. Long story...

I'm retiring Marcela's longtime nickname, Moonpie, and bestowing it upon her daughter, Marissa, pictured here with my favorite brother-in-law on earth.

18 Years...And It's Still There

I've lived with Yolie, and I've easily spent nearly every single day with her over the last 18 years, especially when one averages two or three trips a day between our homes, the hours alone would mount up stupendously. Yet for her to bare her soul, share her pain, and explain to folks like me, middle class over-protected kids of the Baby Boomer Era, the clueless ones who grew up in two-parent, uber-stable homes that they eventually rebelled against - for Yolie to put it all out there and risk it all emotionally still staggers me. She wants for us to simply understand.

Us parents...we'll never know, never, ever comprehend the depth of their pain. We just can't.

It's still painful for me to know the unfathomable depths, because these were my children that others mistreated, hurt, neglected and abused and as irrational as it may appear, I feel the middle class guilt of what others did to my children.

I get exasperated at Big Joe, plumb worn out from Edgar's emotional demands, irked at Vanessa's poor choices, I could go on and on, but some part of me usually comprehends that it isn't really about me, even though I'm the target...and I'm the target because I'm safe. It's not even about them...it's about the anger at what was done to them.

Somehow I listened, I trusted my caseworker not to steer me wrong as she explained the many nuances I'd face someday, as well as the blatant destruction and damage that'd be done.

Yolie's post is terribly painful, so emotionally painful I nearly asked her take it down, but fortunately she clearly tells us what we need to know. She's brilliant and can verbalize, in sharp contrast to those who simply self-destruct or punch in the walls.

Children who are not nurtured, children who've been abused and neglected, can and do survive successfully eventually, but I'm so slowly comprehending that the pain will always be there in some capacity, and there's so little I can do other than continue to be there and to love them through. Through everything.

As painful as it all is, at least Yolie feels emotionally safe enough with me to be brutally honest, and to know I'm still standing, still there for her, and continuing forward steadily as a family unit.

Laser Show Evening

Eighteen years ago this sibling group of three children came to live with me, blessing me immensely but I gotta say, one of them was quite a challenge.

Still as hard-headed and as ornery as ever, Big Joe continues to be stressful at times, although now with an almost five year old daughter, Alyssa, it seems way more tolerable as she's given him purpose and more meaning to life.

My niece, Lauren, has been trying to pack in visits with as many of my children as is possible, not an easy feat with the majority now grown and busy, but she's seen an impressive amount this trip, leaving today to return to her other grandparents for another day or so.

It's been wonderful being with her and I'm always sad on the last day, knowing it'll be too long before she gets time enough to return, looking so much like my sister, obviously making me miss Ellen as well. Post Party Syndrome setting in.

We'd taken 18 kids to the Laser Show at Stone Mountain, getting back home right before midnight, then every single child of mine needed to eat once again, re-trashing the kitchen.

Not Tempting Myself Just Yet

A reader here, Tanya, has 28 children, with 18 still at home, which reminds me of another friend of mine who has 18 children. I've known her for decades and one of her birth sons is fixing to become a grandfather at age 29. Technically a step-grandpa, but in the adoption world, with blurred family lines and looser connections, this man will step up to the plate and be an awesome pappy. I've known him since he was a toddler, he's been my son-in-law, Chuck's, best friend since kindergarten, and he was here visiting this past weekend before heading out to a dangerous Army situation overseas.

He's been on my mind ever since, I know that's God's way of reminding me to pray for his safety, while I'm also reminded of Daniel's college graduation in a few months and this his unavoidable Army National Guard duty. I keep shoving that thought right out of my head.

It's been a truly delightful week so far. My niece, Lauren is here from DC with her boyfriend, Patrick who is also such a nice guy. A handsome Mexican man with seven sisters, he also has family near Atlanta and is not intimidated at all by our crowd.

Kevin, my favorite brother-in-law, and I slipped out for a movie yesterday, usually we go to Atlanta for a Braves game, but they're not in town, having acted right in Chicago this week. Up in DC, Kevin works 12 hour days, leaving little free time, and I obviously don't have a great deal of disposable hours to myself, but with Yolie's help yesterday, we got away for several hours where I totally forgot about any problems or challenges I might be facing here. I kinda needed that.

I, of course, had my Blackberry with me knowing Yolie could, and would, text me about anything I needed to handle, but I had to snicker at coincidentally receiving a forwarded email from Kevin's sister, Adele in Florida, that had come from their other sister Elaine in Texas, knowing their parents also read my blog over in SC. But odder still is the fact that my grandfather and Dee's relatives come from a small SC county where it's nearly guaranteed we're related, either through a marriage or the complicated cousin system that easily rivals the connections in large Mexican families, of which I'm a part of both, likely extending my family connections through the stratosphere.

My children seem to have called a truce this week on emotional difficulties, Kevin provided the fireworks last night, rather than the explosions and detonations we're usually known for, a welcome relief, as were the much cooler temperatures that've blown through. Sitting in the driveway late last night, I reminded Kevin, "Feels like Nags Head doesn't it?" I'd remarked, enjoying the cool air, as we used to spend hours on the wraparound porch at the beach house where the Outer Banks breezes could knock you down.

Grandma offered me her fixing-to-expre frequent flyer miles to go to New York with Kevin for the Yankees/Red Sox match-up, as I'd love to see either team lose, but my gut warns me it's not yet time to jet around, even for a quick break, as I am truly still bound too tightly at home. Jack, a totally attached kid, had tears in his eyes at the thought I'd leave for just one day and one night. Truthfully, I'd be afraid I'd keep extending it, feeling New York City is more peaceful than our raging house, so I best not tempt myself just yet.

Sarah's Improving

Dealing with such constant deceitfulness has left me counting the days, literally, until some of these deceitful children grow up. I've shut off cell phone service on the extra phones, password protected EVERYTHING, carry no cash, and act totally paranoid at all times.

I know that adolescence is a time of inner turmoil, when up-til-now fairly normal kids, who've been traumatized, absolutely lose it, and become temporary monsters. Sabrina's behavior has been hugely disappointing all summer, the loss of her as a sweet child has been the most annoying, now she's hard-hearted, irritable, sneaky and unlikable. Thank God for therapy and Dr. Mandy to help me to cope and to try and see Sabrina through to the other side while Mayra is making a huge effort to be better behaved.

I'm babysitting Sarah until she feels better, after this difficult emergency appendectomy, she's doing very well though, and my brother, brother-in-law and niece are here for a few days so I'm not gonna blog long today.

Or maybe I'll get a chance later.