My Stars

I'm feeling as if I'm standing in two rooms now on the Internet. I'm quite comfortable here sharing our laundry, and I'm feeling my way there knowing that in real life, and in Big Mama's pages, I sound like I talk. Several people have told me that I write just like I talk, kinda country and wound-up.

But on the other blog I am trying to rein myself in, less colloquialisms, less double negatives and bad grammar which is part and parcel for folks like me around here.

I don't want to be someone that I'm not, I'm just trying to clean it up a little, dress myself up somewhat although I'm usually in jogging pants, pjs, shorts or something comfortable while I type.

I told my kids that I'd be more careful there, guard their privacy more, use less of their stuff and I was met with protestations, both Edgar and Vanessa checking to see if they had starring roles this morning on the other blog.

Fortunately for me they are more than willing to be used as examples, their way of contributing their experiences in the hopes that someone else will be encouraged or helped.

I admire them for that.

Goodbye '06

I'm not making any New Year's Resolutions, only will I keep trying to attain the many goals I've personally set for myself, if for no other reason than my daily attempt to guide, inspire and motivate the 39 children who emotionally depend on me. I do like sites like this though.

I raise my own bar right high, a great deal of written, personal goals and plans, but listing them is boring, rather I'd like to simply watch them unfold here as I go about my business of being the Mama, the cheerleader, the snot wiper, the hugger, the heavy, and the loud, goofy action hero to my young'uns.

I had tried to watch a video rental with Kevin last night, the World Trade Center, when the phone rang. Saray, deeply grieved, had received a phone call from Honduras telling her that their grandmother had passed away. We'd maintained contact with their birth family for nearly twenty years and this was the fourth distressing phone call with sad news as they'd lost their birth mom, a sister and a brother over the years.

I'd immediately called Marcela who was not in very good shape over this, and I ran to Deysi...how helpless I felt in the face of their grief. We're thousands of miles away from Honduras.

Sonny soon had his own emotional collapse, necessitating a trip for me out in the rain to calm him down, Edgar helping. Sometimes I don't blog the details, the kids don't want me to do so and I agree. It wasn't anything bad at all, just him needing me to talk him through it, reminding me that becoming a man, being in one's 20s, doesn't negate one's need for Mama time. Fortunately Sonny also has Erica, a very level headed, talk-him-down friendgirl/girlfriend.

I went back through my blog archives, November of last year when Mama Daisy died in Honduras. It seemed to all go downhill after that, precipitating a very stressful year and I suppose, now re-reading it and looking back, I can see where our family seemingly was jerked apart, around and upside down, yet welded back in places, heart-broken many times, and we'd faced such unknown turmoil...but survived it all, most of us coming out on the other side all the stronger for it.

Maybe this year, 2007, will the year that Joey and Fabian learn to hold themselves together, I already know that I'll have at least three more grandbabies, optimistic as ever, I'm looking forward to the future.

The New Blog Site

I started today at the new blogging site about older child adoptions.

Estrangements

Hard for me to get away last night, extra grown kids for supper, Monica, Dewayne, Sonny, Joe, Tameshia, Alyssa, my parents and Kevin and Lauren, but I really needed to go to the wedding reception over at the church.

Miriam and Vanessa were already there helping out when Edgar decided to go with me. So glad we went as I saw people from my old church and I truly had a blast. Vanessa, Lauren and I went back late last night as the couple wanted us to take all the leftovers. The Bubbas are gonna be some kind of thrilled this morning when they wake up to these delicacies.

I was talking with a couple I know, parents of three adopted children, now 18, 20 and 21, but they'd been adopted as a sib group at 3,6 and 8. The 18 year old daughter, now a high school senior is rebellious, has run away, been hateful and then clingy. The parents, both professors at UGA wore the bewildered look I've seen so often in the eyes of many of us. Their oldest son, nearly estranged, hardly speaking to the parents now after being given such a life of privilege.

I reassured the hurting, disappointed couple that this was "normal." They didn't realize how many times my own children also had acted this way. When one sees my kids in public, they usually seem to be smiling and happy, to know that these same bright faced children have been cold to me seemed to surprise others.

It's not like I'm out in public venting our issues, I grieve over it when it happens, but I do have the internal reassurance that these estrangements too will pass. Right now all is well, but that could change in the blink of an eye.

A lady emailed me telling me she's found my blog and had gone back to read all the archives, several others have told me the same thing and I'm impressed as that means our life spilled out backwards. These kind of comments spur me on to continue verbally sharing our story.

Yesterday I signed a four page contract to write 43 blog posts a month for an adoption.com page, I'll post the address soon, and I'll continue this blog as well. I surely have the material here at home and blogging helps me to cope and to comprehend our own events. I can type out a post faster than some can scramble an egg, this is easy and cathartic for me.

This blog will continue to be gritty, painful, real and open while I'll attempt to be more topical in the other...not certain I can emotionally detach so much, but we'll see how it goes.

Hopefully the bottom line will be me encouraging others to adopt children, to hang in there when their lives are rough, and/or to open people's eyes to the needs of children out there in the world.

Discerning Our Calling

In about an hour, if everything goes as planned, my friend James is going to orchestrate a repair visit this morning involving a carpenter and a plumber where we will take out my old leaking sink and replace it with the free, used and funky commercial one.

Lily's winter Art Camp starts this afternoon, I have a wedding reception to attend at the church tonight, and my brother-in-law Kevin is here with my niece, Lauren. Last night Kevin and I saw the new James Bond movie Casino Royale and I was totally enthralled. Rarely leaving my dirt road, except to buy groceries it would seem, this was an exciting diversion for me.

One of the comments I received yesterday mentioned that a reader could not get 'the need is the calling' phrase out of her mind. That thought originated from Bill Wilson of Metro Ministries who I'd heard speak about five years ago. It reverberated with me as well, I know I've blogged about it somewhere in my archives.

Many of us struggle to discern God's calling on our lives, often never really finding it, not realizing it is not an audible voice but rather it is the need that we see before us that is calling us to action.

At least, for me, I've found this to be true. There are needs everywhere, but this here is the need I felt called to attend to, the need to keep sibling groups together in adoption.

For just awhile here, my long hallway is freshly painted, Lily's new room is a pale pink, another room is lavender, a bathroom has been redone, and while my son-in-law Jose painted yesterday, I finished refurbishing a front garden in the doublewide's yard, removing bermuda grass rizomes and adding wood chips, my kind of day. It was warm, windows open and I was in a shirtsleeves, kid's riding new bikes and getting along with each other.

No one raged, melted down, smeared feces, stole anything nor got into a fight with anyone...is this how the rest of the world lives? Black bean tortillas then I changed clothes and went to the movies after reassuring Jonathan, Scotty and Nando that I promised to only be gone for two and a half hours, Vanessa calling my cell phone, checking on me as well, my short leash.

Painting Day

My son-in-law, Jose, was saying goodbye to me on the phone the other day and finally after after 12 years, told me he loved me. He initiated it, usually he replies, "I love you too," when I say it. Guess I grew on him. His own mom is in El Salvador, he's called me Mom for years but he's a fairly reserved man, he's only recently begun to speak any English to me. Now that his kids are all in school, he's hearing a ton of the English language at home.

He offered this morning to come around 8, drink coffee with me, patch some more sheetrock holes, and then he, Cristy, Vanessa and I are going to paint as many rooms as we can get done this morning. What a sweetheart he is, a slow week for work, yet he's a go-getter, doesn't like to be idle. I can relate, restless as a spider monkey, I seem to always be in motion.

Carolina had made me a pot of ceviche, I ate four bowls last night without ever coming up for air.

Gina, pictured with her birth nephews here, Jack and CW, grandchildren I'm raising, had stayed with me Christmas, after the others had gone, to catch me up on the events in her life. She's a health inspector for the county, her UGA degree is in public health, and I am, of course, encouraging her to think about working on her Master's Degree, she'll be 29 this spring.

Without Joey and Fabian here starting fist fights and breaking walls and windows, our tension has dissipated. No drama other than Vanessa's rather severe case of PMS, glad she's here instead of school, so we seem to be making a good many inroads into positive mental health for all the children.

Sonny's managed to keep a job for quite a few weeks now, Edgar's working overtime, Miriam's still at McDonalds and Gito has wrestling practice this week as well.

By default that makes Javy the Man of the House, and as such, he helped me haul trash to the dump. Gito, returning home, asked me like any good ole redneck, "cool, whadya get there?"

Proudly I announced, "two coolers and a laundry basket." I can score anywhere.

We'd actually found a gun there, CW spotted it and told me. It was all broke down and I had a cow about it. "Don't touch it," I'd screeched, and we dumped all our trash on top of it before some other kid discovered it and would be unable to resist touching.

It's The Little Stuff

Going through my pile of seed catalogs, finding heirloom varieties for what we plan to grow, I thought Nando was gonna pee on himself with excitement and anticipation of next year's garden. Only five, this'll be his third season here. He's bright-eyed and curious, before being adopted he put his little head down on hundreds of strange pillows, not really belonging anywhere, dropped off everywhere.

He's responded to structure and stability perfectly. I'd noticed him, that first year, checking out every detail in our house, on our acreage, and in the garden, often lifting leaves to check underneath the plants, running outside on an hourly basis to check the garden's progress. He's tiny, like a miniature gardener, observant and concerned. He drives the hens nuts, picking up eggs before they've emerged completely from the hen's bottoms. He knows the sound they make as they lay eggs. He doesn't miss a thing around here.

He'd snuggled up against me last night, pointing out flowers he remembered us growing, choosing the peppers and cucumbers for next year. I was impressed with his memory and his deep interest in the garden, his hyper-vigilance being used in a positive, productive manner.

He has a temper, we call it a baby rage when he loses it, but usually he spends hours and days digging in the sandbox, riding his bike, playing hard with the other kids.

It just galls me to think of how he was initially treated, neglected and ignored, it scares me to think about what a loss it must have been to him to not be encouraged to be curious and endlessly fascinated with life.

Cari's Story

"A recent article in The New York Times reported that child psychologists have found that by age 3, the average child of a middle-class professional has heard 500,000 words of encouragement and 80,000 words of discouragement. Among children in welfare families, the numbers were turned on their heads with 75,000 words of encouragement and 200,000 words of discouragement. Middle-class parents, the researchers found, also spoke to their children about the value of education. They regularly discuss with children family rules, current events and how to negotiate difficult situations and people."

I'm hearing from a young lady, Cari, now 23 from Wyoming, and she told me "how much different her life would have been if only someone like me had cared about her."

She's graciously allowing me to share her painful story.

"I entered into foster care when I was 12... By the time I was 15, I had been bounced over 50+ foster homes (Yes... I kept count) and 12 public schools (I was enrolled/taken out of one school over 13 different times) in 5 different counties... No one wanted teenagers. My caseworkers wouldn't listen to me or the foster parents... One home they put me in was... relatively odd. I was the ONLY female in that home. It was a foster father with six foster sons. I was 13 at the time. All of his boys were 17+. He said he couldn't do it... didn't have the room or ability. Caseworker put me there anyway... Ended up living with my high school principal for almost 3mths while my caseworkers ignored both myself and the foster dad... Lovely eh?

I'm lucky (like many) to have received a high school diploma. I ended up doing a charter/home school based program and graduated 5th in a class of 30 at 16. Less than two weeks later, I was emancipated by the courts.

I know how hard the holidays can be... Yesterday I opened Christmas presents for the first time in almost five years. It was a very hard and emotional thing to do. I have roommates who are like family, but I still "struggle" to find a niche in which I truly belong... It's hard sometimes.

It warms my heart though to see foster parents who REALLY do care about their kids, take on so many kids, and have love for them all... Even more so to see foster parents who don't give up over the simple things, and fight to the end for the kids in their care. Even though I don't know you... I really do appreciate what you have done and are doing for those kids.

While I don't know you... I wish there would have been someone around in my life like you..."

Let me interject a point here. She's talking to y'all. If someone is feeling a tug in their heart, then that's the calling. That's how God calls people to do this. The need is the calling.

"I'm 23 years old... In trying to find a place to belong, desperate for love... I ended up giving birth to four children. My oldest, Olivia turns 6 in Feb... I was raped at 16, and had her at 17... I did an open adoption, and I get to see her whenever I like...

Then, in 2003, I started dating a guy who I got along great with at first... I fell in love with both him and his two boys... After six-seven months of dating, I ended up pregnant... Fifteen weeks into the pregnancy I ended up in the hospital with broken ribs and a concusion from his "love". Luckily the baby survived. To protect Daniel (the baby) I did another adoption. Come to find out, the abuse from Michael (the boyfriend) was his EIGTH documented domestic violence offense... After giving birth in 2004 with a court in NC terminating his rights with documents proving the abuse, I moved on with my life. I get pictures, letters, updates, and phone calls... I saw Daniel's mom in Sept of this year.

The end of 2004 saw me pregnant again... Christophe was born in 2005. Not ready to parent, I once again chose the adoption route... It's a closed adoption. I get pictures once a year...

I started talking to doctors about getting my tubes tied. Birth control obviously wasn't working... Doctors refused stating I was too young (under 25)... I got involved in a relationship with a much older man. He said he was "fixed"... We got engaged... I found out into the engagegment that he was an egotistical controlling jerk... One night as he was leaving for work, he threatened to kill me... I left... And found out two weeks later that I was pregnant... Regardless to say... Not stable yet... another adoption.

I've had four children. They live in four seperate homes because each of the parents didn't want another child or wasn't ready for another child. I became involved with men who were significantly older than me (15+ years)... I don't know how, but I ended up with controlling, abusive men... And because I wasn't able to get my tubes tied and birth control failed (along with them lying to me)... I placed four children for adoption because I KNEW that I couldn't take care of their needs if they arose.

Placing my children hasn't been easy. Two of the four allow visits. One does pictures and letters and phone calls quite regularly... The other... is closed and I get pictures one time per year til he's 18)

I've been out of relationships now for over a year. I'm not anxious to enter back into them yet... I have found out there are things that I need on my own level, and I've taken to discovering what I NEED first in my life, and figuring out why I was turning to other people for love... I wanted to be wanted, I wanted to be needed... But in reality, what I needed was to be able to love myself first of all... and it's taken me almost a year to do that... but I'm finally starting to love and appreciate myself.

I didn't come out of this all unharmed. I have nightmares of the abuse, rapes, and everything else that I went through both in and out of foster care as a child. Though I want to one day be a mother... I'm scared... Scared of loving and loosing... Scared of becoming attached.... and it's something that eats me alive almost daily..."

I'm honored and humbled that Cari has allowed me to share this about her. Obviously we, all of us foster and adoptive parents, cannot undo her horrific experiences. But there are many children coming up the same way. We are parenting them and we (ME) need to remember when our Vanessas, Teresas, etc are raging, duh, there's a reason. We weren't there for them when they needed us as infants and toddler...when even their minimal needs were not being met.

I wish I had answers, even hope to give Cari. I'm going to encourage her to write a book, share her story, vent her hurt and anger as she struggles to heal. I'm going to continue to emotionally support other struggling parents, like me, as we deal with what other people have done to our children.

Cari's story is seared into my brain, this could have been any one of my own children. I admire Cari's decisions for her own children, I cannot begin to imagine how she's struggled with all this. Heck, I'm 52 and still need my mom and I'm as strong as they come. Even when we lived 500 miles apart, we burned up the phone lines.

How can we as a society allow this to continue happening in America? How can we, as human beings on this planet just turn our heads away? I was up again at 4:30 worrying, fretting, thinking and searching for answers...for hope for the children.

Miss Deysi Driving Me Crazy

Wish I could say that I prayed until we got a breakthrough, but that wouldn't be true. Sometimes I'm too perturbed to pray.

Miss-I-Haven't-Spoken-To-You for two months just unexpectedly apologized.

I, of course, am elated and full of forgiveness.

I didn't even see it coming...

She's Come Undone

You know how if you loan someone money, you'll never see either the money nor the person again?

That's pretty much the issue here with the grown, college educated child. I'd come out of the hospital in October only to discover the phones to the big house would be cut off if her outstanding bill to the doublewide, our independent living facility, was not paid immediately.

I had no choice. Nearly $300 that I could ill afford to pay. But pay it I did.

So she's angry with me, hasn't spoken to me since then, and lives rent free courtesy of me.

But I've found often that the more "wrong" someone is, the worse they act until they've forgotten the initial reason for the disagreement. Then they are just still mad.

But she also knows that I forgive my kids every single time. I don't require flowers or atonement, just an apology.

She was adopted as a pre-teen, we lost crucial years of her childhood in which I dearly needed more time to instill values.

I know that this too will pass, I've experienced it countless times with different children. Although they fight against my love, they know it is rock solid and not to be undone.

Miss Jeannie's Family

Another family I'd met on-line years ago and greatly admire. Just because everyone, her kids and mine, are cute doesn't mean they don't have issues.

Cereal

Ok I have a grip now, sleep deprivation, pure T utter exhaustion, and over-hyped holidays combined with challenging children trips me up at times.

I headed for my motivational bookshelf and started re-reading stuff I'd highlighted in Dennis Waitley's Empires of the Mind, reassuring myself I'd done all I could do in maintaining my integrity and a "do unto others" philosophy regarding this older child of mine.

Waitley reminded me that "the first leg of self-esteem is a sense of belonging. We all have a deep-rooted need to feel we are a part of something larger than ourselves." OK, that need is certainly being fulfilled in me.

I get lost in the battle sometimes, I lose sight of the big picture, and the WHY I do this. I finished my pot of coffee, took my vitamins, read for awhile and scarfed down my large bowl of oatmeal, flax seeds, soy grits, sesame seeds, cranberries and soy milk...a good belch, and I'm back on top of the world once again.

Moody ain't I?

Looking For My Freecycle Fruit

I'm not sure if I should blog right now while JoJo is screaming at 7 in the morning, or should I wait until I'm in a better mood? I made him lose his turn on the computer for a hateful remark, using ugly language, that he made to Allen...but the real issue is Holiday Hell.

It's aggravating me, in a very big way, as I'm having a tough time sleeping what with everything I have on my mind; issues to resolve, chores to be accomplished, and everything else involved with raising 39 kids.

I feel as if I produced a right decent Christmas and now I'm emotionally exhausted from the refereeing, the moderating of events, cooking, shopping and dealing with the BS. It gets old and those of y'all who wrongly assume I'm Saint Cindy can just get over that.

I'm IRKED and exhausted, tired of carrying all the load all the time, I have a grown kid, 30, unable to maturely approach me about an issue, her sisters talking to me about her apparent and obvious need for counseling, I took the high road, got her gifts to her while she ignored the entire family. GROW UP is my only suggestion.

I just get tired of being the toilet, the one who gets dumped on constantly, I need a break, and the pressures hit me more now than ever when I can't even garden my frustrations out, physical activity usually makes me feel better, maybe today I'll re-paint a feces smeared bathroom, that outta do the trick.

Tina called the other day with an extra fridge...hmmm a woman with 15 kids AND an extra fridge? She's out of room and plugs to place it, gotta use Dad's car with a trailer hitch as my truck's in the shop, two tons of trash to haul and a freecycle box of fruit to pick up.

In The Afternoon...Zero Drama

Monica, Marcela, Gina and Yolie...four of my Biggers pictured here today for Christmas. I just talked to Jesse, living on base in Texas, it feels like a million miles away to me but it's way better than fretting all night when he was in Iraq.

Christmas was as calm as I could have asked for, as many, many years I'd have new kids, new additions to our family, but now even my last four children are on their second Christmas with us. Tabby and Nando love having all the grandchildren here, Scotty has a new bike and was riding in the rain half the afternoon until it cleared up. We've eaten good and avoided unnecessary drama.

Fabian is, unfortunately locked up at YDC, he did call this afternoon, Alex is in a psychiatrric facility and has had a tough month, and we've not heard from Joey.

Saray's Smiling Face

Grandbaby Isaac with Tabby

Toned Down

Trying to tone down the holidays, to pre-empt any strikes against the family, the kids opened gifts in shifts nearly, the Bubbas had pooled their allotment and bought a computer which quieted them down a good bit, the older kids all opted for trendy clothes, so now food is the big emphasis plus time together with family.

So far, so good, only Tony has been raging, we've had teenage sullenness, but big whoop, that's a daily event.

Saray, her husband T, and their three kids could only come last night as T works today. They live 90 minutes away, south of Atlanta, but they stayed til midnight, the three kids whooping it up with Tabby and Nando.

Daniel was given a $92.00 ticket to a seat to watch the Falcon's lose yesterday, he came by and helped the Bubbas get their computer on-line and this morning Cristy has already picked up CW, Lily and Jack to go open presents at her house with her husband Chris. Cristy and Wesley, however, are the bio parents of the three so Wesley gonna join them all this morning for the gifts and breakfast. How very civilized, who'd have thought Cristy could learn to successfully pull this off? I'm proud of both her and Wesley for their non-drama approach to this situation.

I'm going to cook all morning, on nearly no sleep, big dinner early afternoon with a ton of family members, and then I am so done with Christmas, once again...yes I know the reason for the season, and I feel guilty for losing sight of it often amidst the emotional turmoil we live amongst and within.

It's POURING rain, a tropical deluge, and Scotty, Jonathan, Nando and Paloma can't ride their new bikes. Grandma'd bought soccer goals for the kids, but they can't play outside until the weather clears up tomorrow. We'll have a deafening noise level today.

Can't Keep ME Down Though

"All y'all ARE gonna have a good Christmas," I'd bellowed after church today as we went into little elf overdrive, all Bubbas working, brooms and dust flying, laundry folded and sorted, lunch done, floors mopped, bathrooms cleaned, dishes washed, I'm cooking my pithy little brains out, sending Edgar on my last minute errands, calming Tony's psycho tantrums, stopping a fist fight between Jonathan and Scotty, Gito stepping up to the plate, Sonny here and helping...let the party begin...

Warning: VERY Sad Post...Skip It To Keep Your Christmas Cheer

Maybe I have a good reason, as well, for dreading the Christmas season, linking it with some pretty depressing memories. Warning...achingly sad story to follow, but I need to get it out verbally.

Twenty four years ago, my brother-in law, only 26, Alan complained of a severe backache and died, of colon cancer, three weeks before the next Christmas. Ellen, his wife and my sister, devastated beyond any consolation, was in a broken heap on my mother's sofa for the holidays. My brothers, Gary and Jim, and I stumbled through in shock, my parents were trying to see Ellen through all this while dealing with their own grief over Alan.

We'd known Alan since he was 12, he'd nearly been a part of our family since then having recently lost both his parents within six months of each other. Our loud, boisterous family greatly appealed to him, he was a quiet kid, stunned over the loss of his own family at such a young age.

But, when I was ten, and the favorite pet of my Aunt Jean, she passed away at Christmas as well, suffering from cancer, being a nurse, and knowing what was coming, she shockingly took her own life.

The adults tried to keep that part of it a secret, but I overheard my Aunt Ruby talking about it. Numb with shock, fear and unsorted emotions I crawled behind a sofa to sort it all out. I only told Gary what I'd heard, we then went to our parents about it for confirmation.

My grandparents never again put up a Christmas tree, it had happened there in their own house, Jean at age 32 was still living at home, a carefree single woman in the 1960s, someone I totally looked up to. My grandmother died of a broken heart before the next decade passed.

Ellen had always enjoyed Christmas, I'd always been somewhat repelled by it, by the overt materialism and the over-hyped drama involved. I didn't know then, when Alan died, that Ellen also would be gone a dozen years later.

The last Christmas when Ellen was alive, and married to Kevin, she was in a wheelchair and suffering greatly. My 15 kids and I had driven to my parent's house in Virginia for a terribly sad Christmas time. That's their last memory of Ellen, I saw her once more after that, talked to her nearly every day on the phone, knowing I was helplessly losing her.

My kids watched Ellen and Kevin's daughter, Lauren, bury her mom. It ripped open their own emotional scabs as well. No mom is safe.

Ellen had died by April, CW was born just 10 days later, but only two weeks after that, my dear Uncle Joe passed away. Carrying for the infant CW consumed me, being busy with all the other kids kept me from collapsing and, of course, my rock solid faith kept me going.

Losing Jean, Alan, Joe, Grandma and Ellen both devastated me and strengthened me...if I can get through this, I learned an 'I can survive anything mentality'. But it, of course, changed me, hardened me somewhat. All emotionally traumatic events indeed, but it shaped me into who I am today, still not a big fan of Christmas.

So I look at my kids and know the trauma they've suffered through, losing parents, caretakers, all their extended birth families, good and bad and even some siblings. They've been molested, abandoned, abused, scarred, neglected, not fed, homeless, beaten, denied, and hurt beyond my ability to even begin to comprehend.

They lash out now in fear and in anxiety over the future, holidays often exacerbate their insecurities...the very worst has already happened to them, it could do so again, this could all end in their minds...the world is not a safe place for them, they've been shown that over and over.

Today is Christmas Eve, I can still put my own ten year old self back in my grandparents brightly lit living room, I can still visualize that particular tree, and I can hear my Aunt Jean's voice the last time I heard it. I can picture the bob-bon I was eating, while sitting on a split-level, shag-carpeted, stairstep at a Christmas party, when the phone rang and my mom was called to the phone. I knew why intuitively at that moment. I knew Jean was gone, I felt it, and Mom's grief-stricken face immediately confirmed it.

More than 40 years later I can remember every detail, and I was a very well-adjusted, safe and secure, Preacher's kid...imagine how much more so indelibly the heart-wrenching traumas are painfully etched into my children's brains who do not have the capacity at all to comprehend?

I'm Cracking Up Now...With Laughter

Sarah has finished her Christmas chores, I haven't. She's smiling, I ain't. All I'm doing is dragging in groceries and more groceries. That's all. I can't halfway get everything out of the van before all the food is gone.

Today included Publix grocery store and Wal-Mart, a slice of Hell two days before Christmas. Edgar and Vanessa accompanied me to make sure I didn't head for the gun section and end it all.

I moaned, "Before this is over I'll have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder!"

"Like all the pregnant women?" Vanessa asked me.

"Huh?"

We stared at each other. "Do you mean Post Partum Depression?" I asked, absolutely incredulously.

Passing a huge line of Mexican men watching TV in the store, I'd cracked, "looks like our house," fortunately in English though, as I piled our cart high with stuff that won't last through the evening. Vanessa was hooting with laughter and Edgar aimed his cart at a strange white kid while threatening, "Road Kill!"

At Publix the milk section was totally wiped out, but the man ran to the back to drag me out a gallon in each hand. "Oh, that's really gonna hold us," Edgar whined sarcastically, sending the guy back for 10 more...heck the store's gonna be closed on Christmas Day.

Frustration mounted, Edgar jumped in the ice cream freezer...

I'm relieved, for a minute there I thought he'd do something stupid.

Elf Baby

Yolie sent me this of her darling baby CJ.

While I'm waiting on Tina to give me permission to add this clip of her husband, I think I'll do it anyway...

One Thing I've Learned

A foster mom in Virginia emailed me yesterday, telling me that reading my blogs had helped her to learn to live with the "normal" lying and stealing of formerly deprived children. Her foster daughter, difficult and high-maintenance, still then involved with the birth family in a very negative manner, now has bio sisters that will likely need a placement. After reading so much in my blog entries, this woman is considering taking in all the sisters to keep the sibling group together, crediting me with the inner strength and conviction to keep a sib group together.

That surely makes me feel good to have played in part in this decision. Yes, Big Duh, this mom is gonna have a tougher time now, this she knows, but hopefully she sees the bigger picture and that too spurs her on.


Wendy sent me this link which I devoured every word, later talking to Edgar about it. I simply couldn't bear to watch a Home For The Holidays last night, I didn't even tape it, preferring to bury my head in the sand, I just can't absorb anyone else's pain right now, let me get through Christmas puh-leeze.

After tending to four teenage sisters all day at the mall, Edgar had insisted that I go with him last night to Verizon to upgrade his phone. Sometime, as he drives, he spills his guts and last night was interesting. He'd told me that his former foster father had meant so much to the seven kids, possibly that is what severed Fabian's ability now to trust me. This man, Robert, truly wanted to adopt these children, indeed the couple divorced soon after the kids left their home. Edgar was fairly bitter about her, hating the fact that she smoked and that she'd let them all down. For once I just kept quiet and listened, but I was thinking if this guy really wanted to adopt them he could have put his money where his mouth was.

I wouldn't have let Hell nor high water stop me. But there was no point in making Edgar feel defensive about it.

But in reading the article Wendy sent me, it illustrates so well why so many placements fail. This 16 year old boy said, "I kept messing it up," which is what scared kids do. Bewildered moms like me, wondering where the logic went, muddle on through the ingratitude, hatefulness, anger and fury, questioning our own sanity.

I just realized that I've spent the last 11 years virtually imprisoned by these demands. The first decade of adoption now seems easy in contrast to the second. I thought, back then, as a divorcing, working mom with rebellious, lashing out teens like Cristy and Joe that this was as bad as it gets...but I was so very wrong.

It got worse.

It became violent and dangerous, I wondered if Fabian became a mass murderer, would we feel any pain, or would it all happen quickly? That's how bad it got. Living with children who ended up in a psychiatric hospital, jail, and YDC; the police involvement, and the destruction...I didn't see a lot of it coming and now, looking back, I'm just glad we survived it.

Another friend, Millie, is getting a young girl from the Ukraine, an answer to fervent prayer, yet she'll have a tough go of it as well. No child, having undergone separation from a primary caregiver, can remain unscathed. That may be the only thing I've learned after 20 years of this battle.

I'm still glad, however, that I chose this life, or that God called me to this...and equipped me.

Those of you who contact me and pour out your battered hearts, I can offer you only a sounding board and my experience...no magic answer, no expertise, just a heartfelt cyber hug and a, "Girlfriend I know how you feel!"

I want something of me left intact, at least my ability to love, so I can spend years loving on my grandchildren, knowing that they didn't get beat up in, and by, the system. Ray, pictured above last summer, Sarah's son, a birth connection here, has helped in ways he'll never understand, showing Tabby and Nando both friendship and love through their constant playtimes. Ray doesn't see their traumas, he looks up to them simply as playmates, best friends and cohorts; helping to normalize their existence.

This next generation, from all my other children, will help me to see that this was all so very worth all that we've endured.

Looking Back At It All

Caught up on laundry, watering houseplants, ordering seeds, buying and putting away groceries I sat for a minute and read back into last spring's blog archives. Before I knew I had a tumor smashing my intestines, blaming my weight loss on stress, but reading back over the level of stress I'd endured, even I'm shocked at the level.

I never blogged all the details last year over a son's arrest, I'd said it should all be over within a few months but now, nine months later, we're still in it. A huge charge has been dropped, as it should have been, but there are still repercussions that we're dealing with, and will continue to do so even after an upcoming January court date. Fabian also has a January court date that doesn't look too promising for him.

Vanessa cried out her loss yesterday, missing Fabian, but understanding he can't be here with us now, too angry and subsequently dangerous, it's sad certainly. Vanessa has come a very long way though since February, I believe she's gonna make it, Joey didn't make it here within the confines of our home, but maybe he'll pull himself together on his own.

I'd sent five kids to the mall this morning to finish their Christmas shopping, Edgar's in charge there, and I'm home with the rest of them, stuck inside on a rainy day, they're knocking over furniture, throwing balls in the house and building forts out of empty cardboard boxes.

But that's better than the ordeals we've endured this year...

Rumors and Gossip

I'd cooked ten pounds of whole wheat spaghetti pasta last night, heavy on the garlic and doused with my fire hot pepper sauce. My kids also grate cheese on everything, plus add the quesitos (Paremsan) and last night nearly every single child complimented me after supper as they slurped their noodles down.

"Wash your plate," I'd bellowed, directing traffic to the dirty dishwasher, trying to scoot to the counter and work on my seed order, something that I choose to do on the first day of winter in an attempt to gain control over the elements.

Opening the pepper sauce, one is always immediately reminded of last summer's garden due to the potent aroma that blasts one in the face, stinging the eyes. JoJo and Allen were hanging on me as I was making my seed order, begging for some Northern varieties of fruit that they saw in Jungs catalog. I explained this catalog is just for looking, we have to order from the South if we want anything to stand up under the blazing, sweltering Georgia sun.

I was also explaining to them my prejudice against hybrid seeds, preferring heirloom, organic seeds for what I didn't already save on my own. Last fall, even Gito, working at a neighbor's farm, brought me home Okra pods from Mr. T's fantastic crop, knowing how to save the best seeds for next year. This is the kind of information I truly want to pass down to my children. Lily, only 9, often collects seed pods from my flowers, filling containers with the seeds of cleome, four o'clocks, morning glory, nicotianas and more, a treasure hunt to her, a bonus for me.

Sonny, Tony and Sabrina were working under the house trying to fix the cable TV connection, since it was raining and my life is even more dictated by the weather - as opposed to the children's moods - we'd also been spring cleaning in the winter, I want to repaint a good bit of the house.

I think I am finished with our very utilitarian Christmas shopping. Trying to juggle all my kids, their in-laws and the grandchildren's schedules for any kind of get-together has now resulted in a two day, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day marathon, my brother Gary and his family, plus Kevin and Lauren are coming for the week after Christmas.

Edgar and Sergi are both off work today, both also offering last night to help me pull it all together, I'm going to send Edgar to the mall with Vanessa, Miriam, Sabrina and Mayra so they can finish their shopping while I head out to get yet more groceries.

Not being able to eat to their heart's content at school, a huge form of security for them, while at home the kids consume massive amounts of food, even though I still insist on three solid meals each day.

Jose, Allen and JoJo yesterday finished building one of my new raised garden beds, basically they hauled wood chips two feet high to it, telling me I needed to just use that whole bed for cantaloupes next year. My chickens are still loose, scratching, eating bugs, and pooping their wonderful fertilizer right where I need it on these new beds, they're curious and intelligent, bright eyed, checking to see what the boys were up to yesterday, when I looked out the window later, there were at least 20 hens busy at work on the new bed. Three roosters crowing their disapproval at the boys in their territory.

It's the good stuff like that to keep me going each day, it's my usual attitude of gratitude to God and the ability to not live in the day, but rather to always look ahead that empowers me each morning.

Edgar had heard a whopper of a rumor around this county involving a teacher and he'd asked me if I'd also heard it. I had not, and I told him it couldn't possibly be true. Knowing how it hurts my feelings when people speak wrongly of us, I'd just told Edgar not to repeat it anywhere, gave him a quickie lesson on gossip, something all of us are tempted to do, me included.

This morning's motivational quote that I'd read on my Google home page said, "Never tell evil of a man, if you do not know it for certainty, and if you know it for a certainty, then ask yourself, 'why should I tell it?'

The Well Man

Jonathan and Paloma both had filthy mouth rages all morning, as usual over nothing and over everything. Hours long, they'd rather spit, snarl, cuss, scream and struggle than simply serve their "time-out" sentence for misbehavior which would only be five minutes if they'd do it without fury or foul language.

Jack, usually a trusted soul around here, but obsessed with cars, decided to "help" me by depositing rocks, cards and little cars into the gas tanks of mine and Sarah's cars. We had Sarah's towed off, I melted down for awhile, overwhelmed by yet more damage just four days before the worst holiday on earth for adopted children.

I'm not certain if the van is OK or not, I just couldn't face it right then.

The well man got here to repair the well, that I've put off for several months, but today I feared the water would simply give out, leaving me high and dry in a world of mess. I'd put it off because I dreaded bad news, and a huge repair bill, but fortunately it was very minor. Now I wish I'd have called them months ago, literally our water stops mid shower, we shiver for two full minutes until it spits back on. I can't believe I let that go for so long.

Jack and CW both accidentally barfed today but Paloma chose to stinkily splatter all over the toilet seat from her rear end, willfully to punish me for even attempting to pull together a decent Christmas for her.

Lord knows I want to just wrap up rolls of Charmin for her, and Clorox bleach spray, but we all know, I'll still get her the Barbie bike she doesn't deserve.

Magnificant Obsession

My hero for the day is Julie Bargmann, I adore and admire those individuals with magnificant obsessions.

Age 18

It's just a number. A commenter correctly pointed out that my children, after years in the system are not necessarily adults at age 18. That's very, very true.

I do not put kids out at age 18. Deysi stayed until age 23, Saray 21, Daniel 20, other kids who went to college stayed until finished or at least in the double wide on our property. Sergi, 25, lives here, as does Edgar at almost 20. Sonny, 20, and Deysi, 30, are in the doublewide now.

It's not even the house rules that are so important, I understand the young adult struggle with what Mama says, but constantly breaking the law is where I draw the line.

One doesn't have to remain nice and pleasant to live at home, one doesn't have to pay room and board either...one simply has to obey the law and not be a threat to others.

That's where I draw the line.

If one obeys the law, doesn't have rages that destroy walls, doors, windows and furniture, then one may remain under Mama's roof.

I'm deeply grieved over Joey's inability to do so, but I won't allow him to remain here and teach younger, vulnerable children these criminal tendencies, nor will I enable Joey to flout the laws of our society.

If I can't teach him, then the world will certainly do so. It's an "I told you so" moment that I do not relish.

Why I'm Not Going To Court This Morning

I only know that Joey has court this morning because another P.O. told me. She also told me that it was at 8 a.m. this morning in the next county over.

I'm not going for several reasons. One is that I do not want to leave twenty something children here at home with Miriam, nor do I want to take them with me and expose them to this. I've spent years debating in my own mind what is the right thing to do in such a situation?

After Big Joe reached age 18, left home, and still fought with the law, I physically backed off. He learned how to hire his own attorney, attend court and probation, and pay fines the hard way, without Big Mama holding his hand. But, he learned. So did Cristy, who somehow skirted the law.

Often, after I have spent YEARS fighting an uphill battle with teenagers, when they are adults I let the chips fall where they may, I'm secure in the knowledge that I worked my butt off during the years that I actively parented a minor in my home. That said, I struggle with the fact that the aforementioned minor always sucked the life outta everyone, that I spent WAY TOO MUCH TIME on negative behaviors at the expense of the positive behaviors being exhibited by the other children.

What message did that send? Act out and then Big Mama will attend to your behaviors 24-7?

That sucks.

So today, I am choosing to remain at home with 21 kids (plus Edgar and Sergi - off at work) who need my presence, who want me here with them, washing clothes, cooking food, and acting like a mama. Plus CW is barfing into the kitchen trashcan as we speak. Excuse me while I holler, "Go to a bathroom, son!"

My presence was not invited to court, my opinion would not matter, Joey might, or might not give a rip, it always depends on that morning's frame of mind. The other children, whether it be one or 21, do give a good cahoot, they dearly want me at home, and home is where I will remain.

My conscience is clear in that I feel strongly that I have provided Joey with all the support that I could have given to him, all the advice, encouragement and love that I had within me.

He has chosen, as an adult, to strike out on his own in a world where he wrongly thinks there are no rules, laws nor consequences. It's gonna be a very rude awakening for him.

But I simply cannot enable a young man to avoid these consequences. I can only continue to love him, and to pray for him, which I most certainly will do.

Drinking 101

Kari has blogged twice since yesterday about binge drinking and underage drinking. Yolie and I were just talking about the whole Miss USA thing, and that fact that young women have no role models anymore. But just think of all the young, promising women in Ivy League colleges, in any colleges for that matter, excelling in school, we mentioned Lauren and Natalie, and this morning I'm thinking of Adele's girls as well. Indeed some of my own daughters, Desyi, Yolie, Marcela, Gina and, of course, Sarah, have already graduated from college, Cristy and Saray still trying to finish.

Yet Teresa recently sneered, in therapy, at them as role models, having the nerve to call them "old school." She's extremely obsessed with the dark side, with trashy behavior, and a slutty outlook on life. Her brain wiring is complex, she's so intelligent, yet severely impaired in the concept of cause and effect and in the conscience development area.

Listening to a news show late last night when I was an insomniac, the reporter stated that nowadays being a celebrity was The goal, that young people will go to any lengths to achieve this notoriety.

I could rant about all the alcohol portrayed even on TV as cool, but mainly my audience is parents and y'all get the picture.

But the real picture involves the result of the drinking, the ugly underside that takes away women's inhibitions, unplanned children are conceived and then, worse yet, the spectrum of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and Fetal Alcohol Effects that distorts the thinking in the next generation.

Alcohol was involved in the conception, in the pregnancy, and in the family history of every single child I have adopted. They are each paying the price for their birth parent's partying.

I'm a teetotaler, I don't think any drinking is safe, it impairs anyone's judgement immediately and not in any good way. Lord have mercy, if I drank ,I probably would have married another half dozen times or so. See the pictures of brains in this post by Kari.

I'm not even going to spend this whole blog railing against alcohol, what adult now parenting children from the foster care system isn't painfully aware of the damage done? It's cripplingly sad and somehow we have to instill in our children, who's brains were already crapped up in utero by alcohol, that they each inherited a propensity to drink.

It's really uphill at times.

My Pick Me Up From Angie

"I am like a sponge with your blog."

Wow, who doesn't like feedback such as this? As self-sufficient as I often like to think I am, it still feels good to hear this, especially since everything is such a battle here at home.

Mayra, Sabrina, CW, Jack, Tony and Paloma helped me scoot around town all morning, crossing items off my list, getting gift cards for my grandkids as I'm clueless as to what toys they have at home...it's not like I get to go visit them, fortunately they come over to The Party House here where all the Bubbas are. Picking up dumb slang, Ray Ray hollered, "Dude!" to his dad, provoking Preston to stare back surprised and wondering where a two year old picked that word up.

Edgar had left his paycheck for me to divide between his savings and his checking accounts, I still had another one of Joey's to get to him, Post Office, groceries and buy gifts for the little kids.

Today's mail informed me that the outdoor therapeutic program turned Fabian down for admission, saying he was too violent and needed a more restrictive environment. I respectfully disagree, not that my opinion matters, as I felt he would have done well there. He likes the outdoors and physical work, and I believe he'd have responded well. I do agree however that Fabian truly needs a restrictive environment, certainly not here with us, as he can not control his violence, and I suppose I understand the OTP fear of giving this angry kid an axe.

But his options are soooooo limited.

Without either Joey or Fabian here fist-fighting and destroying property it seems a very easy task now to raise the other 20 something kids here with their way less major tantrums, issues and minimally cantankerous responses to behavior re-direction. I can do this. I don't mind hard work, what I can not live with is the danger that unrestrained violence has put us through. It's been really tough.

Stressing The Holidays...Get a Grip Cindy

Time for the rubber to hit the road here, so to speak as it is five days before Christmas, the kids are home from school for three weeks and I haven't hardly done squat; inertia in action, a contradiction in terms, but descriptive to a T.

Christmas totally intimidates me, it's impossible to make everyone happy, and I can hardly even make myself attempt the effort. I am not a thoughtful shopper at all, I neither have the time nor the interest, I don't think anyone needs anything anyway. Call me choleric, it's not about fun, it's about getting the job done.

I find Christmas to be an ecological, materialistic nightmare overall. I'm not a grinch so much as a pessimist in this area.

Christmas, or any other holiday, for a former foster child stirs everything up, horrifying reminders of the past, fear of the future, and a heart-wrenching mishmash of it all.

Just keeping up with the laundry and grocery demands here is strenuous, factor in my need to garden in the winter, plus monitor the emotions of everyone...yet I remain unmedicated? I'm a poster child for vitamins?

Yesterday, Sarah and Yolie, both coaching me through my holiday plans, talking me down from the ledge as I weeded the back rose garden, now I have a specific game plan, and this morning, with Miriam here to babysit I will tag team with Vanessa and get some necessary stuff done.

Both Cristy and Saray need tuition help immediately for January, I'm going to have to use my charge card for that, something I abhor doing, my truck repair bill is $312 without fixing the oil leak nor the clutch, but the truck is on it's last leg anyway, I never did get our bus fixed.

Our well keeps stopping it's water flow, for two minute intervals we'll have nothing but air pumping through the pipes, then it spittingly returns, but I need to call the well repair folks before it turns into a huge problem. Put that on my 'to do' list, no wonder I'm stressing right now, blogging it all relieves some of my inner tension.

What I need to do is quit complaining, run upstairs, and pray about all this while I wash my face and start the day, I always feel better when I exercise and now that I'm well again, that's the plan. I was stiff and sore this morning from dumping buckets of aromatic pine wood chips around the gardenia bushes yesterday...I used to could do that all day, now I'm old and recovering from surgery...that sure won't stop me from gardening, but look at me using it as an excuse to not Christmas shop.

At least the kids seem to have shook off that nasty stomach virus that took so many down last week. Alex called me last night, wanting to come home for Christmas which is a good thing, but telling me of her very difficult month there in the psychiatric center. Fabian called full of self-righteous anger there at YDC but not wanting to change his violent behavior at all, not able certainly at this point, and I still stress myself out over Joey's poor choices although our home is extremely peaceful without him...which is sad in itself.

An anonymous reader asked me about my sweet Sergi this week...he's doing fine, working for Preston, helping me out by picking Miriam up from work at night, 25 years old and living at home with us, telling everyone who asks that he's glad to be back home after four years overseas. I'm glad also, my first born son as I call him, adopted at age 8, quiet, loving, still unfocused, but as his psychologist asked me years ago, "what's wrong with having a quiet, loving son who's unfocused?"

After years of having raging, explosive sons focused only on their anger...I get his point.

Praying For Us`All

December in Georgia, 70 degrees when the sun went down, CW playing basketball in shirt sleeves... does life get any better than this?

I appreciate all the readers of this blog who've prayed for my family. I feel very selfish is constantly asking for these prayers, making it always about us, when so many others need intense prayer, as well, for their families.

I just drove the kids to school and the man in front of me stopped his truck and handed the traffic deputy a Christmas bucket of goodies. That touched my heart and reminded me of how I keep such blinders on, only worrying about Christmas for my kids, not even beginning to think of others. This same man, then drove up to the next corner, parked his truck, and walked to the other deputy with another gaily wrapped gift.

I don't want to give away personal information here about others, but some of my readers have poor health, grandchildren/custody problems, angry adopted children, broken hearts by their children, runaways...you name it. Y'all I'm the first to holler that parenting is so hard, parenting traumatized children sometimes seems impossible, we question our sanity and our abilities, and I'm deeply grateful for the prayer covering I've received even from strangers.

I'd really like to ask, for a minute here, if as many as would do so, would take some time and pray for all of us represented here, bound together by the deep desire to help children, if we'd remember each other in prayer.

I've seen so many miracles here within my own family and in the children of others. There are so many more miracles waiting to happen and I can't wait to hear good reports from y'all that are deep in the trenches now as well.

I'm So Hard-Headed

Nothing like watching your first grandbaby grow into a pre-teen to donk one on the head in a reminder of how fast time flies. Lord have mercy! It seems like she was just born. I was then 40 and bemused that I was then an abuelita as young as Loretta Lynn. We still call her Baby Yolie, she's been such a blessing to me.

Christine, in Canada, asked me how I was allowed to adopt so many children, there's a crack baby in her area with no resources yet she's being turned down as a placement.

OK, this is kinda sticky. I never want to encourage anyone to accept more children than they can handle, I never want to see a big family overwhelmed. I will only tell how this has worked for me and my family.

First off, I have had a caseworker who supervised us closely, I proved time and time again that I could handle the challenges, that I wouldn't cave under the pressure, that I could do this. She saw first hand. I was open, honest, candid and willing to take advice at all times. I still run to her for suggestions, for back-up, for help and for information. She is knowledgeable, experienced and she knows my children very well.

But, more importantly, I truly did always listen to God. Yes, even about Joey. Always, without exception, this has been critical to our family.

If God put it in my heart, I did not stop until it was accomplished. God didn't put plenty of other kids in my heart, just these children. I know, right now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I could physically and emotionally handle another sibling group. BUT God has not put that into my heart, just because I could do it, doesn't mean that I will do it.

I personally would never step out of the will of God if I can help it. Duh, I've stepped out every time I've lost my temper here, or had a wicked thought, for example, who doesn't? But, Lord knows, I try, life is a struggle.

But when I've known that I've known in my heart that it, the calling, was from God, I never backed down. Never. My caseworker, Emily, also knew that I did not want to fail, that I would not take on that which I could not handle. The building of a family this large was a 20 year process, Sarah was then a teenager. I also never wanted to let Emily down nor her agency. She and the Texas workers trusted my abilities to parent, it has always been very important to me that I fulfilled their trust. It has been an awesome responsibility that I've taken very seriously.

Of course, in my Church of God mind, I always have God to answer to, since He trusted me with these children, I wanted to make Him proud.

Our story isn't over about Joey...my son-in-law, Jose, saw Joey in front of Wal-Mart ringing the Salvation Army bell, Joey has a court date Thursday and no, he has not called me, nor have I gone to visit him...we both need to cool off first. I double dawg guarantee that Joey knows I still love him, he knows me very well, but right now he needs to go through this process, he chose to leave by his actions.

So Christine, if I were you, I'd pray and wait for a definitive answer. I don't know if that's your style, but you asked me what I would do. If you are certain that you are hearing from God then ask to see what the policy is, demonstrate how you are sure that your family is the best resource, don't quit until that baby is home with someone. Fight for your right to parent, fight for this baby to have a family, go to higher-ups if necessary but, first and foremost, ensure that your motivies are correct.

What's Love Anyway?

This is yet another family daring to love tough kids and it was not this mom who posed the following question to me today.

"I know you have plenty to write about each day, but one other thing I know as an adopting mom I'd like to hear is how long it takes for them to feel "yours". "

I've been asked that before. I used to immediately fall in love with my children at first sight, got emotionally burned for years, and then caught myself guarding my heart which sure isn't a good option in adoption.

So now I'm not sure. I don't know if my heart has hardened, if I'm simply less emotional now... or what. I'd like to think that I adore each and every one of them, that I practice unconditonal love, but then what about the anger I feel at those who have physically, financially, and emotionally crushed us? I have a great deal of emotional guilt right now over Joey that I know is irrational. Having Fabian locked up at YDC is a relief as well in that we are safe from his rampages...but I still love him, I actually miss both guys, I miss what they could have been, I miss their emotional rawness, and I grieve over their poor choices.

I think my kids feel like 'mine' from the minute I've been selected to be their mom as my brain then goes into overdrive thinking about how to make this all work. Some kids are way easier to love, some fight being loved, and some hate me for loving them when they feel so worthless.

So, you know what? I probably can't answer this question satisfactorily as I don't know. I can think of each child who's driven to me brain exploding fury, those who've shattered my heart, my trust and my love, those who've humiliated me, lied about me, and lashed out at me versus those who've done nothing but make me proud, or those who've struggled with each faltering step to try (which is all I ask) and bring me some pride.

Maybe, at age 52, my definition of love is different now. I do love my kids. I love the troubled ones and I love the easy ones. There is a lot of affection in my house, even Fabian would be kissing my cheek one minute, threatening to F%&K up the family the next minute.

Although I have huge fears about four of my children, Alex, Fabian, Teresa and Joey ever functioning normally in society, I still love them. Even though Deysi is mad at me because I had to pay her very delinquent phone bill so that service was not cut off to all of us on this property, I still love her. She's not speaking to me over this matter, she's embarrassed I'm certain.

Daniel, Yolie, Carolina, Jesse, Joe...and more, most actually...many of my kids are way easy to love. Thirty three years of loving Sarah is as natural as breathing. Duh.

Maybe nowadays love is an act of will? In many ways I just feel like a very fierce tigress protecting my cubs from themselves and is that love? I struggle with this concept as do many of us adoptive moms who live in a world that is very different from the love that springs up naturally?

Wendy in Canada sent some video links such as this one illustrating why love is, or can be, so difficult in adoption and foster care.

Thanks, Debbie

"The closer a child comes to the age of 18 and aging out of a system that has provided at least a partial safety net, the more likely they are to falter."

And in adoption as well.

Last night I'd settled down to watch this special about foster care and that corny Publix grocery store advertisement came on where it portrays a warm family scene. Edgar, holding the remote, told me, "I love this ad, it's like our house."

No, it's not dear boy! We don't eat in the dining room with linens and silver, lit candles and matching china. Get real.

But I get his point...it's about family. Period. Something he always deeply desired, and that one comment let me in his hard head for a minute, my almost 20 year old manboy needy infant.

As he approached age 18 he went bonkers compared to the previous several years when he was a model son...but he was a model son because he finally had exactly what he wanted...a family...and at 18 he wrongly thought it was over, after such an alarmingly short time for him, what with not arriving until age 13.

I then, at age 13, gave him his own room, he built a nest, and he's still in it, soaking up the family atmosphere.

I, however know, that when he decides to leave, to strike out on his own, he won't do it gracefully. I know this from experience as adopted children just don't have the emotional wherewithal to make good plans for leaving...it's just too painful. My Daniel was an exception somehow, he moved out properly.

Last night I made Edgar call the insurance company and get his own policy in his own name for several reasons. One was to establish credit in his name, the other was to give me some relief from carrying an expensive 19 year old male on my policy, and I'm trying to teach him, while he still lives with Mama, about growing up.

He balked all day Saturday, having just received a free car, he fretted about the implications of becoming independent. I have to reassure this handsome child often that my love is forever. I already have grown sons, look at them, they are still emotionally attached to me, I'm still their mom, this is forever son.

"Why can't I stay on your policy and just pay you?"

He'd fussed about this, taking it as a personal rejection, but I know that if and when he leaves in a rage, I'd rather him have his own policy, the free car is in his name, he's paying for tags and registration and, obviously gas.

I've never felt that my grown kids should help me with room and board, if anything I'm still babying them to some degree with the free rent doublewide on my property, but after many years of their feeble starts into adulthood, I've found this to be a successful option here, a first step at least, yet this weekend Sonny was unable to come up with money for his electricity bill due to paying off a speeding ticket and being in danger of losing his driver's license. I had to loan it to him during an extremely tough month financially.

Daniel has repeatedly stressed to Edgar that he will feel much more manly as he becomes financially independent, but Edgar resists this as he knows that Daniel had me as his Mama for such a long time, Edgar knows he is emotionally dependant on me. Indeed I'd snapped at him Sunday morning before church, he clung to me during service, both arms wrapped around me during praise and worship, irked that I didn't want to go out to eat with him.

I knew also that spending all afternoon with his birth sisters helps heal his emotional neediness, with their jobs, school and other activities they are finding less free time for each other. Edgar is also very, very attached to Miriam. I needed some breathing room then, working in the garden with the Bubbas chattering at me, a nice interlude during a trying holiday time.

Little Nando, often wide-eyed and smiling, watching all the drama play out around here, repeatedly being told that this is forever, is way less demanding than Edgar. Nando will, like Daniel, most likely not remember his early years in foster care. Probably there will remain a niggling undercurrent of residual fear that may translate into emotional insecurities into adulthood, but overall, this will be so much easier with him than with Edgar.

The Bubbas above, Allen, CW and Martin, are all wearing shirts given to us last week by my friend, Debbie. Cheryl is on her way over right now with some Christmas gifts that she'd been blessed with yet determined they were too young for her middle school daughter, more appropriate for Paloma and Lily, and my friend, Jeanne, is planning on helping Vanessa shop for gifts for the little kids here. I'm so grateful to these women.

Susan, wife of the funniest man on earth, sent a wrapped Christmas gift to me yesterday at church, oddly enough provoking 10,000 suspicious questions from every kid in this house, "Who gave that to you?" accusatory blurts of fear, asking as if I'd slipped out at night or something. Putting it under the tree has nearly sent them into hysteria...one more week...another holiday will be behind us....

Let It Slide?

Lily, not pictured here, was following me around the big back garden this afternoon, baggie in hand, looking for dead morning glory vines and seed pods to collect the seeds for next year. Most nine year olds...heck most 39 year olds wouldn't be able to find these dried up vines but Lily is an artist, like her birth mom Cristy, and Lily has The Eye. She could then come inside and pencil draw an excellent rendition of the vines curling in summer over fences because she's already captured this in her mind.

Sometimes, thinking about how to best foster this artistic development when I'm totally challenged by it, is a challenge. I can't sing nor draw, creating art is over my head in a big way, but I need to encourage it in Lily.

I'd love to encourage, or at least thank, whoever put the sacks of clothes in my van at church today. Long sleeve, button down cotton shirts for the Bubbas and new shoes equal an unexpected blessing today that we greatly appreciated.

Edgar and Miriam wanted to take me out to eat after church today since Miriam had an unexpected Sunday afternoon off. I appreciated the offer, but no way would I pass up a 72 degree day in December to eat inside when I could be scrambling in the back garden, everything I do now, saves time this spring. I suggested they take Vanessa instead and they are still gone, four hours later, shopping I suppose without me nagging that I'm bored.

Gito, the Bubbas, and I made a new tacky-looking garden bed, lined with cinder blocks as that is all I've scrounged up lately, CW dug it up for me with a flattened soccer ball on his head like a helmet for some reason. After Christmas I'm gonna hit Freecycle with a vengenance for cast off bricks to line the beds. We made room for 3 or 4 more 100 square foot beds as we eat so dadgum much. Jojo was bemoaning the fact that we have to wait so long for more fresh produce. Me too, son.

Javy was inside having a meltdown over Mayra tattling what a teacher had told her on Friday regarding an assignment not turned in, we thought he'd run away but he'd stomped down to the creek for awhile...knowing I wasn't done with my disapproval over this. Let it slide? Not on my watch.

A Christmas Family Picture

We'd received this Christmas card in the mail from a mom, Amanda, and my children were enthralled with it. I put in on the fridge, but they've taken it down 200 times to study it, as if they'd never seen a large family before. "Wow, Mom! Way more than us!" they keep exclaiming, not realizing the true size of our family, but giving credence to the fact that one doesn't necessarily notice quite how many are here when one is living in the midst of it all.

I'm still asked countless times about when I'm going to adopt again, as if me adding more children comforts other people. Something about it being as regular as the sun coming up and down.

Working through AAN, reading newspapers on-line and perusing other adoption publications I am still, of course, burdened by the number of children needing families, but I do not feel called by God, at the moment, to expand our family. I feel spurred on by God to inspire others and to encourage those who are considering it to prayerfully go ahead with adoption.

Honey, that tugging in your heart comes from God...

Reading a recent email though, about the hatefulness coming from a new group of adoptees, reminds me how challenging this can be. Maybe I should encourage prospective parents to look at the orphaned Ethiopian children? Maybe American children are too far gone? Over-influenced by our cheesy, negative media or now deeply sociopathic due to FAE, FAS, meth, crack and other brain damaging substances ingested by birth moms during pregnancy.

But I would have missed out on my own darling children...my life wouldn't seem this full...I personally needed Cristy, Yolie, Carolina...need I name them all...to be who and what I am today. God has made that clear to me.

Dr. G sent me this article yesterday and, as usual, I've been chewing on it, thinking about this mentally challenged birth mom. Cristy and I talked long and hard about that yesterday as she's still very angry with her own birth mom. I've met her, this slow mom of Cristy's, she used to call me sporadically at my old job, and she is extremely mentally limited. I harbor no grudge against her, she simply could not help it. She had no emotional resources, she was a victim as well. How does one fix the ills of our society? I dunno, my world is small...I am focused on the needs here within our family.

I was asked, "My one wonder question is....Bedtime? Do you have kids that are hard to get in bed? That are running around when you are past ready for bed? That sneak everywhere? What do you do? I have some who do go to bed on time and several (mainly girls) who do not. Just wondered if you had a winner idea??"

Not really. I am firm about bedtimes in that I believe children need 10 or so hours of sleep in order to function properly in school. On school nights our house is dark by 9 p.m, for the most part, it takes a lot of nagging and reminding, but they know they'll lose privileges if lights aren't out when I say so.

We are beginning to get past 'the sneaking out of bed to steal food' routine that is fairly common with recently deprived children who've arrived in new placements. Finally kids will trust that the food will always be there...it just takes so dadgum long and is so frustrating to us parents.

And yes I've caught plenty of kids up and sneaking around over the years, and I know that plenty have done so undetected as well. It boils down to trust issues and battles that must be fought and reinforced for decades. Cristy, fixing to turn 30 in April, now trusts me...we won that battle...yet she still blames herself on some level for what her birth mom did to her and her siblings.

That is probably the toughest battle as I still see the pain in my grown kid's eyes over their past, the damage done was on a primal level and may be irreparable, maybe it's something they just learn to live with and that they eventually learn to adapt in some, hopefully emotionally, healthy manner.

Other than Edgar's pushpull routine, he's been fairly easy to raise, yet he often tells me that he just didn't know what a normal family did until he moved in. He's carefully watched me with his six siblings and all the other children; dinner routines, church attendance, sports for the kids, seeing everyone's needs being met, groceries purchased, bills paid, structure, consistancy and stability demonstrated every single day, and me here and focused 24-7, me forgiving the hatefulness and me still tending to the older, grown children, maintaining our relationships have all contributed to him being normal. He only had a normal family for the last 6 years, we've had to squeeze a lot of learning in his head...like putting one's hat on properly.

Ludivinia's Pictures Finally

Of course after my pompous blog this morning about controlling my anger, I lost it big time this afternoon when Paloma, out of the blue, accused me of stealing her from her birth mother. Cristy and I were pulling quack grass from around the blackberries when Paloma and Jose escalated each other into a rage.

To make a long story longer...the upshot involved Jose reminding Paloma that their mom murdered their dad, therefore she wasn't exactly a proper role model; this after my spittingly mad fury at this absurdity when I simply wanted to work outside in the 70 plus degree weather. Cristy was deep in her retelling of her Houston trip and we were interrupted constantly.

This was beautiful, non-December, weather that makes me ache for spring, it's been very warm all week, sneakily making one believe it could be for real, but quite likely, we'll have an ice storm as payback.

But the best part of today was Edgar getting a car, a free car. An attorney for DFACS, a friend of Audrey's, was simply giving away her 1991 Honda Civic with 260,000 miles on it. We are ecstatic over it.

This neat lady and her husband, parents to three children, no longer fit in this very well-maintained car. Their baby had undergone a heart transplant, a beautiful little girl, reminding me once again how precious our health is to us.

Also precious, Cristy is pictured above with a birth sister she just met when she flew to Houston. I 'd adopted Cristy, Gina, Sergi and Monica, this other sister had been adopted at birth by a family and renamed Melissa. We never knew this, we always called her by her original name, Ludivinia, and Cristy and Ludi, still bristle with resentment at the woman who separated them nearly 30 years ago, their birth mom.

Cristy, fed up with Paloma today, pointed out that I was the real mom, she best forget these fantasies, meeting up with birth moms is as painful as leaving them once was, maybe even more so now with the benefit of adult maturity and the accumulation of years of grieving over what never was.

Red Hot Anger

As Rocky continues to defy negative expectations and receive rave reviews, I also light up accordingly. I have always loved this story of working hard to win.

I remember seeing the first movie more than 30 years ago, walking out of the theater absolutely inspired which, to me, is the best feeling in the world. It is with that intention, I hope, that I also write this blog as y'all's letters and feedback both inspire me and inform me that my blatherings are helping others to continue in adoption, foster care and simply in that all consuming passion of parenting. It ain't easy, slick.

Last night a stay-at-home, homeschooling mom of six kids under 9 asked me how did I manage to control my anger. Good question.

This is something I've always admired afar in others...that ability to remain calm...alas, it's seems to not be in my DNA as I am loud, volatile and super emotionally expressive.

I've slammed doors, broken dishes, slung items across the room, stomped outside hollering, heaved chairs, kicked bookbags, screamed at my dogs, hurled buckets across the meadow...you name it...my astute children have easily been able to recognize this emotion in me. Duh. Who here can't push my buttons? I don't sulk.

This lady, admiring my deep faith, asked me if I just relied on scriptures then?

I wish I could say that's the ticket, but, honey I'd be lying.

I can't even spell Scripture in an angry moment, much less remember any as a white-hot rage over the unfairness, the damage someone is doing, or the vile hatred that seems to be directed at me, the only one who has ever been committed to these particular children. Oh My Goodness! The only self-control I've ever exhibited has been in not physically lashing out at another human being. And Praise God, I do have that ability.

I, at least, don't cuss in front of the kids, or even anywhere for that matter, but truthfully the thoughts that pop in my head involve very ugly words. Come on y'all, I am human in spite of my efforts to defy human expectations and reality at times.

The Hell that often seems to be unleashed upon me by my furious children can be staggering and, maybe if I'd done a better job of deflecting it all, I would not have had a tumor. Who knows? Stress can do terrible damage to one's body. Another reason I take mega vitamins, stress depletes one's store of necessary nutrients.

I don't drink or smoke to calm myself down, I used to take long walks in my Cristy days, but then my dear Cristy gave me three infants in a five year period to raise, plus I also added half a dozen very traumatized, very demanding toddlers in sib groups with pre-teens to the mix, and my hikes were sacrificed due to time constraints and no babysitters.

But all that said...me trying to demonstrate that my temper outbursts here are legendary and dramatic...I do have a few stay-safes in place. I do often remember to pray, I 've burst into tears at times which surprises everyone as I rarely cry, I'll go dig to China in my gardens, stomp dramatically up and down the stairs, haul stuff, or just physically exhaust my body until I've calmed myself. I'm way too hot-headed for my own good certainly.

The funny thing is the kids will often run get Edgar, Sonny or Sergi...someone they think can restrain me should it be necessary.

But my level of forgiveness is as renowned here as is my temper. Every single child, even Joey, knows that I will forgive them. I've proven that over and over and over again. The hatred that is hurled at me can be catastrophic, but somehow, on some level, I am usually able to remember that it really isn't about me, I'm just a safe emotional target for them to blast their fury at regarding their pasts.

I have a very level-headed, super intelligent caseworker/best friend, Emily, who can always go straight to what is really happening in our family feuds, when I can't see straight through my own angry revulsion, she always reminds me what is really going on. Truly, I don't know what other mamas do without an Emily in their lives, I've needed her viewpoint, her decoding abilities, and her painfully clear explanations as she can always unravel the Hellish behavior here to deduce the facts that I can't see.

I'm very guilty of not necessarily demonstrating proper, nor mature, responses to my anger, my broken plates are proof of that, but I've also often gone to my kids to ask their forgiveness of me as well for my fiery eruptions. It's a two way street.

This lady had asked me if dealing with anger "comes with age?" I think it must to a certain degree, as I've lived long enough, and with so many detonating children that I do intuitively know that this too will pass. I know that my relationship with each kid will only grow stronger through each episode, good and bad, but I only know this through the experience that came with age.

I used to exercise more, and lift weights, and I'm starting to do that again now that my strength is back. But I really want to reassure this other mother that if we didn't love our kids so much, they then wouldn't have this same ability to anger us so much. We wouldn't care, they then subsequently couldn't enrage us.

I've pointed that fact out around here time and time again. If I didn't give a flip, I'd let my girls dress like sluts, or I'd let my sons stay out all night, but I do deeply care what happens to everyone, and it's my job to fight these battles with, or against, them. Eventually they get it.

It does become rewarding. Last night, on a Friday night, Sonny wanted Edgar and I to watch a race car movie with him. I'd rather pick my nose or something, jeepers, but I forced myself to spend the Mama time he'd requested. I only fell asleep once or twice, I wondered who was on Larry King Live, and I fantasized about my new/old sink, but physically I was there with the boys.

Vanessa, Sabrina, Martin, Javy and Mayra had gone to a progressive dinner with the church youth group, and Gito was at an away wrestling meet way south of Atlanta...my house felt empty...I enjoyed the quiet time, catching my breath before the next onslaught of crud that we know is headed our way sometime...a time I'll need to curb my tantrums and deal with the situation like the adult I'm supposed to be.