A Bunch of Emos

That's all I hear lately as I have a very large crowd of middle schoolers living here with me. "Dude, don't be such an emo," as they rib each other nonstop.

"What the heck are y'all talking about?" I finally asked, only to get a boy's nearly nonverbal explanation of a troubled, angst-ridden nutbird. Trends escape me.

Kindergarten breakfast this morning which motivated me to not wear pjs when I drove the kids to school. I made a big deal about how I was gonna show up all raggedy and not wearing any makeup, thinking maybe I could at least embarass a sensitive one, but contrary and oppositional behaviors prevailed with a big group, "Who cares?"

I'd have been fine if the principal had made real coffee versus two large pots of decaf. Decaf? Real women drink turbo black coffee, not no sissy stuff.

Sarah blogged last night another one of her delicious, meticulous recipes in utter contrast to me who just mixes up stuff without any guide and nary a care in the world. Last night's ABC pasta, barley, corn and brown rice in a tomato sauce with fire hot pepper sauce covered with grated hot pepper cheese hit the spot. "Man that was good, Mama!" heard round the tables, yet it must not have stuck that hard to their ribs because after Wednesday Night Youth Group they'd all come home and eaten cereal before bed. Boxes of cereal.

Asked about Carolina's poblanos, I can only respond with a vague explanation as Carolina doesn't exactly share her recipes. She'd roasted the peppers and used an egg mixture while wrapping the spinach, cheese and flour around it, lightly frying it all to perfection.

Like the two little grade-grubbing, nerdy, penny pinching spendthrifts that we truly are, Sarah and I nearly always find something that grabs our attention in The Simple Dollar. Lately he'd emphasized creating something rather than consuming something, recently it was about scenarios when one makes more money and we'd both excitedly agreed with his thoughts. Or today's The Courage to Ask that illustrated my ability to live so cheaply. This guy, Trent, is a genius.

Whenever I get frustrated about adoption issues, enough to question my own ability to continue working to promote it, an Atlanta agency almost always seems to call me about a hard-to-place infant which always fires me up. I'd had quite a few home studies sent in by this morning and possibly several also in on a large sib group of children here in Georgia. That pumps me up, even knowing that CPS will later treat the adoptive parents with disdain, scorn, and mortification.

Grandma and Grandpa took off out of here at 4 this morning, to beat the traffic to Atlanta as Grandpa is having a lung biopsy. He's been diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis but you wouldn't know it to look at him. Grandma just called to say the procedure was over and all is well right now.

My 17th grandchild was born two nights ago as I learned in a stilted phone call from the new mom. Sometimes it's hard for me to get excited when I've been treated so rudely. Now uber-traumatized as well, my own trust issues bubble up, and I'm unsure as how to best respond.

Glad again for my gate that locks, glad that my entire life seems to revolve completely down this dirt road with my family and my gardens, I'd be happier if the Braves would wake up again and hit the ball, but oh well, these silly Yorkies are prancing and playing, and entertaining me with their frantic antics. They're all 4,6 and 7 years old, way past the puppy stage but still silly.

It's drizzling so I can't work outside, that leaves cleaning the house for me. Nah, I'd rather work in the misty rain that is teasing my plants.