Don't Text ME

Kortney's turning six and hosted a slumber party last night, emptying my house of girls, filling up the doublewide across the way for Monica to monitor. Carolina made one of her fantastic cakes for this afternooon and we'll have her family birthday party after four different morning soccer practices.

I'd gotten a wild hair based on Lily and Martin's need to complete their SAE project for their Ag class, either outdoors or on a home project, and after nine years, they're repainting my office, which is our very large walk-in pantry. But what does one do with all the food in the meantime?

I stood there thinking, willing the phone not to ring and thus rattle me, and decided to do a deep spring cleaning of everything in there which involved nearly five hours of work with helpers, to only get 35% of it emptied and cleaned. This will eventually add up to a major undertaking, but I'm glad we got the git-go going on it. I bought a pretty yellow paint as I know I'll need a winter pick-me-up.

Because I'd received a phone call from the middle school AP, I had a public cow when my children got home from school. "Y'all just sit right here and listen to me," as I railed against the thug mindset in which my darling boys wanted to slouch into school busting slack and giving attitude to their very dedicated teachers who are my friends.

"Who in the heck do you all think you are?" Nothing irks me like a non-bill payer's disrespect to authority figures. I lit into them all. "I just won't have this!"

Friday evening and no one had computer privileges but Sabrina, and much later Mayra who'd lost her chance to attend the football game due to her grade in Biology. I could even understand a failing grade if one puts forth an effort, but PowerSchool allows me to see zeros. "Are you kidding me?" I'd screeched. "You worry about straightening your hair, you can worry about phylums too if you want to go to the games." Met with a totally blank stare, I hollered, "I rest my case."

My Bubbas had sense enough to be ashamed of their attitude issues. "Y'all live down a dirt road," I'd reminded them of the obvious, "You think that gives you street cred?"

They tried to withhold their snickers. "I ought to make y'all wear overalls, then we'll see how you think you're gonna bust slack."

I was met with silence as they could easily see me make a big deal and follow through on that threat.

Sarah's blogging so fast I've been unable to get back to the computer and update.

For Kortney's birthday I went to a store, of all places, to hunt an inexpensive pair of walkie talkies to allow she and Tabby to communicate the 50 yards from our house to the doublewide. I found a massively marked down set at Walmart in the Hunting and Fishing Department. As I stood there contemplating, the department manager offered to cut even that price in half. I hadn't asked, hadn't hinted, nothing...my eyes nearly brimmed with tears for some reason. Wow, someone being nice to me? The Adoption Counselor also deplored the way she's treated at times regarding her children's issues - silently or even vocally blamed - which may be one of the most difficult to stomach side effects in the adoption of older children.

I quote her, "Now, I don’t really need a whole heap of praise but I would like some balance to go with the blame I get for not “healing” my mentally ill son - or for not getting the brain cells to re-grow on my son and daughter who have such severe FASD, or for not getting the neurons to fire right with my boys who have severe adhd - or for not building in a conscience for my son whose frontal lobes are too out of whack to have grow one of his own."

I thanked the sweet lady at Wal-Mart effusively. "Honey, you don't know how much you've just blessed me," I babbled, taking a deep breath, and happily getting a grip, only to walk away and run slap into my laptop thief who I rarely see, but do hear from. He looked great, we had a brief talk, but his lies kept slipping out and I reminded myself I don't have to hear them so I excused myself, wished him well and bopped on home, dragging my ten gallons of milk behind me.

I figure I've already recycled nearly 700 empty jugs of plastic so far this year. That makes my heart sing.

Mamas my age shouldn't have to text yet that's how many of my children communicate so they don't have to listen to any accompanying lectures from me, but heck y'all that's my job. Vanessa kept texting until late last night despite my protests to the contrary. Sometimes I'm just happy to hear from them at all.