Foster children are obviously traumatized by their repeated moves, and their inner feelings of abject powerlessness, as they are seemingly shuffled hither and yon for no discernible reason, it's as if they're blown by varying winds of the moods of adults who simply feel incomprehensible needs to bust apart sibling groups.

Or so it is perceived by the wounded children who're moved constantly.

When the Big A word is used, when they're reunited with their siblings in The Adoptive Home, do you think it means squat to a tree? Get real, and tell me why and how these children could possibly begin to trust this new adult? This knuckle-headed mother who is positive that she's their forever mom, but to the child, she's just another well-meaning lady in a long line of interchangeable players.

The only thing the broken child can then control seems to be the mood of adults. The child will rage without a trigger, over anything, everything and nothing, because they then feel some sense of control over a situation.

If nothing else, they can piss people off.

That may be all that they possess. That ability to enrage, and eventually it fulfils the inner sense of powerlessness, momentum builds, and that's who the child has become.

Sucks for the parent certainly.

It's taken a very long time for me to step back and truly understand that this isn't about me. Y'all have figuratively dried my tears, heard my side of the story, and commiserated with me about your own children, and literally that proverbial light bulb blinked over my knotty head this morning as JoJo, Paloma, Tony and Scotty all fell apart because I dared to upset the applecart.

Sarah and Preston had quietly decided, without any fanfare at all, to have Hazel's Baby Dedication during early service (8:30) this morning. We usually go to Sunday School first, then late service and I threw everyone for a loop, only informing them of this the night before to eliminate the repetitive questioning and meltdowns that I knew would follow our change in schedule.

Man, I called that one right.

I won't detail the meltdowns, but somehow I managed to ignore most of them, and continue getting everyone ready for church. A good chunk of our family was there to support Sarah and Preston. Preston read a prayer he'd written for Hazel that took down part of the congregation, tears springing to their eyes, as it was so moving.

When we all went up front, I'd as usual, strategically placed myself where I could keep my eye on most of my kids who're prone to hitting, tripping and annoying each other, but Yolie glided to my side, "I've got the 'control part', you go be with Sarah," allowing me to stand next to my oldest, her mother-in-law on the other side, us properly supporting the situation.

At 4'11" Yolie can totally control my rambunctious bunch with one steely glance at any offender, they're just not gonna buck Yolie. Then she substituted for another teacher in th 4th and 5th grade class where Jonathan and Scotty then were the angels of the bunch, again they weren't about to go up against Yolie. They may be irritating and oppositional, but crazy they ain't.

My new friend, Kelly and her family joined us, looking for a home church, they all got there at 8:30 as well, joining me later for Sunday School also.

Preston's mom, Edith, and his sister, Georgeanne, ran interference for me, corralling my children when I couldn't get across the room in time. Our Sunday School class turned the tables in another direction (setting me off much like my children), forcing me by default to sit up front, rather than in my comfort zone with Susan and Sarah.

Paloma went after Scotty in the van going home from church and because we're home earlier than usual, my children are all out of sorts and full of stinky
vinegar attitudes.

Sweet ole Javy turned 15 and Joey's gonna hit 20, likely incarcerated, but at this point in his life, it seems to be a personal choice driven by his inability to function in a world with authority figures...yet he apparently needs them, his jailers, for three hots and a cot.

In sharp contrast, Javy's playing two sports, doing fine in school, church and at home.