That's What She Wants

Not that my fellow adoptive or foster moms have any free time, this I know, but if you ever have time to go back and read some of the heartfelt comments left by folks like us, you'd be rewarded through their candor.

Maia had questioned me about RTC services wondering how I'd been able to access several over the years since funding seems to be nil, knowing I couldn't pay out of pocket, not knowing that my Blue Cross is even less helpful than Medicaid. Sadly, because my children have broken several laws, DJJ has stepped in often to help. Fortunately we have an awesome DJJ officer here in our county. That's how Fabian received the best, which was OTP, and because they, I and our local mental health knew that Teresa was so intelligent, we didn't necessarily want her locked up so this therapeutic home setting, through mental health, was then our best option.

CPS has never helped as they have nothing to offer, post-adoption services in Texas can't help either as I've called them before in desperation only to be offered parenting workshops. Gee, thanks.

It is even less likely anymore that I'd be able to find any outside help with all the budget cuts which made me wallow in despair yesterday when Paloma hit my grandson, Mauri, in a rage. He'd done nothing. His mere existence irritated her just as she's also lashed out here over the years at whoever she chose for her target of the day. Happy normal people annoy her.

I truly do not know what I'll be able to do with her. She apologized to me in the morning for her school refusal, had a decent three hours or so, then went plummeting down hill for the rest of the day into the evening. Hateful, raging and ugly to everyone as they avoided her much as one would shun a visible plague.

Lisa's comment "Crazy making behavior I must say. The need for control is so extreme it is pathological and it's almost an OCD behavior if you think about it," ran through my head all day as I tried to think about it while managing the crazy behaviors. It made me crazy literally.

In just five years, Paloma will be facing her 17th birthday. In six years she'll be tearing up the streets if she doesn't soon get a grip on sanity. Worst case scenario is her living here like this, I cannot imagine her going downhill from here. Getting worse? Oh my goodness.

The kids have two days of early release from school and that change in their schedule bonkered everyone out this morning. Even Nando'd burst into tears over nothing, Jonathan wouldn't take his book bag, and I thought my head would explode from the group oppositional meltdowns.

The thought of just three peaceful hours this morning didn't help. Tabby is home sick with a fever, but I am looking forward to my oldest best friend, Barbara, coming from Louisiana for a visit tomorrow. We've maintained a friendship for 40 years now which blows us both away.

I'd found Monica's Lifebook the other day in a drawer, made 20 years ago, I dumbly thought Monica would want to see it. What was I thinking? Yolie diplomatically told me, "Mama, doncha think you might should have run that past me?" as she's the emotional translator here for adoption issues, she's earned her Queenful status certainly, proving herself right when Monica came over in tears later. Nearly 25 years old and the past still hurts. My ignorant and still naive thinking was based on the fact that now that Monica has two daughters, maybe she and they would like to see toddler pictures of their mother? Yeah, I got that part right as Kortney enjoyed it, but Monica didn't.

Then I get a phone call, "Well I just thought as his mother you'd let me know if he had a history of lying?" from a girlfriend I hardly know of one of my sons.

"I think you need to discuss this with your parent," I stressed, trying to get off the phone. "This is none of my business."

Nope, don't drag me into this.

"Well I've been in abusive relationships before," this 20-something year old tried to tell me, as if that'd earn her brownie points? My thought was WHY would one have been in abusive relationships with the emphasis on plural.

I got off the phone as fast as was possible, only to have it ring immediately and be the one I didn't want to talk about. Being his mother I did admonish him for the thousandth time about untruths.

Miriam came by later to fill me in on stuff I didn't really want to know. She's still doing well, but her concern for some birth sibs, who insist on learning everything the hard way, was evident.

Then Paloma refused to go to bed, wanting to have yet another reason to rage as everyone else went to bed peacefully. She knew that I wanted to be alone there at 9:30 at night, thinking I'd earned the right to have a few minutes of peace and quiet and it was her extremely rude mission to destroy that which I might have enjoyed.

I finished cleaning up the kitchen thinking 'I can do anything for six more years. I can do anything for six more years. I can do anything for six more years. I can do anything for six more years' over and over and over again in my head until my own blood pressure went down, Paloma realized I was refusing to engage in a battle, so she took the three-footed dog with her and stomped off to bed, leaving me too emotionally drained to even think.

The phone rang yet again, sending me into paroxysms of twitching, my caller ID usually on the fritz like most everything else around here. Fortunately it was Sarah, so I vented, and sat down to read her most recent post which I thoroughly enjoyed. Calm enough then to go to bed and read myself to sleep, knowing the next day and the next day and the next day I'll still be living with someone who resents my existence and my ability to not lash out at her when that's what she wants.