Prayer

My family needs some prayer covering as we face the end result of a year long ordeal that has been painful, stressful, traumatic and nearly unbearable. There'll be no resolution, just continuing pain for all involved. The emotional injuries that my children brought with them from Texas have devastating consequnces, I can forsee a lifelong healing journey.

Merilee's Family

If I walked one day in my friend Merilee's shoes, facing all her children (pictured here minus one son) I'd be absolutely overwhelmed. I don't know all their names, issues, challenges, needs, priorities, personalities, interests, strengths or anything. I imagine she'd feel the same way if left alone with my darlings.

Yet we can function beautifully usually within our own families. I think that just gave me a peek into the minds of the people who say, "I just don't know how you do it, Cindy."

You just do. You just get up each day and start over facing good days and bad days like everyone else only multiplied and with the accompanying issues rather than a sweet soundtrack.

I slowly added to my family, getting used to everyone, learning how to function as a unit, still learning but these days my numbers are slowly decreasing rather than increasing. I'm not unhappy about that, I don't feel the push or the calling for more children, this all feels right to me.

I wish Merilee lived close by so we could commiserate, yet after Fabian went gaga over her daughters, maybe 2000 miles away is a good thing?

My once-an-only-child-for-14-years, Sarah's son Ray had a soccer game last night, as did his teammate Tabby and the sidelines were filled with Preston's family and ours. Most of my soccer playing children were at practice so Tabby and Ray's Fan Club consisted of the older kid and grandkids.

Thai Green lettuce is over-producng for me, if there is such a thing. I pick it and the Viroflay spinach each day at noon, enough for a family salad of six or eight people and I eat the entire thing my ownself with balsamic vinegar.

I haven't read up enough on the rice shortage, I've hardly had time lately to check emails as I stay in the garden as much as possible, still falling behind as I am overly ambitious, but if I can' have rice (and I sure can't grow it around here) I'll just be thankful for all the varieties of potatoes that I planted a couple of months ago.

Someone I Love

I'm only given just a few minutes each day in which to condense what I write, I'd spent nearly two long blocks of hours over a two day period with McAfee technicians trying to get a virus off my own computer only to call Daniel for my venting session, as he never gets ruffled. What a dolt I am, within less than a New York minute he told me what to do with a, "Why didn't you call me first?" I knew he had end of the semester exams and papers so I was trying not to bother him. Within a second of doing what he said to do, this computer issue was resolved.

Mayra had woke our entire family up screaming about either a jaw or tooth related pain at 5 a.m. Sunday. I might have slept through the screaming had not JoJo and Allen appeared in tandem to dance and chatter by my bed as if the sky was falling, shaking my shoulders and hollering, "Mama, get up!"

I called the E.R. only to learn they'd likely refer us to our dentist who I'd rather not call before the sun rose.

Later after church when we'd exhausted our one pill with codeine and several motrin tablets I did call him at home. He called in a prescription for us near my new favorite Starbucks where I could pick up more Grounds for the Garden prompting Fabian to complain I was again "acting like poor people needing free stuff," so he had to listen to my environmental/horticultural/local food lecture all the way there and back.

The young, pretty Kroger clerk distracted him with her dazzling smile, he ran into several friends while I was still educating him, Tina's son, James, found him for me when he tried to escape with a group of Mexican friends he'd run into and then at home I'd exaggeratedly and elaborately walked him through the process of composting. We use the sling-everything-over-there method.

Enough already, Mama. My extravagantly silly motions and constant joke telling finally wore him down, "OK, OK I get it," likely wishing he was back in the relative peace of DJJ custody where oddbird Mamas like me were scarce.

We got blistered in church Sunday as my former pastor, Dr. David, was back as a guest. Now that's going to church, coming home on fire, I love it.

I'd spent the 1980s as a new believer,conveniently forgetting I'd been raised in church in the 1950s, again blaming the anarchy of the 60s and the excesses of the 70s where my rebellious, counter-culture mind had shut down to the possibility of a loving God.

Feeling the obligatory hypocrisy of the mainstream church and too self-righteously idiotic to understand that we are all hypocrites. Getting over that stumbling block with a little spiritual maturity now knowing it is a lifelong, personal journey.

For ten years I once had the benefit of David's anointed preaching and teaching, not having a clue that I was then indeed very blessed to be under the teaching of such a knowledgeable, very young man of God. I'd gone through a spiritual dry spell for a long period after that, still a believer, but learning more on my own as my church went through a series of pastors. Five years now with Pastor Tony, again richly blessed.

But that David... man can he preach. I sat there with a ton of my kids, four sons-in-law, many grandkids, later I tried to impart to them the luxury I'd once had of three times a week David sermons. One in particular, "What's it gonna cost you?" has rang in my head for 20 years as I've raised my more...shall we say difficult children.

Another sermon, "Why not rather be wronged," learning it ain't about me, retaliation is pointless, a so what attitude that has taught me so much about forgiveness.

Christianity isn't a fire insurance policy, we're all gonna face trials and temptations, bleak times and shattering blows just like everyone else. The difference is the understanding of our purpose and the strength we're given to endure and go on as we travel through this confusing world. We're infused with such hope.

A reader asked me, "Do your kids rebel against your faith?" Heck yeah, they do. I did it to my parents too. Another reader asked, "What church should I go to?" That's a personal decision. Shop around and find one that feeds your soul. Always curious I read up regarding Lee's comment about 'theism,' and later answered my son's denominational questions. Bottom line, life is short and then I truly believe we face eternity.

It is pouring rain right now, something I love even though it forces me to do housework instead of gallivanting out in the garden. Gotta get Mayra to the dentist, start the black beans for dinner, and attack the smelly laundry pile. One team has a soccer game tonight, another has practice, Sabrina has cheerleader tryouts all week and I have an upcoming dreadful court date. Well I don't, but someone I love does.

Yup, What He Said

Besides being extraordinarily nice, intelligent, helpful and handsome, Daniel has an equally wonderful girlfriend, Lauren, he met a couple of years ago at UGA. I'm all for waiting until college to date as I'm suspiciously positive that teenagers are in no emotionally competent condition to do so. Like I'd let Mayra? I don't think so.

I believe it was Suzanne, a reader here, who'd reminded me that Starbucks gives out free coffee grounds?

Wait a brain fart has occurred: I don't put links in here just to impress myself with my ability to do so at age 53, but rather they are usually answers to questions people have asked me like 'how does one compost?" See here.

I'm sill a Starbucks coffee virgin, what with me being notoriously unable to spend the big bucks, plus I like my own turbo powered bitter blend, but I'm not above begging for their trash. Turns out I only had to ask nicely and then I got all excited and questioned the clerk about the best times for grinds pickup. (9 a.m.)There's a new Starbucks out by Wal-mat near Home Depot and Lowes so I'll certainly plan to stop often.

While we went through our six game schedule yesterday, Scotty chose to be the one needing medical attention. A nurse came running to examine his ankle telling another mother/nurse who was also on the sidelines, "I'm an OB-GYN nurse, but I bet he doesn't need a pap smear!" I fell out laughing, couldn't help myself, Scotty was looking at me with very wide eyes, wondering about the three women standing there telling estrogen jokes...oh my goodness, Big Mouth Mama morphed into three smarty pants women? He put his cleats, socks and shin guards back on and fled back into the relative safety of the game.

I literally drowned my cell phone in a puddle of club soda (long story), so Fabian went with me later to Verizon while I threatened to tell them I'd peed on it just to embarrass Fabian who'd dressed up cool to ride along with me. He picked out several hot, gadgety phones yet I, of course, chose the dull, free one.

"Mom, you're such a dud," he protested.

"Maybe so but I couldn't parent all y'all and remain stylish at the same time."

Remain," he questioned me, "You've never been stylish."

True, but who care?

Carolina made 176 handmade tamales from scratch, cooking all day, loving it like I love my gardens, wrapping each one in a banana plant leaf. I stuffed myself and waddled off to water my plants.

Sarah blogged after Ray got smacked in the head with a soccer ball during his game. Being my grandson he found it hilarious to be so publicly conked.

I went back and re-read Michael Pollan's article, "Why Bother?" and will quote him: ""If you do bother, you will set an example for other people. If enough other people bother, each one influencing yet another in a chain reaction of behavioral change, markets for all manner of green products and alternative technologies will prosper and expand. (Just look at the market for hybrid cars.) Consciousness will be raised, perhaps even changed: new moral imperatives and new taboos might take root in the culture. Driving an S.U.V. or eating a 24-ounce steak or illuminating your McMansion like an airport runway at night might come to be regarded as outrages to human conscience. Not having things might become cooler than having them. And those who did change the way they live would acquire the moral standing to demand changes in behavior from others — from other people, other corporations, even other countries."

Yup, what he said.

This man is brilliant. I'm feeling satisfied that I've, at least, raised the consciousness of many of my children because I've bothered to do so.

Huge Faith And Assurance

I had to go back and reread yesterday's post to see what had upset Cristy so deeply. My blogging, once poured out, is forgotten as I move on to each day's new challenges.

She came over while I was cooking bean and cheese enchiladas for everyone and directing kid traffic to their various Friday night activities. She started crying and shaking and flung herself in my arms apologizing for each and every problem she'd caused in the past.

OK darling, you know I've long since moved on from our clashes in the 1990s. We've had many bitter battles, countless skirmishes, angry words, police involvement, psychiatric adventures, runaway moments and resentment but we'd put it all behind us. Truthfully the three kids I'm raising, her birth kids, have been so wonderful that often they're the ones who give me enough positive reinforcement to go on each day. What I once viewed as a possible imposition has become a blessing.

A comment about the kid's box of case files got me to thinking. I don't allow anyone to have access until adulthood. I used to say age 18, but I've pushed it back to early 20s as I saw how it devastated Yolie who was the most capable of everyone to handle the info, by then close to finishing her degree in social work.

The case files are sad, painful and deeply disturbing plus disheartening. What I once clinically read before I adopted each sibling group took on a deeper significance after raising these children. These were MY children that someone hurt so badly. After a stable and secure home, after years in our excellent school system and involvement in church, community and sports...the kids in those old case files seemed like very different ones who'd matured and moved on from their origins as severely traumatized children.

Cristy will graduate next week from UGA with a degree in Psychology. She reminds me very much of Claudia's older daughter. Both are very beautiful, rebellious and righteously angry girls. Cristy struggled with a Borderline Personality Diagnosis and Claudia's daughter has involvement with DJJ instead, yet their similarities as I read Claudia and Bart's descriptions are uncannily similar.

I once struggled emotionally for any glimmer of hope that Cristy would change from a hater to a normal person. I cried many nights, I often felt as if my efforts meant nothing, and our head butting arguments seemed to always be so pointless. Last night she blurted, "I can't believe it's taken me so long. I can't believe I'm 31 and now only telling you that I do trust and appreciate you."

Actually she demonstrated that trust when she was 19 and birthed CW, telling me then, "Mom, please raise him," neither of us knowing that Lily and Jack would join him later, but that's another story.

Three months after her 18th birthday Yolie cemented her love and devotion after a brief rebellious streak, Daniel never budged from his deep emotional ties to me, Big Joe's been up and down, some other grown daughters are still acting out, Monica had a brief shacking up adventure but she's back stronger than ever, Carolina never had time to rebel what with marrying early and raising five children, Jesse never really rebelled as his birth siblings put both he and I through the wringer, and several other of my grown children are in varying states of emotional distress and disrepair.

I can foresee another decade of Edgar-Mama conflicts and that goes for Vanessa as well.

Sarah did the obligatory birth -child-raised-in-church reject Mama's values for a brief period, now strong in her faith and a married woman with children.

I share Cristy's actions of last night to give Claudia hope for Salinda. I see such beauty and potential in her; such bitter misdirected conflicted feelings about her adoption and birth family, and contrarily I see such hope for Salinda's future. I know that many of our readers also see this in their own furious daughters.

Mother's Day is coming up, always a time for conflicted and confusing anger. I dread it and plan to spend the afternoon out in my garden. "Can I cook for you?" Cristy'd asked. Nope, any show of love and devotion that day can cause way too many problems around here. Let's just quietly get through the day, let me weed and I'll be happy.

I'll wait everyone out, knowing with huge faith and assurance, that each child of mine was called out by God for a reason. I apologize for my evangelical fervor if it offends anyone but I simply can't describe how or why I do this, where I get my strength and ability to continue forward unless I use God in my explanation. Hey, this has worked for us.

Now I'm running out the door for six soccer games today, index card in my back pocket telling me which team, which field, and what times we need to be where.

My Kid's Mom

Publix FINALLY carries an organic, unsweetened version of soymilk and along with their Greenwise line of organic skim milk that the kids adore, I now feel environmentally safer.

Sarah introduced me to Michael Pollan's books several years ago and while we both pride ourselves on fairly substantial levels of intelligence, we both are astounded at this man's level of genius. Honestly it takes us both twice as long to read any one of his paragraphs as there's literally so much intelligent thought packed into every line he writes. His latest in the NYTimes is yet another example of his brilliance.

Another comment echoed Julie's question the other day, "My question is how do you do you KNOW it's making a huge difference. I've poured so much into my 18 year old unofficial foster son who came to us 7 months ago and has never been loved. But he just told me a few nights ago that we were not his REAL family, and his REAL family would always comes first with him."

Every adoption of older children involves this issue. The obvious and understandable loyalty comes along with children who clearly remember their birth parents. Even the most severely abused child will still love their original abusive birth parent. That's a fact that we must accept. We may never comprehend it, but I believe we need to allow our children to hold on to that love.

This is an area we need to leave alone, a battle we won't win. I remember holding Yolie one night around 15 years ago while she cried so hard her face swole up, grieving her birth mother. I listened so intently to her, her words searing into my brain and I can still remember the design on the bedspread, so vividly is that night etched in my mind.

I'd read the entire huge box of case reports against her bio mom, I was painfully aware of what Yolie and her brothers had suffered through as well as her older sisters. Yolie was crying, "I miss her, I just really miss her," and I told Yolie when she was 18, I'd help her find her birth mom.

Yolie'd lost interest by the time she was 18, at 21 she read her own files and curled back up in my lap to grieve once again, furious that CPS had been involved with that family since the 70s and never protected them. Right after she married Chuck, her birth family found us and the fallout was tremendous. Yolie cried in my living room for the next six months. Yolie is brilliant and insightful, yet there are no answers for her, she can't (nor can I) figure out, decipher nor understand the whys of anything involved in her past or in the pasts of my other children.

I truly believe we will never understand until we get to Heaven. Call me simplistic or an idiot clinging to fairy tales or using religion as a crutch, but honey I gotta tell you it works for me.

Now Yolie may not be a good example as she's always been my velcro child, very attached and loving but all y'all know I have several children who are absolute hellions.

I've been shamefully mistreated by several of my children, their bitter hatred misdirected and aimed toward me and I've greatly resented it all. I've learned a great deal from Claudia and Kari regarding FAE and FAS children, how consequencing behaviors seems to be pointless, I've seen many of my children get arrested over and over for ignorant behaviors, never comprehending that it is their fault, their misbehavior, that has resulted in an arrest. I've lived with massive destruction here in my home (punched in walls, broken windows, light fixtures torn from ceilings, doors broken in half and destroyed and countless other acts of uncivilized, animalistic behaviors. I've been physically bruised and emotionally damaged.

I know that several of my children will never have the capacity to love me back. I'm also hurt badly by those that intentionally inflict even more emotional pain after they are gone, particularly when I know they are smart enough to understand how painful their actions toward me can be.

Paula wrote a great post on how this all feels.

Somehow, some way God has given me the ability to forgive constantly even though sometimes I chose to remain emotionally withdrawn and sometimes cowering internally waiting for the next blow. Now I'm the one who resembles an abused child.

I truly do deeply love my children. I love Pepe who most recently bruised me up, I love my laptop thief, my jailbirds, and my haters.

They can't make me not love them. I'm in control of how I react to what they dish out.

Yes I cry and rage inwardly. I pour it out to Sarah and Yolie, Carolina and Monica, Daniel and Jesse, whoever will listen to me. I'm not a saint but a very hurt human being who still knows that, in then end, God's gonna approvingly pat me on my knotty little head. I'm doing this for Him.

Last night when I cleaned up trash on a bathroom floor that had poop and menstrual blood on it (why find a waste receptacle when one can literally demonstrate to Mama how shi&%y they think their life once was?), I was not a happy camper. I fought back angry tears as I was reminded in my head that 'whatever one does for the least of them, one is doing unto Him' and honestly folks this is why I do it all. The strength given to me by God is unexplainable and unfathomable unless one has faith.

Y'all also need to know that eventually my emotional rewards are tremendous. I'm a Navy mom, an Army mom, a soccer mom, an accountant's mom, a banker's mom, a super proud Grandmama, a UGA mom, a kitchen manager's mom, a mother-in-law to some impressive grown folks, a restaurant inspector's mom, a mom to five homeowners, a mom to college graduates, a mom to some kids who've successfully completed probation. I've been a football mom, a baseball mom, a Little League mom, a high school volleyball mom, a wrestler's mom, a mom to quite a few jailbirds and an alcoholic's mom, a mom to some homeless kids, a mom to some kids in psychiatric facilities and a mom to some kids filled with hatred that their birth mom wouldn't perform properly.

I'm my kid's mom whether they like it or not.

Thank you Lord.

Playing Outside

Reversing my morning schedule to get to the fifth grade breakfast affair with Lily, Tony and JoJo, I was not the one to drive the middle schoolers, but I left them at the bus stop a minute or so earlier than usual.

Got a call soon that Baby Yolie, 13 years old next month, needed to come home and change her clothes. She crept past her parents and tried to get back downstairs with me quietly but I'm a little too loud for that, tattling to her parents later.

Within minutes Sweet Miss Ellen at the middle school called to tell me Allen was being disrespectful - something that makes me nuts. Get this - all three sixth graders who are normally fairly easy going guys have detention this afternoon for too many punches on their punch cards for forgetting books, yapping in class, being late, or other minor infractions that add up to an hour in detention. Sucks to be you boys.

One time at work I told a principal that something sucked. He quickly and dryly responded, "Don't cuss in the damn school Cindy," causing me to snort with inappropriate laughter.

Tony threw up his fifth grade breakfast and is home with me now. I've not yet made it outside, and I really meant to blog about a comment the other day (Julie) but right now I wanna go outside and play...I mean plant the garden, same thing in my book.

Those are sweet peas blooming in my greenhouse behind Tony who's holding a bowl of collards and chard.

Today's Hero...John Smoltz

Because I was at the soccer field until nearly ten last night, I missed John Smoltz 3000 strike out but Sarah gave me a detailed description of the night's events. We start nearly every conversation with, "I meant to tell you", or "I forgot to tell you," even though we see each other nearly every day and talk by phone several times.

The U18 League is fascinating to watch. Javy was the goalie and took a pounding by some overly aggressive players. Javy held firm though and let no goals in. Their team, which also includes Fabian, Mayra and Martin won 4-0. Javy was kicked hard in the stomach on one play while Fabian was on defense. Fabian's such a hothead I was concerned he'd go after the one who deliberately played dirty against Javy but he held himself together. I was just glad Mayra hadn't been hurt, his bio sister, as he'd have lost it for sure and the last thing I felt like doing was tackling down a raging Fabian. Big Jose was with me though, I'd have had back-up. Carolina had made a coconut flan and I was way too full to successfully be physical if necessary.

I appreciate the comments and emails of support yesterday, it was nearly 80 degrees and every single spare second, I needed to be planting so my computer time has been limited. I'm responding to everything slowly.

We once had a case of false allegations here by one child regarding another. Tiptoeing through that explosive minefield that resulted in another CPS investigation, that was eventually exonerated by a superb forensic sexual assault investigator. This was during one of the times that it was evident from my posting that I was immensely stressed and as such, I keep a log book of every time I'm not home and who was babysitting at the time.

My kids were asked, "Who babysits you if Mom isn't here?" and they all answered, "no one," since they neither realize that Yolie (28), Sarah (34), Carolina (27) or Monica (24) are then acting as babysitters. It never dawned on my children that this is what a babysitter is. Like I'd hire a stranger??? Like a stranger would even agree??? Like I could afford one? I usually leave a team of older children, not just one. I ain't stoopid.

So my log book serves as either evidence or proof of the very few times I leave and who I am leaving in charge. If you are an adoptive parent of older children, I'd HIGHLY advise you to do the same. I detail the time I left, when I returned, who stayed home, who went with me and where I went.

Yes, I resent this extra work, but even more so I deeply resented being called a liar by a CPS supervisor from another county who never called the professional folks who would have sprung to my defense. It's taken me a long time to shake off my anger at such a clueless young woman who had such a belligerent, hateful attitude. I'd wanted to scream, "Look Lady, just because you'd resent being tied down by these children doesn't mean that I do." I'm so sure it would have interfered with her own barhopping lifestyle. I'm an old fart who stays home and loves it. I go to the grocery store and soccer games. I'm still a little incensed at the injustice of her inability to comprehend. She was from another county. The forensic investigator was amazing and I picked her brain for all sorts of helpful thoughts in raising children like mine.

This morning Fabian was lagging behind when I had to leave to take first load. When I'm gone for that one ten minute period each morning, I leave behind Mayra, Sabrina and Tabby, returning to pick them up after I've dropped off the elementary kids so as not to overload the van.

Fabian wanted me to leave him here as he is 16 and doesn't need a babysitter. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I NEVER would leave an older boy with younger girls. Carolina and Jose plus Grandma and Pa were here but that's not my point.

I could tell Fabian was about one degree from losing it and I was time stressed and irritable my ownself. I walked away, knowing he wanted any sort of provocation so he'd feel justified in going off on someone and somehow I silently prayed down my blood pressure, rearranged my tight schedule in my head, reversing the order while keeping everyone supervised like I always do Miss Thang Who Had An Attitude With Me Last Year. (Shake it off Big Mama)

Fabian was glowering, I was simmering, Paloma stepped up to the plate and swung wildly while I reminded her that an outburst would cost her her turn to have psycho puppy sleep in her room. Fabian visibly pulled himself together, I kept very, very quiet on the outside but could not contain the steam rising from the top of my head, Paloma got a grip, and I got everyone where they needed to be on time.

Crisis averted.

I'm going outside to continue planting. I planted all Sharon's tomato plants in an area that I charted, drew me a map so I could later save the seeds, wishing I had 40 hours a day in which to nerd up my garden even more so, but so utterly grateful that I've found something (36 year ago) that so absolutely soothes my soul. Gardening is a gift from God.

Veiled References

I apologize if my veiled references and lack of information being given out here seems overly coy, secretive or worse yet an attempt at being tantalizing, I am very sorry. I just have to play my cards correctly and aboveboard while protecting the privacy of everyone involved.

Court today got pushed back until the 30th. I met with several probation officers and court officials but mainly as friends - not as those involved. One hug from Miss Jeannie released tears i was trying to hold back unsuccessfully. When I returned home I had to call several of my older kids to update them on nothing. It took awhile and Claudia had to give me a pep talk as my spirits were sagging.

I accidentally made Fabian miss Saturday School. Totally my fault, I'd been called on my cell phone about it and thought I'd stored it in my over-stressed brain but wasn't near my planner to write it down. All I had on my mind that day was the six soccer games and six picture times to get to plus it was my turn to take snacks for two teams.

Otherwise the kids are doing right well, soccer is kicking our butt, two games last night, two games tonight, supper is black eyed peas and brown rice - my favorite.

After court today I dried my eyes (I'm crying over the absolute lost potential of one kid and the sad damage to another) and worked on planting tomatoes and peppers while thinking about Paula's 150 cantaloupes. Dern, I've never planted that many but it sure sounds good to me.

Ding-A-Ling Joey called me from jail and immediately picked up on the catch in my voice, "What's wrong Mom?" like I'm gonna confide in him? In jail for violating a barred-from-the-projects, I again encouraged him to toe the line, obey the law - duh - or quit complaining about being arrested.

Pepto

I am absolutely stricken with fear, dread and trepidation as I face today's court date - a year in the making in which I've internally reacted by being physically sick to my stomach, swaddled in grief, and terrified at the projected outcome.

It was a bad thing and I'm in the middle of it - the parent to both of them.

I love them both - Duh - and Daniel, not ever fishing for compliments or reassurances, reminded me, "I know you love them. You love all of us no matter what."

Yeah I do and that's why this hurts so much. The 'long arm of the birth mom' as Yolie reminds me of the trauma children faced before adoption, the aftereffects linger for decades and the severe fear only eases up, it never actually vanishes.

My dad and a box of Pepto-Bismal are my accompaniments today - it took 20 of those nasty pink chalk thingys to make me stop puking with fear Sunday night. Some darling yoyo here didn't flush my toilet. You think I'm going to throw up on that?

My poor bathroom sink.

Maybe today's resolution will start the healing process for everyone.

Planting For Therapy

Chuy played a hard fought game of soccer on Saturday, complained when a kid cleated him in the arm but after icing it down, he claimed he was OK. Yolie'd given him Motrin and he played past dark out front on the tire swing. The next morning he looked rough. That ain't how your forearm is supposed to look, "Might be broken," suggested Preston's sister, George, who is a nurse. Xrays confirmed it wasn't broken thankfully, but apparently he'd bruised his wrist bone and they splinted him up.

"Can I still pay soccer?" he asked the doctor, "Yeah, tough boy, have at it."

I had Yolie, Grandma, Grandpa, Carolina, Jose and Monica all at my house to watch the kids with Chuck and Dewayne within shouting distance, but when Chuy and I walked in the back dor I saw CW and JoJo in a brawl. I quickly tackled JoJo, losing my shoe and ending up on the floor. Apparently he'd been picking on Nando, who CW went to defend while Paloma ran to to the next room to alert the adults.

I hollered at all the kids.

Nando's silver teeth have covered his rotted out baby teeth and I've spent three years at the dentist office trying to make Nando be more normal looking and dentally healthy. He'd moved in with us as a three year old with a grill.

I just can't get into the jail thing yet, it's been a year long ordeal that has broken what's left of my heart and it all seems to be coming to a head now, resulting in my body reacting to the stress apparently by the very severe pains last night. I felt like I had ground glass in my gut.

When Mom had her heart attack after my surgery that year she was refusing to go to the hospital I'd told her, "Get in the car or I'll have Edgar and Fabian carry you out."

She got in the car.

Good thing too as she was in bad shape.

Last night she told me if I didn't go to St Mary's with her she'd have Javy and Fabian throw me in the car.

They looked at her like she'd lost her ever loving mind. There'd be Hell to pay if they tried that. Maybe they outta call Edgar? He might could get away with that. They were absolutely alarmed both at Mom's request and at my obvious pain. I was bent over double and crying but I felt it'd pass eventually and I have white coat fever. Look what happened the last time I went to the doctors? I have a ten inch scar down my middle. However maybe it'd be worth it again for the morphine?

So Grandma was irked with me, I sent the boys to bed as it was ten p.m. and I struggled up to my room and waited it out.

I'm fine today and just came inside from planting tomatoes, 40 down, 160 to go...

Some Days Are Way Tougher Than Others

After I return from Nando's dental appointment this morning I'll blog about Chuy's not broken arm, a fistfight I found myself in the middle of, a grown daughter's pure-T hatefulness, throwing up from stress in the public bathroom of the jail last night, and then my mother's absolute insistence that I go to the emergency room at 10 p.m. when I was writhing with stomach pain. Is this what an ulcer feels like? I refused to go, just wouldn't budge, figuring this too would pass, and after a sleepless night I am good to go this morning.

The stress has been phenomenal and another adoptive mother, Pat, told me she didn't need to blog as she often felt I was telling her story as well.

Amen sister.

It was also the 12th year of my sister's death, not an easy time for me nor my mother, hearing from her only daughter, my darling niece Lauren, late last night sent me into a spasm of grief.

I can only go up from here.

And I will do so through sheer will power and burning determination.

Fighting Against the Routines

No six hours on earth passes faster than those between 8 and 2 p.m. when I, at least, get my hands washed to go pick Tabby up from Pre-K. I'm usually working outside and hate to stop to go find something to eat, knowing that I then spend a couple hours in the late afternoon fixing dinner for so many people.

Sarah came over one day last week and brought lunch for Carolina and I. We sat out under the trees and I gobbled it down, exclaiming delightedly at every bite. The recipe is here. Carolina also is an excellent cook and she so greatly appreciated Sarah's culinary efforts. Afterwards I popped up and headed for the garden, Sarah and Carolina following me, carrying their squirming babies while their toddlers ran to the sandbox.

"I've followed mom around the garden for nearly 35 years," Sarah casually remarked to Carolina, just pointing out the length of time and the fact that the chairs she uses out there had only been replaced maybe twice in all those years. I later overheard Carolina telling Jose that night in Spanish how good it felt for her to be living back here with us and having a history to look back on, her particular emphasis revolved around a barn cat who'd just had kittens in the chicken coop. Kittens were Carolina's first memory of living here, sitting on my front porch for hours as a very frightened pregnant teenager, new to America, and literally petrified at having been plunked down in our wild, loud family that fortunately included several Spanish speakers. Even then Carolina was surprised by my muddy hard-working approach to working the fields - it was something so embedded in my psyche yet so foreign to her concept of a gentile white woman which I sure ain't.

If I'd have quit adopting after Carolina, I'd have had only 12 children and now the youngest would be nearly 23. My story would have been fairly calm, easily manageable even with the struggles put forth from Cristy and Joe. But God had more in store for me, guess he needed to knock the cockiness out of my smugness. He used the next 27 kids as heavenly sandpaper to smooth out my own rough edges and teach me what giving of oneself truly meant. He gave me staggering challenges that I've often asked him, "WHY?" but inwardly knowing and reassured that this was the life I was born to live.

But the children who seem lost to me, especially Teresa and Pepe, who may never grow a conscience, now feel like a sad loss to me, a personal failure yet I know clearly that their story has not yet been told. Having to use out-of-home placements galls me to some degree. What? I ain't enough? Yet I know I'm not. I'm a mama, not a psychologist or therapeutic interventionist. I've often felt sad about Alex as she continuously struggled with a genetic emotional disorder as has Joey. I taught them as much normalness as I possibly could, if they've chosen to reject it and me, they both still deeply know that I am still here for them. Their inability to function normally grieves me, the fact that they really can't control many of their behaviors seems so unfair, yet I know God has a plan for them.

Another grown son too is struggling so hard; angry and depressed, but I know that he knows that I love him. He's ashamed of his drinking and is choosing to avoid me.

As Yolie works on building her new house on my dirt road, it makes me happy, knowing I'll get to watch CJ and Cindy Mae grow up close by with Hazel Bay and Ray. When Big Jose works out his citizenship ordeal, he'll also build a house for his family, which includes his five darling children, on two acres he's reserved on this same dirt road. Being surrounded, encapsulated by those grown kids who openly adore me, is vastly comforting to a raggedy ole bag like me.

Why some kids intuitively comprehend the depths of my love yet others spin out their hurtful pasts on me, I simply don't know. I just go with the flow, still pouring myself into those that are receptive, sometimes emotionally shutting down from those grown folks still lashing out at me, and busting butt here at home with those who are still underage and deeply in need of constant guidance, structure and stability.

The kids here that are still learning simple skills like bathing, hanging up clothes, sitting down to dinner each night, getting a good night's sleep...all the prerequisites that we grew up taking for granted remain my priority. My traumatized children once lived with strung out, angry, hungover, or drug-addled original birth parents who couldn't be bothered with grocery shopping or living somewhere more than a few weeks or getting the kids to school. My lame routines, while deeply reassuring and constant, have caused anxiety in children who were seemingly comfortable with chaos and confusion as that was all they knew.

Now I'll work on getting everyone ready to leave, full from breakfast and looking nice to Sunday School and Church, knowing and glad that we'll have a beautiful afternoon ahead of us.

I'll start trying to get some several hundred tomato and pepper plants in the ground.

Full Time Soccer

"Mama you smell good," Lily exclaimed, "like summer."

It was Eau de Coppertone that I slathered on knowing I'd be on the soccer fields from 8:45 a.m. until nearly 5 p.m. but my sunscreen was unnecessary as it rained for the first three games. We were digging out fleeces to cover our shorts.

Ray and Tabby's debut involved some 20 of us plus my parents and Preston's side of the family. There's nothing cuter than 4 and 5 year olds playing soccer with everyone cheering them on. Preston's nephew hung with us the entire rest of the day's marathon. Yolie, CJ, and Cindy Mae joined us later when the sun came out as did Big Joe and Alyssa.

This was also Fabian's first game, bless his heart, he hasn't always been living with us on a regular basis. His therapist even came to watch him play and he did a great job. This U18 league is threatening to Fabian, Javy, Martin and Mayra since some of the players are already 17 but the game ended up tied. I'd pumped up the kids big time, had 'em raring to go, and they made me proud.

I'd taken gallons of water and had to run get 10 large pizzas at noon to feed everyone but Dominos gives me a really decent deal. We'd also managed to get three sports physicals at the high school fitted in between running down the highway to three different fields. This is gonna be my life until the end of May but at least it is a very positive endeavor for all the children.

I did not wear my pjs, I got a perfectly decent pair of capris with plenty of pockets from a sack of clothes someone had recently given us. I can't stand for my clothes to touch me or to feel binding and these are soft enough that I'll wear them to every game. That means life is good. I also don't like to have wardrobe choices, give me a decent outfit and I'm good to go until it gives out from exhaustion.

Find Your Cleats! Let's Go! Now! We're Late!

I had to send an email recently explaining my head under the covers approach to life. Someone needed me to help find a family for a 12 year old Romanian girl that is disrupting. I have drawn back from the adoption world lately for several reasons. I am still affiliated with AAN but am in the midst of some deep soul searching regarding the advisibility of matching seriously disturbed children into unprepared families. And how can one prepare for this? Is it a contradiction in terms?

I'm obviously not the bright eyed bushy tailed hopeful young mother of several decades ago. Rather, especially after the last several years, I'm emotionally and physically battered, worn down by my own repeated head banging exercises in futility and severely dismayed by the choices some of my older children have made.

Yolie gave me a 'talking to' - a come to Jesus meeting if you will - in that I need to ensure that my younger kids continue to see my brave face, not the scared one that I've worn all too often while wondering if we'd live through the night. She saw the CPS photo of my injuries and likened it to Nicole Brown Simpson. "Mama, we hated to see our birth parents banged up, imagine how it feels to see you that way?" But I think of so many victims of violence who told authorities of the danger they felt they faced only to hear a, "there's nothing we can do," yet attending their funerals eventually. It irks me beyond belief.

And, as usual, I ponder each and every remark, thought, confrontation and problem throughout the day.

Even though I'm up to my buttline in issues here, I do have some very wonderful children who'll make me as proud as some of my older kids have done. I need to focus on that. Marcella in KY had spouted off, "You must have been triplets!" one day when I bemoaned the fact that I was only half the girl I'd used to be.

I crack up every time I think of her comeback. I snickered in church when I remembered it and giggled while driving my truck to court the other day trying to do the convoluted math in my head and liking the outcome.

I have six soccer games to attend today, a crushing schedule for me, but such a positive series of events to be attending. I'm grateful for the high school coach who financially makes this possible for us twice each year and I'm particularly proud that so many of my children play so hard in spite of the few that will attempt to sabotage us this morning with the predictable "I can't find my jersey," inane power plays.

I'm making progress in my gardening endeavors and my dining room has stayed immaculate as I've fought the continuous fight for it. The long kitchen counter also is zen-like clear.

Sweet CW is sitting next to me this morning, dressed and raring to go. I'm blessed by the constant presence of Sarah, Yolie, Carolina, and Monica plus their children in my life. Daniel is a honey every time we talk, I miss the tar out of Jesse and wish he were closer, my LTT got himself out of jail, and the juvenile authorities recognized the valid threat Pepe poses to society. All in all a good week.

I don't want this to become a 'why didn't anyone stop this kid?' or 'Why didn't anyone get him help?" when Pepe inevitably explodes his delusional anger towards those he thinks deserves to die. I want to continue to search for the help he so desperately needs, but today I'll enjoy soccer on a gorgeous spring day in north Georgia where I am supremely glad to be living.

Not My Child...

For several years Fabian did not live with us. He was at a Ranch, several YDC facilities and an OTP placement. I was then afraid to live with him as his last outburst included waving a knife around yelling," I'm gonna F&*K this family up," in front of my alarmed elderly father. That was the time Joey told him, "Well you'll have to stab me first to get to Mom." I was then on the phone to 911, finally they arrived and subdued him. He hollered, "I hate you," to me and didn't live with us again for more than a year. This was after a previous year or so away from the family and countless explosions of unadulterated violence.

I was vastly relieved to have him gone. His very deep anger was uncontrollable and heart-stopping.

Pepe is different. His inability to differentiate from reality and what he perceives to be true is frightening. The reality is that his birth mom murdered his birth father. His perception is women are evil and abusive. He's accused both me and every other woman who has tried to either parent or caretake him. He believes that to be true and that he is justified in therefore hurting other people. Fortunately I have a file full of documentation. He has many diagnoses that indicate very severe mental problems.

I expected a fight in court, he had an attorney that I figured would believe his lies and come after me...but that did not happen. She encouraged him to admit to the charges which definitely surprised me and she also asked the judge to expedite alternative placements. The juvenile judge understood the severity of his dangerous proclivities and was initially hesitant to approve a placement that might endanger others. I told her that I trusted our DJJ to make an appropriate decision and I truly do.

I've been badly bruised three or four times in the last couple of years. Once when Fabian attacked Edgar, or vice versa, yet it fell on me, Miriam, Vanessa, Sergi and Joey to pull them apart. Again I was slammed and hurt but I cannot twiddle my thumbs and simply wait for a fight to wind down. It must be stopped before the kids hurt each other.

Fabian has lost his temper twice now in four month that he's been home (or rather twice at school) and he's received two sanctions from DJJ. Surprisingly I don't want him to receive four and have to leave us again. I want him to succeed, I now have a gut feeling that he can do so, but it sure is taking some work. I sincerely trust my gut, my intuition, my experience with very troubled children, and what I believe I hear God telling me to do.

Preston's mom emailed me also regarding Yolie's age remark. She's a bit older than I yet also glad to be there and not younger. I remember being 28 like Yolie and thinking that someone in their fifties was ancient. Thankfully Yolie is young yet oh-so-capable, coming over yesterday, along with Carolina and Monica to babysit in case I was held up in court, yet I was home within 15 minutes of the kids getting off the bus. Always a good thing.

A lady from Oregon emailed and suggested God must have wired me differently from others and I agree. But just as He gave me the ability to face each day here with a great deal of energy, He's given others the ability to sing beautifully or has gifted them in so many other astounding manners. That's what so cool about God.

She's right about emailing, I can't always answer everyone, I try though to send off a quick reply and I always treasure y'all's thoughts and opinions, and I think about what you've told me as I work. Many of y'all are always on my mind and I do enjoy hearing your stories very much. Sometimes I can clearly see that by the time you've written your email, you've figured out your own answer. If there's one thing I hope I've been clear about is that I don't have many answers. There might not even be many answers in existence for some of our children.

I met a lady in court yesterday and as she poured it all out to Miss Kim I had to pipe up with an, "I'm trying to not listen to everything," which Kim knew was laughable as I'm nosey and curious. This lady, pretty, smart and well put together, poured out her troubles with a daughter, 17 1/2, a cross between my Alex, Vanessa, Sonny and Joey, that many emotional challenges in just one child.

This lady, around my age, had never married nor had children until she adopted a 15 year old who'd been through two disruptions. "Good for you," I'd stressed, knowing that young girl had a nearly zero chance of ever having anyone love her. Now she does and though it may look bleak, I'm old enough and experienced enough to comprehend that this lady IS making a huge difference in this girl's life who won't appreciate it for many years. I was pretty impressed with her committment in the face of such odds.

Tabby had a rage at school yesterday and her teacher is very experienced and able to deal with such malarky from a five year old. However she also had another 21 kids to tend to and after working with Tabby for over an hour, she called me.

Tabby had her Wild Face ON, snot everywhere, looking like she'd taken a fork to her hair, refusing to talk to anyone, yet wailing in a corner of the room where she'd slung herself. Within a minute, another child came roaring through the room with a teacher hot on his heels, worrying that'd he run out the door and into the street - not a quiet scene at the moment and I blabbed what popped into my pea brain, "Well at least that's not one of my kids!" I sang out gaily.

"No, He's mine," Tabby's teacher pointed out.

I just cracked up absolutely insensitively.

Bless her heart. First Tabby, then her own son. Some days....

Sweet Daniel, as usual, came through for me with a surprise subscription to Chop Talk that I'll read cover to cover. Enviromentally minded, the address label says Cindy and Preston, so I can pass it off to Sarah's husband who'll finish it and then send it to Daniel and his roomates. "I'd told them MOM and Preston," complained Daniel.

Maybe Love IS Enough

Between 7:30 and 8 in the morning might very well be my favorite time of the day. Full of coffee and a soy latte, the entire day stretching out before me with all its possibilities. I could weed, plant, dig or haul woodchips - favorite activities not withstanding the fact that I also have a court date regarding Pepe at 2:30. Possibly the worst time of day as that's when I pick up Tabby and the elementary kids arrive home soon after. I have huge arrangements now to make to cover all my bases, get supper cooked and everyone to soccer tonight.

I've though a great deal about Yolie's statement - that at my age, folks ain't happy anyway.

My friend, Miss Ellen, gave me this line, ""I think we're all just worn out by life."

And to some degree I do agree.

CW asked me this morning, "What age would you go back to if you had a chance?"

I wouldn't go back anywhere for any reason. Do-overs might be nice, but the price is too high. I don't want to relive a lot of what I've endured.

I like being 53. I really do. I like the confidence, my inability to endure BS and the freedom I now feel to be totally who I am, not constrained by what other folks think. I don't feel society's pressure to do my nails, or wear a dress to church or give a cwap if someone thinks, "do you only own one pair of black pants?" I just don't care, that's the freedom that age brought me.

I can use my age as an excuse to misbehave or at least to not have to live up to fashion expectations.

I'm looking very forward to the second half of my life when I can watch baseball games on TV in my underwear, or sit in the garden and eat all my meals with a hen in my lap, holding a sandwich in my dirty fingers. When the kids are grown I'll be free to be the pig that I truly am.

I can hear them now, "Mama's a nut. Honk your horn when you drive up so she can look halfway presentable."

The other thought I've been pondering, and the cool thing is I can still hold two thoughts in my head, is a statement from Process. "A leading RAD psychologist tells parents that their child with RAD is not the child they wanted, and that their experience of parenting that child will not be the parenting experience they dreamed of. Instead, they will be that child's case manager. They will keep that child out of jail. My question is, then why parent that child at all? What makes people willing to do that? What reward is there in it? And, what do we need to do to support parents who are doing it (which brings me back to, how can I possibly do more when what I'm doing is already stressing me to the limit of my coping skills?)"

It's not just RAD kids either. It is severely traumatized children who will not be able to be parented normally. Why parent that child at all? I'm not sure I can answer that, three days later as I think and think.

I have several children who do not care about me parenting them. One is living away from home in a therapeutic setting, the other is Pepe. Even Joey, with all his issues, cared to some degree.

What makes people willing to do that? What reward is there in it? I have to remind myself constantly, more than constantly, it's nearly a mantra. I'm doing this because God called me to do this. I was never promised reciprocation. Never. All of y'all know I struggle with my own resentment at times that this is so terribly difficult and tragically unrewarding. I'm human and I have that basic need to be acknowledged for my efforts, but I have to fight that need, knowing it won't be fulfilled in this lifetime. It just won't. That's a fact. Deal with it, Cindy. You're a big girl now.

Yes, it bothers me often. That said, it is supremely MORE important to me that I know that I did what I was called to do even if it is unacknowledged because I have to answer to me and to God, and obviously not in that order. Period.

"And, what do we need to do to support parents who are doing it?"

Oh buddy, that's easy. Just one thing. We beleaguered parents, who chose to try and to help, need to not be condemned for doing so. We need social workers, counselors, therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists, judges, lawyers, deputies, teachers and every other professional we encounter to understand that this is not our fault. We are not the reason that the child is acting out. A duh if I ever saw one.

WE ARE THE ONLY ONES THAT LOVE THESE CHILDREN.


This may be the first time I've screamed so loud in this entire three year blog.

Maybe that's the only acknowledgment that I want. That I did, and do, love my children in spite of everything. Even the ones who don't, can't or won't love me back. The kids don't have to acknowledge that, they won't do so as they wrongly think it would give me power over them. I just want God to pat me on my knotty head.

I won't hear it from society who truly thinks I was stupid to think I could make a difference. I'm old enough to not need that in order to go on. That's where age is a plus, not a minus.

I can't wait to be 54.

Sarah Posted

These daisies are offshoots off some I planted in 1981 in another garden across the county. They've reseeded and I've saved their seeds. Blooming in spite of our odd weather and reminding me at least I can garden decently.

I'm an unimaginative cook but I birthed a chef extraordinaire who blogged today.

Jeepers All The Time

After one of my more spectacular belches my mother reacted, "Good Gracious Cindy! Do you ever wonder why you're not married?"

"Nope, no mystery there. And I have about 39 other reasons, or at least 38."

And yesterday Sarah called me, "Mom, Preston's coming to fix your heat pump. I hope you're not scratching your butt or something."

What? Does she have a videophone?

I'd picked 30 large spinach leaves to go on my cheese and spicy mustard sandwich, chowing down later on steamed chard and collards from my garden. Now that's what makes me smile as did the three uninterrupted hours I'd had weeding an older strawberry bed. It was infested with the nasty rhizomes of crab grass, scratching the skin off my fingers but who cares?

Our county takes the CRCT testing very seriously, as it should. That's why many of my children get after school tutoring in an effort to keep test scores normal. The kids were parroting what the teachers had told them about a good breakfast and eight hours of sleep, nagging me from the minute they came home.

These kids don't realize that we do that every night. They get 8-10 hours of sleep every single school night and I feed them breakfast each morning. Always have, always will. Duh, y'all.

Fabian's formerly positive mood has hit a bumpy patch. "Boy, are you menopausal or what?" I'd snapped since he was so moody and ill tempered. "That's my job."

A teenager here pointed out something this morning adding a "you sure called that one Mama, you're right."

No kidding?

I'm usually right when I correct their behavior or guide them to a more positive choice about something. "Do y'all just not get it? That each time I say something it is for your own benefit? I've never had a kid grow up and claim I'd raised them wrong. They may have made their own wrong choices in rebellion but I never guided them wrong. Don't you all get it that I WANT you to succeed?"

Jeepers yet again, I was standing their pouring cereal and peeling hard boiled eggs, shaking my head in continued astonishment yet again.

Spading Forks and Verizon Free Air Time

Craftsman tools, with their lifetime warranty, might want to rescind the policy as I've broken more than a few spading forks over the years; snapped them in half as I furiously work through our issues while in the garden. It's not that I'm oh-so-very strong, it simply my resulting aggression from the very poor way I'm too often treated by the ones who should theoretically show more appreciation and respect.

I'd decided to run errands while I was in my despondent mood yesterday, looking at all the other folks my age and noticing that none of them were smiling. I'm acting like I'm at a zoo or something, trying to discern normal species behavior as I've spent so many years on a very different planet.

Maybe no one is smiling because they're all in stores? Yolie attempted to put another spin on it, delicately choosing her words, "At your age Mom, there's been so much loss and folks that old don't have as much to look forward to, like all their good years are behind them," then backtracking, "not you, you still have a lot of years ahead of you."

Jesse'd called me too from Texas, we went over a bunch of stuff regarding his birth siblings, burning up Verizon's airtime for an hour and I reassured him of the promises of God that I was certain would occur in our lives.

"You gave him the pep talk you needed," Yolie'd pointed out. She simply can't stand to me being negative - and duh I shouldn't act like that, that's not being a very good role model.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Still going she stressed, "you are so affected by the weather," reminding me it was a cloudy, gloomy and chilly day. That's true, I don't have many major fits on warm, sunny days. I'm just grieving so hard over so many dumb mistakes that my children have made that's going to affect their adult lives.

I think we may have dodged a weather bullet. I think the temperatures stayed above freezing, too early to tell, one more night of temps in the thirties.

I highly recommend The Human Footprint on the National Geographic Channel. I watched it open mouthed. The back story is just as fascinating. I dvr'd it, the kids also enjoy these kind of shows.

Self-righteously and too smugly, I was so proud of myself. People, in their lifetimes, eat the equivalent of six hogs. They consume some 43,000 cans of soda and about 13,000 cans of beer. Not me. My human footprint is so much smaller by eating out of the garden and drinking water, conscientiously sweating the small stuff constantly.

I'm still so very saddened by the grown sons that can't or won't connect the dots. If you break the law, you'll be arrested. Then there are fines and court costs, probation fees, lost time from work and they just get farther behind, blaming others and still not comprehending that it is all about choices.

I have a grown daughter facing money problems who chose the high road. She went to CCCS, made a plan, buckled down and changed her behaviors. There is FAE in her background, focus is an issue yet she clearly understood and chose what seemed to be the harder path to follow, knowing it would totally pay off for her in the long run. I'm super proud of her decision.

As usual Sarah and I've been chattering like chipmunks over so many different subjects all revolving around food, nutrition, the environment or choices based on all the aforementioned. We rarely disagree which is funny since we're both so opinionated.

And just as I bounce around in my paragraphs, seemingly unrelated thoughts popping into my head and out through the two fingers I type with, so too is my life.

When I finally feel free enough to share the rest of our challenges, the issues and events that I've yet to blog about, the astoundingly disturbing choices and behaviors in this family of ours blow even me away and I've been here from the gitgo.

Jeepers and Duh to everything. Most of it baffles me and leaves me speechless, struggling for fresh air and praying for relief. I spend a great deal of time in prayer, mumbling to God as I work, probably looking like a deranged baglady talking to herself, maybe I should pray silently.

Plans A-K

Was I in a snit or what yesterday? Huffing and puffing, dramatically and theatrically doing all the housework, sighing and sniveling. Super sensitive Lily, Jack and CW, tagging along, hugging and helping. Of course they were, they've been here since birth and are totally attached, loyal and nurtured. We cleaned Lily's room, I was sweeping down the long hall, dragging the laundry, slamming dishes loudly in a metal sink that makes a ton of satisfactory noise, and being a childish brat.

Mayra and Sabrina lied to me by omission, running errands with Miriam, they failed to include the mall in their list, knowing I feel it is pretty much the Portal to Hell.

"What's for supper? I thought we were having black beans and rice, I wanted those new veggie wraps," everyone whined as there was no smell of garlic in the air, nothing on the stove.

"I'll cook after I feed the chickens, after I take the compost bucket outside, after I haul in 25 seed flats and all the houseplants off the front porch, after I clean the family room, after I fold all these clothes, after I scrub the guest bathroom, after I clean the sinks, after I start the dishwasher, after I empty the trashcans," I went on and on in full martyr mode, wiping the nonexistent sweat off my brow and pretending to be gasping for air while yelling at the Braves when they'd left runners stranded on base, happy with Chipper Jones one minute, fussing the next. Clutching my heart I laid it on thick. At one point there was the potential for a 2 out grand slam and I ran to the phone to call Daniel, see if he was watching, having to leave a message when I remembered he was at Fort Benning for the weekend.

By evening almost everyone had stepped up to the plate to help - with the obvious and usual exception of Jonathan and Paloma. Their power issues in full bloom, a total inability to empathize with anyone, and I am so tired of asking them to do a two minute chore knowing their response is always a destructive rage. Should I just ignore them? Take them off the chore list? Forget about trying to teach them right from wrong? Knowing in the end, through 20 years of hard time experience, that I might as well bark at the moon?

They are both mean as snakes, severely oppositional, stubborn to the point of absolute defiance, but not mentally ill. I read with interest, early this morning, Theresa's post on her son. There truly are some children who are too severe to live within families but have needed families like hers to advocate and find services. I've been in her shoes, condemned by some who accuse me of "getting rid of the problem" when the child attacked staff members and later the police several times, would it really have been more acceptable for me or the children to have been victims? I don't think so. I have lived with children who poop on their bedroom floor. Is this not a cry for help? An indication that something might not be quite right? DUH.

Even though I showed total immaturity in my dramatic afternoon yesterday, I do usually and intelligently make decision based on the obvious facts with the help of many professionals, seeking counsel, and listening intently to advice and ideas. I feel satisfied, after having done all, to seek and receive the very necessary outside help.

My home phone rang late last night, nearly 11 and I didn't get to it in time. I thought maybe I'd left my cell phone in the van so I ran barefoot outside, stepping over my surprised yard dogs and retrieved the phone, wondering who'd called my house phone but not the cell. Within minutes the land line rang again and it was Joey calling me collect from the jail wanting me to do a favor for a cellmate. "Are you kidding me?" I hollered in sheer disbelief and utter annoyance. "Number one, don't call this house late at night. Number Two, do you think I care about an inmate there?" I slammed the phone down in abject anger. Jeepers, does it ever end?

This morning I discover that my laptop thief has been jailed for 'failure to appear', apparently missing a court date. We'd just talked on the phone the night before, me forgiving but wary, reminding him of his obligations and making right choices. What more can I do? I have spent every moment of their childhoods, or the few short years that they live with me, explaining that every choice, every behavior and every decision has a good or bad result, consequence or outcome. Let's think this through, let's plan, let's do the hard thing when necessary knowing that in the end it will pay off. Deferred gratification please.

I seem to be hissing in italics this morning but honest to God, I gotta tell you this is a very hard life that I know that I chose, knowing that random resentment and misdirected anger will lay on me like a smothering blanket from their boiling cauldrons of issues that sprang from their earlier traumatized lives.

What did I do? Why do I have to always take the brunt of it? I'm the one who has worked very, very hard for each child of mine.

This morning Paloma and Jonathan both had meltdowns over having to go to school. I am praying for a resolution here. I need another Plan, Plans A-K haven't worked.

I'm A Weather Nerd and I'm Worn Slap Out Today

I've obsessively checked all three forecasts, trying to average in my head, hoping and praying it'll be milder and that I'll have fresh figs this year, unlike last year's devastating blow that also decimated most of the blueberries.

I'm afraid I just jinxed the Braves, hoping to watch them sweep the Nationals I just called my favorite brother-in-law, jealously hoping he wasn't at the game. He has season tickets and has often encouraged me to fly to DC and go with him. If only.

A totally cruddy morning, five middle schoolers acting out in church, causing me to constantly correct them, finally I snapped at Martin to leave, "Just go sit in the van," to which he refused to do so. Paloma was hatefully ugly again to Lily, bringing her to tears, denying she'd said what everyone heard her say. Martin's high pitched, "What'd I do?" grated on my last frazzled nerve.

We'd had an altar call that spoke to me particularly but I caught myself from responding to it, from going up front for the healing I needed, knowing there'd probably then be a fist fight or a shoving match if I left my wound-up boys unattended. The inability to receive from a church service upset me to no end and I came home fit to be tied.

So I illogically gave in to a Pity Party with a capital P. I dwelled on some older kids who've been shockingly hateful to me. When does it end? When do they make me stop paying for what other people did to them? I have worked hard; very, very hard and have sacrificed a great deal. Hear me whine? I have no expectations for repayment and I've made that crystal clear always telling my children to help others someday in return for the way that they've been helped by so many folks.

All I've ever wanted and foolishly expected was to be treated as a human being.

I've fought off a great deal of bitterness, really I have, what's left is a overly kicked dog.

I'm tired of folks lying to me, looking me in the eye and lying when the truth is , obviously spilled out and evident in puddles around them. I'm tired of the stealing, the dishonesty and the blatant disrespect. I'm tired of being resented for not being their birth mom, like it's my fault. I'm tired of the grueling, lashing out always at me and the intentional slights and hurts. I'm tired of being the target. I'm tired of pushing everything and everyone straight uphill all the time.

I'm disheartened at working 24-7 to instill values and teach them right from wrong, the Golden Rule only to have them go break the law and their choices get blamed on me.

Whether it be one kid or thirty something, the constant wearing away of decent behavior, the erosion of common sense, and the target shooting has taken its toll on me. I'm terribly tired of all this...but I won't quit.

Grilled Corn Tortillas

Only Edgar isn't pictured here, early yesterday morning, with his original sib group. I'd called to tell him that all games were cancelled, disappointment is etched on Fabian's face.

For a dozen years I've had multiple babies and toddlers living in our home and as a result our home has been messy. Add in the violent older children, rebellious teens and a group inability to help me, my house has taken a beating. I've been frustrated, crying at times over how hard it is to get everything done, feeling judged and stymied in my constant attempts. I've used every spare minute to clean out a drawer, or haul off unused or broken items, and it is only very recently that I've felt like there was a light shining off from the organized distant future.

My dining room table and long kitchen counter separating the living room from the kitchen, have been spaces full of papers, projects, and repositories for stuff. I'd decided that, at least, the open dining room would remain clean as would the kitchen counter. It's a battle, lemme tell you.

This mama tried to explain how the stealing behaviors in her children didn't alarm her so much as they once had the capacity to do. I so agree with that and in talking with Ms Carr yesterday, who understands my frustration with the homework issue...I've been losing that battle for a myriad of reasons.

I went outside to spread Edgar's Friday gift of leaves and to think. I'm still buffaloed and unwilling to have a big fight every afternoon over homework. I think I will only concentrate on those who will work and maybe I won't have to have medical attention regarding those who won't do it, knowing from experience in the end, my efforts won't have mattered regarding this argument. By me taking that tact, I'll also expect the reverse psychology to eventually bug a few of the kids who will be oppositional enough to do some work just to spite me. BTDT.

A reader asked me about dandelion greens and I agree with her, yes they're delicious as is poke sallet. One of my other goals this year involves over planting even at the expense of not getting more weeding done. I want too much homegrown produce but is that concept possible with this many mouths to feed? We'll see.

Tony's going to be glued to a grownup today to remedy some of his recent outbursts. I'll have to be the grownup I suppose. Wonder if I'm up to it?

Linda B here in Athens asked me why I wasn't more specific on my grandchildren-on-the-way number. It's because I think someone lied to me, and someone else has been evasive while some one else has an attitude. I need to emotionally withdraw at times from grown kids who still lash out, particularly when I don't really know the whole story.

My sweet son-in-law Big Jose had grilled out yesterday while Carolina made big pots of her usual delicacies including a zucchini with sour cream and my favorite pico de gallo on the side. Jose even grilled the corn tortillas freeing me up from fixing supper. Chuck and Dewayne were working on the doublewide here while Carolina and Jose fed everyone, a demanding prospect.

Ms Carr'd taken Jonathan, Nando and JoJo out to a Nature Center while Miriam and Vanessa took Allen and Mayra out to run errands, everyone home for supper of course, me just grateful for a fairly quiet, uneventful day. Nando grinning with delight over His Big Adventure with Ms. Carr, Jonathan had bugged everyone all week about it and I think even JoJo acted decently for her.

A Gardening Blog For Tracy and Others Who've Asked For More Garden Info

Two white people fixing to rob a bank? Who knows? But that old man chose a slow getaway vehicle, didn't he?

Yesterday Edgar showed up with eleven bags of leaves he'd picked up from someone who'd cleaned out their roof gutters knowing I'd light up with sheer delight...and I did. I spent the rest of the day debating which garden beds most deserved this beneficence. I only used one bag after all that thinking, knowing rain was coming to drench us, figuring I'd mulch afterwards, better conserving the water.

I'd leveled an old compost pile, turned it into a smaller sized garden bed and planted spinach and lettuce there, knowing it'd grow beautifully with such rich soil/compost. Yesterday I picked a bucket of spinach to eat, thinking it was so pretty I should have taken a picture of it. Hunger won out, I picked and ate it all raw with sunflower seeds, grated cheese and balsamic vinegar, marveling at the deliciousness of every single bite.

I'd planted Viroflay, extremely delicious and super easy to grow. In the south plant early and walk away, it needs no maintenance. Eat it every day until it goes to seed when the weather gets hot. It can take cold snaps and frosts.

I read this article with absolute horror, all the more convinced that folks everywhere need to practice edible landscaping. Even when I lived in New Orleans and had a ten foot square back yard, I planted every square inch of it, neighbors leaning over the fences and squealing with delight as my mammoth sunflowers seemed to be grinning back at them.

Genetically incapable of throwing away food scraps I'd dug a deep narrow hole in the garden and just tossed 'em there. there's no mystery, no secret to making compost - just toss all vegetable scraps somewhere together and let em rot.

Gardening is easy and rewarding, the health benefits are remarkable.

Ray Ray and Tabby's game was cancelled due to rain, Ray cried all the way home devastated to be denied his soccer debut. Tabby, the youngest of my 39 children, resilient and going with the flow, came home and changed her soccer jersey, shrugging it off and ready for today's' Plan B, but even as I type, coaches are calling me, telling me all games are cancelled - jeepers - up at 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning dressed in cleats, shin guards, soccer socks and jerseys - all for nothing. Now I have a bunch of ill-tempered children who'd prefer to have played in the rain and the mud.

But I'm headed outside to try and figure what to do with huge fig plants and blooming blueberry bushes, several hundred blooming strawberry plants and a dadgum cold snap coming. I'll have to shut all the windows in the house tonight - if that doesn't suck I don't know what does. Now the azaleas, iris, and shasta daisies are in full bloom.

But Big Jose told me this morning not to cook supper, he said I should rest (yeah that's likely) and he had a surprise for me tonight.

Gardeners and aspiring gareners - the links I posted today have a wealth of gradening info. It's stuff folks ask me that I don't have time to answer.

Thinking About The Dangers

Somehow I will get sixteen children to six different soccer games today on several different fields, one of them being five miles away from the other. Tabby's game is at 8:45 this morning. I have two games on adjoining fields at ten thirty so I suppose I'll stand in the middle and spin like a top, yelling encouragement to all five kids playing at the time and then shoo five more off to their next game, having a last game starting at 12:30 this afternoon.

We'll pack snacks, water and sandwiches and dodge the predicted rain but as I weeded yesterday in 82 degree weather (while dreading the frost that comes next week, three cold nights coming up) God thumped me in my hard head that wanted to have a pity party. Something to the effect, "Get over it. You are healthy, your children are healthy, you have your dream gardens...no need at all to complain."

True, true, true.

Usually I do manage to keep my eyes on the positive areas of my life but the past several years have been particularly grueling and Trish sent me this CNN story about an adoptive parent who tried to help a disturbed child. I think I am most overwhelmed when we as parents see clearly disturbed children with severe mental issues - not behavior problems - but diagnoses that would frighten an armed jailer yet mothers are expected to manage these dangers? Joey was so bipolar and did so much damage in his years with us that 16 months later my gut still cringes, my PTSD evident.

Joey was never a danger to me like Fabian once was and like Pepe is now, but his destructiveness, his literal craziness and total manic disruption of all activities nearly did me in over the years. I'm now terribly daunted by the attempts at finding help for Pepe when a lady at the county mental health told me it was just a behavior problem. I respectfully and totally disagree.

Fabian had severe anger issues, rage and was supremely oppositional - not bipolar or showing any schizoaffective disorder signs like have been indicated in one of Pepe's many psychological evaluations.

I find it appalling and unconscionable that professionals even think it is safe for a mom when a kid has made it clear that they are potentially homicidal. If they were suicidal, they'd be locked up, but homicidal - that's a behavior issue???

Like I said, I'm healthy and I dearly want to remain that way if only for the kids who love me and need me which obviously doesn't include the homicidal one.

Responding to Tracy

I'm never happy when Daniel does Army stuff, proud of him certainly, but always uneasy over it all. "Mom, remember I'll be at Ft. Benning this weekend," he'd reminded me, doing his duty as part of the Georgia Army National Guard. Nando however is totally impressed with Daniel's military equipment.

Theresa wrote a thought provoking entry regarding her 16 year old runaway, honesty and CPS involvement. In the adoption of older children, it is a near guarantee that you'll be investigated by CPS due to someone's lies. It has happened to me several times and I was shocked and shattered to be treated so suspiciously. When an adoption agency puts an adoptive parent through some very rigorous home studies, one would think after one has been approved, that CPS might take that fact into consideration.

A reader in Tennessee questioned me about my statement regarding 'adopting from criminals.' Wasn't that a little insensitive of me? I can see that it might be construed as so, yet again I want to stress that all of my children came to me from sad, drug infested, gang lifestyles...the stories they've told me scare the snot outta me.

In infant adoptions one often finds college students who got pregnant and thoughtfully made an adoption plan, or young girls in the same boat. With older children there is trauma, abuse and neglect from parents who preferred drugs, alcohol and violence. I'm only speaking from my own experience and thankfully my children feel free to spill out their anger, resentment and pain at what happened to them. Thankfully I also have the help of Dr. G and Dr. Mandy plus our county's mental health services. DJJ has also provided a positive impact within our family. Our church also provides support as do many teachers within our community.

It is up to me to stress that my children did not cause their circumstances, they were victims. Even Yolie came to me with that same baggage, feeling if she'd acted differently life might have been better. She's since changed her mind about that, to put it mildly.

Tracy in TN also asked about, "how your children (mainly those that fall in the middle...not shining examples of how older/troubled child adoptions can be successful...and not those that are like at least a few that you have been posting about with multiple hard core issues. But you must have a lot that fall right in the middle-not great, but not bad either..."

Not all of my older kids are shining examples yet. I stress the word 'yet' as I truly believe they will all be successful at something. It does not have to be college, it can be the military, or being a good parent, maintaining an average lifestyle, even working at a minimum wage job if that is what makes them happy.

I want them to be content with life. Period. Not reeling from horrible choices and the consequences.

All of my children are good at something. It is up to them, with my encouragement, to discover their something and to run with it.

Some of my children are extremely athletic, but academically challenged. Some have excellent organizational skills but are not star students, some are artistic, some thrive and yearn to be in the kitchen. Every single one of them are spectacularly unique.

I watched the Food Channel last night before I fell asleep. The Ace of Cakes was featured and I was blown away by the story, fascinated at this ability. I'm so not creative, nor am I coordinated enough to be athletic. I'm not artistic, can't sing and can't design.

I am a workhorse. I have total drive and determination to get things done so I work hard. My gardens are productive in spite of the weeds and there is zero design evidence. I've learned to live with a design inability because this is who I am. I won't try and make my children conform to my ideas, but I'll work my butt off to help them become what they choose to become. And they know that about me. They also know that if they are choosing as grownups to be involved in negative lifestyles I will still love them but will not enable them in any possible way, shape or form.

Tracy was carefully choosing her words so as not to offend me yet she was trying to tell me that I may come across differently from what was in my original intent. She's probably right about that as that comes with the territory when one has a big mouth like me. That's the best excuse I can come up with. But I'm not offended, I appreciate the time she took to write.

She also mentioned, "I have actually followed your blog mainly for your gardening talk," which is funny as I've tried to reign in my gardening enthusiasm since this is mainly an adoption blog. Dee asked how do I cook my potatoes and the answer would be any and every way possible - I adore potatoes.

I just had a 100% failure rate with the echinacea seeds because I took a short cut (did not scarify them) and none germinated after three long months. My brussel sprouts plants don't look so good either but the lettuce and spinach are thriving as are the collards and chard which can take our erratic weather. We may facing a late frost next week which makes me uneasy.

I must have used the excuse, "well heck it was the 60s," to Sarah too many times but whatever, at least I raised an extremely interesting child, now 34, who is truly one of my bestest friends. She used a veiled reference here, made me guffaw and spit out my granola this morning.