Totally Copied From Kari's Blog

I've been chewing and digesting all this from Kari's blog for some time, trying to explain recently to a friend of mine, how unmeasurable my stress level truly is, because most folks don't live like this. This author is talking about parenting a traumatized child, imagine parenting 38 traumatized children.

To simply be still standing just might be enough for me.

I quote from the book Wounded Children; Healing Homes.

"In addition to the stress of attempting to control their children's behavior, parents feel enormous guilt and shame," explains attachment specialist, Dr. Gregory Keck. "They intended to adopt a hurt child and nurture him into a whole person. Instead they are less parents than jailers, less nurturing than controlling, less accepting than rejecting, less loving than hating. What kind of monsters, they wonder, could feel such anger toward a child? Relatives, coworkers, friends, and some professionals often add to these feelings. Into this mix, add a child who can be completely charming and engaging to all outsiders, and it is small wonder these parents feel insane."

"The stress involved in nurturing a traumatized child is very high, and it is definitely not short term. The greater the degree of change experienced by an individual or family, the greater the stress. A healthy family system experiences an exceptionally high degree of change when adding a child with a history of complex trauma."

Ouch.

I always maintained that the wall-to-wall work level here doesn't bother me, I have the energy - it's the emotional challenges, the destruction, the trauma, the poor decisions, the zero impulse control behaviors, the acting out, the rages, the hatefulness and fury, the anger, the hurt, the lashing out, the lying and the stealing, the severity of deceit, the shocking blows, the police involvment, the inability to comprehend logic, the mental illnesses, the violence and aggression, the fighting, the blatant disrespect, the damages and failures, the thought of their futures, unless they ever learn something, and so much more, that all combines to have turned me into some kind of itching, breathless bug-eyed freak at times.

Thank God for God.

Lazy, in a man, is a major turnoff.

OVER-Parenting? I don't think so, just go ask Vanessa, now not being bonded out of jail. Chuy'd snickered, coughed, and pointed to me as he read this issue at the dentist's office yesterday. Chuy is not a lazy man, he's not the one I'm miffed at this morning.

Vanessa'd called last night from jail, cowed and resigned to what must seem like an inevitable fate, although she'd clearly stressed to me what she needed to do in order to have a decent life. Some man named Jose had called me on my cell, "Is this Vanessa's mom?"

Does everyone in every ratty trailer park have my phone number?

He seemed right nice though, he claimed he was her boyfriend, an Army man from California. "Well that's news to me," I insensitively pointed out, although I was the one who later hadda call him to tend to something for Vanessa.

This sibling group of seven has proved to be way more than a handful. I understand why, I've read their case history files, and they had tons going against them from the git-go.

Allen quit the soccer team last night, the one thing he really does well, and no amount of talking nor convincing on my part budged his stone-cold heart. I was totally embarrassed by his inability to man up.

I truly adore Allen, and the heartbreak ahead for him scares me deeply, if he doesn't soon wake up and smell the clorox.

Lazy, in a man, is a major turnoff.

I walk around my house praying constantly, over my children and my decisions, over our finances, safety, issues and challenges. Sometimes I'm able to discern answers, sometimes not, it just seems to be a long dark road, the only aspect in which I have absolute total confidence is in God's ability to see me through everything.

Another two meetings today and then garden time.

I'd picked my first radish, I believe it had over-wintered. I brushed off the dirt and ate it outside, marveling in its tangy crispness. The lettuce seed must've fallen between the bricks on the greenhouse floor, germination is easy, and this variety was an Italian one, Dark Lolla Rossa, that I'd planted last year as well.

It really doesn't take much to make me happy.

Slowly extending the length of the chicken moat, this might end up being an all summer long project.

Disappointed Would Be Mild Description

It's four in the morning, my house is silent and I'm drinking a pot of coffee, betcha this'll be a doozy of a post as I'm massively disappointed in someone.

Several grown kids have noticed my silence lately, as in I just don't bother to ask questions of them, since all I get in return are whoppers. Big ones too. "Well we don't want you to be disappointed in us, so we lie to make it all sound better," Vanessa'd told me.

Well here's a much better option sweetheart - Don't Break Laws.

Vanessa did not call me at nine yesterday morning, as I'd instructed, since I'd offered her a ride to turn herself in, which was her plan in the first place. Instead she got arrested for shoplifting at a store that catches everyone, particularly the sneaky-looking, shifty-eyed residents of a nearby notorious trailer park that lures my grown children to it like moths to a flame.

Yet another illustrated instance of another of, "I told you so."

A hundred bucks to bail her out - not gonna do it - she'd see it as me condoning her behavior. Oh honey, was that big ole policeman mean to you?

Like I have a spare hundred dollars here at the end of the month. Or even at the beginning, as every dollar has a name on it and a place to go.

And to further humiliate me, this happened in my small county where it'll be in our weekly small town newspaper, fueling other folk's mal-intentioned thoughts that my kids are nothing, but trouble.

I will agree on a minor point here - children that come from criminal backgrounds, children who've been severely traumatized, neglected and abused - these same children have a very difficult time connecting the dots in their minds, to completely understand the connection between negative behavior and the resulting consequences.

Even JoJo was bellowing last night, something to the tune of, "Well if you want something and don't have the money for it, what other choice do you have?" He was dead serious.

"To deny yourself!" I hollered back in utter disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"

I was livid.

"Get a job and pay for stuff," I was on a roll, but irked that kids like mine have less than zero self-discipline, as in they're unable to even get up and get somewhere on time. Everything is in the moment, both Claudia and Brenda, The Adoption Counselor, wrote of their own frustrations in this arena, both nearly mirror images to what I too have experienced.

Brenda and Claudia...did we learn this stuff in college? Did any of our psychology courses teach us about this sub-culture? Can we just, for a moment, rewind our naive little selves back into our college and post-graduate studies where we thought we were on top of the world and ready for anything? Did life not cut us off at the knees eventually?

Well girlfriends, we're still standing.

Vanessa had skipped bail on a previous charge in another county last year, good luck Beautiful, on getting through all this mess. She'd just wallowed in my arms the other night, crying and blowing chunks of snot everywhere, "I'm just glad to know you always forgive me and love me."

Yeah I do love her, but I cannot and will not enable her to not learn from these experiences. I take an almost cold-hearted approach to these foibles, any leniency on my part will only, in her mind, further her own tendencies to be mean and lazy, and to not learn anything from this zero impulse control behavior.

Vanessa was not one of my children who stole from me. I could trust her with my pocketbook. I have others who'd steal a quarter off of a dead man, but Vanessa was trustworthy with my meager cash. Overall honesty, integrity and niceness eluded her though.

She'd even tried to con me, "Well technically, So and So was the one stealing, but I took the rap since I was going to jail anyway," she tried to convince me.

Oh my goodness, I didn't just fall off the turnip truck.

I have yet another child who is OSS, Jonathan refused school for the second time this month, later apologizing and promising to go today and I know, if I confront him about it, he'll shut down, feeling internally justified in his black-hearted mood.

Today I'll take Sabrina to the dentist, Chuy to the dermatologist again, yesterday was Martin's orthodontist appointment, and I had a meeting with Pathways Counseling for Paloma.

Both CW and I hauled more loads of wood chips to the garden beds, Chuy and Martin are extending my chicken moat slowly, as I'd bought rolls of fencing on a cash-only basis, which means we only have completed about 5% of the eventual acre enclosure. "Just go charge it Mom," I was told, "You're gonna stretch this project out for years otherwise."

Well so what? I have to do as my conscience dictates to me.

And maybe that's the crux of the issue...the lack of conscience development in my children that I've taught, preached to and modeled for, taken to church for years and years, everything I do is done with the single, very focused thought in my mind that God is watching me; either blessing me or disappointed in me for willfully breaking a plate or thinking about breaking all my plates or the ugly thoughts sometimes roiling about in my brain.

I believe in a very loving God that I do not want to disappoint. He sees my heart and my soul, my thoughts and my actions.

I get sad and upset about my children, I get extremely frustrated and obviously at my wit's end at times. But as such, God feels that way about me too. I'm an aggravating child of His and I keep praying, nearly nonstop, for the same kind of love and patience with my own very trying children.

A very old friend of mine told me yesterday in a Facebook message that he's also always wanted a large family, I believe he has five children and I got an email from a woman out west who's reading my entire five year blog, she too wants a large family, and is fascinated in my novel here. We'll see how she feels when she reads all 3,000 pages.

Well y'all it may seem um...fun...but the reality can be very ugly, very difficult, uber challenging, and the stress level is off the charts. I have to stop myself from telling folks to run the other way. I see what all we encounter, my friend Pat is on my mind and in my prayers, I've seen marriages dissolve, diseases take parents, caretakers injured, reputations destroyed, and mamas turned into near zombies. Sometimes this is the case with only one severely disturbed child.

You best pray long and hard about this, seek out professionals to help you, and resources for you to fall back upon. If you are positive you've been called, then go for it.

Just don't ever say I painted a rosy picture here, it's a HARD life.

Thank God for my grandchildren, and for all my successful children, and for the hopes I still somehow have for the rest of 'em. It was fun watching and cheering Nando on in his soccer game last night.

Surprise

We used to have a rust colored Lazy Boy chair in our living room that Daniel and I'd sit in together on Saturday nights, back before we had a DVR, heck this was also then the first time I'd ever had cable TV, and we'd watch America's Most Wanted, still a favorite show of mine. Daniel, however, has long moved on from that incredibly sweet and cute six year old who'd once moved into my home absolutely bewildered by the changes, and then a bit angry over leaving his very good foster mom.

From Seattle, to Vail, to Savannah this month, two Army assignments, one skiing choice, I've not seen him at all, but thank God for texts and emails.

Edgar recently told me that now, looking back on our ten year history, that he must've slightly been in shock when his family moved in with us. I kinda feel the same way, as I was then holding a three week old newborn, Jack, in my arms, facing a startled sibling group of seven, not knowing ther'd be ten more children to arrive before it was all said and done.

Then 13, moving into our large family, I was then still working, the media specialist in his middle school, he was fairly easy to raise, so glad to not have to be the child-parent of six siblings anymore, but very wary about trusting me as a permanent thing.

Paloma, of all people, asked me yesterday, "Why don't you keep on adopting, maybe not sibling groups, but other kids, one at a time?"

Because I don't want to anymore, God is clearly not telling me to do that. I pray about everything, absolutely everything, and I'd be the first to know if that were still a viable calling on my life.

We had an incredibly moving Palm Sunday service, I have a copy of the video in which my kids and I had a cameo, I watched it this morning, and still find it brings me to tears, I may, or may not, post it here.

I fled, as usual, to my garden after a Sunday dinner in which Marcela and Marissa joined us.

Mayra'd gone out to lunch with her boyfriend and they came to the garden telling me they'd drug a large UPS box home from our mailbox, it was in his jeep, and they didn't know if they could get it out. On a Sunday?

Her boyfriend is huge, I irritably wondered how he couldn't lift it, and what the heck they thought I could do about it. I actually said, "It better not be anymore kids. Folks better not even try abandoning kids on my doorstep," as I reluctantly left the gardens, and followed Mayra back through the house and then around front to open Dylan's Jeep door.

Vanessa popped out and into my arms, "Surprise!"

She's been gone for six months, bopping through several states and enjoying the freedom that comes with independence.

I was thrilled to see her. JoJo and Allen, her birth brothers, not so much. They've felt totally abandoned by her, so hugged her tentatively and walked off. She cried. Tabby clung to her.

We talked for quite some time, and guess what y'all? My big ole mouth, all I'd said to her and tried to teach her had been percolating in her tangled-up mind, while she learned the hard way that a parent is correct on most things. But hey, why should they trust a parent figure, look what'd been done to them by alleged parents."I'm sorry I've been so hateful," she blubbered, "These kids of yours have no idea about the real world," she continued.

Well, duh.

It's all bittersweet, as she has a bench warrant for a court no-show on a reckless driving charge. "I'm a turn myself in and take my consequences," she told us, "then I'm a start over and listen to you this time."

We'll see. Jaded and burnt out, it's hard to trust words.

"I'm a get my GED," she stressed, upping the ante. Slow to get my hopes up, having been dashed so severely over the years, but I do know that maturity helps immensely, and I've got some surprising children now working on GEDs, such as both Alex and Fabian, while some others still struggle out in the world, unwilling to admit how much they're hurting their ownselves.

It is gratifying though to finally see some improvements. I do not underestimate prayer covering, thank you Nancy in Iowa, Linda B here in Athens, and others.

I didn't take a single picture yesterday of Marissa, I should've, as she's very cute 18 month old darling, but Hazel here with her fuzzy-tailed baby rodent brings a smile to my face.

Two meetings today, I'm wanting to keep hauling wheelbarrows of woodchips to my garden beds, tranplant tomatoes into bigger pots, all 250 of them, and figure out what to do with my lawnmower battery, and, of course, soccer tonight.

Tractor TV

Yolie called it 'Tractor TV,' as we all were transfixed over our latest project. I need 100% line of sight supervision capabilities, no garden rooms for me until the kids are grown, so Chuck was wiping out some brambles and privet, reclaiming an area for me yesterday.

A Springtime day that was chilly and breezy, full of too many errands, driving kids everywhere, little time left to garden, but I signed up for this long time ago.

I wanted to blog about something Edgar'd told me, his own adoption feeling that was pretty insightful for a 23 year old male, but I need to get everyone up and out the door for early church, so maybe later.

Or why I had to call the deputies again last night, no biggie, but I felt they should know that some teenagers stuck on stooopid were driving around last night, decorating trees with toilet paper and silly string, an environmental no-no if I ever saw one.

Two Old Grannies

Reading Sarah's blog today, I was transported mentally back to an easier time in my life, the years in which I only had one child, pictured here at Mardi Gras when she was seven.

I'd been Facebooking with a young lady we used to call Messy Jesse, now a married mother of two, still in my mind, the youngest child of one of my oldest friends, Barbara, and Jessica had recently made Sarah's Irish Soda Bread.

Since Jessica's in Louisiana and Sarah's in Georgia, since I added another 38 children to my family, Barbara and I are unable to meet at that campground in Florida we used to so enjoy together.

I miss Barbara, Shannon and Jesse, I miss Sarah being young, and I miss such infinite freedom to travel and to camp. Hey, I've had kind of a tough week, thus the extra blogging that enables me to cope.

I really miss the oatmeal pancakes Sarah mentioned and I'm gonna do something about that...and hope that by the time all my kids are grown I can go camping with Barbara again, us two old grannies now.

An HOUR a Day?

I love reading health studies and news reports except the one that said older women need an hour a day of exercise in order to stay healthy. I ran up the hill to tell my mama and found the 80 year old woman out painting a fence. Squinting up at me, with an expression I long ago learned to translate as I must be outta my ever-lovin' mind, she retorted, "Are you kidding Cindy? I get more than an hour everyday."

She is busy and energetic, still growing a garden, and like me, neither of us wanna mindlessly lift weights if we could be turning over the compost pile instead. No gym memberships for us, there's enough weight-bearing exercises around here to keep us going. See how we confuse and justify busy versus productive?

I also fundamentally disagree with every anti-sun story I read. Americans suffer as a whole from Vitamin D deficiency, slathering on sun screen and staying in climate-controlled cages. I'm not advocating sunbathing of course, but this hyped-up fear of solar rays touching one's skin is ridiculous.

My own silly opinions, of course, and I know I don't garden aerobically, I'm only fooling myself, as I don't want to exercise an hour a day.

Soccer practices, a track meet, children on a field trip with the Children's Church today, I do wanna hit some yard sales, I need to dig another bed for my tomato plants due to my paranoia over last year's blight and the resulting likely contagions in my soil.

I'd eaten lunch yesterday with Edgar who turned 23, Miriam will be 21 on Sunday. Edgar complaineded that my blog used to always mention his name, but I often now do not use names when talking about issues and challenges, as so many local folks read this and I'd like to offer my kids some privacy.

Handsome as ever, as emotionally demanding as he's always been, we still had a good time, funny how when I don't feel totally responsible for their behaviors, I can relax and enjoy my time with them.

Dr. Mandy's helped me comprehend that the results of their actions are on them. If one won't study, one must be prepared to reap the consequences, a difficult lesson for traumatized children and often a teachable moment. I can state my expectations, readjust them to the levels I see around here, but ultimately it's on them and personal responsibility needs to begin there.

Knowing that some children of mine might never connect the dots isn't too freeing, but the ultimate concept truly is for me.

Stinking Password

Before a stormy rainy kind of night was even halfway over, I was awakened by the Security Company, "Ma'am, your alarms are going off, can you please tell me your password?"

Really?

That must mean someone's in my house and you want me to groggily remember some word?

I spouted off the password, but he tells me I'm not right, they're gonna have to send the police to my house.

I flew downstairs, still not hearing the alarms, until I ran down the hall and got blasted eardrums, my front door hanging wide open, but no dogs barking, all of them looking at me quizzically. What in the world?

I'd shut off the internal door alarms from my room since thata's a separate system, and called the sheriff's department my ownself to let them know I thought we were OK.

"Doesn't matter what you think," I was told, "we've already sent a unit out, we have to respond."

So I have to leave the kids unattended and go out in the dark to let in the deputy? I might not have thought this through all the way. Grandma and Grandpa, Mayra, 16 and Sabrina, 15, were all in the house, sleeping babysitters, most of the kids lock their rooms from the inside and have a Yorkie or a terrier with them, making them safer than I potentially might be.

I hadda find my keys, drive down to the gate and unlock it, surprised to find a deputy already there. I explained the situation and he said he gets calls like this all the time.

"You sure you're OK?" he asked again, as I did look disheveled and bedraggled, but hey it was 3 in the morning. Really I wished he'd come on in and drink coffee with me, my nerves were jangled. He looked so dang young, but at least he had a gun on him.

I have no idea how the front door opened. Nobody went out to pee as the door alarm monitor in my room would've screamed. I do know my dogs would've torn up a stranger and there's also simply no way someone's gonna walk way out here in the rain and the dark. Remember however, it's not strangers I'm necessarily afraid of, it's the remorseless criminals that there was never enough mental health help available for, the ones the state thought could live in a family, no consideration at all to family safety issues. Yes, I'm still a tad resentful.

I, of course, couldn't go back to sleep, tried to, laid there and watched TV for three solid hours, couldn't concentrate enough to read anything, my mind racing, but knowing the main one who means harm to me is locked up in jail.

Now I gotta stumble through a long day on very little sleep.

Owning a Computer

Maybe I am again being either too simplistic, or ignorantly judgemental, but I believe the bottom line is money management. I believe I can claim this because I've been as poor as a church mouse before, but I've always either worked several jobs at a time back then, or simply didn't overspend. It's all about an ability to add and subtract, to deny oneself at times, and to eventually reap the benefits.

If one third of folks either can't afford computers, or can't get service due to poor credit decisions, then isn't it clearly a sign that personal finance teachings are needed? A third of Americans - about 77 million people - use public library computers to look for jobs, connect with friends, do their homework and improve their lives, according to a new study released Thursday.

A teacher'd recently told me, at one of my many 504, SST or IEP meetings, that so many kids will never grasp differential equations, it almost seems foolish to teach it, when concepts like balancing one's checkbook or writing up a budget isn't taught. Why aren't parents teaching this?

Maybe they are doing so, and their kids ignore them, or rebel against such stupid thought process as self-denial or self-discipline? I know I teach it to folks who don't listen.

We'd had yet another tough night. The same kid got in the van after youth group and told me he was running away because I'd yelled at him. Oddly enough, I hadn't yelled at him, I stared in disbelief, and he stormed off in the church parking lot.

This time it only took about 45 minutes to get back on track, he even apologized without me hinting for an, "I'm sorry, Mom," this one taking me by surprise. Good gracious, my teenage sons are moody. I've shortened the ordeal description, but it entailed two different trips to church and back.

By ten last night, most issues had been resolved, alarms set, and folks drifted off to sleep, allowing me a little wind down time, but I fell hard into an exhausted slumber, an orthodontic appointment early this morning, rain on the way now, so I need to go put fresh wood chips around some fruits trees, over the asparagus beds, and onto blueberry roots, conserving moisture and adding tilth to the soil as it breaks down slowly.

Asparagus roots come shipped in boxes, looking dessicated and dead, yet the second their roots touch fertile, damp earth, new life springs forth. Same with the strawberries. I'd almost gotten everything planted yesterday in time, I'd underestimated the amount of strawberry plants I'd need to fill a new bed. Even when the kids are grown, I'll need tons as that's how much I alone eat, loving sun-warmed berries just about better than anything else on earth.

Soccer tonight, laundry needs doing and I have a list of other crudola to check off, mundane dumb chores that eat away at my garden time.

I Got This

The up and down emotions that comprise my life leaves me breathless, after a crappily difficult preceding night, an extremely over-scheduled day followed in which there was very little drama, not too much acting out, just the regular dysregulation, which is predictable, in that it'll all be oppositional, but overall resulted halfway decently by my standards which are obviously kinda low nowadays.

I did holler yesterday, "Y'all can just go right ahead and be unteachable and unreachable and call me up someday and tell me how that worked out for you."

Dead silence in the van as they digested my convoluted statement, then they went right back to fussing about the U17 soccer coach, angry that I'd again taken the side of an authority figure over their own unreasonable demands and wannabe victim mental activities.

I'd stopped in a store, something I rarely, if ever, do, but on Chuy's birthday in November, he'd seen, purchased and eventually broken an inexpensive pair of sunglasses. He wears contacts, as I once did, and I know how badly the sun can be intensified by those tiny discs in one's eyes. Mr. OSS, not Chuy, had a crybaby fit because I wouldn't immediately, out-of-budget, pay for a $24.95 jacket that he set his beady eyes upon.

It's fixing to be summer, I don't pay sticker price, and we don't need any new jackets, take your free unfettered choice of reasons here buddy, but I'd also not budgeted for it. Not gonna happen. I have a lotta mouths to feed.

I do get to go pick up our budgeted-for, cut-rate spay clinic overnighter this morning. I missed the little scamp last night, she truly makes me bust out laughing with her shenanigans. An intelligent, if annoying, terrier mix who picks up on social cues, activities and commands, unlike my hard-headed children.

Just one meeting today, dear Lord, puh-leeze stretch out my time today so I can plant all those strawberry plants and asparagus roots. I'm a fast planter, ignoring a lot of rules, following my usual mimic nature plan, that generally works out just fine. Thankfully I'd worked hard this winter, making new permaculture garden beds, amending the soil, heavily mulching and allowing the earthworms to just do their stuff.

If I never left my property, if I worked 24-7 in and on the house, if I planted and tended to my crops all the time, I'd still never catch up, never be finished, never have accomplished my many, many plans here...and I'm just fine with that, it gives order and meaning to my life outside of my children who rebel against both aspects of life.

Take a deep breath.

I heard on the radio yesterday about this lady, Patrica Star, who'd ridden her bicycle across America at age 68. Just because my children have truly fried me to a frazzle, doesn't mean I can't or won't recover. I'm already working on It. I got this.

You think I don't have massive plans, dreams and goals for my own 60s, 70s, 80s, etc?

A Rough Night

I am very, very glad that I have a lot to do. Period. It takes my mind off a lot of things I might otherwise dwell on, I might have way too much simmering resentment, the abject frustration might overwhelm me. It's just good that I'm busy. Busy trumps bitter, right?

An extremely rough night last night. My eyes are swollen this morning from crying.

Today our newest dog, now a year old, is going to the El Cheapo Spay & Neuter Clinic, as I'm certainly not going to contribute to the animal overpopulation program.

My truck has been tuned up and fixed, and is waiting for Grandma and I to ride down there to pick it up.

Four kids have psychiatric appointments.

One has a dermatologist rendezvous for that nasty corn on his foot.

Three have to meet with their DJJ Officer.

There are three hours of soccer practices tonight.

Fifteen kids will want supper first.

One has a cheerleading practice tryout.

One has track practice.

Two have after school tutoring.

One is suspended from school.

I have asparagus roots and strawberry plants that need planting. All 200 tomato plants need to go to the unheated greenhouse, I need to replant the basil indoors and sow the rest of the spinach seeds as Georgia's too hot to grow it in the summer, it's now or never.

One kid unreasonably called me stupid on his Facebook page, angry that I'd quietly corrected his behavior. He ran away, after emotionally taking down several others with him. My home was in an uproar.

I ended up sobbing on the side of the road, outside of my van, for some 20 long minutes, trying to reason with an angry, irrational teenager.

An hour or so later the drama ended without any deputies becoming involved, facebook was amended.

I set all our alarms and stumbled off to bed. That's the short adjective-less version of a crappy, rainy night, and I wanna shake it all off to try and face the day today instead with a forgiving attitude, one I have to reach way down deep inside of me to find.

I'd been as ecstatic as a little girl when Anais Dervaes friended me on Facebook as I have total admiration for this family. I was shocked when her friend request came over my phone, and her sister later messaged me that she reads my blog. Are you kidding me? I'm their hugest fan.

An imaginary friend, an online friend, Marcella, with two LLs (as opposed to my daughter Marcela), had mentioned her very tough evening, and I swear if I'd had her number, she'd have been exactly who I'd have called last night in my utter frustration. She'd used a word that perfectly described what I too was then later facing.

I did get the census done, did finish an imposing stack of paperwork, but last night was so bitter and unfair.

Seriously, y'all, do you really know of any other woman who might do all this for you guys?

Honestly I have to keep reminding myself that 'Whatever you do unto them, you're doing for me," the words of Jesus, paraphrased by Cindy. I should tattoo this into my hand as my own personal reminder - oh wait, I have the kids to do that to me. I mean for me.

Emotional Dysregulation

The role of emotional cascades, an emotional phenomenon that occurs when an individual intensely ruminates on negative affect, thus increasing the magnitude of that negative affect to the point that an individual engages in a dysregulated behavior in order to distract from that rumination.

Dysregulation is the failure to control emotions. Constant and poor regulation, past the anxieties or the emotional withdrawals, can become manifested in the conduct disorders common amongst adopted children. Well that's not fair to lay it on adopted children, a better descriptor for me to use would be traumatized children. I only see the behaviors of traumatized children that I've adopted, adoption itself is yet another tough adjustment, and a very scary one at that, which then conversely makes me both a part of the solution and part of the problem.

I'm often asked, by other professionals, if I'm able to talk to anyone about the way I feel, in that it's important that I do not stuff down my own personal resentment over the incredibly mean way I've often been treated. I don't wanna end up cowering like a kicked puppy.

I've long been the recipient of priceless information and emotional support from a long-time caseworker, the owner and director of an adoption agency, but more importantly, the mother also of difficult children.

I literally ran to her in shock and horror, exclaiming in utter disbelief, the first time a child ran away from our new-to-them home. She'd calm me down, explain the behaviors, and advise me as to how I should proceed. At the time, I'd been a mom nearly 18 years, while then she was childless, but I'd only been the mom of a nurtured, intelligent, bonded daughter, not of traumatized or disturbed children...a whole different ballgame.

I still blurt out behaviors to her, listen to her explanations, but I've also benefited greatly from Dr. Mandy, who's younger than my oldest child and has just become a mother herself. Dr. Mandy knows her stuff on an intuitive and on a very educated level, and can clearly and concisely tell me what I need to know and what I should do.

Dysregulation is something she's lately been explaining to me. I took normal childhood development and child psychology classes in college, now close to 40 years ago, if I round the years up, but I do remember Maslow and others. I deeply wish I'd gone farther, studied abnormal psychology and the effects of early childhood trauma.

Chatting with you all via email, Facebook or the comments, learning of your struggles and ordeals, all similar to my own, there's such a similarity to the issues we face that's it's a wonder there's not a big ole school of thought for social workers who treat us too often as if we were the birth parents that initially caused these damages. If only these birth moms had simply laid off alcohol while pregnant, to say nothing of the inhalants, heroin or other drugs, our children's brains might have been stronger, better able to deal with the blows that'd come later.

I remain more stunned now, than when I first began, more shocked myself at what my children have endured before I met them, I'm angrier as well on their behalf, and I pray for strength to continue helping each one to overcome so many odds.

I had two very early appointments and am scrambling to make it to all the meetings, appointments and other events I must attend this week, to say nothing of the demands of four different soccer teams. My gardens are screaming for my attention, another 150 strawberry plants have arrived, I need to start supper now to get it all done, and vacuuming could only help this house.

And get this, Jonathan refused school today, as if it were an option. An immediate telekinetic response, it seemed, Miss Kim at DJJ emailed me at that moment about an appointment at my house tomorrow. I call that Just In Time.

And the police chief in another county just confirmed my Facebook request, the county where I'd worked for 13 years, he'd once nearly made me barf, telling me a very gross story while I was eating a Pecan Sandie cookie, nearly causing me to give them up for life, it's only recently that I can eat them again. That school was so wild, we had a full-time resource officer and other police in and out daily. 7575 was the last four digits in calling the police, nearly an inside joke as we had to do so, so often. Didn't we have 911 available to us? If I remember correctly, he, the chief, is an adoptive father.

Wood Chip Joy

I jumped up and down in childlike delight, clapping my hands and grinning, when I heard the deep roar of Robert's Tree Service truck winding up my long driveway. I could hear him from way down on the dirt road, and to say I was thrilled would be understating my major, and very obvious, emotion.

We'd just returned from a long morning of soccer practices, where I'd also managed to visit a few yard sales and the grocery store, getting my heart broken twice at yard sales, when folks had told me of seriously ailing elderly friends of mine. Having lived so long in this county, I remember when they were once so much younger, now both in their late 80s.

I returned home gloomily, telling Grandma, as she knows both people also, when we then heard Robert's truck coming. He must've delivered some 25-30 loads in the last five years, I've used every single speck of chips, to buy bagged mulch would be economically impossible, as I use it by the ton.

His first of five loads got stuck in the mud, my wonderful neighbor through the woods, Johnny, came through with the use of his Bobcat and chain, freeing the truck to return again and again. Five wonderous mountains of wood chips, I burrowed through one for an upcoming melon bed near the older greenhouse, this winter I've steadily added manure, leaves, coffee grinds, compost and wood chips, creating loamy fertile soil from red clay.

Paloma tried to melt down, but then somehow capitulated to my pressures of behavior expectations, not a usual response, but hey I'll take it. Spring Fever?

Interestingly enough, after her own practice, for some reason, she didn't notice Jonathan and Scotty's team out on the field, nor Chuy and his friends playing soccer, all she grasped was that my van was gone. She found a friend of mine, Hudson's mom, and asked to use her phone to call me. "I was scared," she told me, "thinking you'd left me."

I choked back a thousand smart aleck replies.

This from a kid who's not afraid of the police?

I'd been across the highway with Sarah, at Ray's soccer practice, exchanging toile pillows and a boatload of wonderful gardening books I'd purchased at a yard sale from Miss Cordelia, one of my friends who's now ailing. At 85 she's not able to garden anymore, her daughter-in-law telling me they were at least trying to keep up the gardens for her viewing enjoyment, making me sad, as I too have always driven by and admired her work. Daniel'd always referred to her as 'Rickey's Grandma.'

I knew Cristy was out in her gardens yesterday, Yolie and Chuck fixing to get their garden going, while Sarah'd filled hers already with spring crops, Gina is a container gardener, a successful one at that, and I'm just gratified that my own rabid fascination with horticulture is shared by my kids. Prissy Sabrina and Mayra were voluntarily helping me, and I'd told them no way would Cristy have given a crap at their age about all this, but look at her now digging and wallowing in the dirt, unconcerned about makeup and clothes. "There's hope for you two," I'd crowed at them both.

Texting Daniel, or rather dictating to Sabrina, as I can't text very fast, I'm thrilled that wherever he is, he's now training with the most awesome man in the Georgia Army National Guard, a longtime family friend, a judge now, what a remarkable influence Eric can have on Daniel.

Daniel had just returned from Vail, skiing with my favorite brother-in-law for a week, after his previous two weeks in the Seattle area. I haven't seen him in weeks and won't see him until early April.

Speaking of Daniel, gardening, and male role models, oh honey check this out. Vince Dooley has a gardening book. I've long admired this winning coach's gardens as well. Daniel's long admired his football win record at UGA.

We had good news on Grandpa's health this week, his breathing capacity has not decreased due to that stupid Pulmonary Fibrosis, he was out and about in yesterday's 70 plus degree temperatures.

Why I Twitch Inwardly

The older I get, the less I know. The more I try and unravel life, to comprehend the goings on, the less I feel I'm understanding. Up is not up in my world, and I'm grateful beyond measure for the insight Dr. Mandy provides for me. I'd even wanted to argue a valid point she'd made, and in doing so, proved her exact point for her to me. Fortunately I can take correction, heck I crave it at times, and had to laugh at myself for my own hardheadedness.

What mother, particularly us very bewildered adoptive moms, doesn't need validation? Our logic seems so un-viable in our lives, we blindly push on through, plodding and struggling, making so little progress that at times the darkness can be overwhelming.

I talked last night to the videographer at church who's putting together an interesting slide show for Easter, she'd wanted my children to participate, me in the last shot, but she knew I'd balk at it, and as I explained it all last night to my children, they too seemed wary. I dunno, I'm going to let them think about it, it's their choice ultimately. They have until late today to decide.

Soccer all morning, three different practice times, plus I need to get CW to the high school, as he's going away to a Track Meet, there's a couple of yard sales I'd love to get to, we need groceries, and Jack's pushing me to rent him a game at Blockbuster.

I have a box of 125 strawberry plants in front of me needing to be put into the ground, the first of three boxes I'd ordered from different companies, and I worked out front last night until dark, trying to clear out old English Ivy, wild wickedly thorny blackberry canes, and our aggressive, yet still delightful Southern honeysuckle, my fingers dripping and oozing blood, yeah I know that's gross, but it needed to get done, I'm all scratched up, but halfway satisfied with the progress I'd made overall.

I keep track of weird stuff, today finishes up my 17th year in this house, onto Year 18 with joy. I love, love, love my property and my gardens. The house is still iffy in my mind, not my dream home, but it'll do.

No one can use you without your permission. Back when we had newspapers and the Ann Landers column, that was a common refrain from fed-up folks who'd extended hospitality, only to eventually realize they were being taken advantage of all too often. Me allowing grown folks to live here, ends up with me just having way more work to do, more trash to haul, more bills to pay, and more chores to do, as if maid service was an agreed upon implication.

I don't think so.

"I've had a man in my life since I was 15," begins Julia Roberts in a preview to a new movie, based on a book that was on the New York Times Bestseller List for three years, me oblivious to it, as my head's been swamped with children for so long. Turns out Sarah's gonna loan me the book, a memoir of a lady who took off on her own to explore the world, right up my alley. That was kinda my thought after my second divorce, but my life became waylaid a bit.

Now I feel somewhat more free, as no one is in diapers, no car seats, no life jackets in the pool, I don't bathe nor dress anyone anymore, and there'll never be any new children to raise. That's incredibly freeing to me.

Being so middle-aged, as to be looking at elderly soon enough, is also freeing in that I don't have dumb expectations of my ownself anymore, less pressures to conform, more freedom to be the dirt grubbing fool I wanna be...after I do the laundry, the dishes, the vacuuming, the cooking, the grocery-buying and the car-pooling, encouraging soccer mom.

Paloma, never one to be counted upon, I'm always waiting, tensed up for the next unpredictable, yet always expected, explosion, well hot diggety-dog, she spent yesterday being perfectly well-behaved, showing Ray, Hazel, CJ and Mae how to dig up earthworms in the yard and put in Bita's Gardens, swinging the kids, and jumping on the trampoline with each child. Yolie, Sarah and I watching her, unable to explain how she can be so cute and wonderful, then shockingly horrid. It's just the way it is.

I double-dawg guarantee you, if we did ever get psychiatric hospitalization, Paloma'd fool 'em all and get sent home with a report of, "She's stabilized," as she's so dern cyclical and now I'm so jaded and burnt out. I've BTDT with three other children. I know this routine, I've danced this dance. OR she'd conversely beat the tarnation out of someone, terrorize them, as she's done here for so long.

See why I twitch?

Winter's So Over

Sarah blogged again.

Walking To Relax

Well what did you expect? It echoes through my head when I'm tempted to bellyache at the stresses and strains. Just as everyone knows the old saying, 'no good deed goes unpunished,' so too do I wanna carry on about being unappreciated, overworked and fried to a frazzle. It really does seem that when you help people, they resent you for it, lashing out unreasonably and irrationally. Maybe that's why I also am so hard to help, resisting most folk's efforts to see me through.

My own pastor, oh wait, several pastors, have remarked that it's like pulling teeth to get Cindy to admit to needing anything, but that's also due to a stubborn, uber-independent streak that I blame my own mother for, we just hunker down and get it done. I don't want to be beholden to anyone, to owe anything back, that too would stress me out.

Today seems utterly impossible, I had a crying meltdown fit on the phone yesterday, but got results eventually, even though it then crapped up today's schedule, a 70 degree day, but I sure couldn't then back down, after the impressively immature hissy fit I'd thrown. Serves me right.

I stood frozen in place for a few minutes, thinking this life is completely impossible, but I got a grip.

Lily and Jack urged me to walk with them at soccer practice, Lily taking her Yorkie, and Jack on his beloved fusion scooter, Tabby bringing up the rear with her Barbie scooter, and eventually they all fell away, waiting for me near the van, as my wheel-like legs churned out my stress, allowing me to eventually watch a skirmish, no a scrimmage, in a more relaxed fashion.

I NEED to make myself set aside chores and labors, and just walk hard and far. It always makes me feel better. I know this, but I resist it, and keep working when I need to relax, and if walking is a relaxer, then so be it.

I've got too much to due today, gotta fly, but Sarah blogged.

I Miss My Very Normal Niece

My pretty niece, Caroline's freshman picture up on Facebook today was the curative medicine I needed, after an Allen Ordeal that lasted 2 1/2 hours over a T-shirt that wasn't even his in the first place, that involved physical threats to Tony who could've ended all this in the first place, necessitating a trip to school by me to make Tony change clothes, and a back-up call to Bronson, our youth pastor, for reinforcements.

Ri-diculous waste of my time and emotional energy.

Then I was forced to sit in a cubicle with Paloma, Jonathan and JoJo as they got their blood levels checked due to the psychotropic medications. Three kids with behavior issues in a small space is not a pretty sight.

I must go outside and try and regain my oxygen levels before three hours of soccer practice tonight.

The kids are home on early release.

Oh brother.

"Mom please let me play games on your phone," JoJo begged, being stuck in the waiting room while I tended to business. I knew he couldn't call anyone, as his friends were in school while he's serving his suspension, so I tossed it to him and walked off, not knowing for quite some time that he'd hacked into my Facebook account and amused my friends. Several caught on immediately, one lady who's not a mother, remarking that she was surprised that others had so quickly figured him out.

JoJo is a nut, slap worn out on the couch now after three days of following me around, it's not like I dawdle during the day, I have a great deal to get done and never enough time. He conked out before supper last night.

The juvenile judge had literally written an order for this therapeutic team to seek residential psychiatric placement for Paloma and one of the team members met with me yesterday, explaining that with severe budgetary cuts, it's not a guaranteed thing anymore. Since Paloma has DJJ involvement, and is acting out both at school and at home, maybe she has a chance.

It's frustrating because we all know if not in a psychiatric placement, she'll break enough laws to get a punitive placement, and again, that's not a good thing. She's not choosing these behaviors. This is what mental illness is, and there's no clear line of demarcation for law-breaking folks, between those whose inner demons drive them versus those who willfully choose to break the law. JoJo's zero impulse control issues will handicap him all his life, but he's not mentally ill.

He's such a challenge, a handful, a full-time job managing his moods and his behaviors, Allen comes in a close second for moodiness and over-the-top emotions, these are Edgar's baby brothers, now 13 and 14, and just as Edgar was such an immense emotional challenge for me, so too, are they both.

JoJo saw an email come through on my phone from Claudia about a sib group of five kids who were cute and Hispanic. "oh Mom, Puh-leeze, adopt them, I'll be good." His heart in the right place, he wants kids to find families (to rebel against, like he does) but I'd just rudely retorted, "Boy, I can see the issues in each kid's eyes, I know what the new parents will face," not reading the writeup, instead just hitting delete, end of subject.

Later that afternoon, since I'm still on the AAN line, I read that the group would likely be split up due to the severity of their issues. What a blow, my blood pressure surged, me having no easy answers for this difficult situation. Not only do I have no desire to adopt anymore, I have even less ability to talk anyone else through it, knowing the very rough road that'll be ahead for the unprepared big-hearted, naive family.

I told JoJo what I'd read, he looked at me with his large, liquid beautiful brown eyes that then nearly over-filled with tears, but being JoJo, I saw his inner anger take over, and he yelled, "That just pisses me off."

I'd meant it as a learning example, a lame attempt for him to appreciate me keeping his seven sibling group member entourage together in spite of some very massive difficulties. Interestingly enough, their initial writeup and their case workers claimed this was a delightful, loving group of seven with no major issues. Ten years later I can tell you they've been an uphill battle.

None have emotional nor mental illnesses, but all are violent, mean, lazy, and aggressive, yet all seven are also loving, athletic, very good-looking kids who struggle daily with an inability in academics, a challenge in obeying laws, and they just can't seem to get it together enough to hold down jobs and pay bills. The oldest girl texting me yesterday to pray for her at 3 during her job interview, which JoJo and I did, exactly at three.

Two early release days today, I have mountains of paperwork in front of me, phone calls to make, faxes to send, all Micky Mouse chores that bore me to tears, in ways in which weeding never does. I'm loving our new Walton EMC Security system, loving it, another layer of protection here, and while news reports about the economy fill me with anxiety, I can just go finish picking masses of daffodils, inhale my winter daphne that's outta this world, or hold a hen - all activities that calm me from within, as I falter forward again and again, striving and pushing ahead.

"Why can't you be like everyone else in the world," JoJo loudly complained in the grocery store, as I read labels and fussed about foodstuff items. I wanted to holler at the offending ingredients, rather I just stomped off and answered Jojo, "Whaddya mean? Like moms who get their nails done and don't adopt sib groups of seven?" I was on a roll yesterday.

"Ha ha, ya got me," he smirked, pulling at and touching everything we passed like any normal three year old might do, calling Paloma, "Sasquatch," for unreasonably getting out of school again, eventually telling me in the check-out line, "I'm not as dumb as you think you look," which cracked me up. Sometimes I'm afraid that I just encourage him, but he does make me laugh.

Sarah's husband actually pointed out to Ray last night at church when I stopped to get my grandbaby hug, "Bita's not wearing green," earning me a Ray Ray pinch. Well, I'm not Irish, duh, and I hardly own any clothes that are not in varying shades of black.

I'm praying for the particular sib group, for someone to step up to the plate and take on their emotional disabilities for a spell, sorry that it'll nearly ruin someone else's life, it is what it is, no one promised any of us a good time 24-7. My callous thought for today should also be tempered with a remark about the joy some kids provide, think I'll post a picture of my beautiful 12 year old, Lily, below, nurtured and loving, smart and talented, an absolute delight to raise. (see below)

But before I could hit publish all Hell broke out over a T-shirt, now I have a very angry, unreasonable Allen. More later...

Extending the Chicken Moat

After an uneventful, but kinda gross and a bit painful, foot excision, in which Mr. OSS JoJo tagged along, carrying out Chuy's medical folder to the receptionist, announcing loudly in the waiting room, "Yep, positive for AIDS," while I blushed, hoping folks wouldn't believe this silly goofball, Chuy didn't want to return to school. Unwilling to cop to the pain, he made a few other lame excuses, Mr. Macho and his standoffishness in action again.

An ibuprofen later and he was raring to get the chicken moat going, but I quickly did the math. Ideally I want the entire acre out there, which already has a chain link fence, to have a parallel fence with poultry netting covering it, thus a moat, but it's expensive, even a DIY project, so we'll have to take it in bits and pieces.

I'd once even moved the chicken coop a couple hundred feet closer to the house, we were tearing down an old fence Daniel had put up for me when he was around 11 or 12, taking out the domestic honeysuckle Edgar had once planted, and I'm also needing to move the concrete table and benches that Big Joe and Jesse'd once laboriously set up out back.

I keep doing and re-doing, much as others might rearrange their indoor furniture, my mind is obsessed and wrapped around the outside implements.

My back aches each morning, sore muscles, but it's a good feeling, a feeling of accomplishment, even though I remember I used to not be so stiff the next day, heck I'm 55 now, and work harder than ever, but I like it.

Miss Kim, our DJJ officer, is always prompt, so when I called to check on her yesterday, after her non-arrival, I got an, "Oh I should've already called to tell you she was out sick today," response from her office, after I'd drug my ponderous self reluctantly inside to vacuum the family room in preparation for her visit when I could've been making my hens happy.

The track team is kicking CW's butt, gone from 7:30 in the morning, often until 8:30 at night, he then had soccer practice after his track meet last night, I ran up and down the highway, ferrying kids, getting a,'Thank you for all this," from CW, kissing my cheek I could feel his whiskers, oh no, not you CW, please don't grow up this fast, and a sweet, "I love you," from JoJo this morning, as he serves his OSS time.

A decent day with Paloma yesterday, that always helps my own mental well-being. Jonathan wanting to nut up for a moment, but guarding himself somehow. Supper slammed on the table so we can get to three hours of soccer practices, I got to watch Ray's practice also, which was nice, Tabby and Hazel being silly and playing together.

I appreciate the prayers for Preston's father's heart surgery as he seems to be recovering nicely now.

I'm transplanting tomato seedling into larger pots, no quick task when there's 200 to do, but necessary and very fun for me. Good Friday is earlier this year...should I risk it? My usual planting date, but a week earlier than regular. What's a girl to do?

Several stressful phone calls during my day, I can feel my blood pressure surging in response. I repeat, I will NOT enable liars, predators, and thieves.

Future Dweebs

Will I someday look back on all this with a grinning fondness for the days passed?

Probably so, and certainly I'll later become a Monday morning quarterback, reflecting on what I could've, and should've, done differently. I'm sure, since my days are so full now, that there'll come a day when I'll miss this very busy life, when I might feel as if my life isn't quite as rewarding or challenging.

I've been thinking a lot about my own perspective on all this lately, knowing nothing I now do will improve Paloma's mental health, if anything it's all the more dismal to me, since I've been so sadly educated on this subject, my own baptism by fire experiences that have left me reeling. But how much more so for the children involved? Their troubling jangled experiences will never end.

Almost daily phone calls from my 20 year old in Atlanta who struggles each day with every faltering foot she puts in front of her. Our relationship was awful when she was a dangerous raging teenager who punched out three different cops before her 18th birthday. Now that we have a choice, we've both chosen to work on this together. I know she's gonna have a very hard life, it is not her fault at all, and as aggravating as she can be, she's still lovable. She's a pretty little girl, childlike and hard-headed though.

As I waited on the EMC Security Alarm guy to arrive yesterday, Paloma called with a wild nonsensical story that resulted in me having to go to the school and pick her up. If I'd used logic, she'd have amped up her irrational behaviors, there'd have been hell to pay, this I know.

Now we do have an alarm system and I'm both happy and sad. Sad that it has come to this, happy now that it's a done deal, as I'd fretted and run the numbers in my mind for quite some time.

I've even had grown kids, knowing we're down at the soccer fields, use that time to come help themselves to what little we own, pissing me off, as I'd have given it to them, if they'd only asked for it, rather than stealing it.

Again to the doctor this morning for more gross procedures on Chuy's foot. I cringe, gag and bury myself in the pages of anything else, "Stay in the waiting room Mom," Chuy's suggested, but I know I need to hear what the doctor says, and it isn't likely he's gonna spend time hunting for me to tell me the after-care for this corn removal.

DJJ this afternoon. Paloma was given 20 hours of community service, as a favor to me, they've allowed it to be for, and with, Grandma. Paloma's been ordered to just help Grandma outside and get the credit. Half the time Paloma either balks or just doesn't do it. Grandma is almost 80, and like me, can work circles around anyone else. Sunup to sundown, toiling in the fields is joyful to dweebs like us, torture to others apparently.

Paloma did get two more hours credit this weekend, but only because Nando motivated and helped her. He loves outside work and food production, he's as fascinated by the process as I still am after all these years.

So will I look back nostalgically on all this? Yep. The good times will have far outweighed the terrible nightmarish times. There's certainly no way I'd want to go backwards and repeat any of it, moving on is preferable and enticing to me.

Tonight's my long night on the soccer fields, a 6-9 stretch, hungry kids after an early supper and then strenuous practices, hard to settle down when we get home, but it's a heap sight better than bored and restless children looking for trouble.

I have a grown kid who's stolen from me for over a decade, lied to me about anything and everything, and worse, lied about me constantly. Now homeless. Call me hard-hearted, but there's no way on God's green earth would I ever subject either myself, nor the 15 kids still living at home, to this one's deceitful, predatory and dangerous ways. It would be condoning, enabling those behaviors that have only grown more entrenched and severe over time.

Due to the severity of some issues, and that's putting it mildly, there are about 25% off my children who may never come on this property again for any reason. I forgive everyone every single crime, every misstep, every back-stabbing maneuver, but I will not ever subject myself to this again. I'll pray for folks, send money if necessary and appropriate, but I will not offer up either myself or my other children as potential victims.

I have probably 25% children who've excelled, surprised me each day with their stunning internal and external victories, and then there's my 50%, an illustrated Bell Curve, of those who falter, shoot forward, lose ground, try again, succeed and move on, average as the day is long, and I'm super happy with average, pleased as punch and proud.

I Should Know

Yolie'd sent me a link to a new show, Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution. I'd watched several trailers for it and was significantly impressed. It'll open with a two hour special on March 26th. He'd had another show within the last several years, his brick wall garden lured me in immediately. I've often admired those gardens built within crumbling brick walls of old estates and I've been so smitten. It used to be that enclosures smothered me, but after years of such boundary-less living here, where doors are breached regularly, locks mean nothing and predators abound, it's no wonder I now desire very visible security.

The Security Alarm Company comes today, I've set up four payments with no interest to get it all done, sad that I've come to this, and I suspect no one outside my own family, of some of the criminals who've already stolen so much from me, family members that cannot learn to get a job and not break laws, mis-wired individuals who'll likely have a terribly sad life, butting heads against police batons and jail cells.

I forced myself to watch the 20/20 special I'd taped on childhood mental illnesses, having had so many poignant comments from y'all, truthfully I dreaded watching it, preferring to just veg out and look at gorgeous HGTV scenery before I fell asleep.

But oh my goodness, it was very well made, they did a superb job of showing the despair of the beleaguered parents. These were birth children, not adopted ones, and the frightening look in each girl's eyes was something I've sadly seen here over the years. I've never had one such murderous individual, rather we've had bloodthirsty bouts of violence, not a concentrated desire within one child to kill anyone, everyone or someone.

I live within my own cocoon, isolated from others, knowing that other parents in our church do not parent such mentally ill kids, as some of mine clearly are, I do know that I share this same misfortune with my readers, so many of you are attempting to find help, or cures, or answers, for unsolvable situations.

These girls in this show shared the same wildly bouncing dark-eyed glares, the same near babbling that I've seen here with two of my daughters. I got a bit irked twice at the reporter who tried to reason with the girls, as if there was logic deep within, and in one instance it appeared he was sitting, even lolling, on the bed of another girl. Dude, are you crazy? Get off that bed. Do you not comprehend false allegations, or how that appears to look?

A grown man on a child's bed? Alarm bells clanging in my head.

These were young girls, one was Paloma's age, but I cannot begin to imagine how adolescence will look in the other girls, when hormones combine with mis-wirings. I'm afraid that any follow-up stories will not be easy to watch.

We'd had our own difficult day again with Paloma, she demanding everything she wants, there's no reasoning with her, we don't even try anymore, as it only amps her violent behaviors, yes it appears she's winning, but there are no appropriate responses to irrationality.

The bottom line is that I must protect the rest of us from the consequences of her every choice. If I consequence her for threatening violence, as she did last night, she'll have a full-scale meltdown, and there's no doubt that someone will be hurt.

Sometimes the absolute best I can do is simply to defuse a situation. Period, I cannot explain to her that her behaviors are out of line, her reality is very different from our own.

It is sad, sad, sad.

I do get angry and upset, but I hold it in. My anger, or disciplining her, will do no good.

I'm a well-trained monkey, one who's learned not to get bitten or shocked, one who responds automatically, with no thought involved, because there are no rational thoughts to be had, the rest of the kids follow my suit, what's the point, step around it, and no one gets hurt.

I truly, deeply believe that children like her, and the children on that show, need long-term psychiatric hospitalization in order to keep themselves and others safe. A psychiatrist on the show pointed out that kids often stabilize when in residential - meds and a 24-7 trained staff, help keep the kids in line, (remember it's all relative then) and there are no other normal children who glaringly demonstrate that impossible-to-them regular behaviors.

A kid stabilizes and is returned home. Then blamo, another dangerous, violent outburst, the parent is again scrambling for a safety plan.

This is no way to live. I should know.

Yet I have no options right now.

Two year old Hazel, Little Cindy apparently, had a fit after church yesterday, because Sarah and Preston insisted that she hold their hands in the parking lot. An absolute tantrum. That's normal for a headstrong two year old.

We have similar rages in a 13 year old that cannot be reasoned with...that is not normal. But it is our reality.

The boys and I worked outside after church, I have a fenced in acre that borders the Big Back Garden, and we've been making the four, once distinct overgrown areas into one major farming arena, my long term goal is massive food production, logic in action that rewards all my daylong efforts. I find myself feeling very happy and rewarded from within, as I look down from my room, upon what all we've accomplished.

Down Bursts

Not a pretty day yesterday, but who cares? Cloudy and chilly, with warm bursts of sunshine, drizzles of sporadic rain, and finally a quick downburst that drove a daffodil-picking Gina up under the shelter of the garden shed. She'd been trying to describe to me what daffodils mean to her, as we've always amassed bunches of them around the house, a visible indicator of Spring, something that appears every year like clockwork, another indicator of the stability she still craves, even now in her 30s. Hyacinth also affect us all emotionally, as their fragrance is unsurpassed.

Chuy, Dubs and Martin have been very slowly clearing an area that once harbored a fence line, but my gardens are swelling rapidly, me wanting to plant so much more, now finally having more free time, and a clear inner vision of what I want in terms of sustainability.

I'd been working through a 20 pound sack of seed potatoes, a lot for even a family like ours, I've filled three garden beds, still have more to plant, and have over-planted spinach, lettuce and chard...just because I could do so, and have not yet watched the 20-20 Special on childhood mental illness, but have received alarming emails from some of y'all in response to it. Maybe tonight I can get to it. To tell you the truth, I don't really wanna watch it.

Nando and I watched three DVRd Outdoor Rooms with Jamie Durie which is compelling. Love it and who doesn't have a crush on this design genius? I'd showed Nando how to plant potatoes, he's so cute and was enthralled at the process, carefully tossing each piece in the hole I'd dug. I honestly believe with all my heart that everyone should know how to grow their own food.

Sarah Blogged about Irish Soda Bread, brought me some, and it's every bit as good as she describes. I disdain teenybopper movies, always have, always will, but even I gotta say I liked Pretty In Pink, one of Sarah's favorites. I liked it a lot.

Oh Boy

A sweet shoutout on Facebook from a woman I've known since she was a little girl, now she's a Probation Officer, a mom, a wife, and all those other grownup things. Thanks, Melissa.

She'd asked about my composting and I gotta share y'all. Mine is only a horeshoe shaped line of cinder blocks. I break all the rules, I haven't had time to properly turn a pile in the last 15 years, heck it'll rot on its own. I just dump the bucket(s) each day of scraps from the kitchen - vegetable peelings, coffee grounds, eggshells, dish scrapings - anything that will rot, an added benefit is that I never throw anything in the trash that'll attract animals to tear into and open the sacks of trash.

I've also never found anything, but the occasional squirrel, flocks of birds, a raccoon and maybe once a possum, digging through the compost pile. No, it doesn't smell, yes it's unsightly, but it is eventually pure brown gold for a heavy clay garden.

Last night I DVRd a 20-20 Special about young girls with severe mental illnesses. I thought of some of y'all mothers, and wanted to run back downstairs, crank up my computer, and send out a reminder, but really, amongst us older mothers? Who's still up?

I haven't watched it yet, as I have my own darling daughter to demonstrate it best. It's in three parts about childhood schizophrenia, watch it and weep.

A mental health counselor had arrived yesterday at our scheduled time, not Dr. Mandy, as we're being forced to follow these particular steps for possible psychiatric hospitalization, away from a private provider who can't sponsor a Medicaid patient. Paloma initially refused to see the lady, it took her about 15 minutes of cajoling to get anywhere. I do like this team we're using, all are seasoned and intuitive.

Only one incidence of her violence yesterday, all of us caged up by rainstorms, today's soccer practices all cancelled, I just don't feel like going to any yard sales, even the major arts and cultural one that's occurring today, an annual good time, but whatever, I have too much to get done here.

I'd had one of my own impressive mini-major meltdowns, euphemistically known as a family meeting, where I throw a fit over the piggish squalor everyone prefers to loll about in, it worked, I then had a 85% participation rate, Paloma eyeing us all as if we're were moronic cretins for wanting a clean house, refusing to help, or to in any way work on the nastiness surrounding her bed where she's strown everything in pieces and parts. Sabrina and Mayra bravely attacked the pigsty, and I rewarded them both later with allowing each to go off in the evening to various destinations.

Chuy, Dubs and I did some heavy duty hauling to the dump, of destroyed furniture and the carcasses of what once may have been functional items, fodder for the many rages on our planet, heavy usage alone here accounting for the super short shelf life of any given item.

Miss Kimberly's darling husband, Travis, has given the children their own DVD copy of 2012 and I used it as sanctified bait, "Clean up first," I'd bellowed, as they scrambled to get it done to watch the movie, which they'll do over and over and over again.

Truly I desire clean, spare spaces, a zen-like lack of stuff, major uncluttering, as I've grown weary of folk's ridiculous desires to hang on to the tatters of what once existed nicely. "Dang y'all, this cwap stinks!" I've been known to holler, in response to their raggedy blankets and damaged beyond redemption shoes and socks. How does one destroy shoes? I could successfuly strain and drain pasta through our ripped up towels.

Sarah's gamely attempting to educate me on the issues of being a foodie, there's so much I just don't know. I can grow it and I can cook it somewhat unimaginatively, but the nuances escape me as easily as does garden design. I can plant, produce, can and freeze the outcome, but have zero eye for design, and even less ability at being a gourmet. The book is fascinating, but I'm reading it slowly, trying to absorb by osmosis. I don't even know half these words. What the heck is prosciutto? Sarah spouts off the names of cheeses that sound melodious, foreign and enticing to this old goat who's still gnawing on pepper jack.

I'm plain and productive. That's it.

But I can be taught the information, even if I can't put it into beautiful design form. I simply can not use yard art whimsically, it's not in my DNA.

I have another mountain of laundry calling my name, after I conquered yesterday's heap, and the weeding stays five yards ahead of my free time, as does every other chore. I play games with myself, incorrectly figuring if I don't look at my watch, I can't see time slipping away then, and I can concievably get more done. Not possible, just a vain attempt, but I truly do enjoy the tasks at hand, well at least the outdoor ones, and I keep plodding forward.

It's taken me ten long days, and essentially yesterday it was Sarah who'd coaxed Chuy into capitulating. He'd angrily quit the middle school soccer team and I'd been furious. No one quits a team, I'd been shocked actually, unable to fathom that he didn't understand this one deeply held belief. He's a smart kid, but stubborn and emotionally difficult, prickly as a junkyard dog, teetering on the edge of an explosion too often. I'd had no illusions that he'd talk it through with his coach, the more wrong Chuy is, the more ridiculously prideful he becomes, and my bottom line, my one request, was a written letter of apology to his coach for letting everyone down.

Ten days, but he finally came through yesterday, a Man Up Moment that took way too long, as he'd dug his heels in impressively, but I could not be budged on these negotiations. I know he's ashamed of his actions, I know he knows he made a big mistake...heck I'm ashamed that he'd done this, I certainly raised him better with my middle class expectations, and my value system, and this was entirely unacceptable.

His coach is a very nice man, very focused and appropriately demanding of his athletes, and for Chuy to not rise to the occasion was unthinkable for me. I understand his deep down fears and his anger, but he's got to overcome all this in order to move forward in life successfully, as he truly does have what it take.

And no, the picture above is not of Chuy, but of Allen, after his haircut, the one Miriam finally was able to convince him he needed, he'd been so happily shaggy, now it's halfway shaped decently. I believe she's gonna take JoJo and Allen to the Dollar Theater today, giving me a little more oxygen around here, some breathing room as I'm gonna have to have JoJo glued to a grownup all next week in response to his OSS predicament.

Oh boy.

Why I Will NEVER Get Bored in Life...There's So Much Yet To Do

If this were a school morning, as opposed to a teacher workday/student holiday, I would not have 6 guys already up. It just doesn't work like that.

Paloma is spiraling badly, she viciously threw Nando across the family room yesterday, refused to let Tabby sit anywhere near Grandma, my mom looking at me in shock. Who acts like that? What can I do about it? "That's assault," I again hissed at her, she roaring back with her eyes blazing and bugged out, "I don't CARE!," scaring the tar out of me for her future.

She's refused showers for over a week, getting teased at school, my own kids say nothing at all to her, knowing her retaliatory ways, such as several times when she's wickedly cut up Mayra's clothes, there's no reasoning with her at all. She's very disturbed, and it's sad. Simply sad.

I've done this long enough, lived with severely mentally ill children, to know there's so little hope for either change or improvement. I'm relieved not to be living with Pepe, her birth brother, who'd cut computer wires, or Nintendo wires, in retaliation whenever he felt like it. Or Joey, who'd break things on purpose just to see dismay cross my face. Y'all, this isn't normal.

I recycle milk jugs, yet my feeble simple efforts are counteracted by blatant vandalism, further frustrating me.

How does one prevent those behaviors? If I consequence him, there's worse results. How do I force Paloma to shower? It can't be done. This is a control issue on her part, there's no understanding that she could also conversely control people to like her, rather than force folks to avoid her.

She needs psychiatric hospitalization, and I see so little hope in sight.

I could call the deputies, press assault charges, but we're treated like it's a minor family skirmish, rather than a major impending problem. I've been conditioned now, haven't I? This is a battered family syndrome.

JoJo tossed a pair of scissors at a kid in school, "no intended malice," reads the referral, rather this just illustrates his utter lack of impulse control, he's suspended all next week as a result. "Now that I'm almost 13, am I allowed to touch a kitchen knife?" he recently asked me.

"Heck no," I'd responded, knowing he'd sling it, carve in a kitchen table, or otherwise use it destructively, without even thinking about his actions, that's how he's wired. He's way better now with his medications, even he's remarked about it, but he has a long way to go yet.

JoJo is not emotionally ill, just troubled. There's a major difference. He'll likely make me crazy, yet there's a lot of hope for his own future.

Facbook has dredged up about a thousand regrets for me, as I've been in contact with so many folks from my past, so far in the past that I was childless at the time. They've all gone on to have exciting adventures, and I feel left in the dust a bit. Constrained mightily by the issues and challenges here, all of my own choice, I never ever want to imply that my life was forced upon me. I made every single decision and I made it all happen...therefore I will see it through to completion and remind myself that I was called...all this other stuff is illustrated temptations. Duh.

I am thrilled still, after all these years, to be a garden freak, to be obsessed and consumed by my soil, and my food production efforts. I know that the ills of society would've swept me up in some form or another, mainstream mall shopping and abject consumerism turns me off, I'd watched this video with utter fascination yesterday, our society is terminally ill, our wanton wastefulness is inexcusable. A great review by a Quaker preacher found here.

I'm telling ya, us complacent Christians can be the worst advertisements for God, maybe a strident one like me even more frightening, yet my soul calls out for problems to be solved somehow, for me to do what I can, wherever I can make a difference, in all the problems that I see on earth.

We Americans are throwing away about 100 million pounds of food each year while other folks are starving.

Do you really think we won't be held accountable on Judgement Day for this?

I think we will, and that behooves me to do something about it.

Here's the movie trailer, tell me it didn't stir something in you....

Thank you Sam's Club

Thank you Sam's Club for going mainstream and carrying this compost bin in your yard and garden section.

What if?

What if every suburban family had one?

How much valuable compost could've been saved from the landfill?

Why don't restaurants do the same?

It's so easy, and even if one doesn't garden, it could be used on shrubs and trees in one's landscape, or spread lightly on one's lawn, feeding it organically, not crapping up God's earth.

Rain and Errands

As verbose as I am, to narrow down my Victim Impact Statement into those little boxes was such a challenge yesterday, when I set aside the morning to plow through paperwork. I have no illusions that the courts can protect me from ridiculous threats made by a severely mentally ill grown son of mine, I did get to say my piece however. Bottom line - just leave me alone. Don't call me and I won't call you. Shotgun threats leave me with a cold-hearted response.

I'm growing increasingly reclusive, some of the paperwork involved on-line chores that will preclude me having to go other places and even eliminating some boring phone calls, another bane in my existence. Everything I want is here, everywhere I have to go is onerous to me.

I had 8 errands on my dumb list yesterday, but the orthopedic doctor took two hours longer than I planned, good news is Sabrina's sprain is not as severe as we'd initially thought, but still no soccer for several weeks.

A tremendous amount of rain has fallen, putting a grin on my face, knowing it was perfect timing in my planting schedule.

Tabby's first grade musical performance is this morning at 9:30, two soccer practices tonight, and no school tomorrow.