Bygone Wild West Days

Even in our Wild West need-the-deputies-days, even when windows were being broken, walls kicked in, appliances destroyed on purpose just to get a rise out of me, and larcenous folks stealing everything that wasn't nailed down, they never messed with my piles of paperwork, and never threw out receipts that I needed. An aside: they never threw out anything, preferring hoards that made me nutso, as I like long clean zen-like spaces. I want papers filed and clothes hung up. I'm funny like that.

The extremely disturbed ones liked smelly nests of trash, soiled clothing, and crapped-up food items surrounding them. Ultimately so very sad, a precursor of homelessness and a life of self-medication? I hope not, but I remain skeptical of much high-level functioning. Other parents have told me about the pervasive smell of urine, of half-filled soda bottles growing mold spores, and lipstick defaced walls from their own severely disturbed children.

I again painted all day long, the living room is completed, well except for an accent wall, and I finished the long hall off, painting it a steel grey-blue, easily covering unidentifiable stains.

Twice in one month I ordered Dominos, shocking the kids. I allowed each kid to order their own one topping pizza - 12 pizzas at six dollars each, their astonishment was comical, usually I make the 12 of them agree on ten pizzas, but this month we'd barely spent any of the gas money that I'd allocated in our budget, having hardly left the place all January, except for school and church...and the grocery store.

Grandma'd cooked an after church lunch for us all, and then picked up the pizzas after taking Jack to karate at her church, allowing me to remain at home with the other kids and to continue painting.

Nary a problem yesterday at all. A very decent Sunday afternoon, everyone doing something, no one fussing nor acting up. It is sooooo nice.

I'd talked to Dr Mandy about it, me feeling intensely guilty that there'd been so many dangerous years, me being hyper-vigilant 24-7, when kids attacked kids, when the rest of my kids were diving for cover so often, usually the violence would be directed at me, but collateral damage included everyone, especially in the emotional realm. Either they were preoccupied with losing me, the only one who has ever consistently fed, clothed, sheltered and nurtured them, or the spillover fears intruded into their thoughts, including their own very justified fears of the simmering, unpredictable rages.

"You tried hard for a very long time, "Dr. Mandy reassured me, using a white flag of surrender as an analogy that I've since been thinking about all week.

I shudder to remember the intense, irrational control issues that plagued us all regarding Sabrina's cheer leading events, soccer games, church activities, school days, and possessions where all the kids knew we bordered on dangerous explosions so often, if one violent kid wanted that which another kid had - or was as a person. Sabrina and Mayra's beauty was a trigger as well. Seriously.

I do feel guilty that my kids tiptoed around fearfully, I just can't shake that yet. That said, I now treasure the light-hearted atmosphere that we are all enjoying - the way it always should have been.

"Ow!" Allen exclaimed goofily this morning, as the van horn hurt his ears which sent Jack and JoJo into paroxysms of giggling.

Back then, they wouldn't have been allowed to laugh by The One Who Controlled Everything. She would've thought they were laughing at her and launched into a hitting and spitting rage in which folks would miss the bus. I was driving them to the bus stop this morning, down the long dirt driveway, to our mailbox on the dirt road, as it's drizzly, and my girls with their very carefully straightened hair requested my taxi services. Glad to oblige.

Speaking of straight hair, I'm very surprised to be found on Facebook by folks who've not seen me in decades - back then I had curly, very dark hair, and two other last names as I married twice. I've been using my maiden name for a very long time now, but no one knew me by that name initially as I began my public school career as Miz Brown, a name I'd kept after the divorce so Sarah and I would have the same last name.

Were it not for Sarah, spinsterhood would've been my preference. In the book I'm reading Maine Farm: A Year of Country Life, the author wrote of a woman who'd never married. Anita Harris who died at age 92 in 1971, donating her land to the state as a wildlife sanctuary, The Holbrook Island Sanctuary. 1200 acres from an early pioneer in the then cult-like status of vegetarianism. How cool is she?