What's Wrong With Him/Me?

I didn't know this about toilet paper.  I was sitting in the orthodontist waiting room, reading Real Simple Magazine, which I like, but wouldn't subscribe to, because it keeps mentioning stuff to go buy that'll make my life real simple.  No, it won't.  Stuff complicates life.  An article about $65 t-shirts being worth the money.  Are you freaking kidding me?  I balk at more than 25 cents at a yard sale for t-shirts that the seller obviously doesn't want anymore.

Yes, I took a picture of this page to remind me.

There was a TV blaring in the waiting room, discussing OctoMom, and some well-coiffed talking head said, "No one can take care of 14 kids," as she's filed for bankruptcy.

The very irrepressible, less than zero impulse control, my wild 15 year old son, JoJo, jumped up and hollered in righteous indignation, "MY mom can!"  Folks looked at him and I stopped him from elaborating.  Honey, just because I yell at umpires on TV at home doesn't mean we should do so in public.

I tend to blog more under stress, dancing around major challenges as always, either unwilling, unable or too constrained by boundaries to discuss what's really the issue.

Today is no exception.

A wise therapist that my original caseworker connected me with, the late Dr. Michael Bach, helped me understand very early on in the adoption of older children to concentrate more on the positive.  I've often given this example because it spoke so strongly into my spirit when I complained that day about a spacey kid of mine.

"What's good about this guy?" Dr Bach asked me, almost 22 years ago.

"Oh, a lot," I jumped in to reply, "He's very handsome, super sweet, helpful, loving, just fun to be with, such a great sense of humor," not completely understanding what Dr. Bach was getting at, until he questioned me again.

"Well, what's wrong with a very handsome, super sweet, helpful, loving, just fun to be with, such a great sense of humor, but spacey son?"

Ohhhhhhhh.  See why adoptive parents benefit greatly from a therapeutic resources?  I've been extraordinarily blessed by the best, starting with my insightful caseworker and continuing on, leading me still here with Dr. Mandy who my kids adore with all their hearts.  I adore her too, and completely respect her knowledge.

I have a 14 year old son here with anger issues, labeled a Level Three back in Texas, but fortunately he's not aggressive, violent nor dangerous, just pretty severely emotionally difficult sometimes.  He always over-microwaves melted cheese until it burns itself into plates, me later needing a knife to scrape it off.  Every. Single. Time.  Going on 8 years now of this continuously aggravating behavior.

And, so what?

He's kind, helpful, usually sweet, and does very well at school.  What's my problem with the cheese?  Get over it Cindy, he's only broken one window in all this time and it wasn't on purpose.  He's never attacked anyone.  Deal with the cheese burns.

A favorite blogger of mine, I read his tweets too, as he's almost always right on the money, wrote that Athens is 6.43 inches in rainfall deficit here in May.  Ouch.  Double Ouch.

I'm so emotionally exhausted from some unresolved issues that somehow, surrounded by open windows, I slept through an unexpected storm last night that filled my redneck rain gauge.  It's those happy surprises that keeps me going each day.  A fan in the window dragging in the scent of gardenias and honeysuckle, drowning out the sound of roosters and rain.

"I'm homesick," Sergi told me on the phone, "Put more house pictures on your blog please," and this one'll show Miriam what I was trying to tell her about my ceiling.

Folks have emailed me, asking about various grown kids as I seem to not mention them lately.  That's on purpose as I'm wanting them to continue their growing up process privately.  Their behaviors now are on them, not on me.  Most of them are doing pretty darn good.  By mid-June I'll have a happy milestone to brag about, I hope, regarding their behaviors.

Looking at my daily texts, you'd see a bunch of 'em as they, at least, correspond like that with me.

And now?  Now that I sat and banged on the keyboard for ten minutes, I feel better, time to vacuum.