Perusing the drought monitor map I was super happy to notice some north Georgia counties are now out of the drought, but my own county? No.
We have several days of rain headed our way next week and I'm oh so hopeful.
Again, I can't explain why Blogger is not publishing in the morning when I tell it to do so, Grandma told me she'd not seen a post yesterday, and there it was late afternoon. I re-hit the button and reassured her that I didn't feel as dark as my writings indicated.
I think it may be a bit of grief, in that all this didn't turn out as positive as I'd once dreamily imagined, thinking if I gave it my 110% then everyone would succeed. I just didn't understand the damage that trauma does to a person. I didn't comprehend how emotionally disturbed an adolescent can be, I was so middle-class clueless.
I couldn't "make" some of my emotionally-burdened sons behave. I couldn't force it anymore than the nice policemen who ended up locking up several of them more'n a dozen times each.
That just blows my mind.
Should I then have only adopted daughters?
No, some of them have also run very afoul of the law. And some of my sons have blown me away with their accomplishments. The picture below is the one taken by the Army photographer. Did Daniel or I ever dream up this possible event? Anyone remember the fit I'd irrationally pitched when Daniel decided to join the armed services? Yes, I was very wrong for that.
My former adoption caseworker had taught me long ago that it was OK to make mistakes, that in doing so, and verbally acknowledging these mistakes, it gave my kids permission to not have to try and act perfect. Duh, Cindy, everyone makes mistakes. All this was echoed in John Maxwell's books, especially in Failing Forward. Making mistakes is human, learning from them is vitally critical.
I've long struggled to comprehend a criminal mindset, but I don't think the explanation is that simple. It's a veritable cauldron of issues and mental health diagnoses rolled up in a simmering package of righteous anger - exploding into hellish bouts of fury. It is shocking to witness, I hate it that some of my very sweet younger kids have witnessed such violence, especially that which was directed at me - their only caretaker.
The post-trauma syndrome drove one to tears last weekend when we'd had a minor skirmish between the one who provokes everyone and one with a very short fuse. The younger child had run crying to his room, a middle schooler who did not like seeing this explosion. Neither did I. It was very brief in comparison to other years, very minor - but it served to stir up all of our old fears.
Yolie'd read aloud an article from our local paper of a 12 year old being arrested for threatening to kill his mom, plus tearing up their house in a rage. Oh my. If I'd have called the police every single time that happened here? As it was, I only called them on about 10% of the blowups, always fearful of crying wolf.
Who lives like that?
Scotty's ceiling sprang a leak last night. That part of our roof is maybe 35 years old, uh-oh. I still need to replace some window frames that ragers have destroyed over the years, my home repair list is quite lengthy.
Again we had a quiet, uneventful, even happy, evening. Wonderful supper of tostados, sitting around the dinner table talking, no one fussing or acting out, all of us visibly grateful that we can do so nowadays without a control person raging just because they can do so. Never allowing us to express happiness. Those days are over, yet I'm personally having an issue with being hopeful - what with having had it slapped out of me so many times.
If it is this tough for an emotionally strong, educated and nurtured woman to get over it all, how much more so for my children?
It's also this late winter, I'm-fixing-to-lose-my-ever-loving-mind if I don't soon go barefoot moment. I'm nutting up from being inside, I'm restless and agitated from a lack of physical activity. I've clearly let myself go, but why not? I'm just too apathetic to give a hoot.
I crave warm sun on my skin, I miss sweating like a pig. I wanna dig in the dirt, and frolic in the mud.
And my darling son Jesse and all y'all in the northeast? Gonna get slammed with snow? I don't think I could bear that, that'd tip the scales, send me fleeing South. To quote Lewis Grizzard in reverse, "Delta's ready when you are," a saying he used to spurt out at Yankees living in the South and constantly complaining about our backward ways.
Back then we didn't have an internet, and a quarter bought the AJC, well worth it just to read Lewis Grizzard's column each day, he said what we felt, God rest his Soul. My grown kids? Go read Lewis Grizzard on that magical season all y'all watched with me back then.