Thursday, March 14, 2013
Feeling Like a Donkey Sometimes
Oh my. Chuy'd asked to have his girlfriend over to eat supper with us and then go to church youth group, to which I'd replied, "Of course," 'cause really, what's one more mouth to feed? Girlfriends come over here anyway and act like they don't eat, "Oh just one," they'll sweetly smile, when I ask how many tostados they want, knowing they're not wanting the boys to think they are pigs.
Oh puhleeze, Nando ate nine last night.
And inexplicably, a plate went flying, black beans and rice on the floor, me immediately belly aching about food waste and money problems, as Sabrina and Tony, of all people, got into a slug fest fight.
My money's on her, 10 months older, way more physically strong, he was smart enough to quickly back down. I was hollering for Martin to come pull 'em apart.
He eventually ambled into the kitchen, "You need me, Mom?" Then he noticed the mess on the floor.
"What the crap?" he asked in surprise. We just don't have explosions like that anymore.
"It's over," I answered, I'd been trying to have a conversation with Grandma as we arranged our plans for getting to two funerals hundreds of miles apart. Fortunately Chuy and his girlfriend du jour had gone into the family room, missing the visuals of the fracas, likely not even noticing the noise. My kids talk loudly all the time, laughter busting out often, constantly joking and ribbing on each other.
Tony later told me, "Me and Sabrina made up at church." Jeepers, kids.
"I'm Yolie's Mom, CJ's Grandma," I explained to a woman I met today at Nando's Fifth Grade Breakfast Event. This lady, Paula, has a home study with an Atlanta agency that is very reputable, a great agency, but there've been no matches in a year.
"You need to call the agency I used," I told her, knowing she knew Yolie already.
I know it's not like back in the good old days when parents could campaign on their own behalf, speaking to many workers until they got a good match, but this agency that Yolie works for has an excellent track record for matching and getting kids into families, duh, it's their job.
"Will I talk to Yolie?" the lady'd asked me.
"No, the supervisor there will handle it initially. She's an adoptive mom, the Director is an adoptive mom, Yolie's adopted, they know what they're doing," I stressed. This new potential adoptive mom has a background in social sciences, her husband is a professor at UGA, to me they're great candidates for the huge number of children who need families. She seemed soft-spoken and low key, two more plusses.
She already has two sons, one with an IEP, she knows her stuff.
Her son asked me, "Do you wanna have 40 kids?"
"NO!" I didn't yell.
I just smiled, "No," taking a deep breath, "I'm old and tired now. I just wanna enjoy my children."
Besides the two overwhelmingly sad deaths we've faced this week, both mom and I had sons-in-law to lose their fathers that they adored, I have another worrisome situation that I'd love some unspecified prayer over, it's a kid who is in a very dangerous situation.
I'd advised this lady I met today to read some blog posts, adoption's not for the faint hearted. It's not like I have two dozen darling Nandos. I have kids who are unbelievably angry and very rightly so. I can't imagine enduring what they'd been through even before they'd landed in foster care. I'd be angry too if I were them, oh wait, I am kinda angry anyway at the lack of resources overall, although I do know I have been very, very blessed at being able to access what I have been able to claim for my kids.
I've had wonderful support, I've gotten some kids into some excellent programs, I've been tenacious, determined, pig-headed, and certainly annoying to get what I think my children need. But nowadays with budget cuts, services dwindling, I'd be reluctant to go into adoption, knowing what I know now. Or maybe because of what we've endured, I don't even know how we've survived, but yeah, I'd do it again just to be where I am now with my children.
I call 'em children even if they're in their 30s, I'm still my mom's child and I'm about a hundred years old, it feels today.
So if this lady's willing to have windows broken, furniture destroyed, walls kicked in, family photos slung across the house, then go for it. The need is great. This is how God calls people, showing them the need to be filled.
Another lady had recently asked me if all this had destroyed my faith in God.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I again didn't yell.
Without God I'd have been sunk years ago, this has strengthened and cemented my faith in all the ways that only a hard head like me would've needed in order to learn so many lessons.
Hello? Have you met me?
A man had asked me last week, "Don't you want to have a social life for yourself? Don't you think you deserve it?"
I don't even know what that means anymore. My emotions are so all over the place, so unpredictable, so tarnished even, and so smothered and pushed down by my own self. I didn't cry at my dad's funeral, yet I cried all morning after I watched JR's Dallas funeral on TV.
See? I sublimate my feelings. I'm sure out of touch with them at any rate. I don't know how I feel. I don't know what I deserve other than peace and safety. That's good enough for me.