Sarah Nailed IT - To Us Frustrated Moms Everywhere

Sarah'd left her kids with me, as she's done for quite some time now on Friday mornings, to teach her yoga class.  She hugely influenced my decision to go vegan last August, I'm also convinced that I need yoga too, but any free time finds me in my gardens.

Knowing how bent out of shape I am over recent events, how stressful, no- how pointless I find my 24-7 attempts at trying to make decent human beings out of some who fight me at every turn, convinced that a life of lying and scheming to take from others is an easier path, my frustration knows no bounds.

It seems completly pointless and very meaningless, like I've wasted my life completely.

So she quoted her Yoga Journal article, where the Bhagavad Gita says, "You have a right to the work alone, not to its fruits." When you're doing the work for the sake of the work itself, rather than for a desired result, you're much less likely to suffer from anxiety about the outcomes.  You're also less likely to feel crippling disappointments if things don't go the way you hoped or planned.  To consciously surrender your attachment to the fruits of your work is to detach yourself from the ego's need to claim success or the negative's fear of failure.

When you remember that your contract with life doesn't specify that you'll always get what you want, you'll find that even in the midst of mourning a loss or trying to repair the damage from a mistake, you won't feel like a victim (or a failure or useless, pointless and menaingless - my words clearly).

Do your work as a service.  Something I've always attempted to do, having read many books on servant leadership, starting with the Bible.  I've never minded being of service, not at all, and I've had awesome role models all my life in that arena, specifically my own mother.

The sense of service can be applied anywhere and it makes even unpleasant talks meaningful.

I so agree, it's how I've rationalized always standing at the kitchen sink washing thousands of dishes by hand, or on my knees constantly in the laundry room with mountains of dirty clothes turning them right side out, or sweeping, or picking up, or hauling the trash, you get my drift, right?  

I don't mind hard work, not at all.  I just mind the lack of results, as if my hard work was pointless, but who said I had a right to the outcome that I desired - which is personal success for my kids.

Yolie has often said, "It's on them now," in reference to their ridiculously damaging choices.  I can't make them choose correctly.  I have to let go of that.  I have to give up my demand regarding the outcomes, I have to let them fail if that's their choice.  I don't have a choice anyway anymore, why don't I just accept it?

Being of service is not the same ting as martyting yourself for a cause or letting yourself be exploited.  When you're working in a situation where the problems are big and your efforts are needed, it's not hard to get sucked into believing that you should give until you drop.

Knowing I've done my very best, that I've given a million percent, and, having offered the action, I can recognize that the oucome is beyond my control.  People have free will, they make their own choices, the rewards or the consequences will be theirs, and theirs alone.

See, I only wallow long enough to process my hurt and angry emotions, then I'm gonna get back on the horse that kicked me in the head and continue riding, working, working, working.  I'll get the job done, then it's in their hands.

Can I get a big old DUH! from someone?

Whittled

I'm gonna be fine, one day my house will be empty of angry, traumatized children who lash out at me, because it's safe for them to do so.  Well, one day it'll all be over, and I'll resume my once un-PTSD lifestyle of gardening, reading, and being normal.  I'll go to church and I'll not be lied to all the time. All. The. Time.

But many of my kids will carry this fierce, unresolved anger out into the world and will be arrested, frustrated, in awful relationships, self-medicating, and/or just raging at the world in general.

That's what makes me so sad.  That's why I cried myself to sleep last night, not over me, but rather over them, and their sucky, ill-advised choices that will hurt only them.  My eyes are swollen this morning, not very attractive, and now I have to say goodbye to my beautiful niece, Lauren.

Therapy made little difference, or at least maybe it helped them then, and hopefully will carry over into their adult life, as maybe did my 24-7 parenting that they resisted more often than not, dismissing me to as old-school church lady who did nothing, but parent.  Bo-ring.  

Yesterday I only left the house for a 20 minute period in which the little kids and I drove CW to the auto shop so he could drive my truck home after I paid $462 to have it repaired.  Ouch.

But JoJo later rudely told me, "Well what do you know? You've been gone all day."

This after I correctly accused him of throwing something of his down on the floor in the hallway.

Their reality is much different than that of my own.

When I explain to teenagers, if you have no auto insurance you can go straight to jail, they flat out don't believe me, or they say I'm too hung up on rules.  Or worse, "I don't care."

How can you not care?  How can you be this emotionally damaged?  I don't say aloud.

"If you hit someone, that's assault," I've probably said a million times after they've hit someone, yet wanna venture a guess as to the number of assault arrests?

Hello?

That I only blog a teeny tiny minute aspect of our lives, Lord Have Mercy, I'd be typing all day long trying to get it all down otherwise, well so much is going on all the time, that when there's something major, I'm left grappling, verbally dumping on all y'all, while not even mentioning if it's a girl or a boy acting out, yet dreading an arrest report, hoping against hope that this won't be a major self-sabotage on their behalf, and shocked, stunned and wondering how in earth we can get traumatized children to begin to care about their future.

Kari'd posted on Facebook, something to the effect of, "Adoption is the only trauma in which one is expected to be grateful."

Dang, well said, and NO STINKING KIDDING?

Me sitting here at almost age 59 with my own mama next door, how on earth can I expect my children to not be furious over losing their own birth mothers?

They loved them, no matter what.

They were then shuttled from one caretaker to another, separated from their siblings, often due to behaviors that foster parents were reluctant to deal with (and I totally understand that), yet severely damaged kids eventually landed here, angry, raging, red-hot furious infernos of hormones, and unable to be clear headed about much at all up in front of them - this can last for decades, leaving victims everywhere.

Gina, Daniel, Sarah and Jesse, and Sergi to some degree moved out of my house properly, going off to college or to the service, 11 are still here, that means 23 others moved off in a rage, provoking me by their awful behaviors cleverly designed, yet unknown and deeply subconscious to them, but the behaviors have to provoke a negative response, no matter how quietly I respond, it doesn't matter, their inner flames so hot and driving them irrationally, the end result is so predictable, and usually also follows a positive event that simultaneously makes them too uncomfortable with their own success.

My original caseworker explained all this many, many years ago to me as I stood sobbing in shock the first five times it happened, crushing me into smithereens.

It's just the way it is, on some level I have been braced for this, bracing yet again as I have more to go.

CW, Lily and Jack likely will not respond this way, as they've been nurtured since birth, and are reasonable in their responses.  I have right high hopes for a couple more as well.

One right now I can see it coming, as can my other children, they know the score.  Been there, done that, have the T-shirt in the form of emotional scars.

It's made me way less human, knowing it's gonna happen and then again leave me so bitter?  Seriously?  You don't think that changes a person in a bad way? It's whittled away at all I used to be.

Smashed My Heart Again On The Rocks Of Crappiness

Predictable, yet I NEVER see it coming.  After decades you'd think I would, but it goes so contrary to all logic that I'm buffaloed every time.

Every. Single. Time.

A kid on the cusp of adulthood makes an awful decision, a law breaking one almost, and I consequence by taking away their Iphone that I'm struggling to pay for, and they storm off to couch surf, leaving heartbroken birth siblings crying in the driveway.

"I don't CARE!," was their stormy response.

And that's true.  People who care about themselves don't do stuff like that, the trauma made them this way, and it's heartbreaking.  I've had them in therapy for years, they've responded too, yet that trauma never goes away.

The one who storms off always then has to tell lies about me to engender pity in others - handouts so that they can continue their self-destructive behaviors.  They are excellent liars, they have to be for their own survival all these years, and they can't shake it off after they arrive in an adoptive family.

I get that, I truly do.  But I hurt for them knowing they are self-sabotaging in such a predictable manner that I always hope won't happen.

But I'm a human being too, striving for basic decency, small courtesies, and progress for them, only to be kicked in the teeth time and time again.

I know this happens in birth families too.  I've listened to many, many heartbroken parents.

I'm left shattered once again, crying in a puddle.

We, as a family, were put in danger last night.

I, as a parent, consequence merely by taking away the IPhone, knowing if I grounded them, they'd run away - even though they are of legal age.

I have a grown kid needing massive help from afar, I have another one on the cusp of adulthood telling me that, "I don't care.  I'm gonna do what I wanna do."  I quietly lay out the consequences that I know can occur because laws are laws.

"I DONT' CARE!"  I'm told again and again.

Two grown kids this morning tried to help, tried to reason with one that's now gone, but of legal age to do so.  Another grown kid tried yesterday with another one who is still here but has one foot out the door.

For that matter, I also have a teenage grandkid making awful decisions and being enabled to do so by another relative.

Oh my Lord, life is hard enough when one busts their butts to make good decisions and to work hard.  When one is running afoul of the law or putting everyone else in danger?  Oh Dear Lord, please protect my kids from themselves.  Help me to pull my self back up and to keep on keeping on.  Sometimes it just doesn't feel very worth it at all.

June Bug

 And just like that, well really not that quickly, I'd watched the 2 year old brindle dog languish in a high-kill animal shelter, I kept hoping she'd be adopted, yet she's so ugly that she's cute, and I kept thinking 'bout her.

I even called the place after some time had passed, thinking my words would rule us out, "I have 12 kids and 7 dogs," I warned.

"Y'all'd be perfect, she needs a lot of love, just get her spayed quickly," I was told and here she is, being squabbled over, both Tabby and Nando wanting her to sleep in their respective rooms, yet Lily won last night.  Our Chihuahua Hellcat was entranced at another one of similar size, this new one has something wrong with it's back leg like two of our other dogs, fits right in.

I certainly will get her spayed, we use a clinic just as we do with rabies shots, saving money at every turn.

Her name is June, in honor of one of my all time favorite former dogs, Junior, who lived a long happy life on the farm with us.  An enlarged heart took him out in 2000, right before Jack was born, and I've missed Junior ever since.

CW needed to get to Atlanta this morning, I've already been there and back, thus slow to post.

My gorgeous niece, Lauren, is here for the week, so I'm not gonna write much, wanna hang with her.

My new plant pot below for a buck with one of the many spider babies I have on hand.  That's what always makes me smile.  I threw it in the new pot last night, gonna hang it soon, knowing it'll produce plenty more plants for me as well.  You don't see me buying expensive hanging baskets, this is more fun, more individual, and more satisfying.

Checking My Attitude

"Dump her first," I suggested to a son, who was whining about an impending break-up today on the last day of school.

"No!" he roared, "I don't wanna lose her."

Does not compute.  I'm rather immune to relationship trauma, knowing it's out of my league, not on my radar, secondary to the life I lead, or what's way down below secondary?  Improbable?  Impossible?  Unacceptable?  Whatever, I hated to see my son so upset over something that won't really matter after a few days.

At 8:15, parents lined the main hall to cheer and to high-five the fifth graders getting on buses to go over to the high school for their graduation event.  I, however, had to then run down to the fourth grade hall to see the wax museum exhibits of the 4th graders, Tabby and my granddaughter, Kortney, presenting their characters.   Kortney dressed up, Tabby in charge of the Power Point presentation.

Leaving one school to scoot over to the other school I heard the whoop whoop of police sirens unexpectedly, looking over at the highway, I saw nothing so I put my instantaneous fright aside, PTSD reactivated, learning later that Kandy had turned on her sirens escorting the bus, thrilling the grinning fifth graders.

I, however, found my truck leaning weirdly, the result of a flat tire.

Sabrina came and got me over to the high school, Nando led the Pledge of Allegiance for the entire ceremony audience, making me so proud, he got a Citizenship Award as well, his shy sweet smile lighting up the room.

I'd texted CW to please go and change my tire, but there were all sorts of problems including a flat spare tire - finally by late afternoon we'd gotten my truck to the service station, knowing the pump for the steering was failing, and that I needed at least two new tires.

I, of course, wanted to cry over the money, whining over spilled milk, and we'd come up on an accident at the high school, CW knew all the teenagers standing there - thank God they were all standing there and not hurt, but at least two cars were totaled.  "Worst day for cars," CW remarked, he'd been asking me to take him to Atlanta to Wheel World, or something like that, for his Prelude.

I was fit to be tied, I hate spending money on old, used cars, but what do I expect?  Duh.

Then I received a Major Attitude Check as I read Tweets regarding the Oklahoma Tornado.  Oh my God.  I turned on the TV, shocked and stunned at what I saw.

I need to just shut up.  Shut up, Crybaby Cindy.  Who gives a hoot about your dumb truck?

I cannot begin to imagine what Oklahoma is enduring.  Me with my non-attachment to material things?  I still don't wanna lose what little shabby items that we do have, nor could I bear having family safety compromised so badly.  My heart breaks for them all there in the devastation, my prayers seemingly so insignificant, yet vital at the same time.

It's those children still missing in the elementary school that are tearing my guts out this morning, Dear God please let them emerge unscathed, miraculously in a safe pocket of the debris.

Did Money

Thank you Lord for fresh homegrown strawberries, untouched by chemical sprays, unadulterated and sun-warmed, bursting with genuine flavors and anti-oxidants - just so dang delicious and good for us.  I'm picking leaf lettuces and radishes, my eye on the tomatoes that aren't near ready.

Good things keep happening here, my inner stark fear and spiraling anxiety, due to the unrelenting stress heaped upon me by decades of acting out behaviors, still piping up though to try and rob me of joy.  We'd forgotten to get Saturday's mail out of the box, so a happy surprise awaited us.

Several surprises to be precise - I've been fighting the INS for quite some time.  One of my kids was born in Mexico, entering illegally years before he became a ward of the state, and the INS sure is quick to cash my $600+ check, slow to let us know we've been approved.  Six months spent waiting, coming out at a $100 bucks a month that I could've used to buy 'em all pizzas, and finally we have an upcoming date at their office to finally successfully finish all this malarkey.

Allen and Martin are supposed to be at a job training appointment at the same time, but in two different cities, I'm gonna need Yolie, Sarah or Grandma to help me out that day.

Tomorrow is the last day of school, but the high schoolers are taking exams, home early, and today is my sweet Nando's fifth grade graduation.  He'll step up to middle school, and Scotty will begin high school.  Nando's dressing up, not able to wear his usual soccer gear (courtesy of Marianne), acting like me when I have to wear a monkey suit.  Sure it looks better, but it's so chafing and binding.  Ugh, I gotta get dressed up also this morning.

My four boys had a total blast fishing off of Panama Beach down in Florida this weekend.  They came home sun kissed and happy, full of stories, and feeling positive about folks and humanity in general.  These four men, Michael, Sterling, Tandy and Will,  could've gone off teenagerless, but they chose to include my sons, and I'll be forever grateful to them.

Michael is a young guy, just a little older than my darling Daniel, yet he's just about single handedly renewed my dashed faith in humanity.  I've been so dark, bitter and disillusuioned for many long years yet he's stuck it out with my sons, not repelled by their behaviors or their ornierness.  He's always smiling and supportive, and, most importantly, he's been super consistent as they've churned through three different youth pastors in the last five years - way too much loss and change for traumatized kids.

He kept reaching out to them no matter how many times he faced their (or mine) crossed arms, suspicious and impassive faces.  We've been damaged, we know this, we're trying to crawl out from under it all.

This new youth pastor has Sunday School on Sunday nights at his house, I'd driven 'em all over there last night, picked 'em up later as they played basketball in his driveway, Chuy was soaking wet with sweat, clearly he's shaking off this mono that did get officially diagnosed last week.

A new minimalist site I'd come across, a mother-daughter collaboration, I was reading deeper into it's archives.  To take a look at my crowded house, 14 of us living here, it doesn't look minimalistic, but financially it sure is, and I'm happy 'bout it all.  I'd say the 14 of us own together the same amount as any other family of four, maybe there's more food here overall, but that's about it.

The only possession(s) that thrill me would be my spading fork and hand rake, my Iphone certainly, but I know that trolling the mall, buying crap wouldn't improve the quality of my life at all.  It sure wouldn't thrill me as much as watching my kids play soccer or finish out fifth grade.  I'm super glad that I'm easy to please.

CW'd bought a used Iphone at school from a rich kid, super cheap (90% off of suggested retail price - hey I know my numbers) that we can pass down to Nando now.  Doesn't have service, but with wifi available everywhere, it serves it's purpose.  Now every kid has either an Itouch or Iphone, albeit used and not necessarily with service, but everyone's happy.

Rain fell in torrents yesterday, the Braves somehow managed to sweep the Dodgers, I 'did money' as I've always called it, laboriously transferring expenses into my spreadsheet, using Quicken and Google's version of Excel plus online banking that nags me on each debit card use, there's sure no overlooking an expense - for me it's a win-win situation.  We're coming up on the end of the month and our usual we best eat everything in the pantry up, bills are all paid Thank God, and there's zero discretionary excess, but I'm good with that.  Teaching kids to manage money and live on so little is good practice for us all.

Yolie'd taken this photo of us after Allen's big win the other night, me standing awkwardly as I'm prone to do with my goofy grin, baggy clothes, two shades of black, who gives a hoot? But there's no hiding my pride in this guy's athletic abilities.  I've watched every single game since he started playing back when he was only half as tall as me.

Monumental Events

My beautiful niece, Katie, is graduating Magna Cum Laude from Notre Dame University today with a major in history and a double minor in anthropology and Latin American studies.  I'm as proud as I could possibly be, Grandma, Sarah, Ray and Hazel made the long drive to Indiana as representatives of this end of the family. Katie's fixing now to move to Texas, to teach Spanish at a Catholic high School while earning her Master's Degree also from Notre Dame.  Yeah, I'm bragging about her, clearly so.

My oldest granddaughter, baby Yolie, now 18, graduated from high school yesterday.  Sabrina, CW's girlfriend, Courtney, and I attended, while Yolie babysat my three youngest, and my four oldest high school boys continued on in their fishing trip, all four to graduate next year.

Sabrina will graduate next week, all the high schoolers honored at church this morning as my longtime mentor, now having earned a PhD in Strategic Leadership, preached and I hung on his every word.  He quoted a thought, BHAGS - Big Hairy Audacious Goals, I can't remember who he quoted it from, the gist alone worth its weight in gold

My boys on their fishing adventure are having a blast, will come home today full of meemories that four sweet men from my church gave to them.

The Big Fishing Adventure

"Hey there, how are you?"  A greeting I often use, especially at yard sales, my only social life.  This morning a friend completely unloaded when I asked about her kids, now all grown.

Man oh Man, did she dump, knowing I'd sure understand.  I do understand.  I get it.  Moms pour themselves out into their children unselfishly for decades, and, in her case, she'd been rewarded with some major difficulties.  These were birth children, adopted kids don't have a monopoly on acting out.

I'd been contacted about a tough situation, kids adopted as babies, now entering adolescence and violently attacking family members.  They love these children, but how can they keep the others safe now?  I wish I could do more than just listen, but I don't have any solutions.  "He'll probably have to be institutionalized," a family friend suggested.  As if that's even a possibility?  The paperwork, the insurance regulations, the lack of a bed in an institution, or worse yet, the kid soon deemed safe and sent home.  The kid knows he isn't "cured."  Murderous feelings still rampant and overwhelming, yet even an acting out kid can't access the needed help.

For so many years I was drowning in fear and unable to stem the violence, violence that is still occurring, still following these kids even with 24-7 professionals working with them.  I was told today by another of my children, how nightmares still plague them, they still wake up afraid that something will happen to me.  We lived for years with explosive behaviors, aggressive violence, and the propensity for all hell to break loose untriggered and unexpected.

I was slow to get out the door today, there were a ton of yard sales yet I dilly dallied, not convinced we need anything at all, but Nando dogged me until I agreed to go.  He found a Nintendo game system for just $5, happy as a clam, and I found another Little Feats CD that I'll download, then send to my brother's house.  I bought Jack a set of 400 thread count pillowcases, still factory wrapped for another buck, as I'd just bought him two new pillows recently at Wal-Mart.

Conversely I'd been lazing in bed, drinking coffee, and watching Hoarders, a show that fascinates me as the psychologists attempt to uncover the reasons folks hoard.  So often it's a past middle aged woman who finds herself at emotional loose ends, shopping to fill a void, amassing piles of merchandise that doesn't do the trick at all.

Past middle-aged women (like me) likely won't marry again, we're ending our child raising careers, we've lost our looks, and feel lumpy, dumpy and discarded, useful no more overall - the media bored with us, we're old and in the way, according to them.

Seriously?  Bite me.

This is the time of my life.

Unconcerned with most major BS, dismissive of insecurities, knowing who I am, free to speak my mind, and not put up with crap.  Oh my.  I'm two months from age 59, rounding it up to 60, and looking very forward to my own Golden Years.  If anything, I'm happier than I've been in a very long time, I do feel fulfilled, needed, happy even if I am dumpy.  I've earned that right too.

Sterling and Michael wanted to see my gardens yesterday, the Upper Gardens look great, the Big Back Garden not so much, but I'm doing the best that I can.  Last night after my four boys left on their Deep Sea Fishing Adventure with Michael, Tandy, Sterling and Will, I went and weeded the strawberry beds, ruthlessly pulling up the renegade Four O'Clocks that wanna sprout willy nilly, working until dark, mowing some more, and just feeling happy and glad of it.  At a Friday yard sale I'd gotten seven large fig trees for $5 each, a super, super deal, planting them all immediately, grinning and grateful.

Those four men could've just jetted off to Panama City Beach, they're fathers, they didn't have to take four potentially sullen teenagers with them, yet they chose to do so. I'm so grateful, this isn't an experience I could've given them.

Michael has a young son, a cute, nurtured, sweet, smart kid.  When my Martin was that age, he'd been found in an abandoned garbage-filled apartment, covered with lice and scabies, a nasty over-full diaper, unchanged for days, no adult anywhere, just other siblings that also ended up living here with me, as we worked for years and years to undo the massive damage that had been done.

That's why I'm not upset that Martin, now 19, hasn't finished high school yet.  He'll do it, he just needs more time, another semester, and I'm fine with that, he's a honey.

And...drum roll...my Vanessa is enrolled in a community college now.