Wrong Poster Child

I am probably the worst poster child for adoption.

Who would want to be me? Who would want to do what i do? Who would want to go to IEPs, SSTs, meet with judges and lawyers and probation officers, go to psychiatric facilities, parent meetings, 25 dentists appointments twice a year plus twice more for follow-ups? 100 times to our dentist each year?

Nobody wants to cook for 25 people 3 times a day for decades on end nor smell bed-wetters, change diapers for strange children that you've just met nor be lied to and stole from until nothing is left. Nobody want to be lied about either. Puked on, pooped on, yelled at, house torn up, constant tension and strife.

Like the dog that bites the hand that feeds it, so often is the life of a parent who adopts older children who are nearly destroyed by the adults who came before.

BUT also people don't see the pure, unfiltered, unrestrained love that I eventually receive, nor the desperate, intense gratitude in kids who simply can't begin to express it. But it is written all over their faces and deep in their eyes.

There's no way to thank me for the work and the sacrifices anymore than I can ever begin to thank them for blessing and enriching my life in more ways than I ever expected. The love is staggering.

But, looking at me, no one wants to be me, to adopt one or one more. This is too tough.

There are other needs that people can fill. All the foster families need help, they need support and respite. They need people to financially help them or take their foster children on outings. There are way too many foster children who will never be adopted. That's bleak and unbearably true and it motivates me to work for Adopt America Network.

There are organizations that need donations, just pick one...any one. They need help and helpers.

School need adult volunteers for tutors. (I learned this today as it is MY kids that need the extra one-on-one help)Rec departments need coaches, churches need Sunday School teachers and youth group volunteers.

I've said it before and I'll copy him again. Zig Ziglar says to, "Find a need and fill it" in order to be happy. This I believe.

No KIDDING???

Why I do what I do, Part GaZillion in my reasons..........


Oct. 31, 2005, 12:01AM
State agency says placing troubled kids difficult

Associated Press

AUSTIN — Each year, dozens of foster children in Texas are forced to stay in psychiatric hospitals weeks after doctors say they can leave because Child Protective Services cannot find anyone to take them, a newspaper reported Sunday.

"They feel like they're unwanted," Dr. Chuck Fischer, senior physician at the Child and Adolescent Psychiatric Service Unit at Austin State Hospital, told the Austin American-Statesman. "They feel like they've done better and want to get out of the hospital. They get very discouraged."

Agency officials say they're trying to fix the problem, but a solution is difficult because of a shortage of foster homes and residential treatment center beds.

"We're working very hard to place these children," said Randy Shell, division administrator for placements.

Across the country, foster care systems struggle to find appropriate placements for mentally ill children. Most are suicidal, homicidal or destructive. Others have bipolar disorder or struggle with depression or extreme anger.

In fiscal year 2005, 134 foster kids in Texas were sent to state psychiatric hospitals. They take medication, receive counseling and go to classes. They are monitored by nurses and mental health workers 24 hours a day.

Once they're in a hospital, they can't go home because of their extreme behavior. And they can't return to their treatment center or shelter because beds in those places often are filled as soon as they leave.

The scope of the problem remains unclear since the state does not require hospitals to keep statistics on the number of children forced to wait for agency placements or the amount it costs each year.

But inquiries made by the newspaper show that between August 2004 and September 2005, at least 19 percent of foster kids in state psychiatric hospitals stayed longer than necessary. The state paid $257,000 for those extra days.

A lack of foster homes may account for some of the problem, but hospital officials say residential treatment centers and shelters facilities the state pays to care for kids with mental illnesses contribute by refusing to take some of the most difficult children.

"We have one kid here now that's been refused by 25 residential centers and shelters," Fischer said.

Experts say such a problem is not unusual across the country.

"It's easier for (residential centers) to take the less challenging kids," said Ira Burnim, legal director at the Judge David L. Bazelon Center for Mental Health Law in Washington.

He said states need to overhaul their systems to reflect more community-based solutions, such as day programs or therapeutic foster homes.

The state does work with such programs, including the Children's Partnership, an Austin nonprofit group that coordinates local resources to help Travis County children with mental illnesses.

Partnerships like that are key to getting foster children out of psychiatric hospitals in a timely manner, Shell said.

Tired Retired Teachers

At 8:50 this morning I started into my SST meetings on three different, VERY different children each presenting challenging roadblocks to learning. It's very interesting to me to see, hear and learn a different perspective on my child. These teachers do love and care for the kids and have been helpful in helping me to understand and meet their needs.

Tony in particular has been very attached to Miss Nancy. Counting EIP he was with her for three years. A lifetime for a former foster child. Now he has Miss Emily. I think he's trying to figure her out. He totally adores her, is holding back a little as this is his first year with her, yet he knows how much help he needs and I believe he has identified her as someone he can count on to help him. This is contrasted with the fact that he is certain that she has his number. Cute can only go so far and he needs to ratchet up the academics now.

After all this I was at the Goodwill Store when I ran into another retired teacher I know. She is raising a grandchild, she is 61 with a 2 year old.

The Epidemic of Sibling Loss

This is an article that Yolie had published in Fostering Families Today magazine about 5 years ago. I went hunting for it as i'm dealing with a situation where it is being presented as a possibility for a sib group that i want matched here in a Georgia family.


The Epidemic of Sibling Losses


As a child, I often wondered what was wrong with the world. At the age of five or six I was feeding my baby brother his bottle, worrying about what we would eat, and praying that God would make my “mommy” better. I have no photographs of my childhood. The earliest picture is when I was ten, long after the infant stage, the cute stage, and the first day at school. All the pictures I need, though, are in my head, where they have been locked away like unwanted dogs in a cold, lonely animal shelter.

It took me a long time to realize that it wasn’t me or my brothers, or my sisters who made things bad. It was the adults. My biological mother was addicted to cocaine, marijuana, alcohol, and heroin. She kept a constant boyfriend. We knew him as “dad” until the day he overdosed (or was overdosed by his brother) on heroin. I was about nine then. I remember living in a nasty apartment in the FDR projects in El Paso, Texas. I spent ten years in a place where nothing grew except the anger, the children were forgotten, neglected, abused and the adults gang-banged until they could no longer fire their guns.

Was it hard? No. It was life. It was survival. I can remember staying up late hoping my mother would remember about us, praying that if she didn’t, we could last one more day on the milk and bread that were going bad in the refrigerator. We were part of a larger group, though. Hundreds of us were neglected, abused, unwanted, forgotten, and alienated, hopeless, hungry, and sad. But most of all, we had lost any sense of what being a child meant in the 80’s.

Then one night it all changed. My biological mom overdosed on crack-cocaine and went into induced labor. We left---and entered the system. It was the single most frightening moment in my life. We didn’t have the luxury of packing up our stuff, nor did I get to say good-bye to the two most important people in my life, my brothers. I was put into a relative foster home with my biological mother’s sister. After a few weeks of agony, I was told where my brothers were. They too had been separated and put into foster homes. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, and any hope I still had that there was a God was shattered.

After about two or three moves, someone finally decided that we should be together. We three were reunited at a foster home where we stayed until we were adopted. But we were not complete. I lost two baby sisters and two older sisters during my life. To this day I don’t know whether they are dead or alive. I also lost the only mother I knew. I thought I had lost everything that I was...except for my brothers.

DFCS was on the verge of separating my brothers and me once again when my adoptive mom came to the rescue when I was eleven. I moved to Georgia believing absolutely that nobody would accept me, love me or keep me. Even worse, I feared that my brothers might have to be subjected to yet another hurt. I had come to a point where I no longer cared what happened to me, as long as my brothers were okay. Nine years later, here I am, a twenty-year-old, UGA student, working on becoming one of the people I hated so much as a child. It has taken me all nine years to rebuild my life on a strong foundation based on trust and love. My past has helped mold me into what I am...but it is not who I am.

My own experience in “the system” has forged my deep belief that keeping sibling groups together is not only critical, but it works. Without my brothers at my side, I would be nothing. There are four burning holes in my heart for the siblings I lost; I cannot imagine what it would be like to have lost them, too. As a social worker someday, I would like to make it my mission to help keep kids together.

The ties between siblings are often even stronger than the ties of the children to their biological parents. Often one child assumes parental responsibility for the younger children. I took on that responsibility quite early. For years after we had finally been adopted together, I cried myself to sleep worrying that they wouldn’t take advantage of the opportunity they had been given to live normal and secure lives in the love of a family. Truthfully, I still find it hard even today to hear that my brothers are not behaving according to the standards that I once was demanded of them as their eight-year-old “mother”!

Is such deep love and commitment to them is unhealthy or disturbing? Have I paid “too great a price?” I think not. Just as important as the sibling bond is the simple knowledge of knowing that someone can validate your existence before adoption. We are the only ones who know what it was really like growing up. I know everything they went through, and they need someone to say, “yeah, you existed!” It is affirming to learn that some professionals are also beginning to understand the power of the sibling bond. Gregory Keck writes, “The words, touches, glances, jokes, an laughter that only family members understand should not be stolen from these children who have already lost so much. They can often rely on one another as important anchors in a sea of losses, and their ties should be preserved whenever possible”. (Keck, Kupecky, pg. 140)

I believe that too much money and emphasis is given today to the reunification process. We all believe that children belong to families. But why keep trying to put a child back into a family that demonstrates clearly their inability to change their ways? More energy should be exerted on maintaining sibling bonds of those who must go into foster care so they can make a healthy transition into adoptive homes. Except in cases such as sexual abuse by another child, or harmful actions towards one another, little is gained by separating siblings. There also needs to be a strictly enforced limit on the length of time that any child can stay in care before parental rights are terminated. An eight-year-old is a lot harder to place than a three-year-old.

Will the problem of separating siblings be changed overnight? Of course not. But with the help and education of professionals in the field of social work and social welfare and a sense of responsibility to the children who are being separated, we might be able to help the problem slowly erase from our records. Just imagine if a child who was on your caseload ten years ago showed up at your office, demanding to know why he was separated from his baby sister. Will you have a good reason, or will you have to say, “I’m sorry, but I can’t help the way the system works.” Hopefully one day we will be able to look at the separation of sibling groups as a sad, mournful event, the exception to the rule, not the norm.


Author’s note: As I look back on my own experience, I can find many things that could have been prevented. Obviously, had my biological mother not lived in a crime-filled, drug-infested part of town, she may have had the chance at raising her children. But, having lived in that environment, I know firsthand what many people read about in books. It is a culture. Areas like where I lived have their own set of guidelines. Alcohol and drugs are the only gods to which they kneel, and it is acceptable (if not expected) that children be out of sight while parents party. Alcohol, drugs, and sex become their food, their drink, and the estate that they pass down to their kids. As a student of social work as well as one who has lived the experience of poverty and hopelessness, I hope that I will be able to make a difference some day in the lives of children.


What do you think?
As a professional, foster care provider, adoptive parent or one who has experienced the loss of a sibling through foster care or adoption, we would be interested in hearing from you! Email storyeditor@mindspring or call 1-888-924-6736.

Who Didn't See This Coming?

5 older kids, up, dressed and smelling like cologne asking me, "Momma, aren't we going to Sunday School and Chuch this morning?"

I'm giggling, snickering and immaturely pointing out the existence of daylight savings time that I spent ALL WEEK reminding them of.

Y'all got another hour to simmer and steep that ole stinky perfume.

Daniel, extremely grouchy and antagonistic over UGA's loss to Florida yesterday, is hollering outside his upstairs window at the Bubbas who are outside playing wallball the minute the sun came up. I'll have to avoid Daniel for several days as he is mightily upset over the ballgame.

After church today is our Fall Festival in place of Halloween. We've been participating in this for nearly 25 years. Lord Have MERCY I was in my 20s back then. Sarah, may I please use just one exclamation mark there? The years have flown but only an old bag like me would say that. Now my grandbabies also come to this festival. My 17 kids under the age of 12 are excited beyond belief as this means candy, inflatables, games and fun. My older kids love it as well. Sonny's been up and over at my house all morning in order to share in the excitement. It is hardly 8 a.m.

I should have just planned for us to go to early service this morning.

Jack and Big Mama

I just went to watch Edgar run cross country where I used to work and I learned that Miss Arnita had also died of cancer this past spring. She was my age. That was the 5th person from that school that had passed away from a form of cancer in the last 18 years, two more men also had tumors. A connection? I gotta think so. Thankfully they have now moved to a new building.

We left there in time to hit a few yard sales. As usual Miriam scored big in the jewelry and purse department.

My hero, Clark Howard, is having a special this Tuesday night about us being a nation of spenders. I continue to shop in driveways and garages and yards across our county. The shirt I'm wearing in this picture is Lands End brand. I paid a dollar or so for it.

Senior Night For Cross Country

Edgar escorted me across the field leaving his brother Fabian with the camera. Fabian is up in the stands taking pictures of us as dots on the field.

When it was over Edgar came unglued at Fabian. Ok this kid is fresh from The Ranch and doing pretty dadgum good until he gets here and Edgar crawls him over a photo. So Fabian has us pose right there by the track, Edgar's mood goes south as pictured above. I remain goofy and unperturbed.

I, obviously, don't care a whit about the picture. I'm just proud of Edgar who is totally perturbed at Fabian.

The last straw for Edgar was when the red blur kid ran in front of us. I can't hold back my giggle and Fabian is just relieved that Edgar is aggravated with someone besides him.

Tomorrow ay 9 a.m. is Edgar's last cross country meet down at my old school where I worked for 13 years.

Some Bubbas and I are going to go and holler him on.

Finally Winning

Javy & Jose



No one on God's green earth needed this win more than my kids. I had psyched them up all afternoon knowing that they (Fire) were facing the toughest team I(the Sharks) in the county that had beaten them once and tied with them once. The Sharks coach had even been to the last two tournament games watching my kids. The Sharks had two especially great players on their team. One of them told my kids at school yesterday before the game, "tonight you are going down!"

Only thing that went down was our supper. I slammed 10 pounds of spaghetti down everyone's throats and we barreled out the door by 5:30 for the game. I was so wound up I needed a dose of Pepto Bismal. I don't think I chewed one bite, just swallowed it in excitement and anticipation. Just call me soccer mom.

I couldn't sit during the game, I paced and yelled encouragement. My friend, Emily, brought her two sons Keith and Marcus. Daniel, Joe, Alyssa, Vanessa, Miriam, Jack, Allen, CW and Sabrina's teacher, Miss Gina S, were there for support. Yolie babysat my other kids. Too cute because CJ sat in the excersaucer while the Bubbas bobbed all around him lending fascination to the chair.

Then game was a heart stopper that ended at 3-2 but Fire dominated the ball, it was usually down where it needed to be. The Sharks played hard and made Fire earn the victory that they were uncertain of until the whistle blew.

Daniel was laughing later talking about how loud I am. That boy didn't sit near me the ten years I cheered for him while he was on the field for baseball and football. He has amazing concentration and tunes everyone out when he is playing. I was deafening to him last night while he watched his brothers and sisters play.

I don't think anyone slept last night. These five kids came up the hard way in their birth families and in the foster care system. This win was huge and mind-blowing. Our small county had 61 soccer teams this fall. They are in the under 12 league and they won.

Our whole family is celebrating with them and through them.

VICTORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THEY WON!!!!! My five kids, Javy, Sabrina, Mayra, Jose and Martin's team won the under 12 Soccer Tournament for the entire county.

Friends Update & Dinner

Lily and Tony's teacher, who also had Allen and CW, last year reassured me that the children do indeed make friends at school. This I'm glad to hear. I'm still sticking by my story though as to the closeness of the sibs and their refusals and edginess about not being at home with the others. My "oldest" friend, Barbara, and I were way closer than my sister and I back then. I'm still close to my siblings emotionally but my children, with all their issues, gravitate to each other.

The excitement about tonight's championship soccer game is overtaking everything. I can't wait either.

How bout them White Sox?

Kids who never had food in their homes growing up have a challenging time with the concept of meal time manners. Literally the act of SITTING, rather than standing or running around with a full mouth spraying crumbs every whichaway, takes years to master. Everyone sits in the same place every night for supper, every meal actually, yet one would think I rearranged the kitchen every night so great is their confusion over simple feeding tasks.

The fork goes on the left and elbows off the table. Don't talk with your mouth full and SIT DOWN rival the stop yelling command every night. Every night. Finish your milk, put your plate and cup in the sink. These are not arbitrary, pulled out of the clouds, suggestions. They are basic, simple rules that do not change. I can speak them in English and in Spanish yet my children look at me often like I am from Singapore and do not speak their language at all.

We have a huge 30 gallon trash can in the kitchen to better facilitate the basketball throws to the trash yet there is usually a ring of trash around the trash can. Ceramic tiles are cracked after six years and the chairs splinter. How do restaurants stand up under the constant traffic?

OHHHHHHHH! Their patrons are more mannerly. I suppose my situation could be closer to a saloon where the patrons are disorderly, truculent, contentious, scrappy and trigger happy?

I console my poor beat down kitchen with the promise of someday the kids will be grown, the grandchildren are a generation removed from the justified outrage of former foster children. Someday we'll throw out the 4 kitchen tables and 32 chairs and I will have a nice oak table surrounded by plants rather than bellicose, warmongering diners.

Then my digestion will improve and I'll call up the kids on the phone because I'll then also miss the confrontational and aggravatingly interesting mealtimes.

Last night I was helping in the Children's Church when I noticed that there were 39 kids sitting quietly and listening to Miss Lisa. I have 39 kids but this 39 (only 13 were mine) looked like a LOT of kids. My 39, though boisterous at best, don't seem like that many at all. I do not have an explanation for this observation.

Martin's friend loudly broke wind into the molded plastic chair and I simply could not keep a straight face. Martin caught my eye and cracked up. Miss Lisa, who teaches first grade in real life, never missed a beat. I am so immature. But, quite possibly, that's a prerequisite to being able to live in this house and survive and thrive?

Retraction

I got a one word email from my "oldest friend in Louisiana" that read, "OLDEST?"

Actually I am a month older that Barbara.

We go back close to 40 years of friendship though. That makes us both pretty old.

My two geese here are over 10 years old each.

No Name

While Mr No Name is at school I'm posting a picture. He is my right arm and here he is with CJ. I'll bet, since he knows all my passwords, that this picture is gone by 3:30 eastern time today IF he doesn't go to work.

Winners

Again Sabrina, Jose, Martin, Javy and Mayra's soccer team won in the tournament last night to advance to the championship game on Thursday.

While I was cooking supper the Bubbas were bringing in my plants from the front porch while Sonny was bringing in the heavy ficus trees and various large palms.

Daniel walked in with some smart remark about how we could always tell when cold weather was coming because Mom would jungle up the house. We just started piling the plants on the counter while I try and figure out where to incorporate another hundred plants throughout an already full rain forest.

At the beginning of this soccer season the rec coaches were told that 2 of them would have to take teams that had 5 sibs and 6 sibs on it, kids who'd never played rec leagues before. Two brave coaches took on the unknown and I'm certainly grateful.

The youngest teams that included CW, Lily, Chuy, Paloma, Jojo and Allen was undefeated the entire season. What my kids lacked in skills and experience was made up by pure aggression and absolute determination to win.

The older team is in the playoff tournament. Younger teams don't have a tournament.

Next year the other coaches, who certainly noticed the pugnacious brothers and sisters, will all want to have them on their teams. I dearly hope that Coach Tom and Coach Glenn will again get the kids as I feel they taught my kids to be winners and great players.

Allen's Music

We were just listening to a Christian radio station in the van and Allen was singing along. When the song ended he asked me if our van had come with all those great songs already in it. I ineptly tried to explain radio waves to him while remembering a cartoon where a kid asked his mother to back up the car so they could hear a song again.

Dodgeball

Daniel, a 20 year old sophomore at UGA, is absolutely OBSESSED with dodgeball. He had on a new T-shirt yesterday regarding dodgeball and I saw these pictures on MY computer this morning. He is president of the dodgeball association, works at a golf course, fixes and networks everyone'scomputers and takes a full load of classes.

I have found him to be an extremely amazing son of mine and I love him dearly. He's very handsome but has asked me to not put his picture on the blog.

Friends

Friends are in fairly short supply here. That may be a downside to a big family as hardly anyone bothers to make any friends. Why should they as there are enough people here to keep anyone from being lonely.

There are kids at school and kids at church that join in and hang with my kids but basically everyone sticks close to the kid(s) here that are also their age. These same kids empathize with what each child has been through and can be trusted to not leave.

Abandonment issues are rampant in this family and finally each child is learning that family is forever. Each child also has an innate understanding of what neglect and abuse has done to damage the others. There is a sense of over-protectivesness and an admirable ability to share everything. I have never seen such an amount of saved treats from school and church come out of pockets and sticky hands to be divided amongst the others.

Daniel (20) has always made friends as he plays sports non-stop and has bonded with his team mates but he considers his brother-in-law, Chuck, as a best friend. Edgar (18) is close to his friend Jeremy (but also tightly bonded with Daniel) and Yolie (25) has Audrey. Marcela (24) is a social butterfly and has tons of friends. Cristy (28) has Gabby.

Within the family all the Biggers tend to lean on, trust and confide in Yolie. Joe and Yolie are nearly inseparable. Deysi (29), Saray (27) and Marcela have a strong bio bond. Growing up Joe, Sergi and Jesse were glued to each other as the Bubbas are now also.

Teachers have remarked on how the siblings look to each other for verification, validation and comfort at school. They also seem to fill in each other's blanks. Lily is spacey and has Tony by her side who is hyper-vigilant. Allen is shy to CW's gregariousness. Sabrina is still new,, and a little uncertain but she has Martin, Jose and Baby Yolie who are all her age and very reliable barometers of events that unfold around her.

Several of my grandchildren have bonded tightly with my children of the same age and cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews are in classes together and forming tight alliances.

Miriam, Mayra, Vanessa and Edgar trust each other with their lives and I could go on and on about the ways in which each child in this family has a special buddy.

Learning to trust from within the family is hard enough and once that is accomplished in cement then my children gain the confidence to trust new people.

I have a few friends who have stuck around as my family has literally swallowed me up. I have Emily and Janet locally to keep me straight as both will point out my inconsistencies. My kids trust Emily's kids who are also adopted. Janet has been my friend since Sarah was a toddler. My oldest friend is in Louisiana who would point out that I'm as goofy now as I was as a kid. Goofiness is needed as a coping mechanism for the demands put on me by my demanding family.

Fall

Saturday afternoon was breezy and Tommy had on the cutest hooded outfit when he came over to bring me a pot of Arroz Con Leche. In the background Joey is shirtless but that figure with Georgia autumn weather.

Cold in the mornings so I bundle the kids up but it is hot in the afternoon and their jackets are strewn up and down the dirt road.

Last night for the soccer tournament the weather was cold and windy and sissies like me were miserable. My hat is off to northerners who can take the cold but even with all my hot flashes I can't handle it. My bones freeze and Edgar, Vanessa and I were snuggled in a huddle. It was probably in the upper 40s but to me that is intolerable.

Since they won we have another game tonight in which I'll take a sleeping bag to also wrap up in. All the other parents were equally cold and one smart mom remembered two sleeping bags for the kids who weren't playing each quarter.

After last Friday's SST meeting in which the assistant principal, Miss Regina and I gave 7 year old Jonathan the emotional and verbal permission that he needed in order to get out from under 8 year old Paloma's domination...we've had a two day rage ocurring from Paloma. It all started with her refusing to go to time-out on Saturday. She had to miss CJ's dedication due to her inability to follow any rules and finally served her time-out Sunday afternoon which had exponentially increased in duration. Interestingly enough Jonathan has ignored all her emotional outbursts. Usually he goes down screaming and crying when she does but he said to me, "not anymore mom." Paloma escalated audience-less for once. When there is no echo, there is apparently much less satisfaction, it's hard to turn a house upside down without a willing sidekick.

Sunday Afternoon.

I'm just glad that here in the last week of October, we still have roses, cannas and cleomes in bloom. Yesterday we all started working on a newer ,lightweight but larger, chicken tractor since Belinda's chicks are growing and Maxine is also sitting on a few eggs herself.

Jose and I also enlarged a compost pile while Gito and CW sorted through Sarah's stack of recycled newspapers. We take the slick advertising sheets out and then use the newspapers under wood chips to suppress weeds. The newspaper rots quickly with the tons of manure that we also incorporate. The earthworm population is exploding and working on adding to the soil's nutrition 24-7.

Years ago I read a book about a California family that homeschooled their children, constantly reading non-fiction books and doing homesteading projects. All their kids had above average test scores...something I would dearly wish upon my own children. We are often building, repairing, planning and implementing garden ideas and projects. I just want to teach the kids the joy of creating, building and working at stuff that is fun.

I've read about people who shop for recreation. They must be the same people that sell all the great stuff that we get at yard sales. But this article talked about materialism, clutter and the consumer debt that plagues our society and stresses people out. My puny brain sends me outside to work instead of to shop, or else compels me inside to clean (and never get it all done) but never do I get the urge to shop. NEVER, EVER. I have also never been bored.



I know that I'll produce several gardeners out of our family. Some already do, some are fascinated when helping me pick the produce and some simply want fresh fruit bad enough to be willing to put in the work needed.




Sonny has recovered from his work disappointment of last week and has learned from it. I am blessed by a couple of sons-in-law who take my boys under their wings. Right now Sonny is working with Preston in his heating and air business.

Sonny is the one most in charge of the new chicken tractor engineering project. It's getting cool enough now in the night to spur us on to get loads of hay in the chicken coop. My rude roosters, Porky, Rocco and Billy Bob, are fighting all attempts by us to refurbish said coop.

Mayra

My challenge here is to keep this beautiful, almost 12 year old child, interested and involved in sports and youth group.

I want to keep her away from the slutty pre-teen TV crap, boyfriends and cosmetics induced stress on her appearance.

It's a battle but I want to fight it.

As a former educator I'd see parents fuss at the administrators who enforced a decent dress code. Parents screeching loudly, "Do you know how much I paid for that skirt?"

It's tough to raise daughters. The pressure from the outside world is tremendous and negative.

Fortunately this is a very athletic girl who is headed into a soccer tournament. She jogs and lifts weights and has older sisters who've played high school sports so the way is paved. I just need to keep her steering column aligned.

Rooms To Go

Being older now and having three roosters outside my bedroom window prevents me ever sleeping past 6 a.m. but that's OK since I want to go to a few yard sales this morning.

Drinking coffee and watching the news, we saw an advertisement for Rooms to Go. Martin asked me if I'd ever been there.

"No," I replied, "My rooms-to-go are found in people's driveways on Saturdays. I back my truck right up to whatever they sre selling that we need and there's our rooms-to-go."

Makes Me Wanna CRY!

"Braves pitching coach Leo Mazzone signed a three-year guaranteed contract with the Baltimore Orioles late Thursday that makes him the highest paid pitching coach in baseball, Mazzone's representatives said.

The deal, expected to be announced by the Orioles Friday, will pay Mazzone about $500,000 per season, according to sources familiar with the negotiations. That would double his salary last season with the Braves."

That says it all. Dr. G, our family's psychologist and a Phillies fan, has been dogging me and gloating about this.

Leo, say it ain't so!

An aside: Sarah claims only amateurs use exclamation marks but I know she'd agree they are necessary here.

Sharing

However trying and high-maintenance that my kids can be at times, they do have a hugely important wonderful quality about them. They all share.

Even Miss Lisa at church has remarked on this. When birthday bags are passed out, my kids make sure that each member of our family has a piece. When they get new clothes they let others wear them before they even get a chance. Sometimes on their birthdays they will pick out stuff that they know the other kids like or want. When they get treats at school they regularly hoard it until they get home and they can divide it up amongst everyone.

This morning Lily pulled a lint stuck piece of gum out of her pocket for me. They got treat bags at soccer last night on her team and she'd brought it home to share with the non-players. I haven't stressed sharing as a rule around here. This is something that they have naturally done on their own and I'm impressed by it. They all came out of situations of severe lack so you'd think they'd create personal stashes but, instead I've watched them share suckers at one lick each, divide the last slice of pizza a dozen ways and give away what is important to them when they know it'll make someone else happy.

This blows me away.

Following Directions

I thought when my kids were adopted by me they'd all excel at school due to the simple fact that I had a degree in elementary education and I'd love them all through their issues. But I was really wrong.

It never occurred to me how deeply harmed their brains were by neglect, abuse, repeated moves, broken bonds, or worse yet, no bonds or attachments, needs not met...a long laundry list of woes.

I've since learned that I cannot expect them to remember, nor recall, what they've been told. Their brain plumbing leaks. Their minds are so full of hurt and pain that there is not enough room to add academic excellence, good manners, personal hygiene and high expectations of the ability to follow rules.

They simply can't. The correct explanation is that grief literally damages the brain. The synapses are missing. I believe it after years of banging my own brain around trying for Plan B-Z since Plan A stunk.

The Bubba's room have crates carefully labeled "shin guards", "soccer socks", "cleats" and "soccer shorts" in glow-in-the-dark permanent markers. The crates are EMPTY and the cleats, socks, shorts and shin guards are strewn about their room. I remind them 100,000 times to pick it all up and, eventually, it is all picked up only to again be tossed around the room.

I've come to picture a colander that lets loose of much of what is put inside it.


What remains however is solid. Stuff can be added to it and, eventually I have a pretty neat kid who is affectionate, empathetic, able and willing to do what it takes to survive, thrive and to prosper. I've brought up all my kids to know that life is tough, but we are tougher.

I have the advantage of my grown kid's successes to propel me through the strenuous times of the adolescent turmoil of the rest of my kids. I've learned patience, or as much as a hyper mom could be expected to have.

Multiplication

My house plants multiply rapidly for several reasons. I keep buying nice planters at yard sales for pennies on the dollar and it makes me feel good to propagate and divide flourishing houseplants.

I bought this ladder at a yard sale for a couple of dollars and painted it for the sole purpose of holding plants when I bring them in for the winter.

In magazine I see autumn decorations. Yuck. I prefer to pretend that it is always summertime.

Deadly Childhoods

I know that this happens every day. I know that children are criminally abused and neglected but today in San Fransico a woman (I can't validate her with the mother label) threw her three young children off a pier and they drowned. A man suffocated his 10 month old baby and another Florida couple is on trial for stariving five children.

I could have found loving families for all nine of those children.

I easily found a family last week for a 29 day old baby with a brain bleed. I sent in a family this week on a unbelievably tragic, beautiful shaken baby who will now be a total care child. I have another family waiting on the selection process for five black brothers and two other families in on two different sets of five siblings each. That's 17 kids that won't haunt me at night. Seventeen kids that will find, and thrive in, loving families. Seventeen children that I won't worry about.

But there are many, many more that I need to find families for and, worse, yet, untold numbers that will die in America at the hands of those that brought them into this world.

Scheduling

Mom and Dad left for Virginia today for 10 days. They are right helpful about driving kids here and there so by them being gone I need to get creative with our schedules.

This morning I had to get to Scotty's first grade parent breakfast at 7:45 am, Gito and Joey to the dentist by 8:30, Joey down to the health department at 9:30 and get Jose's field trip lunch to the school in-between all that. Just when I got it all done, Jose's teacher called to inform me that Jose had a nosebleed and needed a clean shirt.

At the parent's breakfast a little girl was crying because her mom couldn't come and eat. She is actually the cousin of three of my kids so she came and ate with us. Scotty had been telling her that she couldn't be his cousin since she wasn't Mexican but I told him it was just a very long story.....just ask me first before dating anyone around here.

Yesterday I knocked out two IEP meetings and fall conferences for my fourth and fifth graders. Mayra and Vanessa had dental appointments and we had to get Fabian back to The Ranch last night and attend their Wednesday night service.

Tomorrow I have an 8 a.m. and an 8:30 a.m. IEP meetings and a kindergarten barn dance but, first, 11 kids have soccer games tonight. In between I need to make sure 25 people eat three meals a day, have clean clothes and get their homework done. No wonder my gardens are looking sad.

I just heard or read somewhere that kids need at least 10 hugs a day. I'm built like a chimpanzee with long arms and we are huggers anyway so this is an easy one for us.

I'm typing oddly because Daniel got me an Iskin to protect my keyboard. Lord knows I needed one around here....

Still Affected

This was wriiten (by Yolie) and published in a magazine about 4 or 5 years ago.

Still Affected

I was nine years old, when the only world that I knew came crashing down around me. In a single night, the only people in my life with whom I felt a bond were gone.

My two brothers and I grew up in the projects in El Paso, Texas. Like thousands of other children, we were neglected, abused and ultimately abandoned. Life around us seemed void of any type of love or attention. I fed my two younger brothers when I could, and comforted them in my arms as they cried when I couldn't find anything. I was only nine years old, and I had been taking care of them since I was four.

The night it was supposed to get better, we were taken ouf of our "home" and put into foster care.

They separated my brothers and I and put us in different foster homes. It was the single most terrifying moment in my life. How can anyone justify taking away the only real bond that foster children have left?

After a few years in the foster care system, I got the news that someone wanted to adopt us. For several months I had been told that I was not going to be adopted with my younger brothers, and that I should get used to the idea.

I can say, without a doubt in my mind, that had my adoptive mother (hereafter referred to as "mom" because she truly is my mom) not come forward after having seen a black and white photocopied picture of us I would not be the person that I am today. She adopted all three of us. Left behind, though, were two older sisters and two younger sisters. They were not "adoptable" at the time, and that loss still affects me.

I was eleven years old when I was adopted. I was not a cute little girl with pink ribbons in my hair. I was angry, confused and felt that no one would love me. But my mom decided that I was worth something. She adopted all three of us knowing that splitting us up just wouldn't be right. This insight has resulted in her adopting 29 kids-all of whom came in sibling groups. The largest sibling group my mom has adopted consisted of seven children who would have undoubtedly been split up, all because the youngest were more "adoptable"than the others.

I love my family. I can imagine no greater bond between a mother and her children than that of my mom and all of us. Adoption saved my life. I came into a home with people who loved me and whom I have grown to love. No blood bond could deepen or diminish this love.

Being adopted means being loved. It allows a child or children to savor those precious little things that so many take for granted.

I can wake up in the morning and know that someone cares that I'm alive. I can make good grades in school and have somebody be proud of me. I can know that at any moment, I can call on my family to help me and be there for me.

I can also give back. My hope is that one day I can help a child have the same opportunities I have had. I am thankful every day that my brothers and were adopted.

I am still in awe at the woman that I call mom. That someone would open up their heart and home to children they do not know and give them unselfishly the love that they missed for so many years affects me in a profound way.

I have learned through my life's journey that good people do exist. I have been given a shot at a new life, and I do not intend to waste it. But, I am still affected by my life. It still hurts to know that my biological mother valued us less than drugs, alcohol and men. I will never forget or hide my past. I sometimes feel like a scarred war veteran who finally returned home. I know that I am a better person because of it, but I can never get over the hurt that my brothers have had to deal with.

No child should ever have to live in fear of such rejection. The foster care system is no way to raise a child. No child should have to remain in foster care until they are eighteen.

That could have very easily been my life. At the age of eleven, few people were willing to adopt me. I was old, like used goods that most likely would not work out in the end. But, somebody opened their heart enough to look beyond that and she gave me a chance.

I love the fact that I'm adopted. It means that somebody chose me out of the thousands of waiting children. But, so many still wait. We must not give up on the older children in the foster care system.

The huge number of sibling groups that live in fear of separation grows constantly. Many adoptive parents want only the"cute ones," meaning the youngest. My mom, who is a mother to 30 kids (1 biological and 29 adopted), proves that homes for waiting sibling groups can be found. Social workers need to seek out such people and such families-this should be a priority of the profession.

Being twenty-one, attending the University of Georgia, majoring in social work, having a loving family, enjoying every minute of my life as it comes to me-all this, and I'm still affected. My prayer is that just one more person would open up their heart and home; that just one more child would be shown that there are indeed good people out there.

The fact that innocent children are waiting for someone to love them-that should still affect us all.

This article was also printed in an excellent magazine about large families: “Joyfull Noise,” in their October/November2001 issue (Paula Dunham, publisher)

Weird

Sarah informed me that her dad's cell phone has the exact same odd ringtone as mine. Our only common denominator is Sarah. How weird.

Eager

This morning instead of saying the word, "eagle," Paloma said, "eager" thus setting off a dozen Bubbas into fits of giggling and cereal spewing this morning.

Tony suggested that I write it in my "blong". The Bubbas didn't get Tony's mispronunciation which suited me as I had just cleaned up the cereal disgorgement.

A Parallel Universe

For nearly a week Sarah has been up in Virginia at the wedding of my first husband's second daughter, Jenny.

Sarah, tall, thin and blonde, has been with people who look like her. She has 3 half siblings and a dad there. His entire family is there.

Here in Georgia her family is overwhelmingly Mexican and it is the birth child who stands out as being different although greatly resembling the Big Mama.

Many of my younger kids don't even know that Sarah has a father (even though he's been here several times lately) or other siblings. They find that information to be way too emotionally threatening. Years ago Jenny came to our beach house and scared the kids silly so great was her resemblance to Sarah. I remember Monica and Marcela being wide-eyed with surprise. The Biggers were shocked into silence. Even I was flabbergasted at how much they looked alike.

My kids don't think Sarah was ever a kid or that I ever only had just one child. To them Sarah is Ray Ray's mom therefore Sarah must be mom's friend.

She came back tonight. For 32 years we have hardly been 15 minutes away from each other and it felt like she was gone to the moon.

Dinner

Probably the question I most often am asked is, "What on earth do you cook each night???"

So far the only response I've been able to come up with is, "a lot."

Handling Disappointment

I, of course, wish I could protect my kids from crushing emotional blows. I can only prepare and strengthen them with the mental tools and coping skills that they'll need.

My 19 year old son was let go from his job this morning. He simply didn't have either the experience necessary, the quick reflexes nor the mechanical ability to manage heavy equipment. The supervisor felt it was too dangerous for him and for the others.

Knowing me,, and the fact that he knew I'd hold him accountable about it he (Sonny) asked the boss to call me and explain. Good move on his part. Sonny was upset, crushed actually, and knowing his emotional maturity I was afraid of what he'd do. Drive around aimlessly? Be angry and unreasonable? Pick a fight with somebody?

I called his cell phone and he didn't answer. Not a good move to ignore Big Mama.

Within 10 minutes though he was home and broken-hearted about it. He is a hard worker and has had some strikes against him from birth thanks to poor pre-natal care and drug and alcohol abuse in utero. That takes a toll on one's development. It makes me angry that someone hurt him through their poor choices before he was even born.

He's a sweet-natured, helpful son of mine and I want the best for him. He immediately got out the want ads and got busy. I'm praying for the right job for him, outdoors is what he'd prefer and excel at.

I"m proud of the way he handled it all today. He was mature, appropriate and sensible. He's come a very long way.

Social Worker Hell

It has always been my experience that when a social worker arrives at my house either for an adoption update or for post-placement supervision, my kids act out. More than a decade ago we started referring to those days as social worker hell.

Basically their greatest fear is that of losing their family. In their early years it happened to them over and over again thus creating justified paranoia.

For years Mayra wouldn't enter our family room if a white lady was there.

After years of this predictable surliness from most of the kids, I would ask new caseworkers to please not bring a clipboard, pad of paper, nor pens into our house. "Just act normal," I'd tell them. "Pretend you are just here as a friend."

Only once were my kids fooled by that. It wasn't until years later that I told that particular sib group who their worker had been. They were quite taken aback.

Miss Regina teaches Jonathan and Paloma, both trying kids at best. Regina's student teacher's supervisor was coming to observe so Miss Regina mentioned it to her classroom in the hopes that maybe my kids would not act so unruly..

So this man in a suit walks into the room and Jonathan catches Paloma's eye. Sparks and secret communication flew between the two of them, alarm bells clanged in their minds and both children short-circuited. Regina saw it clearly but with astonishment. Somehow she had the gift of discernment at that minute and she interpreted their reactions as fast as they unfolded before her. Both kids were visibly shaken and the bad behavior seeped out in disruptive twitches. Regina handled it, she reassured them both and kept on going.

She told me about it this morning and said that I ought to tell the other teachers about it. It'd be best coming from her. Sometimes I feel like I'm just making excuses for their truculent behavior. I try and explain it rather than excuse it but if you don't live this life it may sound lame.

Sweet Smells of Childhood

Alyssa


Today, when our weather was only in the upper 70s and the humidity was a low 39%, I got a taste of how nice it must be to garden up north away from the swampy south. Outside all day and never broke a sweat. Usually I'm drenched by 9am.

Still on Fall Break, Vanessa had the camera and took a picture of the dirt road and the trees. Fortunately it is still green and pretty. When the leaves begin to turn I mourn in a small way for the end of summer. I do not get invigorated by the thought of cooler weather. If today was all the winter we got, I'd be satisfied and would go back to happily being sweat soaked.

Alyssa was here with me today and had a grand old time honking at my geese, watching chicken TV, petting a kitty cat and my good hen Maxine plus some of Belinda's chicks.

Vanessa mowed the meadow, the kids played wallball, dodgeball and soccer all day. We splurged $64.00 for a dozen large mushroom pizzas from Dominos since I just couldn't bring myself to go inside and cook.

My tea olives are in full bloom with the headiest fragrance ever and I have them planted outside my kitchen window, the back deck, the front porch and in the big garden where it is 10 feet tall and the breeze blows the perfume of the white blossoms up through my bedroom.

Although I was born in Georgia, I lived in Virginia as a young child. One house had tea olives when I was six years old. I remember then being astonished by the scent of the shrub. Forty five years later I can draw from memory where those plants were and the different azalea gardens which also had hydrangeas at my grandparents house.

I can't remember a lot of important stuff but the gardens that made impressions on me have lasted in my memories.

Troubled versus Traumatized

Jose and Fabian



Somehow God has given me the ability to live with a bunch of unfathomable children and not go nuts.

It could be due to my goofiness that I am usually not bothered by their antics. Sometimes they push my buttons but, overall, I think I handle the ridiculousness of my life fairly well.

It could be said that I live with several quite troubled children but, you know, they wouldn't be troubled had they not been traumatized by losing so many caretakers. Even those that abused and neglected them still broke a bond. How many bonds can be broken before the child is too traumatized to be reached? This I don't know but I am certain, from experience, that it takes many, many years to heal, and then to learn to love and to trust.

I was dogging Chuy this morning about not loving me. He is undemonstrative but is a very intelligent child. He's been here for 40 months and has never initiated a hug. NEVER. This morning he said, " I DO love you but I don't want a hug." That's actually progress folks. I can live with that. Interestingly enough Chuy is very drawn to a caretaking role with my grandbabies. They are not an emotional threat to him like I am.

Jose, Chuy's birth brother, was labeled LOC 3 (Level of Care) and was nearly at the unadoptable stage due to his emotional disturbances. When I visited him in Texas I also was alarmed and I've put up with quite a bit of emotionally challenged children. The entire first year that he lived with me was demanding and emotionally back breaking. He had huge rages, meltdowns and attempted runaways. I was called to school on numerous occasions. He could hardly go 10 minutes in the house without a problem. He was also on huge doses of Remeron, Tegretol and Risperdol 4 times a day.

40 months later he is medication free, helpful, charming and a teacher's pet at school. His Sunday school teacher told me yesterday that Jose is hungry for knowledge.

To what do I attribute his turnabout? I don't know. Maybe it was due to love, commitment, stability and security but if that were the case...what about my other kids like Fabian? I du truly believe in my heart that all my children were placed here by God. Not by my homestudies, my pushiness or due to the fact that I was the only study in on many of these sibling groups. I deeply believe that each child was placed here for a reason that I may not know yet. So if I believe that, which I do, then I have to believe that we will survive and thrive through all our many difficulties.

I thank God that I was given the ability to see them as traumatized children and not as little Hitlers determined to exterminate me. Just because they act this way sometimes does not mean that they are this way.

I know that they love me and I know that they are grateful although many would rather gnaw off their left foot that express gratitude to me in any way as that would then be their admission that they do actually trust me and that they appreciate me. That would be giving me the power to hurt them and it's going to take awhile before they'll trust me with at that level.

I'll see that later as my other children have demonstrated to me.

I sat on the sofa watching a TV show last night with Marcela (age 24) and Daniel (age 20) and silently thanking God that my cool grown kids will actually hang out with me.

Picture Day Apparently

Vanessa's on a roll

Big Mama and Tata

The time I am in Sunday School and then church is the only time I'm away from Tata all week. Today after I'd gotten home from church and changed out of my monkey suit Tabitha needed to suck on her shirt and cuddle. She slept for an hour and Miriam painted her fingernails and her toenails with some sparkly junk she had.

(If I'd known Vanessa was taking pictures I'd have tried to uncrinkle my eyes but actually they are starting to stay like that even when I'm relaxed.)

Mayra, Miriam, Tabby and Vanessa

Vanessa and Miriam Today After Church

Emotional Exhaustion

I used to plant Thunbergia (black-eyes Susan vine) each year after growing it in the house from seed in early spring. I used to do that also with Rudbeckia, Sweet William, Nicotiana and Four O'Clocks until I finally noticed that they reseeded themselves constantly. My Thunbergia is clambering all over the chicken coop and Vanessa went out to take a picture of it but, instead, wandered around taking pictures of the trees and the skies.

She and Paloma also found a cucumber plant that had grown up out of the compost and climbed high upside a Wisteria vine so we're eating cucumbers in October.

But I was thinking this morning as I drink my coffee about my kid's emotional exhaustion. When kids first move in they are hyper-vigilant and overly alert. They seem to be happily playing but I notice their eyes darting around constantly as they attempt to pick up on social cues and to figure out the rules. They are on guard, asking questions and openly fearing the end of this placement. Surely they'll again be moved as it has always happened to them.

They appear to be nervous rabbits and the stress of this much noncommittal reserve often results in an emotional explosion. The meltdown then gives them an 'out', a reason for the tears instead of just breaking down and crying. They seem to feel that they must pick a fight so to speak, get their behavior corrected and then, they feel, it is OK to cry.

When they start to feel safe and secure then they begin to sleep through the night. The first few months they are awake at sunrise after thrashing around all night, fretting. Of course in older kids this pattern stretches out longer as they've been in so many more places. Sleep issues are pervasive. I even had one child sleep in her glasses as she wanted to be able to see who entered her room. Her former foster father had molested her. I have spent a couple of decades putting safety plans into effect and ensuring the emotional security of my children.

In my two youngest children, now almost 3 and already 4, I see evidence of night terrors. Adopted children come not with instructions but with boxes full of files of papers. These reports document all the events that lead to a child protective services and foster care, then details their life while in care. My last four children slept in seemingly hundreds of places while their birth mom left them here and there as she rarely, if ever, had an apartment.

My bedroom has my king size bed plus a crib, a toddler bed and 2 futons as, often, this signifies the safest place for my children to crave as security. The downside is, at age 51, I often wake up. I hear the kids thrashing and crying in their sleep and it breaks my heart. Eneurisis is common and out of 39 kids, I'd say nearly half were afflicted at one time, or closer to reality...often.

Now that my newest placement is in its 8th month, the two youngest, while still having obvious nightmares in the night, are now beinning to sleep hard enough to leave a dent in the bed. In a big family children play hard and this also contributes to sleeping better. Yesterday they rode bikes, scooters and played ball in the meadow until dark. It was taco night which really fills their bellies, everyone had a shower and my house was quiet by 9 pm. Edgar had had an out-of-town cross country track meet and Miriam also had played volleyball all day in a tournament so, on a Saturday night, they were exhausted and in bed.

Tabby and Nando will sleep from 8 pm to 8 am and wake up smiling, cuddly and happy. The relief when they awake, at seeing the same family, is written on their faces each morning. They both demand a rundown of today's plans and they question me during the day to make sure I stay on target and do what I said I'd do. Consistency is the rule.

In my experience this emotional exhaustion lasts for years especially in my failure-to-thrive children. My kids need more sleep than other kids as their emotions run sky high and deplete their bodies of energy. My grown kids have often remarked on the fact that I always made sure they had enough sleep growing up. There is no TV on school nights and we always eat a huge dinner. Sometimes they are so keyed up that they talk in bed to each other until they fall asleep but as I walk down the halls turning off lights I hear snoring, grunting and tossing around, but my house gets quiet and then I lie awake thinking about what all we have to do the next day. And I wonder why my dumb roosters crow from sunup until nearly midnight. Have they also picked up on the emotional difficulties within our family?

Belinda

I still can't believe this animal control rescued hen gave me 9 little chicks. She's in our first chicken tractor as i draw up plans for Sonny to build me a better one. Now that he's working 2 hours away from here and only home on weekends Belinda's new coop is going to be delayed.

Judging the Success of My Days By The Number of Grandchildren

It's been a great day if I see several of my grandbabies. Carlos is holding Alexander and Chuy is holding Alyssa. Last night I had Baby Yolie, Blanca, Tommy and Mauri over to my house.

We're on Fall Break. Dr G came by to fine tune a couple of my children. We're fortunate to have a psychologist who makes housecalls. He sees the kids in their own environment which is infinitely less threatening to them.

I stepped outside with a pair of plant clippers around 9 am this morning and clipped, pruned and culled until nearly dark. Honeysuckle, poke sallet and wild blackberries do their best to take over all gardens. Is it poke sallet or poke salad? I don't know because I learned their names from my old country relatives who have all now passed away. I have a 3rd cousin named Straw down near Macon, GA who calls trumpet vine a cow hitch vine since they used to use the vines to hitch up their cows. I do know that my kids have been smearing poke berries all over themselves as warpaint.

Alyssa played with a tennis ball for two hours this afternoon outside with the Bubbas who fetched and entertained her.

An Ideal World

My guest blogger today is Emily Bailey, MSW. She is the Director of All God's Children: A Special Needs Adoption Agency. She is also an experienced adoptive parent.

This is in response to my hissy fit the other day regarding the lack of adoption specific therapy. She has given permission for other adoptive parents to print this out in their search for therapy for their children.


An Ideal World


In an ideal world every child would enter the world as an answer to prayer. Every child would be longed for, eagerly awaited, and cherished. Even if every child wasn’t “planned,” every parent would still recognize the special gift they had been given.

In an ideal world every child would grow up surrounded by a loving family, would know that someone would always take care of him if he was sick, would never question where his next meal would come from, and would always have a soft spot to lay his head down at night.

In the world of adoption and foster care so much is built upon a foundation that is 180 degrees away from ideal. For so many children, the same people who have been the givers of life have been the destroyers of the spirit. It is a very harsh reality when the person who should be most willing to lay down their life for you would just as soon sell you off to the highest bidder for their next high. How does a child ever learn to trust anyone when he cannot be sure whether Mama will feed him today or will get drunk and beat him?

These children, who in many ways are incredibly resilient survivors, nonetheless enter new families with emotional walls and defense systems erected so high that healing the broken places can be very difficult. Many dedicated families have the best of intentions and pour out their hearts to children in need. The wise ones equip themselves with as much training and knowledge as possible. They reach out to more experienced families and professionals to help them find the ways to reach their children. Most seasoned adoptive and foster parents learn to be grateful for the “baby steps” their children take on the road to becoming emotionally healthy human beings. For some children, the wounds are so deep and the risk of allowing themselves to trust another person is so great, that it seems they will never really accept the love of a family. Some will be content to just “coast” through life without causing major problems, but also without making a significant emotional connection to those whose greatest desire is to love and nurture them. Others will leave a trail of devastation as they live life in “attack mode,” always striking out at those who are closest to them.

Ideally, families who take on the difficult task of parenting these children should be offered a wide array of support and resources. Sadly, what they usually encounter is an ineffective patchwork of services and responses. This can begin with their own extended families, as well as the general public, who either want to nominate them for sainthood or persecute them for having the audacity to take on these difficult children in the first place.

School systems can be a great source of support or a major headache. Many wonderful programs and services exist within public schools, especially within special education services. It is very affirming to work with dedicated educators who really believe it is their calling to find a way of reaching every child who walks through the door. It is very disheartening to encounter the often thinly veiled attitude of disdain for the child who is disruptive and may require additional services or, at the very least, some creative thinking on how to best meet his needs.

Churches can play a critical role in supporting families, as many adoptive and foster families are people of faith who feel strongly that they are called to do what they do. For many children, their foster and adoptive parents are the first people who have ever taken them to church. What an awesome privilege to be able to help children to learn about and experience the love of the Creator. Faith communities can teach children so much about how all things happen for a reason, even terrible things that we can’t possibly understand. How important it is for these children to come to know that there is One who will always love them unconditionally and who created them for a special purpose. Sadly, many families find that they have to shop for a church that provides the supportive environment they need.

Probably the most frustrating roadblock comes when trying to find effective mental health services for a child. Finding a therapist who truly “gets it” when it comes to understanding the behavioral dynamics of children from the child welfare system is a daunting task. Equally important is finding a mental health provider who doesn’t slip into the easy trap of blaming the foster or adoptive parent for the child’s problems. It is essential to find a therapist who understands why a foster or adoptive parent may appear to be exhausted, angry, “at the end of their rope.” For the most part, foster and adoptive parents are not the cause of their children’s problems, but they sure do become the brunt of their children’s anger and rage. Even though the child may be “drowning” in their hurt and rage, they fight at all costs against grabbing onto the life preserver of security and love offered to them by their foster and adoptive parents. Even though these parents did not cause the children’s problems, they are an essential part of their child’s healing. It is critical to work with a therapist who is willing to see past the walls the child has erected and work with the parent to help that child get to the point where he no longer needs those walls to feel safe.

It is often a long road to recovery; the journey is much easier when a family has some connection to a kindred spirit who understands what they are going through or at least supports them non-judgmentally. Wise parents also come to understand that no matter how difficult it may be to live with and love and try to help a hurting child, that journey to recovery is infinitely more difficult for the child whose past is filled with pain and terror most of us will never truly understand. As our children do grow and mature and blossom, they have much to teach us.

Big Eyes

This is what we often call Jack. He simply doesn't miss a thing. He was born here on June 29, 2000 and has lived with me every second of his life but what makes him to uber secure is the fact that he is doted on by this immense family.

He loves to go riding in the van unlike my other young children who view it as a trick. Once when Daniel was 6 years old, and had lived with me for an entire school year, he found us packing the van for our annual beach trip. The alarm on his face combined with his escalating blood pressure was heartbreaking. I was still a very green neophyte in the adoption arena as I only had 11 children then. I tried to spin a tale for Daniel about the captivatingly beautiful ocean but he would have none of it. He was positive that after a school year he'd be facing another devastating move. His dread stamped in his beautiful brown eyes.

When we arrived ten hours later at Nags Head, NC ,Daniel was beside himself with apprehension and terror. He ran under the house to hide while I, unthinkingly, flew straight to the water. After inhaling the salty air, soaking my legs and feet I coaxed Daniel out and explained that we'd stay here together as a family and then return to our home in Georgia the next week.

OK Cindy, did you really think that former foster children knew the concept of a beach vacation???

Daniel spent the week playing in the water but it was evident he "knew" he was being tricked. He is a gifted student but his behavior that week regressed to that of a destructive, petulant two tear old who'd been parented appartently by a wild boar.

Fifteen years later we pulled out of our Pawley island, SC beach rental and 8 year old Jose looked at me anxiously and asked, "OK, Mom, where will we live now?" after also living with me for an entire school year. Do I ever learn one might ask?

While most children are delirious with joy at the end of a school year, many of my kids are terror-stricken. After spring break, as the school year winds down and teachers ease up on the academics, my kids grow increasingly uneasy. Often foster care children are allowed to finish out their school year before being moved to a new foster home for many possible reasons. This now irrational fear overtakes my kids each April and May in varying degrees as evidenced by increasingly erratic behavior.

This behavior is not demonstrated by the three young kids that I have raised from birth. They have lived in this house their entire lives and are as secure as concrete pilings.

When Jack AKA Big Eyes is riding in the van he is curious and fascinated about everything. Now that he is in kindergarten he is attempting to read aloud the signs that he sees and he questions me about everything from the legalities of traffic laws to the technicalities of road construction and red light mechanics.

Contrast that with Fernando and Tabitha. Fernando will vomit with fear if in the van for more than 30 minutes, his eyes wide with distress and his body filled with aggitation, trepediation and fright. No amount of verbal explanation will suffice. Tabby always follows his lead as she is a year younger. I know intellectually that this uneasieness will evaporate eventually years from now. I try now to respect this fear and just take them on short errands to try and cement the fact that they will always return home where their relief upon hitting the dirt road is palpable.

I have a strong memory five years ago of 4 year old Allen in his first week of living with me never making eye contact, refusing to be hugged, depression following him like a mean dog. "Normal" four year olds like to snuggle and face the world with new inquisitiveness each day. Not traumatized four year olds. I even remember a family many years ago who sent a young child back into foster care for not bonding. How can a traumatized child be expected to trust and to bond? Allen is on his SIXTH year of living with me and is now beginning to believe that I could be trusted. He is now an opposite child from what he used to be. He clings, he is loving and he is very verbal in his devotion to me. He is confident emotionally although he struggles academically in a very big way.

His once deeply frightened eyes have become bright with adoration, interest and enthusiasm for life. That is why I do what I do. That kind of reward can not be found anywhere else on earth.

Our County and our tamales

When I moved to this county in 1977 there were only 9,000 people, now there are about 25,000. There also used to be very few Hispanics, so few that if a new kid showed up at school they were asked if Cindy was their mom.

Today at Target a lady walked up to Sarah and asked that very same question, "Is Cindy your mom?". It took her aback as usually that question was asked of Mexican-Americans. Then she was flattered to be recognized and associated with us as sometimes we are a source of um, shall we say, annoyance?.

It was Lily and Tony's teacher who literally recognized Sarah from these blogs. In her late teens Sarah briefly distanced herself from her uncool family while she was immersed in trendy town life. She's been back with a vengenance over the last several years. She and I have always been close with barely 19 years between us. Sarah lives down my dirt road and then through the woods. We are rarely apart and now she's gone to Virginia for a long weekend. She's also left me before to go to Europe, Jamaica and Venezuela. I've had similarly exotic jaunts my own self...to El Paso, Corpus Cristie, Brownsville and San Antonio...each time to get more siblings for Sarah.

Sarah's gone but Carolina just came over with 33 tamales for us. Carolina is El Salvadoran so her tamales are different from the Mexican ones. I've never met a tamale I wouldn't fight for. They may very well be my favorite food. Yolie makes wonderful tamales also...twice in the last 14 years. Wonder can she take a hint? Yolie wraps hers in corn husks with more of a rich corn flavor while Carolina wraps hers in banana leaves and they seem to be moister.

I'm stuffing myself with Carolina's deliciosa tamales.

Our country and the nearby town has changed dramatically in the last decade. The Hispanic population came out of nowhere and is now maybe 25-30%. Signs are in Spanish everywhere and you hear Spanish at Wal-Mart, on the soccer fields and in town. I don't have time to go to town and sample the restaurants or go to the taquerias that are springing up but my daughters sure can cook some awesome tamales.

Calming Down

Nothing like a really long rant to excise my aggravation. I feel so much better today.

Tabby and Scotty had to each get a little cavity filled and Sarah was still quite sick so Ray Ray went with us to the dentist. After $140 pharmacy bill Sarah should soon be on the mend. Her daddy owes me a big ole "Thank You" for not sending him a sick child this weekend. Like this is his weekend with an almost 32 year old? Guess it is, he's flying her up there to Virginia for her half-sister's wedding.

Gotta feed 24 kids and get them to church for the Christmas Musical practice. Turns out that my 6 fourth and fifth graders will also have their school Christmas production that week also. Sabrina's wanting yet another speaking part.

A whale of a soccer game last night, two games actually that were hard-fought and I brought 11 sweaty kids home while Grandpa had taken Javy to his band concert after Grandpa also went with Miriam and Vanessa to Edgar's cross-country track meet. Our scheduling takes practice. After all that, 75 year old Grandma took her equally elderly husband, Grandpa, to the hospital for eye surgery this morning.

Never one to be held back by a dumb old eye patch, Grandpa just took Jack out for a walk down the dirt road.

The kids will be home for the next five days for Fall Break.

An Emotional Punching Bag: 20 years of this equals one very long blog squall

That's what I am. I parent severely angry, abused, neglected, hurt, issue-filled children from our foster care system. When they've lived with me long enough to actually believe that I might be fit to be trusted then they begin to push me away because trusting someone has the potential to hurt.

They once trusted their birth parents to protect them, to not hurt them or, at least, to feed them. To choose groceries over drugs and alcohol. That trust was destroyed time and time again until the kids were barely empty shells anymore with fear stricken eyes, or worse yet, nearly empty eyes unwilling to even hope that someone would/could care.

Then they lived place to place in foster care, sometimes returned to their birth parents for another dose of damage until they could hardly hold their heads up. I have parented both emotionally and physically injured children, perpetrated upon by their birth parents.

I've been using a therapist, several actually, over the last two decades. I have a great one here with Dr. G who "gets it" that I did not create the problem with poor parenting technique but that I inherited ten tons of problems from their years in dysfunctional families (and I use the term families loosely) and then the foster care system. I am also fortunate to have a school system that gets it, a wonderful bunch of teachers always searching for ways to reach my kids at their individual academic and emotional levels. A bunch of teachers so rare in their dedication to my children that they should be cloned and used in all adoptive educational situations.

I was told today by a family therapist, that I appeared to have the need to prove myself." Yes, I have to prove that I am not the problem, that I did not abuse, abandon and neglect my children. I have merely spent the next years of their lives nurturing, feeding, loving, caring, and trying to help my children.

Yet often when I reach out for help I get my hand back minus a few fingers that were bit off in the process. You get used to it and apparently fingers seem to regenerate themselves but it is getting old when I am treated like The Problem. It's difficult not to then be defensive. My assessments, my opinions and my descriptions of my children's behaviors should not be dismissed. I live here with them. I know, and love them dearly, and I have a clue.

Ten of my children have made it to college, with four graduates already and three more nearly there. Two are in the Navy defending our country. I raised responsible, accountable and, maybe most importantly, really nice, loving kids who initially came out of Hell itself. Yes I sound defensive, I AM defensive because I know what I am doing and I know my children.

Some issues, like violence, felony theft and severe disruptive behavior simply cannot be addressed within the family without professional help and I know when we need it. We need it now and we are receiving that help from The Ranch.

But I need the kind of help that doesn't try to squeeze our large square family into the small round hole. We need therapy that addresses what was done to my children BEFORE they became my children. Love does not cure everything, it only helps.

My friend Claudia and her husband Bart (Click on Bart's blog entry right now!)have been recently treated this way as have the many, many adoptive parents that I know and have heard from...when I suggested that they take their kids to therapy. These adoptive parents, with their hugely loving intentions, usually get their legs sawed out from under them by therapists as the kids lie, deny and avoid the truth in an attempt to not have to hit the wall so to speak. The kids try to go around their pain instead of through it thus arriving victoriously on the other side. The adoptive parents are left dazed, beat and bewildered as to what their role in the former abusive situation could have been? It's a big HUH??? to us parents.

It reminds me of when a dog is hit by a car, left wounded, snarling and bleeding, here comes the Good Samaritan who then gets bit by the dog and falsely accused by the dog's owner as the being the one who must've run over the dog. HUH? I was just trying to help.

I have tremendously difficult kids and I sometimes need reinforcements from a professional yet I often feel undermined. That is not my perception...it is the reality of the moment as witnessed by my daughter, Yolie.

My two younger kids have been emotionally demanding this entire day as we have had too many "professional" adults here today invading their comfort zone. They define these professionals as "people movers" and, in their minds, these people have the power to move them once again thus setting up fear in a very big way evidenced by terrible behavior. Later today when I attempted a grocery store trip Tabby threw herself on the floor kicking and screaming and Nando ran behind the sofa. They HATE to get in the van and, in their minds, this could be a trick. This is Our Reality.

My children have a huge need for an adult to be in control, for there to be someone that they can count on at all times. They need to know that i will handle all the problems that arise. They need to know that I will stck to my guns, that I am who I say I am. Heretofore NO ONE ever did that for them. They lived in fear, in grief and in the unknown and they now emotionally demand that I be The Known to them at all times.

It would be much easier for me to give up all control and let them all learn the hard way. But then, they'd end up like the parentless foster children who age out of the system...homeless, dead or in jail. I have to be strong, comforting, and reliable. My children have forced me to prove myself to them over and over and over again. I have to prove to them that I will always love them and always be their mom. That is the role of an adotive parent.

I read adoption literature, I listen to my grown kids and I have a large, strong network of other adoptive parents. What I hear constantly is that we need a form of therapy that addresses troubled children who are now being parented by devoted moms and dads who played no part in the prior damage done to their children.

What we have instead are adoptive parents who will eventually need therapy to address the damage done to them by the blaming of them for events that they had no control over. HUH?

I'm going to email this blog to a family therapist that is insightful and experienced with troubled adolescent boys in the hopes that she'll be the one to devise therapy for adopted children, that she'll be the one to become a very wealthy woman as she copyrights a new system.

All adoptive families should read Yolie's World. She is my adopted daughter. She has her Master's Degree in Social Work and has worked as an adoption caseworker. She was adopted at age 11 with her two brothers from Texas.

There are millions of children who need forever families and without adoption-specific therapy in place...it's going to be harder to recruit these families. And harder to keep them committed to troubled children.

Alexander's First Baseball Season

Ended with an 18th inning home run by the Houston Astos and me yelling my head off in absolute disbelief.

Obviously unfazed by my theatrics, Alexander is snug into football season with UGA #1 in the SEC right now.

Bubbas in the Morning

Amarylli

Most people put their amaryllis in a dark spot at then end of August for Christmas blooms.

It is October 9th and I just cleaned out the hall closet and crammed about 30 plants in there for their required dormancy.

Christmas is too stressful for me and January seems so dismal that I really enjoy the fact that my procrastination gives me late winter blooms, just when I think I'm going to crack under the pressure of shut windows, short days and no green leaves on the trees outside.