Not Giving Up

"There is one number, however, that is very meaningful to the former Braves left-hander. With 25 more victories, Glavine would become the 23rd pitcher to reach 300 wins. Only 10 have done it in the past 50 years.

"Unless my arm falls off, I'm not planning on getting this close to 300 wins and shutting it down," Glavine said. "It's the benchmark for pitchers. I sure hope 300-game winners aren't extinct."

Even if 40 year old Tom Glavine left my beloved Braves for the Mets, he is still one of my heroes. Jeepers, what was he thinking?

I read another measure of success yesterday as Jon Bon Jovi quipped, "Success is found in falling down nine times but getting up ten."

I'll buy that. I'm bull-headed, determined and driven to keep on keeping on with my kids even if Edgar is still in a snit (he owes me an apology for being less than honest), even if Joey is still in jail (we're working on a good plan for him) and even if Teresa is still stealing everything that isn't nailed down. Even as Vanessa struggles emotionally and academically, even as we have three broken down, non-running 1980's pick-up trucks, even as my phone line has gone dead and I need a plumber yesterday.

I won't quit even as Javy is failing math, even as the bedwetting continues and even when children look me in the eye and tell a bold-faced lie. I still confront them with, and about, the truth. Even as Alex seems to sink deeper and deeper into mental ill health and even as 8 year old Jonathan struggles with the motor skills needed for handwriting. Even as Paloma can't follow rules for longer than her five minute attention span.

I'M keeping on. I'm not quitting, I'm not giving up. I will continue to teach that one simple concept, a bedrock foundation, to my children as well.

Other Families

This morning Sabrina was hugging me and Martin took a picture while yelling, "Mom, she's almost as tall as you," which makes her a giant in his eyes as I am almost 5'7". I'd taken the earlier photo of 11 year old Sabrina with 12 year old Martin, both fifth graders.

When I was having trouble falling asleep last night I was blogging in my head and wondering if I can call Adele and Yvonne sister-in-laws once removed? They are my brother-in law's sisters, they are my late sister's sisters-in-law. They are Lauren's aunts, as am I. Maybe we are aunts-in-law?

In an email yesterday from Adele she said, "... (or the feelings behind them) are common for many kids. I am amazed at the strength of your children when I see a well-cared for child from a two-parent home who needs so much encouragement because she simply does not believe in herself. Where does that come from? Or the child from a similar family, with siblings who are well-adjusted and succeeding, who continues to push the limit…you can see him testing his parents love…Will you leave me or abandon me if I do this…what about this? If these privileged children have these issues, your kids’ baggage must be tremendous."

I asked her permission to use that thought as she is a teacher in Florida dealing with a diverse group of children. Yvonne, also a teacher up north, hits the nail on the head in her responses as well. Teaching is an eye-opening experience.

I know that my kids are fairly normal on the surface, and their issues explode during conflicts. She's right, my kids have tremendous baggage, yet my kids now have help, stability and security. What about all those other parentless children? I too, was in the public schools for 25 years, and if there was one single thing to change to improve these schools, in my opinion, it would be parenting classes. I spent most of my education career in schools in which the parents were too wrapped up in their own worlds, or drugs, to care for kids. My very last year was spent in a privileged public school with parent volunteers, an active PTO, and students who didn't worry about where their next meal would come from.

My kids went to that school. Our small county is overall populated by involved parents and a superb school system.

I've spent years trying to figure out the answers to Adele's thoughts. My friend, Emily, who has degrees and decades in social work, and I have brainstormed, commiserated, and valiantly (maybe vainly) attempted to understand children's issues. She also is an adoptive parent, with children from the system.

In the 1950s with stay-at-home moms who seemed to monitor our every moves, safe communities and little, if any, media effect on our lives, many of us were grade-grubbing, over-achievers who watched the next generation seem to have little respect for rules and evolve into the X generation and now they have children.

I feel like the very oddball woman who has parented in the 1970s, 1980s, 1990s and now the 2000s. Next school year when Nando starts Pre-K, I'll be 52 years old, maybe three decades older than his peer's parents.

But a good many people my age are raising their grandchildren also. I'm doing so, and those three children are now older than my two youngest kids as my life grows more convoluted each decade apparently. I know 70 year olds with kindergarteners. I'm not in this boat alone at all.

My son-in-law, Jose, keeps asking me if I'm going to adopt any more children. I keep responding no and he acts like I've abandoned humanity. This from a man who has already given me four grandchildren. I so want to be the abuelita who goes to all my grandbabies events and ballgames that I need to hurry up and finish raising these children to free up the needed time.

I'm comfortable with my adoption decision as I always knew that I'd know when I was done adopting and I know. I always knew which kids to adopt as well as I have always tried my best to hear from God. I'm excited to keep matching other families in AAN with children. I'm fascinated with different families and their abilities to deal with different issues that I am ill-equipped and clueless about such as this family in Florida. They have a wonderfully interesting story. Go read it.

Two grandbabies wrestling yeterday were Alyssa and Ray. Ray, being a leap year baby, is either 2 today or tomorrow, or not for a few more years. Alyssa is 18 months old.

Non-Fiction Books

With free time almost nil for me, I only read non-fiction, and I picked this book up at Goodwill for $2.00. Not bad for a $24.95 hardback book.

278 pages and here's what I got out of it:

The Nine Steps to Financial Freedom by Suze Orman states, "We all work so hard for our money, yet don't let it work for us because we simply will not deal with it, will not check the amount we spend against the amount we bring in. And not dealing with money is just a different way of dealing with it - badly."

This just reinforced my budget mindset. I check it daily, play with it, and run different scenarios to get us through until the end of each month. I enjoy it, it is not a chore, but a challenge to me.

"If you can start saving $100 a month at age 25, you will have $555,454 by age 64. If you start at 35, it'll only grow to $206, 440 and if you wait to start at age 45 it'll only grow to $71,880." This is figuring about a 10% return, the book has a 1997 copyright date.

Once, years ago, in the midst of all the teenage drama back then with the Biggers and Joe, Jesse and Sergi, I had photocopied a magazine article saying much the same thing. I didn't know it then, but it made a lasting impression on Joe. After the birth of his daughter he began saving in earnest, calling to tell me that old article had really gotten him thinking and he didn't want to waste his young years.

"Don't have the mortgage company withhold your property taxes and insurance payments-pay them yourself when they come due. In buying and selling homes over a 40 year period, at 8%, you could be paying your bank around $60,000." pg 184.

I put the page number so I could go back. I was shocked, I read it aloud to Sarah who responded with an overused family word, "Duh."

I did not know that. I've been paying mortgages forever, and I'm outraged. I want my money back. I'm fixing to call Washington Mutual and pitch a hissy fit, this is gonna get changed awfully fast.

PushPull Dance Steps

If 19 year old Sonny is awake, and not at work, he's over at my house.

He's just a big ole Bubba anyway and he's often got the other Bubbas involved in a project or a game.

Somehow he's at the bottom of this wrestling tussle along with Chuy, Martin, CW and Jonathan. Wrestling is the never-ending event at our house.

We had a three day weekend and it has resulted in Tabby and Nando having severe Monday morning blues as the other children have gone off to school and left them. Alyssa is pulling out all the stops to divert them from their misery over their perceived desertion.

Yesterday Sonny's truck broke down and he wisely called Chuck instead of me. This 1983 truck may now be a goner so Sonny was visibly upset over it last night. The teachable moment, even the I told you so, came in the guise of growing up ain't all is cracked up to be. No goat son.

As my kids join our family and are confronted with rules, structure and values, the conflicts that arise are legendary. Most of my children have never even seen any of the above, so used to having to fend for themselves are they without a responsible adult in charge.

About the time they start to get it right, they've grown up, then we have the pushpull dance to partner up with.

All of my kids, during their growing up years, explain to me how they'll do things differently when they are grown and don't have someone mean like me to boss them around. I counter with the worn out saying, "when you're paying your own bills...yada yada yada."

Time after time, each grown kid has expressed later that they didn't have a clue about how good they had it when bossy ole mama was paying the bills, cooking the food and tending to everything.

And the pushpull...jeepers...39 times.

Edgar, 19 in several more weeks, is undergoing this conflict at the time. He ignored a cell phone call from me this weekend which is akin to running a red light in front of a cop. No can do son. He lamely fumbled with stupid excuses, none of which I accepted, so he pouted, realized he was at fault, and has been sucking up ever since but receiving a rather chilly reception. Dishonesty equals disrespect and I won't have it. I'm irritated.

He hates it if a day has gone by without me being the one to seek out a hug, I've responded to his, yet he's acutely aware of my aggravation. My parenting style is loud, which he wrongly equates with me not loving him, so I have to make an effort to tone it down when conflicts arise between the two of us.

Daniel always had the ability to tune me out, right down to mute, when I'd be having a cow about something. My rising volume never affected him, yet Edgar's hackles rise, his eyes bug out, and he is truly near tears if my voice amplification exceeds his last nerve level.

This morning, I'm sure to teach me a lesson plus elicit at least a negative response, Edgar left all the upstairs lights on and hollered, "I love you," as he left, but pointedly did not kiss me.

OK, son, I feel so punished. Not.

Giving a 19 year old his freedom, but balancing it with normal responsibilities, always results in the pushpull routine here. They push me away with snippy attitudes yet physically draw me back when they suspect they've crossed a line. They are either snuggled up on the sofa with me or ignoring a phone call from me. Texting me all day or stomping off to their room over a suggestion by me that they need to study or something else equally innocuous.

It's irritating to me yet necessary to them. At least I've learned the steps, or watched too much Dancing with the Stars.

Cup Warning

Nando, Jack and Scotty all wore blue shirts to church today but the real question I have is, what was in that cup? It's Lily's handwriting so I am assuming it was paint thinner or something.

A Pretty Good Day

First off at church, a couple I'd been praying for over an 8 1/2 year period showed up. Yolie, Chuck and I jumped out of our seats to bear hug them both.

A wonderful service where my preacher used the phrase, "God doesn't call the qualified, he qualifies the called." I like that, it fits our life.

Martin turned 12 today. He'd been adopted by me when he was almost 4 years old and CW was 2. They've been glued to each other ever since. Martin's three birth siblings, Tony, Teresa and Joey have been rather difficult children while Martin has been a dreamboat son.

Lily had picked three types of daffodils, the King Arthur, Ice Follies and Fortissimo. All four kitchen tables have masses of blooms on them for tonight's supper of lentils drenched in garlic.

My best hen, the one Joe got for me, that Sabrina named Belinda, hatched 16 chicks this afternoon for Martin's birthday...but he also got new clothes and Krispy Kreme doughnuts, a delicacy here in the South.

The youth group's Disciple Now weekend ended with a breakfast at our church that Sarah helped provide. I had earlier asked Vanessa to be a guest blogger as her former English teacher had called her "a brilliant writer...but still plagued by her demons." Right on target I think.

Vanessa was gone all weekend but she handed me a thank you note this afternoon. Getting stuff like this is few and far between, an uncommon occurrence, and I'm copying, with her permission, what she wrote:

"Mom, I know sometimes you get upset with the family because we seem not to realize how great we have it. I just want you to know that we do realize and even though we don't say it enough, we are really thankful. Thankful because you rescued us from a life of self-hatred and hurt, also thankful because we know it is OK to act out sometimes because you won't desert us like our birth 'parents' did. Thanks for being my REAL momma. I love you! Vanessa"

Interesting. Her choice of words being "a life of self-hatred and hurt". Not from abuse and neglect. It's taken me years to see that is really the core of the issue.

It is far easier to recover from the abuse and the neglect than it is to not blame oneself irrationally that it happened to them thus resulting in the self-hatred. That's the real battle that I face as a mom, building up their self-esteem, self-worth and confidence.

Several of my kids are physically scarred by their birth parents, all are emotionally scarred.

Finding Answers to Education

I have never been a foster care parent except in a couple of emergency situations, maybe five kids total, which is nothing compared to the foster care moms who've parented several hundred children. I so admire y'all.

This issue, of foster children, is ever so important to me since nearly all of my children were foster children for usually a time of several years each.

Foster kids are often orphans of the living. As usual this is not my original thought, but the title of an eye-opening book. Every single event in my children's foster care time has had a lasting impact on their behavior and world view. I subscribe to a periodical, Fostering Families Today, and am now reading about s study on the educational experience of foster children.

It is such a big duh, to me, as it only reaffirms our worst personal educational experiences. A couple of things such as, "children in out-of-home care who are in sixth to eighth grade are three times more likely to be classified as eligible for special ed than the general populations." No kidding?

"Mid-year disruption has an adverse effect on children's academics, peer relationships, and my ultimately increase the chances of not finishing high school." You think???

Quotes are from the article, sarcasm from my big mouth.

I know this simply from my 25 years in the public school system.

But big whoop if I know it, what can I do about it?

I don't know.

I initially thought, several decades ago, that someone with a teaching certificate, and an education degree, could make up for those gaps but I'm finding that not to be the case.

This article goes on to further depress my once-burgeoning abilities to teach as it gives more dismal statistics regarding the number of moves on a child.

I know this.

I have 15 children over the age of 18, and of those children, 5 did not make it through the high school graduation ceremony on time and with their school. We had to find alternative high school situations which shocked the snot out of middle class me.

I remember sputtering, "how hard can high school be?" when I saw failing grades, zeros, comments about no initiative and missing assignments.

"Do the work, just pass," I'd stress to no avail as I naively expected children with the emotional IQ of a toddler to handle general course loads.

If my blog does nothing else other than show adoptive parents how much long-term damage the system, and of course birth parents, have done to these children, then I feel I have succeeded in some way in urging others to keep trying different avenues.

Right now I have 7 kids, ages 14-17, and half of them will graduate "normally" and the others will need alternatives that I am already seeking out.

Then my last 17 kids, many of whom have had longer time with me, will struggle to finish. The kids who came to me younger are no less disadvantaged, I've just had more time to chose for them to repeat a grade, to get outside tutoring, and to spend time explaining vague concepts to them such as verb tenses and math facts. In their world, they have a hard enough time grasping concepts like 'forever family'...academics are a totally distant goal compared to, let's say, survival.

My children also were not born from college grads but simply from parents who were marginal member of society, often homeless, sometimes drug-addicted and always uneducated.

Kids who move in with me at age 11, 12 and 13 are so academically handicapped as to be nearly paralyzed.

I have one daughter, Deysi, who was 12 when she arrived in 1988 from Honduras, speaking no English, yet she has a college degree now in sociology. She was never in the foster care system, she was a victim of extreme poverty. There's a difference.

Another son, Jesse, was 12, in 1995 and had spent years in the system. He was labeled special ed but he tested out mid high school. School was still such a challenge that I had to find an alternative. Life itself was such a challenge to Joe that school sent him off the ledge. After Youth Challenge, in which both boys also earned some college credit, I had graduates.

I am just as proud of them both as I am of Yolie with a Master's Degree in Social Work.

Nothing is easy for a former foster child including education, trust, safety and/or believing they can live a life that could doesn't provoke the too familiar sense of fear.

With Joey, Vanessa and Fabian I will continue to seek out all the available help for their educational needs. I have become a huge fan of our armed forces. This from a child of the sixties during the Vietnam War era. I've since learned that four years in the service is more than equivalent, in our world, to a college degree for my children as they gain discipline, education, skills and experience that is priceless.

My kids know that my minimal, non-negotiable, expectation for them includes a high school diploma, a job and productive living skills. I'll help them get there, I'll dog them until they do, and I'll be their best encourager throughout.

Then I'll act like they all got their brains from me, if I still have any left by then.

Sports & Coaching: Long & Passionate

Our church is having a Disciple Now weekend and Vanessa, pictured here between Mayra and Sabrina, packed up her sleeping bag for two days of learning. Reading my blog the other day she questioned, "Viper girl? That's me, right?"

"Duh, darling, who's been striking out at others?"

"Well, am I getting better now?"

"Yes," I affirmed, looking at my calendar, but knowing that PMS is only a week or so away.

I've checked her grades all week on Powerschool and have been pleased at 7 out of 8 excellent grades that were posted. I have to be able to coach her through on maintaining this level, not giving in to "feelings."

Jeepers, if we all acted on our "feelings' we'd be a nation of rabid dogs.

Of my 18 daughters, I only have 7 still at home ages 3, 8, 9, 11, 12, 14, 15 and 16. The moodiness is astonishing at times.

I have 21 sons with 16 silly, rambunctious boys still living with me. Joey has other temporary lodging facilities right now and Fabian is only here on weekends. The emotions are more subdued but the furniture takes a whipping way too often as butts are plopped down, pushed down, or wrestled down by brothers on brothers.

Joe's boss replaced his living room furniture yesterday so Joe brought me the castoff sofa and loveseat which were beautiful in a deep plush green. I'm tossing out two raggedy sofas in the family room today with glee. We are the only family on earth with disposable sofas. They just don't stand a chance here, shelf life is around a year or so.

Daniel emailed me a picture from his cell phone yesterday. He was at the UGA-San Diego baseball game. Baseball, without Big Mama yelling, can't be all that much fun I texted back. I'd be wondering how he can go to every game of every sport and still study if he'd not already taken a picture of his 100 on a psychology test and sent to me. He truly is capable of doing both plus joining an intramural softball team on campus.

One of my favorite spectator sports is church league softballl which will kick into gear soon with Sonny, Edgar and, hopefully, jailbird Joey on the team. This will happen at the same time as my 13 soccer players start with rec league while Miriam and Edgar's soccer and track events are occurring. March and April will be spent on the playing fields.

I still maintain, and even swear by, sports as a means for keeping kids out of trouble. I'm not fond of cliches but I do have to buy into the theory of the devil making work for idle hands. This goes for girls and boys as sports also increases their self-esteem and confidence levels.

My grandfather coached some baseball greats such as Bob Feller during World War II. My grandfather lived, ate and breathed sports and subsequently my father felt enormous pressure from his father to play and win at any cost.

My grandfather, Pa, met and coached some of the all-time baseball greats. As kids, we neither knew nor appreciated what he'd done. As adults, we've been astonished as we've since read about it. My brother, Pa's namesake Gary, is the head coach for the Olympic sailing teams.

The result of that was my father not encouraging his children (like me) to play sports which I think was a big mistake. Someone, like me, with too much energy , should have had it channeled into sports. My brothers and I, living in towns and neighborhoods, played kick the can, baseball and kickball in the streets until dark, rode bikes, and exerted ourselves everyday, but did not ever play organized sports.

For my children, playing sports is a choice and Big Mama doesn't care if they win or lose, just that they play hard and give it their all. I'm proud as a stallion if they do win, I'm encouraging when they lose. You learn as much from losing as you do from winning. I say that from personal experience having nothing to do with sports.

So I coach a team in life as I attempt to get my kids from point A to Point Z. I only have some of my children for their teen years so I have to squeeze a lot of learning into a little bit of time. Gary is coaching in China, and all over Europe, while I coach down this dirt road.

Some of my kids are very gifted athletes and some others like Gina, Cristy, Sergi and Deysi had no interest in playing. Okay, but please do find something that you are passionate about. Everybody has to do something.

My brother and I, 16 months apart in ages, are legacies of our grandpa in the coaching arena. Gary, my brother, is of an Olympic caliber and I'm merely in the realm of children, but I know that what I do now with my 39 kids, and my grandkids, will have a strong ripple, maybe tidal, effect on our next generations. Clicking on my brother's link, or googling him, one can see that our coaching and life philosphies are identical. Gary's three daughters all play soccer and his wife is a track coach.

Coaching kids is simply giving them constant encouragement. I carry this over into the physical, spiritual, academic and emotional realm.

Go Miriam! (Yes this requires an exclamation mark!)

70 degree weather lured me outside to plant cabbages.

My third graders had each brought me home some cabbage plants so I got them in the ground plus another type of spinach, radishes, mesclun, larkspur, poppies, four o'’clocks and bachelor buttons.

I had been to a meeting in the morning headed up by a state bureaucrat with an expediter name tag as it was his job to get kids like my daughter, Alex, out of residential treatment facilities. It boils down to money and funding, of course.

I was, quite likely, obnoxious about it as I know I came on strong but she is a Level 6, a danger to herself and needs so much help.

Not only did this guy finally approve of her continuing in treatment, I was told, off the cuff by a person present, how I can actually pursue treatment until she is 21, although it make take an attorney.

I've been very fortunate to have gotten Alex into the facility that she is in, as it has a great reputation.

All my kids were out of school today due to a teacher workday so I hated to leave them for this meeting but it was set in stone due to the other dozen or so participants. Fortunately I have older kids to babysit on the rare times I am not home.

I felt great about the meeting and then I had a nicer afternoon planting outside, but I kept my eye on the clock knowing Miriam had a soccer game at 5:30 and a couple of my other kids were headed to a church lock-in.

Lena was already at this very rough and tumble game when Sonny and I arrived. The ref yelled at Miriam to calm down as she was playing aggressively. There are two 40 minute halves and we were way into the second half with no score and less than four minutes left in the game and I was wondering how I was gonna call my mom and ask her to babysit longer when she really didn't feel well today.

BAM! Miriam kicked it in, made the goal, and the boys soccer team in the stands screamed like banshees. I was so proud of her. Her team knocked her over hugging and high-fiving. It was the longest three and a half minutes as we prayed the other team wouldn’t score which they didn’t. That's MY girl.

Tough Love

The expression on Yolie's and Chuck's baby's face says it all. CJ has got to be wondering what on earth is going on here at Big Mama's house. That's often how I feel as I attempt to decipher, decode, and discern what is really going within my children. The behaviors rarely reflect the actual issues, they just spring from them like bulbs bursting into flowers.

My grandbabies, Baby Yolie, Mauri and Blanca, had brought enough outfits over here to clothe a small third world nation and we'd spent yesterday afternoon trying to pack everything to go back to their house. They were giddy with relief to have Tommy home from the hospital and glad to be back with their parents. Staying with us is somewhat akin to being involved in a circus event, fun for awhile, but these children are very close to their adoring parents.

I had to provide part of a dinner for the soccer team at the high school and run drop it off, cook for my 25 hungry family members with Alyssa on my hip, then jet out the door to go visit Joey during our weekly 30 minutes allotted time frame.



Viper girl was in a helpful mode so we both spun around the kitchen in tandem, making mega nachos for the children. At one point Vanessa ran down the hall to change her shirt and my friend, Emily, walked in with her darling grandbaby. I asked Tabby to go hurry Vanessa up and somehow Tabby, confused at seeing this particular baby, bubbled over in Vanessa's room excitedly screeching, "Vanessa, Mom has a white baby for you!"

Vanessa face was etched with confusion as she hurried back into the kitchen to see what in the Sam Hill Tabby was babbling about. Recognizing Baby Nicholas, she cracked up telling us Tabby's version of events.

Our local deputies are going to miss me for entertainment when Joey gets out. I fuss each week regarding his alias, they let me go through my spiel, yesterday telling me Joey was SOL in terms of an adoption. I countered with, "No, I still want to adopt him but he's got to deal with his crime, his time, his schooling and his future plans first."

Miriam was with me wearing her varsity letter jacket which just cranked the deputies right back up, eating into our 30 minutes visiting time. Our county has a brand new high school whereas most of the deputies had attended the rival old school. Pointing out that I'd had a dozen or so kids that went to the old school momentarily got our jail party back on track.

Joey was silly, glad to see us, and we had a good visit. He wanted to leave with us to attend Sonny's church league basketball game but I reminded him that the lock-up meal plan does not include field trips. Duh, Joey. My sweet niece, Lauren, had written him a letter that brought him once again to tears.

At the ball game I sat with a retired deputy who encouraged me to continue with my tough love commitment regarding Joey.

Speaking of tough, which I think I am, since I describe myself often as a tough ole bird, I may jeopardize that image of me when I admit right now that I sat with Vanessa, Miriam, Edgar and Gito to watch Dancing With The Stars last night. Final show is Sunday night...please no phone calls between 8 and 9 p.m and I'm rooting for that boy band guy. Honey, he can dance.

Wonder if the italics investigators carry as much weight as the punctuation police? If I'd had of used an exclamation mark regarding the boy band guy versus italics would less point be subtracted?

If I'd been watching a real show on ESPN instead I'd have seen Daniel's handsome face on national TV as Preston did see him flashed up on the screen during the UGA-South Carolina basketball game last night. I can't believe I watched such a girly show instead. Sorry Daniel, I won't let that happen again.

Crisis Aftermath

Nando, Jack and Mauri, pictured here, last night coloring pictures for me.

This is to be expected but is still difficult. Because I have been at the hospital so much, although usually during school hours, my kids are starting their meltdowns, especially Tabby who is always with me 24-7.

Last night Lena took Carolina's kids to the hospital to visit so that I could stay home. This was a huge help to me and I got dinner cooked, helped them get their homework done, and worked on more of the chores.

Edgar then took nine kids to church so I could focus on the other kids, but even Edgar has been edgy during all this.

Having three grandkids staying with us, missing their parents, is hard on my kids as it reminds them of being in different places missing their birth parents, or other significant caretakers, throughout foster care and even into adoption.

Vanessa has been clear to both Yolie and I that she often views my older children as emotional threats. Vanessa, instead of realizing that this means I'll always be the mom, sees it as an encroachment into her territory. Edgar wanted to act that way last night, as well to Joe, but he quickly got over it as he and Joe are close. But first he had to go through his chest-beating macho hero of the house routine. I just stared at him wondering if he was going to swing from the light fixtures across the kitchen so deep was he into the Tarzan mode of king of this jungle. Even Joe suggested that he just chill his butt out.

My children have the icky ability to vomit at will as they've learned, much like Pavlov's dogs, of the response it will elicit. They've learned the school policy of, "if you vomit, you vacate," and mom is called to come get you, and you get to go home. Jonathan pulled that yesterday and sucker Grandpa went to pick him up. Jonathan was fine and dandy, no sickness whatsoever...but duh, that wasn't the point.

He thought he'd try it again this morning and balked when I got out the Pepto-Bismol to head this issue off at the pass. He went to time-out for his disobedience where he vailantly attempted to crank up his orneriness to get the expected result of staying home. Wrong song, ding dong, not on my watch.

He remained in time-out with a now less naive Grandpa babysitting while I got the other kids to school as he was attempting to involve Paloma in his transparent plot.

All he gained was a longer computer privilege suspension from me. Learn the rules now son or a nice policeman will teach them to you later, but you'll be wearing an orange and white striped baggy jumpsuit that'll make you look like a fashion-challenged scoundrel.

Sonny and I flew over to the hospital this morning to find out that Tommy gets to come home this afternoon since Carolina and Jose have done such a competent job of tending to his dressings.

Now my kids will act out because the crisis is over, Big mama is attempting to restore normalcy and order...and my three grandchildren won't be staying with us thus eliciting cries of, "we MISS them!" They live a mile away, we see them daily, and they all go to school, and are in the same classes, with my children. Logic is less than a vapor in my house.

Joe's Years

Joe is pictured tonight first with Vanessa, then Miriam and finally Yolie kissing on him.

This darling son of mine, Joe, nearly put me in a mental institution during his teenage years. He made Yolie, his birth sister, even crazier. I cannot begin to tell the amount of tears that Yolie and I cried during a four year period.

If I'd have been blogging back then, his exploits might have singlehandedly reduced the pool of prospective adoptive parents.

He was arrested several times and I never bailed him out, he walked out on our family for awhile at age 17, and he got into every other imaginable sort of trouble. Deputies called, teachers called, and other parents called. He became so violent that his own birth brother, Daniel, lost it one afternoon and said we just had to get rid of him. Like that was an option?

Joe raged, blacked Jesse's eye, accused us all of not loving him, got caught with, alcohol at school, threatened a teacher (went to jail over that one) and had many, many discipline infractions. I could hardly hold down my job for all the principals calling me although one of them later hired me for my last dream job.

Yolie was positive we'd get The Call of Joe's death at any minute so self-destructive and crazy he seemed to be during those years.

Just about the time we started to feel good about his future, his birth family showed up and majorly derailed him once again. Looking back, it was a blessing in disguise as he is now ever more convinced of my love and commitment to him.

I offer him up as hope to me, and to others, who are dealing with juvenile delinquent teens. There's no magic moment to describe when he changed, it was a combination of several things.

He got a new, non-drama girlfriend, he went into the Georgia National Guard Youth Challenge Program, he was later hired by my hippie looking yet ultra-conservative, God-fearing, son-in-law Preston and my other rock solid, dependable and churchgoing son-in-law, Chuck, never let up on Joe for a single minute since Joe was 15 years old.

Joe came by this evening and was ragging on Vanessa for getting suspended. He didn't let up on her all through dinner, and he was praising Miriam for her soccer team and an upcoming pageant.

After dinner Joe told the girls all the things he wished he'd done differently, that all his foolishness did was cost him in the long run. He said, "Look y'all, Mom's been right all along. Save yourself all this trouble."

For some reason, coming from Joe, this makes sense to them. Had I pointed it out, I'd have been met with silence. They know better than to roll their eyes at me.

One of the real reasons Joe chose to straighten up was because of his little girl, Alyssa. She's going to give Joe a run for his money and I pray that God will shut my mouth the whole time she's doing so. Snickering at Joe won't be acceptable either.

Radar

The brand new part of this hospital, the birthing center, has wi-fi but, alas, we’re in the old Pediatrics wing, so I’m typing a word document to cut and paste later.

Glad I asked a nurse before calling Daniel to come hook me up here.

Tommy is so much better today, he’s almost smiling, he’s eating and thanks to morphine, feeling no pain. Carolina and Jose are fairly sleepless and it looks like they’ll be here until Friday.

Counting my three grandchildren who spent the night, I dropped off 16 kids at the elementary school this morning, including an anxiety-ridden baby Yolie, Mauri and Blanca.

Yesterday I’d waited at the hospital for the surgeon to come, but finally I had to leave and go cook supper. No matter the crisis of the moment, I still have between 25-30 hungry children who expect a sit-down, home cooked, family dinner.

Yolie was here with Carolina and Jose when the plastic surgeon finally arrived 6 hours after Tommy had been admitted. Yolie speaks Spanish and perfect unaccented English…well unaccented to me, she is very southern, yet obviously Hispanic.

We call what happened next ‘the white lady syndrome.’

The doctor was brusque, distant and stayed almost three minutes. Yolie, clearly American, was irked.

We all use the same pediatrician, grandchildren and children alike, and the pediatric husband and wife team is awesome, so as a mixed race family we never encounter neither prejudice there, nor dismissal of thought or opinion.

Nearly 6 years ago Carolina had pancreatic problems, and was in great pain. By the time I arrived to the hospital (not this one) they had her on a stretcher in the hall. I quietly pitched a fit and asked them to give her something for the pain. Carolina is usually very stoic, so to see her crying, I knew she was suffering. They moved her to a room and she said quietly to Yolie in Spanish, “I knew that they’d take better care of me when mom got here.”

Why did they not do so before I got there? Because she didn’t then speak English, nor did Jose? So what?

But get a white lady in the room and things change.

My family does not particularly have a radar out for injustice. We’re surprised when we do see it. We rarely see it fortunately.

Daniel has told me that he’s heard disparaging comments about Mexicans while he is there with those making the remarks. They’d forgotten that Daniel was Mexican. He’ll say, “watch it guys,” to remind them, and they’ll immediately apologize.

An adoption book that I read years ago mentioned that when people see you in public with a child of a different race, they’ll assume you must have married (or had a baby by) a man of a different race. My children, all Hispanic but in varying shades, and I usually are accepted everywhere we go. Who knows, maybe it is because there’s a white lady amongst them? Lord I hope that is not the case.

I’m just irked that they were treated so dismissively by the surgeon, the nurses are bending over backwards there to take care of Tommy, and our pediatrician also has reassured Carolina and Jose in just the way that they needed.

Tommy's Accident

My last thought, upon falling asleep late last night, involved the realization that I’d forgotten to charge my cell phone.

Oh well, I thought, tomorrow looks to be a right slow day.

Will I ever learn?

Sonny and I were picking out just the right cheap anti-freeze for Edgar at Wal-mart when my kinda weak cell phone rang.

Carolina told me that 17 month old Tommy had gotten burned and she was headed for the ER.

We paid for out stuff and weren’t far behind her.

Tommy had reached up higher than anyone figured he could reach and had pulled down a large, hot cup of coffee. He’d scalded his shoulder, chest, back and upper arm. I literally swooned when I saw him with those hiseous blisters but somehow I held it together as they got an IV into his arm and gave him morphine for the pain.

The nurses gave us a worst case scenario and this time Carolina blacked out. As I was tending to her, Sarah materialized behind me, and realized it was the same wonderful nurse that had tended to her during her loss of Bailey.

Within minutes Yolie and Lena were there and we were making arrangements for the children and grandchildren for the rest of the day.

The worst case scenario has blessedly not occurred and the surgeon was thankfully reassuring. Tommy will be hospitalized for several days though.

Nine hours later and I’m now with Carolina’s children at their house getting clothes for tomorrow and for Carolina. They’ll spend the night with me so Jose and Carolina can stay with Tommy. Jose is cleaning up the kitchen that they quickly abandoned this morning.

By the time we give Lena back to Jesse she will have aged a decade due to the drama, life events, emergencies and crisis situations that occur so often amongst a large population such as our family. Jesse, having spent 6 months in Iraq won't be in much better shape .

Exuberant Edgar

Sunday after church Edgar generally changes from the suit he was wearing, as he was an usher, into his pajamas and he cuddles, wrestles or starts up a ballgame. I have no idea what he was doing here as I saw this on my camera. I vaguely remember he, Fabian and Sonny arguing about who could do this.

Sonny hit a deer so hard last night that his truck spun around on the highway. I was gone to The Ranch with Edgar and Fabian when he called my short leash cell. Sonny loves his mama, adored every single one of his teachers, and was grateful that a nice lady had stopped to check on him as he was fairly shook up. Apparently she stayed with him until another guy came along to put the deer out of its misery.

It's not yet 8 a.m. and Edgar's already called to get me to run to Wal-Mart for anti-freeze as his car is over-heating. Since he was sweet enough to accompany me on a 10 pm milk run last night, I reckon I can accommodate him.

You know you live in a really small town when you hear, "Girl! What are you doing out so late?" as you pay for your milk.

I wanted to blog today something regarding, "This ain't your daddy's Ford," regarding adoption as I daily learn something unexpected.

Sarah told me yesterday that Steve Jobs who started Apple computers was adopted. If I ever knew that, I'd since forgotten it, but as I was reading this commencement address, "You've got to find what you love," I became all fired up once again.

This adoption journey is rough and tumble, heart-breaking, painful, humiliating, yet obviously very challenging and rewarding. I really did find what I love to do. The point for me in life is to not be bored. That would send me over the edge, and , apparently, my kids have made it their personal assigned mission to ensure that I am never lethargic nor apathetic toward our family. Thanks y'all.

A lady emailed me last night to thank me for this alarmingly eye-opening blog. I appreciate her remarks as I struggle to be honest and encouraging to other adoptive parents without scaring the socks off everyone who might be considering adoption.

At AAN I mainly work with families interested in adopting older children and sibling groups as that is my comfort zone. Poor choice of words possibly as I haven't had a good night's sleep in 20 years.

Anyone adopting an older child or a sib group had best expect, and be ready to deal with, a smorgasborg of interesting events, encounters and battles. I often hear of adoption disruptions, both domestically and internationally adopted, as the parents become overwhelmed with the, "I didn't sign up for all this," battle. Believe me, I understand. I didn't either. I signed up for the feeling that I was helping someone along the way.

But that is what this is, I don't get the "fuzzy feeling" until long after the skirmishes are over. These conflicts, clashes and dogfights are what it takes to help the children recover. They need to know that someone cares when they don't feel like anyone should care for them. The testing behaviors, the push-pull hostilities and the resentment have sent me screaming to my room on more than one occasion. Duh.

It may not be until well into the next generation that I see enough improvement to encourage me as much as I'd like to be.

So I take my 'rewards' as they come. Yesterday Vanessa the Viper had a good day, Fabian is improving rapidly due to being in a therapeutic environment, and we have so much less bedwetting here than a year ago. I haven't seen feces smears in a month of Sundays. See how easy this is?

I Smelled a Rat

Teresa, my one child who'd rather lie than tell the obvious truth, asked if she could stay after school to make up a test.

"Why'd you miss a test?" I asked suspiciously.

"Because the guidance counselor needed me to help her sort out a problem some girls were having," she replied with shifty eyes.

"No, you can't stay after because I know this isn't the real story. Would you care to tell me what really happened?" I inquired.

She disappeared like a vapor.

I've been waiting on the high school to call me to come get Miss Osama Bin Ladin but apparently Vanessa is having a decent day that doesn't involve bloodshed.

Mayra called from the middle school complaining of all her aches and pains in a transparent attempt to come home and lay around. I wasn't buying it but told her I'd bring some Tylenol up there.

When I got there carrying Javy's forgotten trumpet and two Tylenol, I asked the guidance counselor, a friend of mine, about how Teresa supposedly helped her.

BUSTED.

Teresa had been up to her usual stealing and lying self but the counselor has her number and didn't buy a word of it. Miss Pat even tried logic, a huge waste of time on a RAD child who appears to have little if any conscience. Finally Miss Pat sent her back to the classroom after firmly lecturing her while Teresa continued to deny everything.

Even though said items were found in Teresa's locker, Teresa changed her story to, "Oh Yeah! I found those. Is that what you were talking about?"

The facts means nothing to her. If she sees something that she wants, she takes it. Counseling has gotten us nowhere. A psychological evaluation confirmed what we already suspected, illustrated it beautifully. Big Duh.

She's not allowed to carry a bookbag since she'd cut out a false bottom, she'd just try and color over a clear one, but no matter how I try and foil her scheming she is always miles ahead of me with her manipulations.

Joey is her birth brother, he loves her but she could care less. She likes stuff that other people have, not people themselves.

She totally won't care that Miss Pat and I talked today. Our opinions and thoughts do not matter to her in the least.



I find it all so frustrating as this is a most intelligent child.

Vanessa's Decision

Cristy came over to show off her totally short hair cut which I think looks great.

Vanessa went to school today carrying all my misgivings in her backpack. We talked all day yesterday with Miriam and Edgar taking the homeschooling side of the argument. Just as Vanessa never thought I'd "let" someone stay in jail, or "send" someone to live at a therapeutic ranch, she also stated that she never thought, until now, that I really would homeschool her.

Do my children think I enjoy barking at the moon?

The finality of withdrawing her from school was too frightening to her. She begged for another chance to prove that she was capable of acting like a normal teenager. For once I refrained from all my cracks about the oxymoronic nature of that phrase, "normal teenager," I have some good ones too, like jumbo shrimp, but it would've just been wasting my breath on her right then.

We have PowerSchool so I can check her tardies, her absences and her daily grades. It's a peek into the teacher's gradebook and I absolutely love it.

Our deal breaker is that a zero will earn you a free pass to Big Mama's Alternative High School and Boot Camp Deluxe.

Any discipline infraction will get you home faster than a metro train that'll never run down our dirt road.

Plan B will be the Youth Challenge program provided by the Georgia National Guard. Joe and Jesse benefited from that option several years ago. Big Mama don't play folks. Y'all ARE going to get a high school education, that's my bottom line, my minimal expectation.

Although Sonny struggled all the way through his schooling career, and was even a special education student, he's now on his way to a local college as is Edgar who's been a solidly average, no behavior problem, bi-lingual student who plays sports.

I'll have to work on Plan C or D for Joey.

Right now Marcela, Cristy and Daniel are in college with two more, Sonny and Edgar, on track for college next year. Thank God for scholarships, Pell Grants and financial aid. Deysi, Sarah, Yolie and Gina have all graduated from colleges with Saray right behind them, needing one more semester but derailed by marriage and children. Even Joe has college credit but is also temporarily off school track working and being a dad.



Sabrina took this picture of me yesterday. She says that I'm looking at Vanessa like I don't really think she wants to go back to school. Vanessa turned my positive thinking mechanism right back on me and told me to at least try and believe in her.

I'm actually wondering why my hair is sticking up like that? Was that before or after Edgar flipped me over his shoulder to demonstrate his bench pressing abilities? But later, in front of Fabian, I retaliated. Cheap shot, as Edgar had a mouthful of cereal, but fun nevertheless. I came up behind him and squeezed his torso after he had previously snuck up on me in the laundry room. The maturity level in this house is superceded by our mutual need to blow off steam and exert ourselves physically. Nando had wrestled Fabian which was hilarious, and comforting, to see Fabian treat the little four year old with such care and playfulness.

Fabian is home for an extra day due to a school holiday anhd the Bubbas are thrilled. Nando is glued to his side and Fabian is big brothering him as much as Edgar has once, and always, done for Fabian.

Alexander Excess

Seems as if Alexander is the pass around baby lately, he is so good-natured and happy that everyone automatically reaches for him.

Sonny played church league basketball today after church and about a dozen or so of us went to cheer him on. it was a pretty intense game eliciting comments of, "Chill guys, this is church league."

Ideas

My mind is always full of ideas and I'm so grateful that my energy level can keep up with most of these ideas. Writing a blog is becoming a stream of consciousness ramble for me, a vent, and a rationale.

I'm getting encouraging emails for which I am very grateful, I get suggestions which I deeply appreciate. I live so isolated down this dirt road that y'all are my social life. Also, as I blog and miss my own point, I need others to show me what I'm missing.

I have "met" another family through my blog that I'm now working with via Adopt America Network and we will know next week if they've been matched with a sibling group in Texas.

This morning I "met" a lady who has a dream of being an adoptive mom, she's now busy building her life and waiting on God to tell her what to do.

When I look at my site meter and it says Noman, Oklahoma, I wonder who that is but I "met" her last night via an email.

Another dear friend is awaiting the arrival of her last sibling group and, like me, feels that she will then be finished with adding children to her family. She knows, as did I, when to stop adopting. She's positive, as was I, that she's done what she was supposed to do in terms of adopting, yet this finality is tough to deal with emotionally. Amen to that.

I told her, and I feel this strongly, that we are not really done. We both know that our large families will keep us scrambling forever just to get the little things done, the big things as well. But we've both done this for so long that we are painfully aware of how many more children need families.

One cannot pick up a newspaper without getting kicked in the stomach by yet another child death, a police report, or see an arrest on TV with little kids in the background watching a parent or caretaker in handcuffs. Or just go read Audrey's blog. Early this morning I happened upon this guy's gut-wrenching blog.

I told my friend that God still has His Plans for us though it may not be in adoption. I would never presume to tell her, since I don't have a clue, what God wants her to do but He has led me in several directions over the last year and a half when I made my decision.

Adopt America Network is filling a void in me as I adore matching kids with home-study ready families. Someday, maybe when I'm less intense, I'd like to become a CASA worker. This blog is also helping me to cope with what I perceive as a life-changing course of events.

I've always felt that I was an encourager so I want to continue to encourage my children first of all, and then other families, into and throughout their adoption journeys.

Maybe I'll do foster care when my children are grown? God'll have to really work on my heart for that.

I read an article yesterday that the retirement age may have to be pushed back to 85. Maybe, when my kids are grown, I'll have another career? Maybe I will just farm. I am obviously still emotionally floundering as I'm in the process, at age 51, of revising my focus. For 20 years I'd been building up my house and my resources to ensure I had enough of everything to go around so that I could best take care of an ever-increasing number of children. Now I feel that I am decreasing and that is an odd sensation for me.

I really have emotionally struggled, and written about this many times, not because I think I should continue adopting, but the battle within comes from changing my life's perspective. The demands on me are still 24-7 and that will only increase as I have more sons and daughters-in law and grandchildren. That's Deysi's sweet husband, Carlos, pictured above holding their son, Alexander.

I innately realize that, but just like my friend, it is a life-changing event when one stops adopting.

Romeo & Juliet

Since we always have major life events happening here on a daily basis I was a little snappy with Gito over an assignment to interview a parent regarding how he or she feels about Romeo & Juliet.

Shakespeare is an astonishing author yet I gotta say, in my opinion, that Romeo & Juliet is teenage drama insipid hogwash that bored me as a teen and makes me wanna hurl as a mom. It is simply stupid to me.

I didn't hold back as Gito asked me several questions although later I felt bad. I was afraid his teacher would just think I was a bitter old hag or someone with a really bad attitude.

I, of course, forgot all about it as Vanessa's drama kinda took over everything lately.

I got an email last night from the teacher stating, "I read Gito's interview with you and had to laugh. Before we began the play, we had a discussion as to why many people feel the way that you do about the play. I've tried, as much as possible, to point out the ridiculous choices that were made in the play. That's actually why I assigned the interview. I thought it would be helpful for students to talk about these issues with their parents. Fortunately, most students see R& J as foolish kids. I had difficulty explaining the reservations that many people have about teaching this play to ninth graders, but you nailed it in your interview. If you don't mind, I would love to use your responses and have the class discuss this further next week. I won't use your name of course."

Shoot, she can use my name in class, it'll go a long way towards proving I'm Joey and Vanessa's mom.



Mystery mom - Five year old Jack took this picture of me this afternoon when I came home, cold and dragging, from the soccer game.

My World is Right

Fabian, Edgar and I sat in the van with the windshield wipers and heater going while we watched Miriam's soccer game in a pouring icy rain and 38 degrees.

Sweet Daniel came over after his umpire clinic to install updates on my computer and pick-up Miriam so that he could take her to an indoor sporting event tonight with him. They are at the UGA-Vanderbilt basketball game with some other friends of his.

My world is right once again as Daniel is spending the night with us after the game.

Thinking Out Loud

It only appears as if I've spent all week focusing on Vanessa as I've blogged my thoughts ad nauseum regarding our decision that is still not made, but the other 38 kids continue to have everything going on as well.

Somehow Paloma broke her shoe, a wooden clog, slap in half during music class last week. I didn't even ask how, as this is Paloma, fully capable of such acrobatics.

Lily, on the other hand, was faced with a gymnastics class in P.E. this week that caused her enough consternation to produce a meltdown. Lily is an artist, definitely not the physical type, and truly unable to pull off a handspring or any other such stunt. She broke her arm twice years ago and that has made her doubly fearful. Being emotional and dramatic doesn't help.

Miriam's soccer games have commenced. Fabian was my escort last night while Yolie, Lena, Deysi and Grandma babysat. Pictured here are Alexander and CJ as they helped their moms babysit abuelita's wild kids. When I came home, Grandma had about seven of mine involved in a loud card game of UNO.

Joey wrote a beautiful letter from the jail about how all my kids best straighten up so that they don't end up like him. Vanessa and I'd gone to see him Thursday night and he told me that one of the deputies had pranked him in a big way. This deputy had informed him that since he'd blown such a good chance at life that he didn't deserve a trial and he'd be going that night straight to the federal pen. Joey had burst into tears, argued, pleaded and begged before the deputy said, "Nah, I'm just kidding, son. Learn your lesson here and now."

You wanna know the truth? I miss Joey. Our house is lopsided and too quiet without his nuttiness. Someone remind me that I said that out loud when he's back making me crazy.

When it was 70 degrees on Thursday I planted Thai Green Leaf Lettuce, Rhubarb Swiss Chard and Black Seeded Simpson Leaf Lettuce. I've planted the Simpson lettuce every February for 30 years now, its fail safe. We have a chance of very cruddy weather this weekend but it won't hurt anything I've already planted.

Edgar woke me from a deep sleep at 11:30 last night to tell me he decided not to spend the night at his friend's house. I can spring up out of an REM sleep and run my mouth on a second's notice. "Look who missed his mommy, " I hollered after him before promptly returning to dreamland.

Normal Schooling

School life is geared toward fairly normal children of fairly supportive parents. I know this from my 25 years in the public school system where the day is regimented and aimed toward getting a class of 25 students to do what they are told to do. If everyone complies, even halfway, then education can take place.

Anything else is viewed as disruptive behavior. The teacher cannot teach the other 24 students when one is causing a problem, the teacher then has to tend to that one problem while the other students wait.

Traumatized children bring an array of issues with them into our families and into classrooms. I can guide my family through the issues because the healing of these issues is one of the main jobs of our family.

Teachers in our county have been supportive and understanding of these issues yet they also become frustrated at little to no progress and they have the rest of their students to worry about.

As I've often said, most of my kid's issues are aired out and expressed within our family. Crying jags, rages, destruction to property, hatefulness, and night terrors resulting in chronic bedwetting are among some of the issues that are full-blown but are acted out within the family. When these issues, such as Vanessa's anger, spill over into the academic setting in such an unabating manner, remedies must be sought. This is unacceptable behavior. Her past is an explanation but it is not an excuse.

It is not the job of the school system to accomodate her anger, it is the job of the student to control this anger. Gee, Vanessa, you think that is tough? Then comes the real world.

It is also my job, as the mom ,to find alternative educational settings that will best prepare her for a productive future.

She is a great cook, she desires a career in foods and food services so I'm thinking her first step will be in getting a GED via homeschool. We have a good college here, not ultra-competitive UGA, but another one that used to be a technical institute, now a 4 year college that will accept a GED.

My Cristy, now almost 29 and majoring in psychology, went this route and it was the absolute only way she ever would have made it through.

I personally remember hating high school. I couldn't understand why it took a year to read a civics text for example. Why couldn't we read the book in a day or two and then get tested on it? Why drag it out the entire year a chapter at a time? I was so stone cold bored in high school that I almost made what would have been a life-altering decision to not attend college. My mom let me wait on tables for a year at a Shoney's Restaurant until I begged to go to college and not have to live on tips forever trying to please ill-tempered hungry folks.

Nothing like the real world to get through to hard-headed, know-it-all teenagers. Vanessa has no clue that she has met her match here with me. Takes a hard head to know a hard head.

Takes a really hard headed woman to face off against this family every single day. It might even be a pre-requisite.

School Decisions

This afternoon will signify the one week mark in which I have been mentally debating Vanessa's increasingly limited school options.

I could let her go back to school on Monday, and take my chances that she won't get into any more fights, and that she might decide to pass some subjects, or I could take her out and homeschool her for the remainder of the year.

Last year, in ninth grade, she was warned that she would not be allowed to play sports if she failed a class. So she failed two classes. She is an aggressive, talented soccer and volleyball player, so go figure.

Dr. G, our wonderful family psychologist, and I just discussed how Vanessa seems to ratchet up her misbehavior when presented with options. These options, either one of them, seem to overwhelm her.

Everything seems to boil down to low self-esteem.

This morning I read the results of the following study: "Not only are physically unattractive teenagers likely to be stay-at-homes on prom night, they're also more likely to grow up to be criminals, say two economists who tracked the life course of young people from high school through early adulthood.

"We find that unattractive individuals commit more crime in comparison to average-looking ones, and very attractive individuals commit less crime in comparison to those who are average-looking," claim Naci Mocan of the University of Colorado and Erdal Tekin of Georgia State University.

Mocan and Tekin analyzed data from a federally sponsored survey of 15,000 high-schoolers who were interviewed in 1994 and again in 1996 and 2002. One question asked interviewers to rate the physical appearance of the student on a five-point scale ranging from "very attractive" to "very unattractive." The rest of the study is here.

A theory involves low self-esteem. This is very common in adoption. The children theorize that since their birth parents didn't love them, rejected them in fact, how could anyone else possibly love them?

Knowing this one fact, I tend to go overboard in my attempts to raise self-esteem, lots of praise, affection, positive feedback and attention. Vanessa is not unattractive, she is quite lovely yet she does not see herself as so.

Dr. G and I just discussed how Vanessa seems to feel that she does not belong. In her original sib group, she is markedly different, the result of an affair by her birth mom claim her older sibs as she appears to resemble this other man in significant ways. Her birth mom reacted to this as well, physically lashing out at Vanessa back then.

Vanessa responded then, and still now, with anger, and subsequently has alienated birth sibs, adopted sibs, and peers...then she fights with the peers because she is angry.

I have had her in counseling for several years. Sometimes she responds to Dr. G, sometimes she clams up, sometimes she is open and honest, other times she makes up what she thinks are 'acceptable' stories that supposedly explain her anti-social behavior.

I've lived with her for almost six years and I see no signs of RAD. She deeply desires to attach. She does not steal, manipulate or blatantly lie to me. She most certainly acts out though, but what you see is what you get.

As a former schoolteacher I am hyper sensitive to what my children do in school. It reflects upon me as a parent...even if I was not the parent who damaged these children, I am the parent who is now parenting my children.

School is inherently a difficult arena for adopted children, significantly so for older children who were adopted. So many issues have already emerged due to the previous abuse, neglect and needs not met. At home there is usually more understanding of these issues, at school there is an implied expectation to, at least, appear normal.

Nine times out of ten, our issues are dealt with at home but school explosions do still occur.

So the conundrum remains in that do I allow Vanessa to return to school? She is not healed. There will be other instances in which her uncontrolled temper will boil over. Will she eventually react like Joey? With a weapon? Is her behavior screaming for me to homeschool her? Am I ignoring the obvious? Do I simply dread the thought of dealing with her emotional mayhem 24-7? Or I am choosing to allow her to not live up to minimal standards of attending school? Right now ijust don't know. I am grappling with this.

Yuccas

Vanessa also took this photo of my yucca plants that I'd bought for a penny each in a catalog sale years ago.

But I was thinking about Sabrina. When I adopt from the state, as I usually do, I receive huge boxes of case files to read over and ascertain if I think I can parent this child or these children.

There are several issues that I totally avoid as I don't believe that I am capable of ministering to, nor even attempting to parent, and these include children that set fires, harm animals, have sexual acting-out issues or mental retardation. I have some very developmentally delayed children, children with some borderline IQ,s and children who were once victims of sexual abuse though.

When I read Sabrina and her siblings case files I was struck by the fact that their birth mom left them all over Texas as she either partied, went to Florida, or did whatever she did instead of parenting. The kids were always left with different people in different places and had way less than zero stability. In foster care Sabrina went to a couple of homes and a couple of shelters so she finally, at least, saw some stability.

For the last month of her foster care existence, February of 2005, I got to call Sabrina at a shelter and talk to her every night. It was an excellent shelter, well run and secure. But every night Sabrina would tell me it was Tabby that I heard screaming in the background as she'd bite a child, or act out for attention. Tabby is a very high maintenance child who needs a lot of love and attention. She's become the princess of our family and is constantly petted on, praised, and babied.

Sabrina, however, needs to not be overlooked as well. She's eleven now but as emotionally needy as any two year old and I must make up for all her motherless lost time. Yesterday she called me from school to have me email something that she didn't even need until Friday...but that wasn't her point. She just needed to know I was home and that I'd do this for her. She came into the fourth grade breakfast to tell me something unimportant but that also wasn't her point. She knew I'd be there and she got to ask her teacher if she could go tell her mama something. She deeply needs that opportunity, and that privilege, of knowing that someone cares and will pay attention to the unimportant details in her life.

Sabrina was described in these case files as an "easy" child, a good child, but that merely means, in adoption codes, that she doesn't rage or throw turds; she doesn't act out. To me it means she needs extra attention so that she doesn't learn to seek negative attention ever in her life. She needs the praise for being good, she needs eye contact from me, hugs, and one on one attention to her 5th grade discussions of the day. She needs a mom who cares... what an easy role for me.

Her big sister, Carolina (Baby Yolie's mom) is often at the school volunteering and that is yet another layer of comfort for Sabrina. We can't hardly turn all the way around in this small county without bumping into someone we are kin to, what with this large family. Everyone knows that Sabrina is one of Cindy's kids and for Sabrina, that is everything. She belongs.

Daniel's Dictionary

This picture of Mayra has, as often is the case, absolutely nothing to do with this post about Daniel.

Daniel emailed me this morning that I was slipping up in my use of spell check in this case: "got sweet pea flowers planted and a long row of sugar snap snow peas, a delicacy that I eat by the pound. They are expensive pounds at Publix but merely pounds to be wrested away from my clever hens here at home."

My dictionary defines the word 'wrest" as - to forcibly pull something from a person's grasp.

This would be the dictionary that my sweet, and highly intelligent, Daniel installed on my ibook dashboard thank you very much. He also put my "how many days until pitchers and catchers report to camp" countdown and today it said 364 days. Good, I was afraid it'd disappear after they reported this year. Like I need anything else to worry about?

Because I'll wrestle down a son in a heartbeat over any kind of mundane argument that we may have, Daniel was certain that I meant to use the word wrestle in conjunction with dealing with my wonderful hens that are all named. To be specific I should have also noted that I'd attempt to wrestle down any son as Edgar has pinned me over and over lately. Now I just flounce off after spewing out the last word, actually I ran off the other day.

Even though I often say the word ain't or use a double negative, that is only a nod to my deeply Southern heritage and not an example of poor grammar. Remember son I got my Instructional Technology post-graduate degree from the same university that you now attend. I ain't stoopid you know. But I'll wrestle with you too over a dictionary or my snow peas, whichever you decide to reach for first.

Wrestling releases all of my family's aggressions, even mine. Now that it is once again garden season I'd rather expend my excess energies into that particular arena.

I have already attended the fourth grade parent breakfast and am now headed out the door to run errands until it warms up enough to work outside.

Vanessa is carrying the camera everywhere and she snapped this photo of me yesterday still wearing my houseshoes but weeding a bed before it warmed up outside. I can't use the photos she took of me later wearing an undershirt so worn out as to be disgustingly see through, that ain't pretty in a 51 year old mama.

Planting Time

Vanessa and I bounded outside after lunch and cleared the hillside garden as we talked about her options which appear to be fairly limited due to her inabilities to maintain a calm facade for very long. Not having a very good grip on study habits can also force one to think about having any kind of a future that doesn't involve minimum wage until well into one's 30s.

I got sweet pea flowers planted and a long row of sugar snap snow peas, a delicacy that I eat by the pound. They are expensive pounds at Publix but merely pounds to be wrested away from my clever hens here at home.

When the Bubbas came home from school most of them joined us on the hillside as what kid doesn't want to use shovels, spading forks, clippers and rakes? A mimosa tree had sprung up and grown unnoticed by me for too long so Vanessa and Jose put their heads together and used their muscles to pull up a pretty impressive root system.

An afternoon in my garden makes me smile all evening. Bathing 13 Bubbas can nearly erase a smile in record time as not a one of them are capable of following directions that involve more than a step or two such as get undressed and put dirty clothes in the laundry room. The decision to allow them to choose their own boxers was inadvisable on my part as Jose decided to squeeze his 100 pounds into girl's shorts.

Big Mama Boot Camp

Vanessa is cleaning out the new (Thank You Heather!) refrigerator but as fast as she takes out things, Alyssa is ahead of her.

My children know that if you are suspended from school it will not be a party at home, it'll be chores like Big Mama does all day without help.

Vanessa is getting tired of this, grandbaby Alyssa is loving it.

Will

After spending hours yesterday on paperwork I significantly reduced my "to do" file and felt great.

The mail, however, brought me 5 long surveys to be filled out and bubbled in anonymously for our school system. It involved grades 6,8,10 &12. No one would ever have known if I'd just tossed these things into the trash but I am genetically incapable of not doing that which I am supposed to do. I even always put away my grocery carts instead of leaving them in the parking lot.

I truly, deeply, Church of God denomination, believe that God is in all the details of life, and if I fail to do what I am supposed to do, then I am out of the will of God. I do not ever want to be out of the perfect will of God, ever, and I will go to great lengths to stay within His Will, even if it means paperwork, extra steps, bending over backwards, etc.

Obviously as strong-willed, hard-headed and goofy as I can be, I am constantly asking for God's forgiveness as I continuously muddle through life. This ain't easy but it is the way I want my life to be.

Childless Men

This time six years ago I knew that I would be raising yet another infant, Jack, and I'd be adopting again, so I told the nicest man in the world, Larry, that I just didn't see how I could continue dating him, working full-time and raising all my children. Something had to go and it needed to be my dating life. I sure wasn't going to forfeit my gardening time. We all have our priorities.

I've been way too busy to miss him, or anyone else, and as it turns out I ended up adding 3 more sibling groups in that time frame so I became even busier, even though I also retired from the school system after 25 years.

On Valentine's Day I got all the sweet, sticky, pump-me-up valentines from my darling kids and found out that yet another guy I once dated had passed away. It's not like these guys were old or anything...it's been three men in the last year though that have gone on, all in their 50s.

I feel like I'm only halfway through with this life of mine. Interestingly none of those three men had kids. So maybe kids don't drive one into an early senility after all? It only seems like they do.

I want to live to be an elderly ole coot still hollering at Braves baseball games and digging up new beds to plant. I want to go to all my grandbabies ball games wearing my muddy gardening boots and hear them yell, "Abuelita!" at me when I hug them.

I don't want to be like those childless guys who only lived for themselves and died way too young. Considering I have not been childless in the last 32 years I am well on the way to my goal. Lord knows, Tabby will certainly keep me hopping.

Divisibility Rule for 3

This afternoon I was looking over the grading rubric for my granddaughter, Baby Yolie's, reading report project that is due this week. I was explaining it to her and wondering why not one of my fifth graders has said a word about it. Shamed by Baby Yolie's over-eager approach to education, Sabrina and Martin jumped on the computers and fired up PowerPoint.

Baby Yolie just called me wondering how to phrase the divisibility rule for three as she was still, at 8 p.m., working on math while my 3 fifth graders, her best friends/aunts & uncles, were all belly up snoring in their beds.

Baby Yolie didn't speak English until she started kindergarten and realized she'd best learn some words quickly. Neither parent then spoke any English and we rarely spoke it to her either as she wouldn't have understood anyway.

She picked it up in a heart beat, her mom Carolina (pictured with Yolie), got on the ball and somehow was fluent within a year. Daddy Jose still struggles but has learned a great deal as his three school age kids started talking to each other in English.

Now Mauri and Jack are in kindergarten together.