Mama Issues

Being emotionally and physically rejected by a birth mom is a primal, never-ending pain. An internal bruise on one's soul that never heals. It'll scab and scar over but the pain doesn't abate much. Even when courts terminate parental rights, which only happens after criminal abuse and/or neglect, or failure to follow through on case plans with ten millions services designed to help, aid and enable one to follow through...it usually boils down to a parent who can't, or won't, parent. PERIOD. It has nothing to do with the worth of that child, nor that child's behaviors, but what follows from the child stems from that cumulative act of non-parenting. Mama issues. If my own mama didn't want me, why should you or anyone else?

Why trust another mama because by the time the child lands with a thud into an adoptive home, said child has gone through shelters, foster care home(s), different relatives, therapeutic settings or any combination of the above.

The child is pissed and does not trust anyone except the siblings, if they were fortunate enough to not get separated along the way. The sibling bond is intense enough to singe anyone nearby.

Dr. G came and had a bang-up, make progress time with Vanessa, which he usually does. She likes him, relates well to him, and chews on what he has told her. He also counseled Joey today, and then we tentatively made plans to add another day of the week.

We need it in a big way.

The spit hit the fan and splattered us all within an hour after he left.

I literally yanked a kid out of the high school. I caught myself saying, "Bullsh.." before I blew my own no cussing rule. Usually I can catch myself at "bull" but how stupid do they think I am? Don't pee on my leg and tell me it's raining.

I called our youth pastor, not something I usually do, but I've sure needed his help lately, and I roared out to the back garden before I said something I'd regret.

Pastor Bronson calmly came, went upstairs, tended to the very angry at himself boy who was terribly rude to the woman who he doesn't want to trust, even after all these years.

Me, the woman, was angry enough to not care at the moment. I came in from the garden, which was getting weeded within an inch of its life by my blind fury motivation, when I had heard Bronson drive up.

Within 10 minutes the distrustful one was in my arms nearly knocking me down with his emotional anguish. Sometimes Yolie's mentioned she wished these birth parents of theirs could just peer into our world, and see the emotional devastation that has been wrought against children who internally feel so rejected...but Yolie also realizes that those same people simply don't care. Then she gets angry.

I care, and they, my kids, know it, but why trust it? Our family dramas are so emotional and gut-wrenching that even the veterans here get frightened by the intensity as if suddenly I could, or would, just change my mind and pack up even the grown kids that are married to send back to Texas. They call me, they hover, they fret, they try and fix things, and they rake out the ones causing the drama because it also stirs up all their old stuff again.

Sarah stands by helplessly hating that I'm the emotional target but there's nothing she can do. Except cook. Her lasagna was out-of-this world wonderful.

I wouldn't even let Yolie come over today because I wanted her to just be with normal people like her in-laws, not with us. She shouldn't always have to be involved, although she always is.

Today was really rough, Bronson stood in the kitchen telling the other FIVE teenagers who were home due to their inability to maintain their issues in school, "Y'all are gonna give your mama a heart attack."

We talked outside, away from the eavesdroppers, and he said something that calmed me. Something like he felt I'd been anointed to be able to deal with all this, to help these kids to heal, and to not walk away from them. As close as he is to my teens, even he has no clue as to what all they've been through, stuff no human should ever have to endure.

Our former youth pastor, Anthony, stood by us through all Joe's late teen years when everyone worried he'd self-destruct. It was Joe, calling me this afternoon, to check on me, knowing what he'd put me through, knowing what the next kids were doing.

As I've said, out of respect for their privacy, I still only blog a little bit of what actually happens around here. It is no less painful after enduring the other 15 kids, knowing that most of them will careen into emotional turmoil in their teen years. But I am always encouraged and energized when I look at my darling adult children who have made it all worth the effort...and the hell we went through.

Chuy came out to the garden after school today, looking for me, unwilling to admit that though. He, unaware of our events today as the smoke had cleared by 3 p.m., started telling me about a present he was making in art for Mother's Day. You could've knocked me off the bucket I was sitting on. 'Bout time you admitted out loud that you have a mother, Mr. Standoffish boy. Sometimes I don't even say what I'm thinking, I just stared at him in astonishment. It hit him that he'd let loose emotionally so he quit looking at me and busied himself with the sprinkler.

I didn't get to the UGA baseball game with Daniel tonight after all. I had to call Daniel, and give him the abbreviated version of today as he hates to hear about me being upset, but I couldn't just not show up.

His non-emotional remark was that it was gonna be an easy game for Georgia to win. Translation: not a game that Georgia really needs me to come yell at, there'll be other games that my big mouth is needed for, you'll be OK mama.

Funny how he does calm me down constantly.

Happy Birthday Ms. C

My 16 year old daughter, Alex, in the psychiatric hospital, wrote me a six page letter explaining, in a confused, scattered ramble, as the words disintegrated on the page in a strange pattern, how she felt she couldn't help herself in her bizarre actions, that she was sorry for everything, but so disturbed within; so out of control. Her mind went places. I agreed with her very heartfelt words, and even her theory, as I also don't feel that her actions are by choice. I see her fragmenting and dissolving into mental turmoil. She has been at the best, Level 6, widely respected hospital for three years and is still deteriorating in front of her own eyes, which frightens her as well.

Vanessa was with me for the visit, and was visibly upset, but helped build Alex up in a good way. Our self-imposed captivity with each other went nowhere positive as we were both despondent over Alex. We ended up driving 250 miles between home, that facility and The Ranch, silence between us, as we separately pondered Alex's future which inadvertently forced Vanessa to consider her own intelligence that has resulted in some very poor choices. Conversation was unnecessary after that graphic live illustration of negative possibilities.

Sarah had come over before 8 a.m. to tend to Tabby and Nando as they are still not up to long trips. Why rip the scab off that seems to have healed over their former fear of being moved? Yolie and Daniel joined her later so I was the one who missed the party at my house while Ray and CJ were clowning around in their cuteness.

The Ranch has seen a great deal of improvement in Fabian, as have I. When one has to get outside help with their children, one expects progress, which is why it is so heart-wrenching with Alex, who may not ever be capable of any headway.

Joey, overcome by unexpected emotions that came out of nowhere, had a very childish fit last night so I had to send him to his room like a two year old. Yolie had cooked supper and given me the unheard of luxury of sitting my butt on the sofa. just cuddling with CJ for an hour. Kids would amble into the kitchen, see Yolie at the stove, and fearfully blurt, "Where's Mom?" Like I'd turned in my notice or something.

I made Joey stay home while we went to soccer practice so he amped it up into ape-like raging but, for the most part, he was ignored. Big Joe and Alyssa came to accompany me to soccer practice, Joe needed to get out of his house and allow Tameshia to study in peace. We sat in the grass, watching Alyssa charm everyone, and talked about how fast the time would fly before she'd be the one playing ball.

Coming back home, I sat with my favorite bowl of Publix Premium Low-Fat Frozen Black Jack Cherry Yogurt waiting for Miriam to call me to come get her, listening to Vanessa recount Joey's craziness while I'd been gone an hour, heard about one of my sons-in-law getting into a fender bender, talking with Fabian over what all he'd missed last week at our house, fielding a phone call from my best friend who may or may not need a babysitter while she runs a child to a night-time doctor, all the while trying to figure out how I could go join Daniel at the UGA-Ole Miss baseball game tomorrow night.

Lily ran around like a chicken with her head cut off, getting everyone to sign a birthday card she's made for her teacher, and in true adopted-child-predictable-acting-out role, jealous that she'd not had this teacher, Mayra sabotaged Lily's efforts, bringing her to tears until Paloma, pictured above, covertly rescued the project from Mayra's envious fingers but, by then, Lily didn't have time to embark upon her usual artistic capabilities so she went to school upset.

This is the last day of school, before a week and a day of spring break, when all the kids usually join in to project their fears and resentments of the end-of-the-school year goodbye trauma involved in leaving these particular teachers, and facing the Big Unknown of next year. Why worry and fret later when you can do it now seems to be our mantra. The last month of any school year is treacherous. This year, with 3 fifth graders moving up to middle school, is already stormy and promising to escalate into true devastation. Jose is having the worst time of it so far.

The one who ought to be brooding should be the birthday girl, Ms. Carr who, odds on favorite, will face next school year with the above angelic appearing twosome. The two of them alone, suck the air out of any situation, put together they are combustible, but do better in flames together than in being separated. Emotionally demanding, bonded to each other in an eery manner, they are behaviorally challenged and defiant way too often.

Stuck With Me

I don't know who took this picture of Nando apparently donning protective gear for the spitstorm that is bound to occur between Vanessa and I today.

I can almost predict my ability to deal with stuff based on the number of hours I've spent in the garden. Joey got off his high horse and helped for a bit as well. I got the strawberry bed improved and boldly ordered another hundred plants. Each plant will produce about a quart of strawberries....heck I can eat a gallon a day by myself and not even blink. I found volunteer Bachelor Buttons, Sweet Williams and hollyhocks interspersed in the beds. My second best hen, Maxine, has squirreled away a dozen eggs in the honeysuckle against the back fence, she's sitting on them and clucking back at the two dumb guinea hens who won't let her be.

Vanessa doesn't know that I know she got into a fight again yesterday at school. The principal called to tell me what a stupid fight it was, how it wasn't even any of her business, and how she made a stupid choice to get involved in this matter between other students. I suppressed my DUH, expressed my appreciation to him for calling as I knew he hated to have to tell me this, and I went outside to weed for another hour and, obviously, to calm down. I subconsciously forgot my ever-loving cell phone and missed an important call from Texas regarding a placement that needed to occur months ago.

I couldn't sleep with all this going on in my head so I've been up pacing since 4:45 this morning.

Sarah and Yolie helped me make plans to drive 100 miles each way today to participate in her therapy and a visit with my 16 year old in the psychiatric hospital. They'll babysit, field calls and tend to everything. By the time I got all details worked out I was reminded late last night in a phone call by The Ranch that Fabian needs to be picked up a day early for spring break...50 miles away in the opposite direction. Good thing my van got new tires, an oil change and an air filter yesterday. Looks like me and my van will spend quality time together...sucks for Vanessa as she'll be a captive audience for my opinions today.

That crash I just heard was my son-in-law, Chuck, hitting the floor in shock upon hearing I had the van serviced without him pushing me to do so. He rightly wonders how anything is running at all around here, so lax and unmotivated am I for getting any vehicle maintained.

For anyone keeping score I now have Joey studying for his GED, Teresa kicked out of school all week for theft and now Vanessa. Factor in one at a therapeutic Ranch and another in a Level 6 psychiatric facility...why am I not medicated? Does coffee, black as sewer sludge, count? I only drink one pot of it each morning.

But yesterday was beautiful, we've most likely had our last frost, Carolina went and got Chinese food for me yesterday plus I got to see her, Deysi, Yolie and Sarah PLUS their kids which is a treat for this Abuelita any day of the week. Ray Ray came out to feed the chickens, and even CJ and Alexander spent time out in the big garden while I weeded.

Vanessa, failing every class, full of hate at the world, participating in therapy, and desperately needing reassurance constantly from me will now get what her actions screamed she wanted...homeschooling. The big bad world has stressed her infantile emotions past their breaking point. Big Mama therapy, boot camp, home school and healing will be put into place.

Daylight savings time will blissfully donate more hours for me to go outside starting this weekend, putting an enormous smile on my face. The wisteria is blooming and nowhere is it more prevalent and impressive than at Sarah's three acres, I'm going to just stand there swooning in delight.

Angry Little Girl

You have to know my Yolie to really get the impact of this post.

On the outside she is gorgeous, and extremely put together, very confident and intelligent. She's so normal, and you can see that in her son, CJ, who's healthy, happy and well-adjusted. She and her husband, Chuck, are light years ahead of their peers in maturity and position.

For the first 11 years of her life, she fiercely protected and raised Joe and Daniel against all odds in a drug infested, dangerously abusive, gang environment. Her much older birth sister later told me hair-raising stories that even Yolie'd not shared with me.

Now almost 26, Yolie has learned some forgiveness and a great deal of understanding. She has been my tour guide into the hell that my children came from. She's taught me many of the whys of their behavior.

Yesterday she was trying to help another friend of mine who's bearing the brunt of her own 18 year old son's anger. Yolie pointed out that when that boy is yelling at the adoptive mom, as does my Vanessa, it is because they can't yell at the birth mom who really caused all this damage. It is safe to yell at the committed mom.

I look at El Demando...Edgar...and see the terrified child inside that Yolie talks about.

Yolie has equipped me to step back, not take it all so personally, and understand what is really going on since there's no obvious logic involved. There is only blind fury, profound pain, and a total loss of self that causes the children to lash out uncontrollably at all that has happened to them.

They can't just get over it. They just can't.

But they will.

Someday.

Someday their pain will not be as piercing, it'll always shape and define who they are, it'll guide their life choices, and their reactions to many situations. It's part of my job to ground their feet into this family, this community and this committment to them by me forever, no matter how emotionally exhausting it can be.

Yolie is a mature woman now, very capable and very nurturing, but that angry little girl often comes screaming into existence, demanding to be heard, but, more so, deserving to be listened to. This is the unfortunate voice of experience and understanding, this is a very strong survivor who's been to Hell and back.

She has so much to teach us all.

Breakfast

I was attempting to snap a few pictures of breakfast, but since 20 people are rushing to eat, dress, find shoes, pack bookbags and snacks, run for the bus, wait for friends to drive up or load the van, there's a good bit of blurring. Someone is always in motion and they eat after they are dressed. This is one meal that we simply can't all sit down and eat together.

Gito Mosquito My Hijito, Frito Bandito

We used to tease Gito, now 15, and use that entire name on a then four year old.

Remarkably uncomplicated, fairly unscarred by the past, he's been a joy to raise. Not emotionally demanding like Edgar, not disobedient like many, and not a hellcat like Vanessa.

He's always been goofy and low-maintenance.

Now, taller than me, he can eat a box of cereal at one sitting, two huge plates last night of his favorite tuna and noodles, more than I could eat in a week's time.

He's happy playing computer games, watching TV, or playing soccer out front.

I need to remember to thank God each night for such an easy son.

Reassurance

Last night at soccer practice, in front of several other moms, I asked Edgar to stop leaning so heavily on me. He was trying to block the wind which was blowing his perfectly gelled hair.

He retorted, "You must not love me anymore."

HUH? I want to watch practice, what does that have to do with love? Why would a 19 year old blurt out those fears in front of other adults?

My reply, "Yes I do, now move."

"If you love me, you'll let me lean," he whined.

Jeepers.

This morning I drove back up from dropping off the kids at the elementary school only to pass Edgar going out the door.

He kissed my cheek and kept on walking, I hollered after him, "Love ya."

In front of his friend, who'd just driven up, he whirled around to me, and yelled back, "No you don't. It's me who loves you."

Brother.

Push pull has turned into suck me down the drain, wear me out emotionally, and require 24-7 reassurance against all odds.

Confronting the Dragon

I should have backed up further to take this picture so that I could've shown the huge chip on Vanessa's shoulder.

Getting an earlier comment on the post about Sergi, again reminded me how others perceive my children. They truly are beautiful kids, all physically attractive, yet with such turmoil within them.

Vanessa, beautiful on the outside, full of venom on the inside. After school she came slinking in the house only to hurl the F word at Tony. That's an uncrossable line. I'd like to say that I flew down the hall quick as a cougar, but after having to clamber over the shocked kids who were scattering, I more resembled an ape ambling over trees and rocks, arms swinging, tail twitching in anger.

I absolutely lit into her for her hatefulness.

She asked me to put her up for adoption.

I kept a straight face.

For about 10 seconds.

This from a girl who often looks over adoption photolistings and tries to discern all the issues of a child from the brief, non-committal write-up.

"OK, Vanessa," momentarily sidetracked, I bit into this dumb smokescreen," describe the write up on this one?"

She couldn't do so.

I suggested, "Foul-mouthed, violent, teenager with adjustment disorder and oppositional defiant disorder. Beautiful young girl displaying symptoms of hate, rage and explosive personality. Dangerous at times. Anger management therapy needed. Depressed at times, murderous during PMS."

This was all immediately off the top of my head that I dared remark to someone who'd been in a 96 hour pissy mood, not speaking anything to anyone, except to snarl malevolently.

Then I crossed a line. She wanted to explode all over the house, and take down as many kids as possible, although we were in her room with the door shut.

I said, "I SEE you smiling."

So pissed off was she, she couldn't help but involuntarily smile, so I insensitively jumped on it, and wouldn't let up with my big mouth until she was absolutely giggling.

Still off guard and surprised, she was vulnerable to my suggestions of an apology which she gave without remembering how mad she was.

Unable to let it be, I communicated the need for her to remind herself how much she loved me...and needed her family.

Constrained by time, I let it all go for now although I was clearly in the catbird seat. She knows that using the F word results in restrictions. She won't ask for permission to go anywhere for a couple of weeks because she will not want me to remind her of why she is grounded.

I've played this position before.

Which reminds me, Marquis Grisson, one of my all-time favorite Braves players, retired from the game yesterday. One of 15 kids, he'd been raised in Atlanta, and I just have to think that growing up in a big family contributed to his ability to get along with everyone, and to have been such a popular player all these years.

Sergio

I received this today in the mail. My first son, Sergi, serving in the Navy in Japan.

And the answer is yes to all my other kids, I ordered copies for y'all.

Families

Another large family blog that I meant to post last week.

Our IQs

Good thing WE don't use chemicals...we sure can't afford to lose any more IQ points around this house.

March 24, 2006
Researchers Look at Farm Kids, Pesticides


ASSOCIATED PRESS


FARGO, N.D. (AP) - Preliminary results of a study of North Dakota farm children exposed to pesticides show they performed significantly lower than their peers on IQ tests, though their scores still are within a range considered normal.

The study by University of North Dakota researchers involved two groups of children in the northern Red River Valley, one group living on or near an active farm or field, another living at least a mile away.

Children living on or near farms tested an average of five points lower on standard IQ tests, said Patricia Moulton, an experimental psychologist at UND.

Space Cadet

I'm sure there's a story behind this picture my almost 24 year old, Navy son, Jesse, just sent. I just don't know what it is.

Miriam's 17

Today Miriam turned 17, we celebrated this on Sunday knowing she had a soccer game today. At 6 pm I need to be at her game, at the Bubba's soccer practice, picking up yet another child from a study session, and putting dinner on the table for a multitude.

Edgar, having survived his 19th birthday without his intense fears being realized...that I'd put him out...turned his negative attention toward Miriam's position within our family. Will I put her out?

WHAT? Have I ever given ANY indication that this would be what I'd do? NO. Yet, with every birthday, every milestone, the same fears emerge and show themselves through crappy behavior.

Finally I snapped at Edgar and he stomped out this morning without the usual goodbye kiss, his way of telling me that I've done something wrong. By this evening, as is his way, he'll be clinging to me in reaction to having gone all day without his morning reassurance that I still love him. Like it would've changed while I slept? This is the irrational fears they live with constantly and that I have to swim upstream against.

Yolie watched Edgar come in the other afternoon, plop down on the couch and start demanding attention and reassurance. Unable to stop herself, she made a huge gasping noise, demonstrating him sucking all the oxygen out of the room once again. Obviously my immaturity is contagious but Edgar didn't even get it.

He's 19, yet has separation anxiety like a toddler. Miriam also was undone this morning over this day. Miriam is only an junior in high school, next year I'll get to see her senior year acting out dance. Vanessa is still in a snit.

Jose, ashamed over his inability to function normally yesterday, was working on homework contritely at 5:30 this morning when I came downstairs. Chuy must have done some thinking overnight, watching these birthday seizures, he sat at the kitchen counter this morning to initiate a conversation with me over leaf lettuce seeds that we'd also succession planted yesterday. That is how he defines emotional connection at this stage of his life.

I just yank, yanked to Yolie on the phone as she translated these behaviors for me. Baby on my hip like a fashion accessory (Alyssa), I'll start supper now, plan my course, get the chores done, and not be the least annoyed tonight when Vanessa, Edgar and Miriam dump their emotions and fears on me. Much as the relief felt when a toilet is flushed and you don't have to smell the odor of poop, so is my life when they get it all out, when they release their stuff through raised voices and tears, and when I spend an entire evening re-convincing everyone that I still love them even though they were in school all day....nothing changed... it's aerobic exercise to an adoptive mama.

A favorite teacher confirmed yesterday what I've always believed...every single one of my kids are going to make it, in spite of themselves.

Resentment

Adoptive parents have a perplexing position in their family. We are perennially resented. It is perceived, as our fault, that our children do not live with the birth parents who abused and neglected them. We are the emotional targets, mainly because it now seems safe, and because they start to see forgiveness in action. They see a routine, a secure environment, educational support, and the most confusing emotion of all to them...love.

Love shown to hateful-acting children.

Having not been loved appropriately, it is now met with much suspicion and anger. Why does this stranger love me? Why does she put up with my massive misery and rage? How can she love me when my "real" mother didn't? I don't deserve to be loved if my own mother didn't, couldn't, or wouldn't.

The equation is simple. It is easy to step back and see its components, yet it is almost insurmountable to overcome with daily action. Years and years of reassurance are required on an hourly basis in spite of little or no progress to the naked eye. Scotty, Mr. Anxious, squeeks, "Mom, I love you!" constantly as a mantra, as if I might change my mind at any instant. This annoying refrain must be answered immediately, this is my role as the mom.

I printed out Yolie's thoughts yesterday and got a written response from Vanessa that had no bearing on anything. Usually lucid and able to write well, her missive was painful and rambling. I talked on the phone last night to a friend in similar straits only to learn that her sweet son, much like my doll baby, Edgar, was actively pushing her away. It is as if they think, "OK, you did your job, you raised me, I guess now you wanna be done with me?" We given zero indication that our intention now is to walk away. It is all played out deep within their subconscious as the fears torment them daily, exacerbated by post-adolescent steps to maturity.

When we have a problem, and issue, or an emotional blow-out, something that occurs nearly every day in a way that often blindsides me, all fifty eyes are on me like a laser, scrutinizing my every move, looking for evidence that I don't love them anymore, expecting me to quit and walk away in anger and disgust. Everyone else did; parents, caretakers, social workers, foster parents and, often, other relatives.

My anger, at times, has been overwhelming, yet I have never once dissolved in a tangle of cuss words and blind fury. I've broken a few dishes, slammed a lot of doors, stomped around, and flown outside with my feathers snarled, to work in the yard just to release my tension, but I have never negatively reacted as they've expected me to do...as a drunk birth parent once did. I have often had to jump into Plan B mode, find the solution, call for help, or just bust out crying (rarely) at times to release my own fear and tension.

Chuy, pictured above, is now 10. He came here when he was six, looking for all the world just like Daniel was back then; an intelligent, curious and standoffish child. Daniel had Yolie for a mom and wasn't entirely convinced that he needed me, Joe eventually took so much parenting by the entire family that Daniel chose to bond to me tightly within a few years. Now 20, he's the world to me.

Chuy has verbally agreed that he loves me, in theory, but why voice it? If he lets go of his ability to hold off, then he feels he's lost that control. Then I could concievably hurt him emotionally in his mind. He rarely gets in trouble, he rages about once a year as he's pretty hot-headed, quick to point out an injustice, silly as a goose sometimes.

This spring I've often found him by my side as I plant the garden. He's thrilled that the snow peas, lettuce, radishes and mesclun, that he helped with, are now up. He works by my side asking intelligent questions unless I step out of bounds and ask something "personal". This from a kid, who didn't even trust the seeds to sprout.

In an adoptive family this is major progress.

Sandbox City

Daniel quickly built this sandbox several years ago CW was a baby, we'd bought the little house used and drug it home. There's no way to divide the hours spent in the sandbox per child by the very few dollars we put into its construction. This entertainment system had paid for itself within the first five minute of use.

What I Never See Coming...

What I never see coming would fill a book, that I'll eventually try and get published...but for now, Yolie pointed out that Vanessa's unprecipitated, in any way, recent acting out could be due to several factors:

1) Exhaustion from putting out such a great effort at behaving for nearly six weeks straight
2) A reaction to her kissing me on the cheek for the first time in six years, thus making herslef to vulnerable to rejection in her mind
3) A response to being so good and helpful during the stress of police involvement with two brothers
4) Any combination of the above
5) No possible logical reason whatsover...just the nature of the beast

She's still skulking through the house, snarling at everyone who doesn't get out of her way fast enough.

My Anger...yet Eventual Successes

"CORTLAND, N.Y. - Police conducting a drug raid made the stomach-turning discovery of a lice-covered, handicapped, 5-year-old boy who weighed just 15 pounds and was left to sit in diapers full of his own waste, authorities said.

Police said the home was littered with bags of garbage, dirty diapers and cockroaches.

Cortland police Chief James Nichols said it was one of the worst cases of child abuse his department had seen. "The officers were horrified," he said.
Chief Nichols says what they found inside the home was hard on his officers.
"Many of these officers have small children, have raised children and to find this small child in a crib infested with body lice, cockroaches, garbage and severely undernourished tugs at everybody's heart," said Nichols."

I have FOUR children, removed from a place in Texas nine years ago, in exactly these same circumstances, STILL struggling to become normal with school resources and a psychologist in place to help.

My anger knows no bounds as I read about other children like this...but, wose yet, are those children who will have to grow up like this with no rescue.

Here's the rest of the story:

The boy, who has Down syndrome, was in stable condition Friday at University Hospital in Syracuse. Police said a girl, 11, and boy, 12, in the house who also suffered from malnourishment and neglect were placed in foster care.

The boy's mother, and her boyfriend, face a raft of charges.

"What I noticed, from day one, was after I became friends with Judy, she drank all day. The baby was on the floor," said neighbor Christina Stevens, who said she had called child welfare authorities more than once. "The baby never had any solid food. She never changed him."

AND ANOTHER STORY:

FRANKLIN, Ind. -- Police this week arrested a Franklin woman accused of preparing to sell her three children to a Columbus man for drug money.
XXXXX, 32, also faces accusations that she, her infant and her two other children -- ages 2 and 3 -- were living in a filthy home. She was arrested Wednesday on charges of child neglect and child selling.

Police said XXXXXX has a drug addiction, and that relatives told them that she was planning to sell her infant to XXXXX XXXX, 30, so she could have methadone.

XXXXXX faces felony charges of child-buying, with maximum penalty of six years in prison. He was being held at the Johnson County Jail Saturday.

Investigators have no reason to believe the baby was going to be legally adopted, police said.

Police said the children were living in filth and that their diapers had not been changed as needed.

MOST of my children came out of these situations. I fight the daily battles of them attempting to re-create these living conditions in my house BUT I have rules such as sleep on sheets not on a bare mattress, put trash in trashcan, dirty clothes in laundry room, etc.

No one ever made my kids go to school, cared about their grades, or that there was food in the fridge, much less dinner on the table every night, flowers in the house, fresh, whole foods and milk served. Toliet training is difficult, personal hygiene must be taught, homework and other obligations must be accomplished each day...and I wonder why they rage in anger over their past, resentful at the way they were once treated and a complete lack of inner self-worth?

Adoptive parenting is war sometimes, but fighting and winning this war is done for the children. Seeing the results eventually...priceless.

Someone please remind me of that when I despair over the difficulties.

These Two Particular States of Mind

Obviously this next statement will only illustrate that I was born here in Georgia, but I find Jeff Foxworthy, Larry the Cable Guy, and the entire Blue Collar Comedy Tour to be hilarious. When the kids went to bed last night, Edgar, Joey and I watched it for awhile and were rolling around laughing. Some of the "You might be a redneck" jokes are merely observations of all Southern behavior, like if you ever drove your pick-up truck fast down a dirt road and slammed on the brakes to clean out the bed. Well duh...it beats sweeping all that manure out.

The one last night about walking your dog and peeing on the same trees sent Joey into paroxysms of giggling. When he finally got his breath, his question was, "well, who doesn't do that?" I was left wondering what people up north do, is it too cold to pee outside?

Edgar, proud of being a 19 year old man, tried to be too cool to laugh, but this comic nailed our whole family. Edgar gave up the psuedo ghost of sophistication, and joined us laughing at our own undeniable selves.

One comic there, raised in Texas, but now living in Georgia, gave me a thought. Maybe it is just the Texas-Georgia mix of culture, but his hilarity reminded me that my kids have that same jumbled root system. Cowboy redneck? Southwestern Southern? Tex-Mexicans raised by a Southern white woman born in the 1950s? What a combo, no wonder the entire family is off base half the time, our genetic stew mix of heritages is to blame.

If I didn't live in Georgia I'd feel a pull from rural south Texas, what with the palm trees, warm Gulf breezes, and Tex-Mex food. Maybe an Alabama-Arkansas mix would result in the same nuttiness but, undoubtedly, the particular Texas-Georgia combination has resulted in a unique breed of people such as our family.

We have Mexicans speaking English in heavy Southern accents, my Spanish is weighed down by my Southern tongue. My El Salvadoran grandchildren use particularly Southern colloqialisms that they picked up from my rural mouth. My Mexican daughters collect Southern Living Cookbooks, we often have pinatas, we find Hispanic cuisine something worth dying for, and we douse cornbread and grits with jalapenos. My son-in-law, Jose, married to the best El Salvadoran cook on the planet, once drove two hours round trip for Grandma's turkey and dressing while his wife was alone in the hospital.

We have melded the two worlds, Hispanic and Southern, into an interesting twist of family that is very emotionally bound up together. Macho Latino over-protective sons of a bossy Southern mom, never prone to vapors, who thinks shooting rats at the county dump would be a fun afternoon.

It's not just our numbers that makes us peculiar, it is this anomalous blend of baffling culture combinations stirred together within one idiosyncratic, over-opinionated family.

Stuck

Teresa, unattached child that she wants to be, is stuck with me this week. When she was caught stealing at school, I suggested a much harsher punishment than the couple of days of in-school suspension she faced. The following week will be Spring Break, so I'm thinking two very long weeks with me will make school seem to be a pleasant alternative. Sometimes this maneuver has backfired on me, as have others, when said child discovers that they like being with me; Joey for example.

However my son-in-law, Jose, just took Joey with him to hang sheetrock all day.

Another son-in-law, Carlos, came over yesterday all upset for a terrible reason. His cousin, raised with him like a sister, was killed in a car accident down deep in Mexico, leaving seven children.

I hardly knew what to say, how can you even give any sort of comfort to such tragedy?

It makes me feel small and petty for my own griping about circumstances.

My War Veteran

Not only did he survive our boisterous, raucous family but he has now served two stints in Iraq in the Navy. Am I proud of him or what? My handsome son, Jesse and his beautiful wife, Lena, together again in Virginia where he'll soon begin shore duty, thank God.

Tony Processing a Long Sentence

Tony aggravated 22 out of 28 people within a 10 minute period, a new record. I asked him if he were genetically incapable of not annoying others.

Miriam had the camera and got this shot of Tony 'visibly processing that thought' according to Cristy, who also asked me to hunt all the psychology books I could find at yard sales.

When the UGA students leave Athens in early May, yard sales abound with kids too lazy to pack up, they just sell the stuff knowing that their parents will buy them more.

Us being way on the other end of the financial spectrum take advantage of these spring sales as a good time to also replace all the merchandise destroyed during our winter personality conflicts, rages, meltdowns and just the plain ole overflowing boy testosterone antics & room-clearing impromptu wrestling matches that often occur.

Edgar's 19

Last night Edgar was reading aloud from his Men's Health Magazine, some story about arguing with a mom, and he got the answer right...almost never. We've really only had one argument in six years over a traffic ticket, he got mad at me, and moved out...for one night. He has been a real blessing to me overall. Hard to believe that Vanessa, a polar opposite in temperament, is his bio sister.

Today he's 19, fixing to graduate from high school and go on to a local college.

He's been a huge help to me for years.

I don't even want to think about when I was turning 19, 6 months pregnant, 10 months married. I heard the wheels turning in my kid's head as they mentally calculated, hoping to catch me in a misstep.

Get real guys, I've been a mom every minute of my life minus the 16 months before my first brother was born just for me to boss around. I spent those first sixteen months learning a language that has never faded in the least...boss lady.

Vanessa the Victim?

I had everyone showered and dressed for church in time for Sunday School and we barrelled out the door, jumped on the bus, and realized our cute cobra chick was still coiled up in her room. When I checked on Vanessa, she refused to get dressed.

"OK, then we'll all stay home with you," I cheerfully replied, inwardly stressing, but refusing to budge an inch in that direction.

Knowing everyone would then be furious at her, she dressed without a shower, and was totally ready to go by the time the Bubbas had all unloaded off the bus and were grumbling about the vicious sister that they seem to have been afflicted with.

Church was awesome, well worth the effort it took for us to get there. Instead of continuing the series he'd been preaching, our pastor preached a hell, fire and brimstone sermon that sent chills all over me; preaching at its best.

Edgar received a job offer on the way out the sanctuary door and Daniel came by after work. He'd gotten tickets for the Braves game this Saturday afternoon and I was the first one he thought about, rabid, obnoxious fan that I am. I'm not sure I can get away due to soccer schedules so if I can't escape we have made alternate plans for a UGA-TN baseball game coming up, which would be good since he's also promised to take some of the Bubbas with us.

Daniel works at a golf course and was paid $30 by some drunk UT fans to drive them to their hotel. A well paid designated driver? He changed out his tip money with me so I'd have dollar bills for yard sales, he fixed Cristy's computer and gave another son some advice. Miriam gave Daniel a haircut so he took her and Edgar with him to run errands.

Shoes

Sonny left for church early this morning when his girlfriend came to get him. He went to early service, Sunday School, and then sat in the late service with us.

Joey'd been fussing earlier that morning that Sonny wasn't over at his house and he needed to borrow THE black shoes.

I was yapping in the church hallway with Yolie, Regina, and Robin when Sonny walked by grinning and wearing the black shoes.

Sonny was in my kitchen, still dressed in church clothes when Joey came in and wrestled him all over the living room, dining room and kitchen over the stupid pair of shoes.

Suspicious Minds

Although I'd decided that no matter how Pre-K turned out, and even if I was irked to not go to that gospel show, that I was still going to have a good day Saturday. I decided against yard sales, and didn't go to that preview sale either at the arts foundation. True sacrifices on my part. but my attention was violently demanded at home this weekend. I wanted to pre-empt a strike rather than have to react to a situation that I smelt brewing a mile away.

Fernando did get on the waiting list for Pre-k, he'll get in, not a worry now.

I was only gone back to Pre-K for 30 minutes but, still for some bizarre reason, Paloma had a huge, screaming fit. Her birth brother, Jose, no model of decorum his own self, has become self-appointed fit and anger manager of Paloma, so I truly did let him sit there with her in the hall, and make sure she didn't bust through the wall or hurt anyone else.

I had to go between soccer fields for practices all morning. Jose made his practice, even though she'd calmed down, Paloma did not make it to hers.

I vainly tried to explain that I was afraid she'd go off on the coach if she couldn't control herself any better here. She was shocked that I didn't let her go.

Vanessa, kindred flame-thrower that she is, went down hollering, screaming and spitting also yesterday. I checked the calendar...this wasn't PMS, just apparently pissiness on their parts. Edgar and Joey carried her to her room before she hurt anyone else in her anger over nothing, zero provocation, it just came on her out of the blue.

Since Teresa had deputy involvement over her thefts at school, she was terribly subdued yesterday. I expected her to join in the melee, but she'd retreated deep inside herself. She doesn't rage, she acts out in her own deceitful ways that involve thefts, lying and chicanery.

Cold for March, wind chill in the upper 40s, heck that's cold for January, but it was green and pretty outside with all the flowers blooming. My boney self aches in the cold, so I decided to get my energy out by pulling stuff from the kitchen cabinets and scrubbing. CW, Allen, Martin and Lily volunteered to help and we had a good ole time. Edgar got the rest of the kids involved in a soccer game after their rooms were cleaned. Vanessa skulked around looking demon-possessed but everyone ignored her poisonous jabs, and the sparks that were shooting outta the top of her pointed little head. The static electricity nearly burned us all so self-involved in her fury was she.

French toast for supper, a solid hour of me standing at the stove, cooking in the skillet, 7 pieces each for 25 kids, Sonny came over after work to eat with us as well. Nearly 20 years old, tall and lanky, he got up from the table and did the dishes for the first time in his life. There was silence in the kitchen as the Bubbas wondered if Sonny'd inhaled the fertilizer at the landscape company....knowing Big Mama had preached against the evils of chemicals in the yard and garden. "Dern," they must have thought, "is this what happens if you use agricultural chemicals"

I did mention aloud that I had some concerns over taking such deceitful, lying, foul-mouthed stealing kids to church on Sunday. "What's the point?" I may have bellowed. "Y'all aren't even listening to anyone," I know I hollered. They let me rant for an hour, and all the ones who'd been darling that day pointed out the fallacy of my thought processes, but since I put no one in the shower last night....a Saturday night ritual set in stone, they went to bed wondering if I'd blown a gasket for sure now. Possibly I inhaled the horse manure that Mr. David brought to our meadow? Hmmm, chemical or manure, what a toss-up, either way you lose your mind?

Slick Edgar, admiring my new haircut and no-black roots look, stated it'd be waste of my hair to not go to church.

Huh?

I said I'd go to sleep and think about it...Leave 'em guessing. They hate that.

I picked up my cell phone to recharge it and saw a note attached. I was at the end of the neat, block printing, after first ascertaining it wasn't a ransom note, like anyone'd kidnap and survive one of my little spleen venting, snotty terrorists, when I realized it was a missive from Teresa, not Vanessa. Vanessa usually writes beautiful notes and poems of apology...Teresa has never even grunted an apology at me. She insinuates that i deserve to be lied to on a daily basis.

It read, "As I was sitting on my bed listening to Paloma rage and cuss I felt sorry for you. I always thought that all this was your fault, you chose to adopt kids that were mentally and emotionally troubled, you have to stick with us. But as I sat and listened to Paloma rage, I realized that if it hadn't been for you, Paloma could be anywhere, but without her family. I also realize it is the same for me. I want to apologize and ask for another chance."

She wrote a long poem detailing her pain from childhood and then continued, "That poem only said some of what I want to say. I have five steps:

1) I'm sorry for all the pain I have caused without a thought and for letting you down.
2) Forgive me, you probably already have since you don't hold grudges, but I still want to ask.
3) Help, you know that I need it. But maybe once a week to see a shrink is not enough.
4) Thank you for everything, you are amazing and my role model for life.
5) I should have said a long time ago, I love you, I truly do, I don't act like it, but I do. I thank God for you and for letting you find a 7 year old girl with 3 brothers who needed a home and a family. I know at times you must hate being my mother but I am glad that you are.

Love, Teresa Always.

PS. Put this is your blog."

My first thought, I'm being conned and manipulated. After being emotionally beat down by her for over 7 years...I'm paranoid and suspicious....I've come a long way from the over-protected Preacher's kid I was in the 1950s when the world was safe. I had no clue for regarding the nuclear bomb that would explode in my life beginning in the 1980's when I started my adoption journey, full of hope, naivete, and the internal emotional promise of a better world.

Edgar asked, "what's that?" as I was reading the 3 pages of notebook paper sheets she'd written. I showed him, he wrinkled his brow, passed it to Miriam. Both sniffed dubiously. Edgar suggested I drag everyone's sneaky, spiteful butts to church regardless of their level of honesty. That's what church is for, but I still didn't make a decision.

Now, after a good night's sleep, a pot of turbo coffee, and a blazing hot shower to burn the gunk outta my mind, I think we should regroup, regain our strength, and go get our batteries charged by our wonderful pastor who always inspires me.

Maybe just one thought, one word, one Bible verse will penetrate the skulls of my very hurt and damaged children.

One of my more "normal" kids, Sabrina, jumped in the shower this morning, fairly certain I'd be as predictable as usual, and get us all to church. I thank God for this darling memaw of a child.

Pre-K Camping

Waking up at 5 a.m. by the two serenading roosters outside my window, I immediately remembered I'd best get my butt over to the Pre-K sign-up.

Totally satisfied and confident I had plenty of time, I poured a thermos of strong, black turbo-coffee, and quietly left the house knowing Edgar and Miriam could, and would, tend to things, everyone was sound asleep anyway.

I was clutching Nando's birth certificate, Social Security card, shot record and Pre-K readiness screening sheet in my hand, proud that I had all the supporting documents in alphabetical order, sure he'd at least be #150 out of 160. Am I on the ball or what?

I drove out in the dark, got to Pre-K, saw tons of cars, and had to hike my way down the dark road.

At Pre-K I slammed slap into a wall of surprise. These folks had portable DVD players, tents, down sleeping bags, lounge chairs, game devices, lighting systems, cooking stoves, coolers and heaters, some told me they'd been there since 8 the night before, there were already over 200 people there, cars were parked all over kingdom come.

Absolutely astonished I stared at this impressive equipment, thinking these people have better camping stuff than my regular stuff. It looked like something out of an L.L. Bean catalog. Like I would have spent the night there? Left my kids unattended all night?

Not being a newby parent for the last three decades, I just stood there staring, breathing out my coffee vapors into the very cold morning air thinking, "I ain't gonna play this stupid game."

Looks like Fernando will be on the waiting list for Pre-K. BTDT enough times to know that he'll get in anyway in August.

I hiked back to my car, in the dark, and came home thinking I bet I catch some kids up playing on the computer without permission, but I got home only to find everyone still snoring.

Crapola

Sometimes we've gone months without problems, sometimes blessings rain down on us to the point we are overwhelmed with gratitude, and sometimes my kids make me proud enough to burst. This isn't one of those times at all.

Teresa, who'd stopped stealing at home for almost two weeks, went on a stealing spree at school, serious enough to warrant a deputy's visit to the school, now she'll be in the juvenile court system as well. She's also been suspended from school all next week. I talked with the guidance counselor, who I'd already warned about these theft proclivities, and the assistant principal as I pondered aloud her options...of which there's one. Stop stealing, this is unacceptable behavior. Homeschooling would at least keep the possible felonious behavior at home but school however is where she shines academically, the only situation in which she is always successful at least with her grades.

By the time I got her home, and bellyached about it to Yolie, another teacher called to report Javy had skipped band class. This darling knucklehead preferred the bathroom to the bandroom for an entire hour. How can I possibly stay ahead of this illogic?

Somehow this evening Chuy, Javy, Allen and Martin got into it over the dodgeball-soccer-trampoline game and it required Vanessa, Me, Edgar and Joey to pull them all apart.

I slammed down a glass bowl in frustration, got everyone's attention, but I had to go clean it up. Immaturity doesn't always pay off but I sure felt better.

Sarah called to report a truck wrecked up on her end of the dirt road and...Praise God...not a single one of my kids were involved in any way, shape or form. For us, that's progress.

So, tonight, instead of me getting to go to a major preview yard sale for an arts foundation, one that I've been to for years, I'm staying home. Tomorrow night there is a gospel singing up at the high school that I've had on my calendar for a month or so but it ain't happening for me. Now, more than ever, my 24-7 supervision and eagle eye is required.

Acting out begets more problems which results in exploding issues which just continues in a crappy cycle until everyone gets a grip. Tonight there were more tears overall than rage, which is encouraging.

I do have to slip out the door before the sun comes up though to reserve one of the 160 Pre-K slots that will be available for Nando. By midnight parents will be lining up. I've had to do this for years and I've gotten slightly lazy about it, pushing back my arrival time from 4 a.m. to 5 a.m. I doubt they'll see my fussy, wore-out face until 6 a.m. tomorrow and if he gets on the waiting list, then, oh well, it's happened to us before and he'll get in at some point.

Silliness

Alyssa, Tabby, Ray Ray, CJ and Nando.

Resilency

Yolie just came over to listen to to me unload since our woes had been in the local newspaper for all to see and make sure we were totally humiliated, facts were wrong as well, but who wants a retraction to further embarrass us.

I hesitated in holding CJ, so full of bitterness am I, I didn't want to contaminate that precious baby with such ill feelings pouring out my aggrieved pores.

Being the resilient woman that I am, I even used that word out loud to Yolie, I decided I could only benefit by holding such a sweet baby and, indeed I did calm down.

Yolie reminded me I'd get over this just like I get over everything else. I always have and I always will pick myself up and keep going. What are my options? Only doing just that each time.

Nancy in Iowa immediately fired off a beautiful email to me, showing me clearly what I'm too blinded by hurt to see, and she confirmed that particular word, resilient.

I read it aloud to Yolie and we both cried.

Then I clicked on a hilarious joke from Claudia and we're still giggling.

That, and Devin's "Gambled and Lost" has helped restore my buoyancy. I have such a visual image of that thought.

Soccer & Stuff

These three pictures show my soccer kids divided by teams. Three team's worth of practices and games...that soccer field will be my temporary home for the next couple of months.

I'm still dealing with the emotional and psychological fallout of two sons who'd visited the county jail. This could drag on for several months. Although I am eating every delicious morsel that Sarah puts in front of me, the pounds still slip away as I have a super high metabolism...literally burning the food up as I chew. Carolina made me pupusas yesterday but I was too busy to eat them. They'll be my breakfast soon.

Joey is studying for his GED more than I thought possible. Although we clash every single day over stupid stuff, I do believe that his heart is in the right place. He raises my blood pressure more than any ten of my other children put together.

Dr. G is coming this morning to have therapy with Joey and his birth sister, Teresa, who's turned a corner as well.

Julie, in Oklahoma, emailed her prayers for Teresa and it is amazing to me, after all these years, to see people move the hands of God in prayer. Why do miracles still surprise me? I have a strong faith but I think, because we seem to go through very long spells of trouble, that I start to believe this is how life is...not as it should be.

Vanessa has printed out Nancy in Iowa and Emily C.'s affirmations over her life, the positive comments go a very long way in building up her self-esteem.

A 16 year old, a kindred spirit, who "gets it" commented yesterday on my blog and brought huge smiles upon Nessa's face this morning.

Miriam plays soccer for the high school, lost her game last night, and is now in negotiations with me to get her cell phone back that I pocketed last week due to deceitfulness. Grandpa and Vanessa went to that game while Edgar, Joey and I went to soccer practice with Sabrina's team. I paced and thought through many of our on-going issues.

I was brought up by very moral parents, went to church, and was involved in youth group, but rebelled in the 1960s like everyone else. During that decade, and into the 70s, I was always appalled by my peers who did not posses an internal value system, the anything goes philosophy irked me and I found myself, in 1982, back in church where I became fat (figuratively), sassy and satisfied with the comfort level I found there.

Within several years I began adopting sibling groups and I went nutso over the lack of integrity that was unleashed in our family. Lying and stealing became a part of my household and I struggled to comprehend its source. Children who came out of lack and deprivation...duh Cindy...they were left to their own means and usually had siblings to provide for as well.

It has taken years to convince the children of my commitment, of my ability to provide for them, and of the need for honesty in their lives. I truly don't know how any of this could have been accomplished without a very strong church presence in our lives to validate all that I was, and am still, teaching to my kids. I am still working with some of my grown kids on issues. There's no magical light bulb at age 18 that matures them, if anything, life temporarily goes south as they then think, mistakenly, that they are grown and therefore without "rules" to abide by.

When they realize that moral boundaries do have a place in their lives during adulthood, they emotionally return to what comforted them once. Big ole Joe is still reading the book, "A Purpose Driven Life," which makes me smile every time I think of him plowing through it. You go boy.

I am still not blogging about my other son who's facing crap. Without his permission, I can't do so. He's fairly fragile right now emotionally, and I'm simply grateful for the support we've received through this arduous ordeal.

I did get my black roots dyed blonde again, but even more telling is the number of gray hairs that dearly needed a dye job. Hollie, the woman who can even make a dork like me look good for a day, was telling me some depressing stories regarding her health and some of her other clients. Physically my family is in great shape which is nothing to sneeze at, nor dismiss, emotionally we are clinging to each other and often, blindly feeling our way through a labyrinth of obstacles with impediments, hurdles and dilemmas all mixed up into an emotional morass. Ain't that a pretty picture?

Sometimes, when I can't eat nor sleep, I just sit there in the quiet while the rest of the house snores and wets the bed, and I ponder our options. I crank myself up with the thought that I have survived losing my sister, holding my stillborn grandchild in my hands, as well as the humiliations and the quandaries involved in raising children that have been so profoundly damaged in their psyches.

I can still get up eagerly each day, still full of love for my children, and, always energized by the successes that I eventually see. The pride I feel, as my kids overcome the pitfalls, is enormous and I continue to maintain that peculiarly positive attitude no matter how dark life seems at times.

CW's Morning Thought

This morning when I went to wake up CW and Martin, CW was still stewing over a tussle between Allen and JoJo last night. Allen and JoJo are birth brothers, very, very closely bonded to each other. During an argument over who should put the sheet on the bed, Allen yelled, "I hate you, stupid!" to JoJo.

Number one, we don't call people names, number two, we don't express hatred like that. Two rules that I attempt to enforce on a daily basis.

CW, here since birth, said to Martin and I this morning, "I just can't imagine ever saying I hate you to Martin."

CW never has said that to Martin and probably never will. They've only argued, maybe twice, in the seven years they've lived together here. Their bond is strong in a much more healthy manner, something for Allen and JoJo to strive towards.

Black Roots

I am taking my black roots to town and getting them dyed yellow today at noon. I shouldn't even say that out loud as I really need everyone to behave at that point. No phone calls, no drama please for this very short window of opportunity for me.

I have Grandma and Sarah at the house to babysit Joey, Nando and Tabby. Yep...there's irony in that.

Yolie is on call for school situations.

Petulant People 0, Mom 1,000

This picture, taken yesterday, of Yolie and CJ has nothing to do with this post. Sometimes I just need to see peaceful, loving photos of a mother and a son.

Mr. I'm-Not Doing-What-You-Told-Me-To-Do, Jose, stayed in time-out last night until bedtime, steadfastly refusing to mind me.

Joey sat near him stating, "You won't win this one buddy, Mom's way harder-headed than you."

Since Jose had clobbered Tony with a broom yesterday, I thought he must be dying to sweep something, so I suggested, as a natural consequence, that he sweep the kitchen after supper.

He, unwisely, and without counsel, replied, "I don't want to."

It isn't about what someone wants to do, it is about what someone is told to do. I clearly said, "sweep", not "what do you want to do dear?"

Now that he out-weighs me, and is nearly my height, it is true that I can't physically make him sweep. But psychologically I am light years ahead of his faulty reasoning abilities.

At bedtime I told him to leave time-out and go to bed. He thought he'd won the war.

I don't think so son, I've raised tougher kids than this before.

This morning after he got dressed for school, he came into the kitchen, following his usual routine, and he sweetly asked for breakfast.

I countered with a bellow, "Son, did you lose your ever-loving mind? Did you sweep when I told you to sweep the kitchen?"

He stared at me, I stared back.

He considered his options...of which there were none.

I was still staring. About 15 other kids stopped eating to stare as well.

Jose'e eyes swept the room and he noticed that there were no big boys present to back me up. He also watched me blow up like a toad to where I looked ten feet tall and 200 pounds.

He picked up the broom and swept the kitchen.

Then I served him his cereal.

And I sweetly thanked him for helping me with that particular chore. He didn't dare mumble, grumble nor crumble in front of everyone who was quietly watching him learn to obey.

Petulant People

On my way to run errands this morning my cell phone rang and it was Paloma's teacher detailing an impending meltdown. Coincidentally I was passing the school right then so I told her I'd be there in a minute. Actually it was hardly a second later and I was standing by Paloma's desk.

Surprised the teacher asked if I'd flown there.

"Nah," I smarted off, "I'd been hanging out on the monkey bars just waiting for a call to action."

Jeepers, no teacher at that school is paid enough to have to deal with a shutdown, truculent child who is still learning the meaning of respect for authority. Her brother, Jonathan, is in the same class, and they are intuitively tuned to each others moods in a very eerie manner. I leveraged that connection and convinced her not to bring him down by her immature refusal to obey.

By afternoon I'd used the same familial bargaining chip when their other brother Jose was tettering on the verge of imbecilic. It took longer but he came around. It lasted less as he's sitting in time-out now considering his options of which there is only one...do as you are told.

Ray Ray is here while Sarah and Preston went to Wednesday night church services. It is our only night home this week and I had to supervise a dozen or so baths which entertained the snot outta Ray. He guffawed as the Bubbas streaked up and down the halls between shower, underwear bins and the laundry room. Cheap entertainment and everyone smells better now.

Getting Through

Memaw (Sabrina) pictured here with two of her birth siblings, is such a carefree child. She and my granddaughter, Baby Yolie, have bonded in such a positive manner, just two months apart in age and living barely a mile from each other. Baby Yolie is solidly adjusted and raised well by her parents, Sabrina picked up on that immediately and has emulated Baby Yolie in many ways.

Scotty, however, is an emotionally anxious, high-maintenance son. His voice quavers with feelings, the distress level is etched in his face constantly, and it has been tough to re-direct his shattered feelings into security. After a year of living with me he still cannot sit through a meal without jumping up from the table for no apparent reason, he has difficulties getting along with others, and the worry pervades his total being. Maybe it just seems so in contrast to Sabrina's carefree attitude. They are polar opposites.

She had a tougher life than he, longer time spent without the birth mom's care, she had to tend to her younger siblings, but she seems so much more unscathed than he by it all. Maybe it all boils down to one's disposition?

I stay on Edgar's back about his negativity at times. He, Miriam, Fabian and Vanessa can, and do, spout off the most destructive comments to each other at times. I continuously remind them, "If you can't say something nice, then don't say anything at all." He just called me to bring his glasses to school and even in that short phone call he made a negative remark.

Life is hard enough without negative opinions.

With all that I face each day I am always still positive that I can handle everything. Some of the huge obstacles in front us right now appear insurmountable, but I believe it will just add to our strength once we get through the experiences; it'll become part of our story and of our testimony of faith.

I have the most annoying Pollyannish, attitude of gratitude. I get knocked down, I express myself loudly, I get back up, often knocked back down, but I keep on getting up.

There's a few battles I'm in the midst of, there'll be more, I'll take chances, plow though, do what I gotta do and then keep doing it some more.

15 Grown Kids

I'm not going to blog specifically about my grown kid's dramas, if you don't live with me then I expect you to handle more of the day to day junk that comes up. I'm still emotionally available, and if my opinion is asked, I'll give it. Oftentimes I just blurt it out anyway.

Knowing we had to be on the soccer field by 6 last night, I had supper on the table at 5. One of my son-in-laws came in, joined us for spaghetti, and then just exploded his opinion about something from several days ago that I had known nothing about...which would have suited me to have kept it that way.

I asked him to let me go to soccer and think about what to do.

A way to gauge the amount of drama within my family would also be to count the number of grown kid's cars out front of my house. We can park a hundred cars in the front area and the meadow, we know this from several weddings here, and last night we had several cars until 10 pm as we all worked through an issue that I really did not want to be involved in.

I have a poor marriage record, been married twice, and am totally unable to put up with the hassle of constant companionship, I am just not interested. Why anyone would come to me with their marriage questions is beyond me. Even though I don't want to be married, when my kids get married, I want them to stay married.

Marcela and I got sucked in last night, unable to extricate ourselves from the fallout. Edgar and Joey had scattered like rats when the lights are turned on, and Vanessa herded the younger kids to other rooms as the rest of us worked through this crap.

Everything was in Spanish anyway, and the little kids are supremely uninterested in anymore drama.

A son-in-law who has worked hard on his marriage, and his family, took the lead last night which I appreciated as I, also, wished to be invisible...or at least upstairs out of the firing range.

This SIL brought everything to light under the guise of love and respect for me which I found intriguing. During all the emotional mayhem I was dogging him for finally, after more than a decade, saying he loved me out loud. He has always shown his love, but never expressed it to me verbally.

I can get hung up on the least important facet of any situation.

Interestingly enough, none of these particular sons-in-law were in church on Sunday. About all I had to say was that none of this would have happened if everyone had been following after the will of God. I really did stay fairly quiet through all this.

THE Sandwich

My kids come roaring in after school with kisses and hugs and have been known to ask, "What did you eat today?" as I often smell of onions and garlic.

CW, in this self-portrait photo, was raised by me since birth and is very attuned to my type of cooking and eating. He'll be the first today to question me about Sarah's Sandwich as her ingredients are still on the kitchen counter. I wish I could eat about ten more of them right now. My appetite is back with a vengeance.

Laughing Again

So needy am I for a laugh that I'm searching in some fairly unlikely places. Nando needed a Georgia immunization sheet for Pre-K, Joey needed a Hep B booster, and even Edgar needed one for college admissions.

We went and signed Edgar out of school for a few minutes and I don't make this stuff up. .. with Alyssa on my hip, I had to hold Edgar's hand, his 19 year old hand, while the nurse plunged the needle in his arm. He visibly cringed.

Nando, just four years old, then took THREE shots without flinching or hand holding. He got happy stickers, not Edgar, because he didn't act happy during his shots.

Only one nurse made any sort of crack regarding the glaring fact that I have a kid going off to college and another starting Pre-K.

Tabitha won't even start Pre-K until next year. She and Jack were posing in a big way after church on Sunday, neither of them are as sweet as they appear in this picture, almost this sweet though.

Allen asked me if we could adopt just one more kid to make it an even 40. "No darling," I replied, "my kids don't come in ones."

Sarah just made cheese-veggie sandwiches with shredded sweet potatoes, carrots, onions, bean sprouts and two types of cheese for Cristy and I. With our mouths full we were both praising Sarah's culinary abilities.

Cristy, now almost 29, left for her social psychology class where she claims she hasn't learned antyhing there that she didn't already know from growing up in a large family. Vanessa, of all people, used Cristy as an example to me as to why I keep on keeping on with all my kids. Nessa also announced to everyone in the living room last night that she's gonna be one of our huge success stories. I told her I was gonna blog that promise out loud.

Mornings and Kisses

I slept in til 6 this morning since I ate like a fat hog yesterday. Sarah brought me polenta and I chowed down three large meals plus everything else, I just couldn't get filled up.

I heard Tony, Martin and Joey, all birth half-sibs, arguing about their different birth dads, none of whom they know anything about. Tony lost the argument and refused to be in a photo this morning with Joey and Martin. How does one lose a senseless argument? I started to ask that question, but quickly realized I'd be sucked in to another pointless argument.

One of our darling pastors, Geoff, was talking to me Sunday morning, and expressing his sympathy over all the difficulties we'd seemed to face lately. He boldly stated that God was fixing to bless us big time and I stupidly, and uncharacteristically, replied that I didn't want to get my hopes up. Good gracious weenie girl, get a grip. What a schmucky answer.

We've been in the valley before. Life has its ups and downs. Get over yourself.

I had an interesting phone call last night that could promise excitement to come. I'll see where it goes.

It may seem, with my verbal diarrhea, that I blog every little event that happens within our family when, in reality, I can only cover the highlights...maybe 10% of our events as this house is rocking 24-7.

We are an affectionate family, hugs and kisses, my long arms wrapped around bunches of kids, and I'm often just squeezing one of them. As if hugs energize and reassure. Most of my kids initiate this soothing comfort from me.

A major event occurred last night after soccer practice when a storm blew through both literally and figuratively. I was sitting and talking with Vanessa, most of the kids were in bed asleep, Edgar was washing a load of his clothes, and Miriam was searching for an alarm clock, since I'd taken away her cell phone as a consequence for her deceitful weekend. We have the whole John Boy Walton routine at night, hugs, kisses, "I love yous" and "good night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite" (which really isn't funny when you think about where my kids came from...some had literally been put into foster care with lice, body louse and scabies.)

Lately I have overdoing the affection with Vanessa. She's always stated how much she hated to be kissed, so I've hugged her for almost 6 years, sometimes kissing her cheek goodnight, and then running full throttle from her yelps. Last night she kissed my cheek unexpectedly. Good thing I'm a patient woman, I didn't make a big deal about it, I covered my shock fairly well, but Miriam's eyes bugged slap outta her head in amazement and disbelief. Go Nessa. I believe you're starting to truly love and trust me. She'll, quite likely, act out and push me away all afternoon in a manner designed to protect her newly shown vulnerability.

I take my success anywhere I can find it. That was a big one though.

It's colder now than it was in January, and everyone was scrambling to find fleeces. We just may be over that nasty intestinal bug that I've been cleaning up after all over the house. Joey helpfully suggested at dinner, "if anyone feels like they have to fart, don't take any chances, run to a toilet and sit down first. These are really wet gooshy ones!"

I was so hungry, after not eating for so long, that I just kept shoveling food in my big mouth while all the other kids tried to best his comments. I'll spare y'all...but it was hilariously entertaining while hideously gross at the same time. Everyone still cleaned their plates and ate bananas for dessert.