Guess who's succeeding now that she's back at the high school...except for a slighty pissy attitude at times once again, it's not the sweetie on the left.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Vanessa's Grades
Guess who's succeeding now that she's back at the high school...except for a slighty pissy attitude at times once again, it's not the sweetie on the left.
Mama's Boys
The minute CW gets home from school, he pulls off his shirt and britches to reveal his bathing suit that he wore to school over his underwear and I'm having a challenge in convincing him that he needs to choose either boxers or swim trunks. If this is our worst conflict then I'm happy.
Martin started middle school and started caring about his hair, first he grew it out like Mowgli then he cut and spiked it using gel and hairspray. Jeepers.
Sweet Edgar got paid today and bought soccer chairs for both of us as Tuesday night we were sitting on some pretty raggedy pieces of lawn furniture.
Sonny'd gotten me a salad from where he now works and Carolina had fried up a mess of plantains today for us. I can live like this, a happy life, no drama, kids acting right and even Fabian called me today.
I talked with his counselor there and he's doing well, they reported a sweet demeanor and great behavior which thrills me to pieces. I gave Fabian a lecture, of course, pointed out that our home life should always be this stress-free. He agrees in theory but we'll see how he attempts to keep it together under the pressure at home, positive pressure at that.
Gito, 15 and Javy, 12 came home from school and fell all over themselves helping me with chores, all the kids did their homework and 30 minutes of reading, no one has even argued.
I must be in the wrong house.
Blogger Woes
This morning my blog told me, "We're sorry we are unable to process your request."
What? 1100 lost posts? I had a cow, emailed Claudia, and joined a blogger support group to bemoan these events that eventually resolved itself.
I've never printed out a hard copy of my blog, I should, but I haven't done so.
Maybe this winter I'll do it, but I also need to repaint every square inch of this house and replace knocked out windows.
911 on Speed Dial
There may be little, if any, logic in 11 year old Jose's world as yesterday afternoon Javy prevented Jose from hitting Paloma. All three are birth siblings. Jose came inside wanting to have a furious rage but I put my finger on his chest and loudly advised him to get a grip.
Instead he had a screaming ninny fit, "I'll run away! Anywhere is better than here!"
Oh right, son, you must have had a swimming pool in your back pocket when you were homeless and on the streets, sleeping outside in the dirt? I thought it, but didn't say it aloud.
So my little darling put on school clothes and went outside to play. I thought.
Suppertime and no Jose.
He runs away at least weekly but never leaves our 50 acres, he's usually in the second meadow, hardly 100 yards away. We are surrounded by hundreds of wooded acres.
I'd gone outside after supper to work when thunder booms started rolling in, I figured that'd drive Jose indoors...but it didn't.
Some kids and I got in the van and drove around for a good long time with zero results.
I hiked down to the big creek while it was thundering violently but couldn't find him. We searched under the house, in the barn, and everywhere else that we thought it'd be likely to find him.
90 minutes of searching, my blood is boiling, the skies opened and we got a deluge so I called the 911 dispatcher to see if any deputies had picked up an irritable wet 11 year old.
"No, Ma'am we haven't," she replied. "I'll send an officer out."
I'm standing there trying to figure out how, all at the same time, to pick up the kids from youth group at church, plus Joey from McDonald's, and get ahold of Jose, knowing I still had to meet with a deputy.
My home phone rang and the father of my best friend asked me if I had an extra son available to help him tomorrow? I kept my tongue about the unavailable son that was missing, and agreed to donate Joey tomorrow.
Edgar answered his cell phone and a friend asked him why Jose was walking down a highway.
That's what we wanted to know also.
Edgar and I jumped in the van, I called 911 to tell them to cancel my date with the deputy, the kids were calling my cell to come pick them up from church, but I had Jose on my mind. Y'all give me a minute...
We found him nonchalantly walking down a new street in a new subdivision with no houses in it yet, deep in some woods off the highway, but he could easily have gotten to it from the back recesses of our property.
He ignored us.
Edgar quietly mentioned it'd be best if he didn't have to get out of the van and make Jose get in.
Jose didn't even have to think about that one, he jumped in right fast. He was barely 1/2 mile from our house, as the crow flies, and the rain had not hit him at all which is funny as we'd had a gully washer at our house.
He has some very huge grounded to a grown-up restrictions for the foreseeable future.
Instead he had a screaming ninny fit, "I'll run away! Anywhere is better than here!"
Oh right, son, you must have had a swimming pool in your back pocket when you were homeless and on the streets, sleeping outside in the dirt? I thought it, but didn't say it aloud.
So my little darling put on school clothes and went outside to play. I thought.
Suppertime and no Jose.
He runs away at least weekly but never leaves our 50 acres, he's usually in the second meadow, hardly 100 yards away. We are surrounded by hundreds of wooded acres.
I'd gone outside after supper to work when thunder booms started rolling in, I figured that'd drive Jose indoors...but it didn't.
Some kids and I got in the van and drove around for a good long time with zero results.
I hiked down to the big creek while it was thundering violently but couldn't find him. We searched under the house, in the barn, and everywhere else that we thought it'd be likely to find him.
90 minutes of searching, my blood is boiling, the skies opened and we got a deluge so I called the 911 dispatcher to see if any deputies had picked up an irritable wet 11 year old.
"No, Ma'am we haven't," she replied. "I'll send an officer out."
I'm standing there trying to figure out how, all at the same time, to pick up the kids from youth group at church, plus Joey from McDonald's, and get ahold of Jose, knowing I still had to meet with a deputy.
My home phone rang and the father of my best friend asked me if I had an extra son available to help him tomorrow? I kept my tongue about the unavailable son that was missing, and agreed to donate Joey tomorrow.
Edgar answered his cell phone and a friend asked him why Jose was walking down a highway.
That's what we wanted to know also.
Edgar and I jumped in the van, I called 911 to tell them to cancel my date with the deputy, the kids were calling my cell to come pick them up from church, but I had Jose on my mind. Y'all give me a minute...
We found him nonchalantly walking down a new street in a new subdivision with no houses in it yet, deep in some woods off the highway, but he could easily have gotten to it from the back recesses of our property.
He ignored us.
Edgar quietly mentioned it'd be best if he didn't have to get out of the van and make Jose get in.
Jose didn't even have to think about that one, he jumped in right fast. He was barely 1/2 mile from our house, as the crow flies, and the rain had not hit him at all which is funny as we'd had a gully washer at our house.
He has some very huge grounded to a grown-up restrictions for the foreseeable future.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Camps, RTCs and Othe Dwindling Resources
Reading on-line newspapers is my remote connection to that big ole world outside my dirt road. Four of my children, now mostly grown, had a brother who lived at this particular camp for years. This young teen was a sexual perpetrator who responded to treatment there after many years, and is now living fairly successfully on his own.
I've met several counselors from there over the years, one came here for a couple of visits with that brother, and another one met me in Chicago for a Naval Basic training graduation with that same brother. That counselor has stayed in touch with me, he remained an unofficial foster parent as this child aged out. In my limited opinion, this particular camp did wonders with Rolando.
But politics, like I also often saw occurring in the school system, has reared its warty head and has caused monumental problems without a blithe thought to the children. I had an email this morning from a parent who has a child at the same facility in Atlanta where my Alex is, and the politics of returning mentally ill children to the community is going to cost these children in horrific ways. Neither that mother, nor I, can keep our children safe from themselves.
Audrey's blog today was also a stomach wrencher. As I read her words I was transported back to my years with Cristy, who we fondly referred to then as La Loquita. Cristy is now a psychology student, a para-professional bi-lingual in the school system, and a married woman...the difference being, most likely, Cristy had a family...that she then hated, rejected, damaged, raged against, ran away from, destroyed relationships to for years and hurt herself deeply in the process. But now, 16 years later, we can smile about it all.
Audrey laments, "I've worked at a placement, I know they have their rules, but now I work at DFCS and for GODS SAKE PEOPLE ITS A LOCK DOWN FACILITY, IF SHE WANTED TO BE THERE IT WOULDN'T HAVE TO BE LOCK DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!! (let the exclamation police get ahold of that one).
Bottom line is that eventually I began to cry full of frustration and anger as about 7 staff members watched me have a full break down at the placement including yells of "what do you want me to do with her if you can't do anything with her". Eventually a calm, therapeutic clinical director came and took ME into one of the therapy rooms and tried to calm ME down."
Amen to that Audrey.
What adoptive parent hasn't dissolved into tears of frustration and of pure white-hot rage at a system that can't, or won't, help us? We have severely damaged, potentially very dangerous children in our custody. We need help. DUH.
Contrast that with the county I live in, formerly a very rural, small school system where I've been happy for 30 years. Now mega mansions are springing up, the very upper class is moving in, and some materially spoiled children are in our school system.
Last night at soccer I caught Sabrina, (11) staring at a girl her age who was wearing a belt-clip cell phone and uber trendy soccer duds. And us? When Allen's team was finished practicing we had to sprint to the van and let him and Martin swap equipment and shorts. But my kids were laughing and carrying on with each other, and I never saw the 11 year old cool girl even smile once.
I drop my children off at school in the morning with the usual admonition, "Make me proud y'all" but lately I'm feeling I should add, "Try and act somewhat normal," as I doubt some of our old acting behaviors would go over well in this ever-changing, upwardly-mobile environment, thank God our resident feces flinger only does that only at home nowadays.
My kids did look normal last night at soccer practice, no fist fights nor meltdowns, just great ball playing. We've added Scotty to the mix now, but Lily has dropped out, preferring her own world of art and nature. On the U12 team, I have 6 kids, all good aggressive, skillful players.
I was watching practice, all 3 teams go from 6-9 pm on Tuesday now, when Deysi called me that her car wouldn't crank and, of course, the cables were at the doublewide on our property. I left Vanessa and Joey watching the kids while Edgar drove me (he's seriously glued to my side each evening as my chauffeur) to Kroger to tend to Deysi, we swung by and picked Miriam up from work, and didn't get everyone home and in bed until 9:30...too late on a school night.
First night on the soccer field, different parents were greeting us, I'm wracking my pea brain for names, and acting as if I remember everyone there, bouncing between three fields, and thinking about a placement that is taking too long from Texas to Kansas. It's truly a wonder that I don't just short circuit but I keep a notebook going, a huge Franklin-Covey planner, nagging children, and a mental checklist.
Our washer is fixed after a repairman removed duct tape, marbles, pencils, a straw and ball bearings from the pump...and I'm pretty good about checking pockets, obviously I'm not good enough.
Today the children get out of school early and I'm just going to let them swim their own selves into exhaustion. I'm looking forward to that simple concept.
I'll lifeguard them, as I always do, and let my mind chew on the plight of children worldwide. If I were not so obsessed, I wouldn't have 39 kids. Now that I know I cannot physically, emotionally, nor any other way, parent a single other child, I need to think of other ways to encourage people, to find help and resources, and to continue both in AAN and in blogging where I have "met" some very fantastic parents.
Parents who are hanging in there, who are struggling (see all links on my blog for examples), who are temporarily over-whelmed and, certainly permanently altered in their thinking and in their life-styles by the mere simple act of adoption. It's not exactly what any of us expected. Not even close...
I've met several counselors from there over the years, one came here for a couple of visits with that brother, and another one met me in Chicago for a Naval Basic training graduation with that same brother. That counselor has stayed in touch with me, he remained an unofficial foster parent as this child aged out. In my limited opinion, this particular camp did wonders with Rolando.
But politics, like I also often saw occurring in the school system, has reared its warty head and has caused monumental problems without a blithe thought to the children. I had an email this morning from a parent who has a child at the same facility in Atlanta where my Alex is, and the politics of returning mentally ill children to the community is going to cost these children in horrific ways. Neither that mother, nor I, can keep our children safe from themselves.
Audrey's blog today was also a stomach wrencher. As I read her words I was transported back to my years with Cristy, who we fondly referred to then as La Loquita. Cristy is now a psychology student, a para-professional bi-lingual in the school system, and a married woman...the difference being, most likely, Cristy had a family...that she then hated, rejected, damaged, raged against, ran away from, destroyed relationships to for years and hurt herself deeply in the process. But now, 16 years later, we can smile about it all.
Audrey laments, "I've worked at a placement, I know they have their rules, but now I work at DFCS and for GODS SAKE PEOPLE ITS A LOCK DOWN FACILITY, IF SHE WANTED TO BE THERE IT WOULDN'T HAVE TO BE LOCK DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!! (let the exclamation police get ahold of that one).
Bottom line is that eventually I began to cry full of frustration and anger as about 7 staff members watched me have a full break down at the placement including yells of "what do you want me to do with her if you can't do anything with her". Eventually a calm, therapeutic clinical director came and took ME into one of the therapy rooms and tried to calm ME down."
Amen to that Audrey.
What adoptive parent hasn't dissolved into tears of frustration and of pure white-hot rage at a system that can't, or won't, help us? We have severely damaged, potentially very dangerous children in our custody. We need help. DUH.
Contrast that with the county I live in, formerly a very rural, small school system where I've been happy for 30 years. Now mega mansions are springing up, the very upper class is moving in, and some materially spoiled children are in our school system.
Last night at soccer I caught Sabrina, (11) staring at a girl her age who was wearing a belt-clip cell phone and uber trendy soccer duds. And us? When Allen's team was finished practicing we had to sprint to the van and let him and Martin swap equipment and shorts. But my kids were laughing and carrying on with each other, and I never saw the 11 year old cool girl even smile once.
I drop my children off at school in the morning with the usual admonition, "Make me proud y'all" but lately I'm feeling I should add, "Try and act somewhat normal," as I doubt some of our old acting behaviors would go over well in this ever-changing, upwardly-mobile environment, thank God our resident feces flinger only does that only at home nowadays.
My kids did look normal last night at soccer practice, no fist fights nor meltdowns, just great ball playing. We've added Scotty to the mix now, but Lily has dropped out, preferring her own world of art and nature. On the U12 team, I have 6 kids, all good aggressive, skillful players.
I was watching practice, all 3 teams go from 6-9 pm on Tuesday now, when Deysi called me that her car wouldn't crank and, of course, the cables were at the doublewide on our property. I left Vanessa and Joey watching the kids while Edgar drove me (he's seriously glued to my side each evening as my chauffeur) to Kroger to tend to Deysi, we swung by and picked Miriam up from work, and didn't get everyone home and in bed until 9:30...too late on a school night.
First night on the soccer field, different parents were greeting us, I'm wracking my pea brain for names, and acting as if I remember everyone there, bouncing between three fields, and thinking about a placement that is taking too long from Texas to Kansas. It's truly a wonder that I don't just short circuit but I keep a notebook going, a huge Franklin-Covey planner, nagging children, and a mental checklist.
Our washer is fixed after a repairman removed duct tape, marbles, pencils, a straw and ball bearings from the pump...and I'm pretty good about checking pockets, obviously I'm not good enough.
Today the children get out of school early and I'm just going to let them swim their own selves into exhaustion. I'm looking forward to that simple concept.
I'll lifeguard them, as I always do, and let my mind chew on the plight of children worldwide. If I were not so obsessed, I wouldn't have 39 kids. Now that I know I cannot physically, emotionally, nor any other way, parent a single other child, I need to think of other ways to encourage people, to find help and resources, and to continue both in AAN and in blogging where I have "met" some very fantastic parents.
Parents who are hanging in there, who are struggling (see all links on my blog for examples), who are temporarily over-whelmed and, certainly permanently altered in their thinking and in their life-styles by the mere simple act of adoption. It's not exactly what any of us expected. Not even close...
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Charter
Our cable internet went down along with nearly everything else in our house and Charter tech support said they'd send someone sometime this week to fix it. I got up at 4:30 this morning and finished reading another gorgeous garden design book that was way over my head because I didn't think our internet was working. Edgar and I were even texting stupid stuff to each other while he drank coffee with his buddies at work right before 6 a.m. when they needed to clock in.
I coulda been blogging...had some nice thoughts also but now I feel slightly outta sorts...my laptop parts still haven't arrived.
The washer repairman is coming this morning while Edgar, Miriam and I were up at our pool late last night after the thunderstorms, fixing it up once again. I am the cook, cleaner, laundrywoman, handyman, sports coach, tutor, grocery shopper, cab driver, jack of all trades mama lady. No wonder I sleep good.
Jonathan slammed his finger in a door, purple fingernail results, Ms Carr came by to jumpstart homework yesterday afternoon, and we really need a plumber to come by this week as we're down to just a couple of bathrooms for this many little pissers.
If I disappear from blogging anytime soon, just blame Charter. CW noticed the activity light was on the router this morning and logged me in....this blog may often seem like The Mama & Edgar Show but truly everyone in the house is vying for the Mr. Genius Fix-It Spot, formerly held for decades by Daniel...I'm fearing he is irreplaceable. Chuy is giving him a good run for his money though.
Edgar somehow corralled 19 kids into a meadow soccer game until the lightening drove us inside last night. My friend, Emily, brought over her darling grandbaby baby...not a typo, a reality in adoption when grandmas raise the grandbabies.
Joe'd brought a very petulant Alyssa to visit but she simply would not come out of Joe's arms for any reason on earth. Joe's a really good daddy, on our church prayer list for many years, caused grief and heartache here for the longest time, offered to haul all my laundry back to his apartment and wash it for me. Do I have wonderful sons or what?
Monday, August 28, 2006
Britney Spears Doesn't Live Here and My Supercilious Attitude Today
I had to send a 12 year old, Mayra, back to her room this morning to change clothes as a tiny bit of cleavage showed. Get real little girl, you're in 7th grade, not a beauty pageant. I'm SO not having that crap here, this is a battle you won't win, I've been tried already by the best...the biggers. Does everyone think they're an extra on the OC or something?
I don't care what everyone else wears, no hoochy mamas are prancing outta my house this morning. Who designs these awful clothes for pre-teens? I can take an old lady stance on this if I want to, as can my oldest friend, Barbara, who also turns 52 this week. Happy Birthday Girlfriend!
So tired was I last night, sleeping hard enough to dent the bed, not hearing Edgar dig through my pocketbook for his car keys at 5 a.m., sleeping in til 6 or so, I'm on top of the world now.
My washer won't drain, I've called Sears & Roebuck for a repairman, the laundry pile should be higher than my super tall son, Jesse, by this evening...the repairman's gonna have to dig the washer out first.
Mr. I Don't Always Read Your Blog Edgar just texted me using "..." in different places to continue his thoughts. Where'd ya learn that from son? And he called me domineering and over-possessive yesterday. Like those are his original adjectives? No wonder we butt heads often. I can be domineering if I want to, I'm the sassy mama.
Like the smell of dirty boy laundry funk wasn't enough, I chose this week as the best time to put organic fish emulsion in my several hundred houseplants, and Tabitha forgot that she was potty trained and took a dump in her night diapers that were still on this morning. Wah wah wah, guess who wants her Memaw? Monday morning blues until middle school lets out and safely returns Memaw to a chronically fearful Tabby.
Tabby tried sleeping it off, collapsing on the sofa dramatically in a pile of tangled curly hair, dozing off until Ray Ray got here, another victim for her to squabble with until she sees Memaw again.
11 year old Memaw is having a blast at picture day at school, certainly not fretting over her three year old baby sister. Memaw, Sabrina, gets it. Sabrina knows I'm committed to them, knows she'll never move, has moved enough, and lived with enough different people to intuitively understand the concept of a forever family.
Sabrina handed Tabby to me, like a scared kitten, 18 months ago and moved on emotionally into the life of a sociable pre-teen...not a Britney Spears clone...while Tabby still frets and asks me a million times a day, "I'm stuck with you forever, right?" in an anxious, wild-eyed manner. Lately she's taken to an odd phrase, "If something happened to you Mama, I should just die."
OK, then, let's keep me strong, lean and mean...I'm not going anywhere darling.
I don't care what everyone else wears, no hoochy mamas are prancing outta my house this morning. Who designs these awful clothes for pre-teens? I can take an old lady stance on this if I want to, as can my oldest friend, Barbara, who also turns 52 this week. Happy Birthday Girlfriend!
So tired was I last night, sleeping hard enough to dent the bed, not hearing Edgar dig through my pocketbook for his car keys at 5 a.m., sleeping in til 6 or so, I'm on top of the world now.
My washer won't drain, I've called Sears & Roebuck for a repairman, the laundry pile should be higher than my super tall son, Jesse, by this evening...the repairman's gonna have to dig the washer out first.
Mr. I Don't Always Read Your Blog Edgar just texted me using "..." in different places to continue his thoughts. Where'd ya learn that from son? And he called me domineering and over-possessive yesterday. Like those are his original adjectives? No wonder we butt heads often. I can be domineering if I want to, I'm the sassy mama.
Like the smell of dirty boy laundry funk wasn't enough, I chose this week as the best time to put organic fish emulsion in my several hundred houseplants, and Tabitha forgot that she was potty trained and took a dump in her night diapers that were still on this morning. Wah wah wah, guess who wants her Memaw? Monday morning blues until middle school lets out and safely returns Memaw to a chronically fearful Tabby.
Tabby tried sleeping it off, collapsing on the sofa dramatically in a pile of tangled curly hair, dozing off until Ray Ray got here, another victim for her to squabble with until she sees Memaw again.
11 year old Memaw is having a blast at picture day at school, certainly not fretting over her three year old baby sister. Memaw, Sabrina, gets it. Sabrina knows I'm committed to them, knows she'll never move, has moved enough, and lived with enough different people to intuitively understand the concept of a forever family.
Sabrina handed Tabby to me, like a scared kitten, 18 months ago and moved on emotionally into the life of a sociable pre-teen...not a Britney Spears clone...while Tabby still frets and asks me a million times a day, "I'm stuck with you forever, right?" in an anxious, wild-eyed manner. Lately she's taken to an odd phrase, "If something happened to you Mama, I should just die."
OK, then, let's keep me strong, lean and mean...I'm not going anywhere darling.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Rough Boys
This is all a Sunday's afternoon worth of wrestling and play fighting, this is not where the fist fights in our house begin, those spring out of nowhere when issues emerge.This is why our sofas last less than a year, why clothes are worn out and rugs destroyed. My kids play outside a great deal and even our fairly new concrete driveway has caved under the pressure.
A pipe has burst upstairs in the big boys area, water came through the floor, a light fixture, and poured into the pantry and the hallway. I had to shut off all the water to that section of the house which means I now have dirty boys showering in my bathroom which doesn't matter all that much as Tabby knocked over a shelf in there last night and sent a favorite plant into the toilet. Yes, I dived in after it.
As my blog gets passed around adoption and foster care groups, I am hearing from many other families that live like we do, that are under the gun in so many areas regarding their children's issues and attempts at finding resources, it's both encouraging as well as frightening at times.
Quiet Sunday Afternoons
My old pastor once likened a successful church to a hospital in that its intention should be to meet the needs of a hurting congregation. If one factors in the 40 of us, that's the equivalent of 10 different familes of four, the average size nowadays, so it's now wonder that often we'd have significant prayer needs. I rarely raise my hand in Sunday School though as I fear we could dominate the class with our needs.
I met a new family today from, of all places, Honduras. San Pedro Sula to be exact which is across the country from where my daughters, Deysi, Saray and Marcela are from.
Jose had done his Sunday morning run away from home routine, Sonny'd tackled him down and we'd made his get his butt to church but, in the process, he'd made me miss Sunday School.
Daniel emailed me that Sonny still had a job, some friends from high school had told Daniel they'd seen him, what a great job he was doing, which is all I ever ask, just make me proud.
The picture of CJ shows the rest of the blue paint on my good dog, Babe.
And, still in their church clothes, 20 year old Sonny has been trying for the last 20 minutes to pin 12 year old Javy. My high-maintenance,very domineering, over-possesive son, Edgar, always checking to see if his name is on the blog, won't let anyone take a picture of him today as he wrestles down JoJo, Allen and Jose. There goes my theory that pictures of his handsome self increases blog readership.
Paying For One's Crime
Working in my garden last night I had Paula on my mind as she'd posted pictures of blooming morning glories when Claudia called. In Paula's world the morning glories are not a weed, here in Georgia they spring up everywhere, like beautiful monsters, just to choke out roses, tomatoes, houses..anything they can find. I'd mentioned, in my blog yesterday, worrying about that sib group of 7 and, lo and behold, Claudia called me with a homestudy ready family. How's that for fast? I'm sure praying that this works out.
Miriam was going to the movies with Tina's daughter, Katherine, and they both came out to the back garden to find me to say good-bye. Allen was helping me pick cucumbers and banana peppers but my dumb chickens lay eggs wherever they happen to drop and, in this case, it seemed as if we were picking eggs amongst the watermelons and cantaloupes.
I'd earlier worked in Deysi's garden with Chuy's help plus mowed the first meadow early in the morning with CW, Martin, Jack and Nando out there raking the clippings for mulch.
I couldn't believe how many uninterrupted hours I'd been able to spend outside. I didn't have to spend 24-7 managing Joey's behavior nor refereeing Fabian's outbursts. Neither of them, of course, have a clue regarding how much better life can be without their presence, That's too sad for words I think. I miss Daniel every minute of the day, that's how it should be, not when one revels in an absence of someone.
Dare I believe that life can be this calm with only 24 kids in the house nowadays? I doubt it.
Since I've been blogging I 've received very interesting emails from other adoptive moms. This one lady gave me permission to reprint her words. She'd caught one of her sons trying to sell prescription drugs that he'd stolen from an elderly man. She's a wonderful example, to me, of the consequences of misbehavior.
"Yes--we are having a psych eval. Then possibly counseling of some sort.
Talked to the following-- the local magistrate (my brother-in-law), the local drug task force cop (friend and fellow church member--youth group leader) and then the local probation officer at the suggestion of the other two.
Family plan (made with help of the above)-- back to homeschooling (only went to PS last year for the first time, so not a biggie to HS again), under "home confinement" with ZERO privileges and I do mean ZERO (no play station, TV, phone, going anywhere, no friends over, no nothing that isn't a bed, clothes, three meals a day, two showers each day (b-o problem), church on Sun morn, and an early bedtime.) AFTER a month - 6 weeks, he will begin to s-l-o-w-l-y earn SOME privileges, depending on his behavior and attitude--not earning back any out of the home without parents privileges, except to youth group cause Dave the drug cop is the leader. The biggie is that we are applying to Mountaineer Challenge http://www.ngycp.org/state/wv/ We have to apply now even though by Jan (when the next session starts) we may feel that the fours months of "confinement" were sufficient. R has always wanted a military career, so this works out good in that way. IF at any time R does not cooperate with the "home confinement" he will immediately go on probation with the very tough probation officer. The PO said our (meaning all of us) goal is to keep him home and out of trouble until Jan when he can go to MC.
Oh and during his homeschooling days, he will also have 2-4 hours of physical labor (weed eating, chopping firewood, scrubbing siding...) for us and my parents who live next door.
Most of our family support us, a couple think the Mountaineer Challenge is too much punishment for the crime. *WE* think that stealing drugs from your bedridden 93 years old neighbor and giving them to local neighborhood dealer (who R was NOT to associate with ever) to sell for you is MONUMENTAL. One of the drugs was a blood thinner that could have killed someone if a kid would have taken very many.
Oh and he has to face the guardian/caretaker of the elderly man--apologize and return the money he made watching the man for two eight hour shifts a week.
Through it all, I keep hugging him and telling him that he has a wonderful chance to turn this around, learn his lessons and make us and HIMSELF proud.
And I can only say those things and act calm and be loving and firm through this because apparently God knew what we would be dealing with and led me to your blog months ago for me to be fed and encouraged for the tasks ahead!
Thanks so much and please pray for us."
In my opinion, this is awesome. The child can "pay now" as Fabian also is doing, or pay big as an adult who never learned consequences. Most likely, this will have a big effect on his emotional and social development.
Parenting children who seem to have little, if any, consciences is frustrating at best. Another adoptive parent, who like me, has a child in residential psychiatric care...same facility...needs to read Bart's post as she also is battling bureaucrats who think she's dodging parenting. None of these administrators live with the fears, the dangers and the pure craziness that an adoptive parent often experiences, we are up against clueless wonders at times when we most need help.
So, full circle, back around to the potential parents of the sib group of 7 that I am fretting about. While I envy you the excitement and the rewards involved in parenting a new group of children, I'd advise you also to batten down the hatches before the storm that's sure coming your way. You are in for the ride of your life and I'd so like to use an exclamation mark here as I have the scars to prove it is not an overuse! There, I used one.
Miriam was going to the movies with Tina's daughter, Katherine, and they both came out to the back garden to find me to say good-bye. Allen was helping me pick cucumbers and banana peppers but my dumb chickens lay eggs wherever they happen to drop and, in this case, it seemed as if we were picking eggs amongst the watermelons and cantaloupes.
I'd earlier worked in Deysi's garden with Chuy's help plus mowed the first meadow early in the morning with CW, Martin, Jack and Nando out there raking the clippings for mulch.
I couldn't believe how many uninterrupted hours I'd been able to spend outside. I didn't have to spend 24-7 managing Joey's behavior nor refereeing Fabian's outbursts. Neither of them, of course, have a clue regarding how much better life can be without their presence, That's too sad for words I think. I miss Daniel every minute of the day, that's how it should be, not when one revels in an absence of someone.
Dare I believe that life can be this calm with only 24 kids in the house nowadays? I doubt it.
Since I've been blogging I 've received very interesting emails from other adoptive moms. This one lady gave me permission to reprint her words. She'd caught one of her sons trying to sell prescription drugs that he'd stolen from an elderly man. She's a wonderful example, to me, of the consequences of misbehavior.
"Yes--we are having a psych eval. Then possibly counseling of some sort.
Talked to the following-- the local magistrate (my brother-in-law), the local drug task force cop (friend and fellow church member--youth group leader) and then the local probation officer at the suggestion of the other two.
Family plan (made with help of the above)-- back to homeschooling (only went to PS last year for the first time, so not a biggie to HS again), under "home confinement" with ZERO privileges and I do mean ZERO (no play station, TV, phone, going anywhere, no friends over, no nothing that isn't a bed, clothes, three meals a day, two showers each day (b-o problem), church on Sun morn, and an early bedtime.) AFTER a month - 6 weeks, he will begin to s-l-o-w-l-y earn SOME privileges, depending on his behavior and attitude--not earning back any out of the home without parents privileges, except to youth group cause Dave the drug cop is the leader. The biggie is that we are applying to Mountaineer Challenge http://www.ngycp.org/state/wv/ We have to apply now even though by Jan (when the next session starts) we may feel that the fours months of "confinement" were sufficient. R has always wanted a military career, so this works out good in that way. IF at any time R does not cooperate with the "home confinement" he will immediately go on probation with the very tough probation officer. The PO said our (meaning all of us) goal is to keep him home and out of trouble until Jan when he can go to MC.
Oh and during his homeschooling days, he will also have 2-4 hours of physical labor (weed eating, chopping firewood, scrubbing siding...) for us and my parents who live next door.
Most of our family support us, a couple think the Mountaineer Challenge is too much punishment for the crime. *WE* think that stealing drugs from your bedridden 93 years old neighbor and giving them to local neighborhood dealer (who R was NOT to associate with ever) to sell for you is MONUMENTAL. One of the drugs was a blood thinner that could have killed someone if a kid would have taken very many.
Oh and he has to face the guardian/caretaker of the elderly man--apologize and return the money he made watching the man for two eight hour shifts a week.
Through it all, I keep hugging him and telling him that he has a wonderful chance to turn this around, learn his lessons and make us and HIMSELF proud.
And I can only say those things and act calm and be loving and firm through this because apparently God knew what we would be dealing with and led me to your blog months ago for me to be fed and encouraged for the tasks ahead!
Thanks so much and please pray for us."
In my opinion, this is awesome. The child can "pay now" as Fabian also is doing, or pay big as an adult who never learned consequences. Most likely, this will have a big effect on his emotional and social development.
Parenting children who seem to have little, if any, consciences is frustrating at best. Another adoptive parent, who like me, has a child in residential psychiatric care...same facility...needs to read Bart's post as she also is battling bureaucrats who think she's dodging parenting. None of these administrators live with the fears, the dangers and the pure craziness that an adoptive parent often experiences, we are up against clueless wonders at times when we most need help.
So, full circle, back around to the potential parents of the sib group of 7 that I am fretting about. While I envy you the excitement and the rewards involved in parenting a new group of children, I'd advise you also to batten down the hatches before the storm that's sure coming your way. You are in for the ride of your life and I'd so like to use an exclamation mark here as I have the scars to prove it is not an overuse! There, I used one.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Other Adoption Issues
A mom called me yesterday, from a different county, to fuss about the way she's being treated as she sought help for an adopted daughter who is a sexual perpetrator....something I didn't realize existed until I entered the adoption world years ago and began reading case plans and social histories. This mom is being treated like she can't handle these issues. DUH. She's attempting to keep her other children safe and seek help for the 16 year old.
This mom had come across a phrase regarding a sexual act and did not know what it meant, a slang I didn't know either, but I suggested that she not google it as she'd then, most likely, pull up all sorts of porn sites.
This is an experienced mom, years as a foster mom also, around my age and still wanting to adopt again; weary and battled scarred but not deterred. I like that in a parent.
I'm painfully aware of a sib group of 7 kids, six boys and a girl, older tough kids and, years ago, this would have been the "type" sib group that I'd have sent my homestudy in on.
Now I am so positively certain that there is no possible way to stretch me one inch farther than where I am now, nor do I have the desire to do so, yet I feel for those children as the oldest one is 16 and not likely to ever be adopted with his siblings. That bothers me intensely as I think about Edgar who adores his 6 younger brothers and sisters...and all the other kids here. I caught him last night stooping down to redo Tabby's pigtails and he was up at 5:45 this morning, on his day off, to drive Joey and Miriam to work. Find another 19 year old like that, so devoted to his family.
That's what I try and build upon in our family. The tenuous sibling relationships that got them through foster care can be strengthened daily here within the safety and security of a family. I also strongly believe that alone is what has guided most of my kids to success, it has been way more important than their relationship with me, that bond has to grow, to be tested and, finally, to be established as their security.
Working in Adopt America Network I am terribly aware of many other large sibling groups waiting for families. I have several homestudy-ready families and I am also frustrated by the lack of urgency I am encountering with their workers. Then I get them matched and the interstate compact process drags on and on until homestudies need updating, medicals expire, workers leave, the waiting kids act out and end up in residential psychiatric care and the cycle continues.
But does one ever think that my own children are grateful that they made it through the maze of foster care and adoption into a loving family?
Yes, but usually not within the first decade......
Besides being therapeutic for me, my gardens have taught me a great deal about patience.
This mom had come across a phrase regarding a sexual act and did not know what it meant, a slang I didn't know either, but I suggested that she not google it as she'd then, most likely, pull up all sorts of porn sites.
This is an experienced mom, years as a foster mom also, around my age and still wanting to adopt again; weary and battled scarred but not deterred. I like that in a parent.
I'm painfully aware of a sib group of 7 kids, six boys and a girl, older tough kids and, years ago, this would have been the "type" sib group that I'd have sent my homestudy in on.
Now I am so positively certain that there is no possible way to stretch me one inch farther than where I am now, nor do I have the desire to do so, yet I feel for those children as the oldest one is 16 and not likely to ever be adopted with his siblings. That bothers me intensely as I think about Edgar who adores his 6 younger brothers and sisters...and all the other kids here. I caught him last night stooping down to redo Tabby's pigtails and he was up at 5:45 this morning, on his day off, to drive Joey and Miriam to work. Find another 19 year old like that, so devoted to his family.
That's what I try and build upon in our family. The tenuous sibling relationships that got them through foster care can be strengthened daily here within the safety and security of a family. I also strongly believe that alone is what has guided most of my kids to success, it has been way more important than their relationship with me, that bond has to grow, to be tested and, finally, to be established as their security.
Working in Adopt America Network I am terribly aware of many other large sibling groups waiting for families. I have several homestudy-ready families and I am also frustrated by the lack of urgency I am encountering with their workers. Then I get them matched and the interstate compact process drags on and on until homestudies need updating, medicals expire, workers leave, the waiting kids act out and end up in residential psychiatric care and the cycle continues.
But does one ever think that my own children are grateful that they made it through the maze of foster care and adoption into a loving family?
Yes, but usually not within the first decade......
Besides being therapeutic for me, my gardens have taught me a great deal about patience.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Martin's Day
Martin spent an hour or so telling me every single detail of his day as I was weeding the front garden last night. One of his favorite teachers, Miss Judy, reads my blog and had asked him who were the Bubbas. Technically they are the passel of younger boys that have the run of my house, the group has grown considerably over the last five or so years...at one time it was only CW, Tony, Martin, Allen and Jojo, now it includes Javy, Jonathan, Jose, Chuy, Scotty, Jack, and Fernando. They are all under age 12.
His other friends think it is so cool that he is an uncle with a niece in the same grade. "Can you ground her?" like he's the dad or something. Baby Yolie remains unimpressed with having uncles and an aunt in the sixth grade with her.
Martin is meeting new kids in middle school, kids that he didn't just spend the last 6 years with in elementary school, and he's having to redo the, "I have 38 brothers and sisters," explanation. "I bet you never get bored," is about all he's been hearing lately. Well, duh, no would be the repetitious answer.
Since Edgar is off today I seem to be getting a boatload done, nothing like having a 19 year old's muscles to speed up the grocery fetching process. Hit two yard sales, got me an egg biscuit treat at my favorite country store, and I slept real good last night. Life's looking up. Pool taken care of and a Wal-Mart trip completed by noon or so, dishwasher is roaring, washing machine rocking away, and now I can blog since I slept past my 5 or 6 a.m. usual wake-up time, snoring until 6:20 is my luxury.
I can't print and send Fabian my blogs as my laptop awaits a part...thank you Daniel, he can ebay me the best and cheapest stuff, this is why I trust an almost 21 year old with my bank account. Have at it son, he handles our cell phone accounts, pay pal and computer stuff.
I'm suspicious, but I can't prove it , and I hope I'm wrong, but I'm thinking Sonny has lost another job. Today was not his regularly scheduled day off and he denies being fired. We'll see.
Joey and Miriam work tonight and then again at 6 tomorrow morning, ouch for them.
His other friends think it is so cool that he is an uncle with a niece in the same grade. "Can you ground her?" like he's the dad or something. Baby Yolie remains unimpressed with having uncles and an aunt in the sixth grade with her.
Martin is meeting new kids in middle school, kids that he didn't just spend the last 6 years with in elementary school, and he's having to redo the, "I have 38 brothers and sisters," explanation. "I bet you never get bored," is about all he's been hearing lately. Well, duh, no would be the repetitious answer.
Since Edgar is off today I seem to be getting a boatload done, nothing like having a 19 year old's muscles to speed up the grocery fetching process. Hit two yard sales, got me an egg biscuit treat at my favorite country store, and I slept real good last night. Life's looking up. Pool taken care of and a Wal-Mart trip completed by noon or so, dishwasher is roaring, washing machine rocking away, and now I can blog since I slept past my 5 or 6 a.m. usual wake-up time, snoring until 6:20 is my luxury.
I can't print and send Fabian my blogs as my laptop awaits a part...thank you Daniel, he can ebay me the best and cheapest stuff, this is why I trust an almost 21 year old with my bank account. Have at it son, he handles our cell phone accounts, pay pal and computer stuff.
I'm suspicious, but I can't prove it , and I hope I'm wrong, but I'm thinking Sonny has lost another job. Today was not his regularly scheduled day off and he denies being fired. We'll see.
Joey and Miriam work tonight and then again at 6 tomorrow morning, ouch for them.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Who Painted My Dog?
This picture of CJ, Nando, Ray and Tabby is unrelated to the fact that someone painted my yellow dog blue. I'm suspecting Nando.
Mowing and Typing
I've been asked if I know what I'll blog, as I start typing, and the answer is sometimes.
Rarely at a loss for words, full of material what with living amongst such a village, this is an easy thing for me to squirt out each day. It's almost like flushing the toilet on my thoughts, once they're out, I'm done. Off and gone to the next project and knowing my grown kids'll read my posts, and I don't have to verbally repeat the events to each one of them over the phone, a time saver all the way around.
I swear this picture perfectly illustrates Mayra's level of social anxiety, forced smile and all. I've thought about this issue a great deal now, anxiety often rears its head in our house on every level.
Our list of broken appliances, over-used items all, grows longer and more boring each day. Last night I just decided to work near the deck gardens, and forget about it all, but Edgar was perched on the deck regurgitating the list just in case I'd successfully pushed it outta my mind, the Bubbas had all been helping in the house a good bit, and I simply just wanted my feeble mind to think about the Atlanta Braves. At dark I dumbly went in to watch the rest of the game only to get as aggravated as Bobby Cox so I just shuffled off to bed.
Popping outta bed at 4:45, wrongly thinking Edgar'd overslept, I came downstairs and am enjoying this oh so quiet household for a few minutes.
The funny thing about this picture is that Sarah, my only birth child, is on meds yet Joey isn't. Once a LOC (Level of Care) 6, Joey now holds down a job and is med-free. Sarah, suffering from excruciating tension headaches, as unwilling as me to go to a doctor, finally sought relief with me pushing her to do so. Yolie'd come over to babysit the 5 kids under 6 who were home on Tuesday plus Joey, who still needs supervision and Mr. Formerly LOC 3 Jose who'd had his own meltdown over school and responsibilities.
Joey had gotten most of everything mowed yesterday except the first meadow. I crave doing that as my mind gets really cleaned out then, nothing soothes me like mowing for some reason. Or weeding, it just feels so productive.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Social Anxiety
I received a call yesterday from a south Georgia residential psychiatric facility where Fabian had been transferred...to work on his issues.
My first thought was that he'd manipulated his way out of punishment for his family violence charges, my second thought was this boy sure could use the therapeutic help.
Vanessa's response was, "But, he's not mental."
"No, darling, but he sure does fall into the subset category of a kid with anger management issues."
Since we've been doing all the psychological evaluations, all sorts of interesting topics are emerging here. I'd long been irked by the negativity of one large sibling group of 7, how they all had such a mean streak within, full of negative thoughts and ideas, and all were nearly genetically oppositional. Six years I have been attempting to re-direct them, to replace the negative with positive, and to build up their collective low self-esteem.
We're slooooooooooowly making progress. Imitation being the sincerest form of flattery I suppose. All week I have noticed Edgar responding to Tabby with my exact words in that he's called her baby, sugar and sweetheart each time they've had an interaction. With Tabby initiating a million conversations a day, she's had her fill of sweetness from Edgar.
I'd described Vanessa as my right hand man around here, to someone, when she was in another room. She told me later that when it was her turn with Dr. Mandy she'd happily, proudly and immediately asked, "Did mama tell you she calls me her arm-pit girl?"
That's an honor in our oddball family, it means my arm is usually around her. Not a lot of 16 year old girls care about hanging with mama, but Vanessa was denied this for so many years by her birth mom. There is this thin thread of opportunity, often difficult to discover in adoptions, where I can sometimes sliver through a peephole into their souls, and plug the leaky emotions that seep into eventual anger. First comes winning their trust which is staggeringly uphill warfare.
Vanessa's anger is not cured, maybe not even abated, but it has radically improved with our nearly six month bonding since I'd taken her out of school and glued her to my side. Even Miriam, Vanessa's birth sister, has changed in her own level of trust towards me. Miriam and Edgar are two peas in a pod with Vanessa being the odd girl out. Miriam has not been a rebellious teenager at all, a bit aloof, but she's turning a corner now at almost 18, seeing that nothing has changed with Edgar now being grown, and that Vanessa is dealing with the results of her issues. Watching me tend closely to Fabian's severity has also spoken volumes to Miriam.
Dr. Mandy described their meanness toward others as social anxiety, something I'd not only never thought about, but had never even considered it in regards to my children. As she explained how they put people off by their negativity, they were internally dealing with their own feelings of low self-esteem...or trying to. You could see the light bulbs pinging on over my head.
Explaining to Vanessa later that this had never occurred to me, which alone is shocking since I'm such an annoying know-it-all, she'd merely responded with a "Duh, Mama, how could you not see it?"
Again, this is why traumatized children, and their once un-traumatized parent(s), need professional help. You will never convince me that all this loss, rejection, abandonment, neglect and abuse has not severely hampered the emotional development of children. Duh.
Surprisingly Gito had a fit last night over finishing up his own psych eval. I've not forced anyone to do this, they've all either volunteered or agreed to do so. It apparently opened a few of Gito's wounds that need attention. He's 15 now. His birth brother, Sonny, 20, and I sat in Gito's room and talked well into the evening.
Any adoptive parent who thinks they'll be set free when their kids turn 18 had best reconsider that notion. If anything I'm finding that the kids, especially sons, tend to hold on even more through the young adult bumpiness.
My first thought was that he'd manipulated his way out of punishment for his family violence charges, my second thought was this boy sure could use the therapeutic help.
Vanessa's response was, "But, he's not mental."
"No, darling, but he sure does fall into the subset category of a kid with anger management issues."
Since we've been doing all the psychological evaluations, all sorts of interesting topics are emerging here. I'd long been irked by the negativity of one large sibling group of 7, how they all had such a mean streak within, full of negative thoughts and ideas, and all were nearly genetically oppositional. Six years I have been attempting to re-direct them, to replace the negative with positive, and to build up their collective low self-esteem.
We're slooooooooooowly making progress. Imitation being the sincerest form of flattery I suppose. All week I have noticed Edgar responding to Tabby with my exact words in that he's called her baby, sugar and sweetheart each time they've had an interaction. With Tabby initiating a million conversations a day, she's had her fill of sweetness from Edgar.
I'd described Vanessa as my right hand man around here, to someone, when she was in another room. She told me later that when it was her turn with Dr. Mandy she'd happily, proudly and immediately asked, "Did mama tell you she calls me her arm-pit girl?"
That's an honor in our oddball family, it means my arm is usually around her. Not a lot of 16 year old girls care about hanging with mama, but Vanessa was denied this for so many years by her birth mom. There is this thin thread of opportunity, often difficult to discover in adoptions, where I can sometimes sliver through a peephole into their souls, and plug the leaky emotions that seep into eventual anger. First comes winning their trust which is staggeringly uphill warfare.
Vanessa's anger is not cured, maybe not even abated, but it has radically improved with our nearly six month bonding since I'd taken her out of school and glued her to my side. Even Miriam, Vanessa's birth sister, has changed in her own level of trust towards me. Miriam and Edgar are two peas in a pod with Vanessa being the odd girl out. Miriam has not been a rebellious teenager at all, a bit aloof, but she's turning a corner now at almost 18, seeing that nothing has changed with Edgar now being grown, and that Vanessa is dealing with the results of her issues. Watching me tend closely to Fabian's severity has also spoken volumes to Miriam.
Dr. Mandy described their meanness toward others as social anxiety, something I'd not only never thought about, but had never even considered it in regards to my children. As she explained how they put people off by their negativity, they were internally dealing with their own feelings of low self-esteem...or trying to. You could see the light bulbs pinging on over my head.
Explaining to Vanessa later that this had never occurred to me, which alone is shocking since I'm such an annoying know-it-all, she'd merely responded with a "Duh, Mama, how could you not see it?"
Again, this is why traumatized children, and their once un-traumatized parent(s), need professional help. You will never convince me that all this loss, rejection, abandonment, neglect and abuse has not severely hampered the emotional development of children. Duh.
Surprisingly Gito had a fit last night over finishing up his own psych eval. I've not forced anyone to do this, they've all either volunteered or agreed to do so. It apparently opened a few of Gito's wounds that need attention. He's 15 now. His birth brother, Sonny, 20, and I sat in Gito's room and talked well into the evening.
Any adoptive parent who thinks they'll be set free when their kids turn 18 had best reconsider that notion. If anything I'm finding that the kids, especially sons, tend to hold on even more through the young adult bumpiness.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
YDC Update
There is nothing like eight solid hours of sleep to make me feel wonderful. I put 24 people to bed without a single plip of protest, lights out, and not a sound until I popped up this morning, hearing my rooster, and came downstairs to find that the double French doors had blown wide open in a storm so my non-house dogs were sprawled out in the family room.
Vanessa, now 16, took this photo of the birthday girls.
Joey's knee may be fine now, bruised and sore, but that's all.
Fabian called from YDC and is willing to admit, no, he's stressing the fact, that he is homesick, and swears that he has now turned a corner and the family violence will be a thing of the past.
We'll see. Excuse my suspicious nature but I know that anger issues are not immediately cured by a stint in kiddie jail. He's not receiving counseling, at least not to the extent of what was available to him here.
He was hungry for news of home and family, counting down the days until he is released, and while I'm verbally loving and supportive, and this he knows, I don't let any teachable, preachable moments greasily slide by unaddressed. I re-informed him that we will not live under his fury. I will call the police for assistance if he attacks anyone (duh) and I willl press charges. The alternative, to overlook his issues, or to allow him to grow up and be a pathetic whiny self-proclaimed victim due to his previous circumstances would only result in a monster in the making.
"No son," I keep reiterating, "God has a call on your life, you're gonna be somebody, this is a learning experience for you...you gotta trust me," as he was handcuffed, shackled, and crying when they took him out of the courtroom.
Not so tough then. Easy to be a poser, a tough punk when you're up against a scrawny 52 year old girl. I'm much tougher than I look and I'm not backing down from tough love. This is an awesome resource for those living with, parenting, and loving troubled teens. I'd read the book gratefully when Big Joe was a rebellious, headstrong wanna be punk years ago.
Joe was an older brother, he didn't have the benefit of older boys to look up to and Fabian has 8 older brothers who've since done well. His older birth brother, Edgar, came crowing in the house yesterday after receiving a more then $2.00 an hour raise after less than two months on the job. We were all giving him congratulations and enjoying that big beautiful smile on his face. "I'm proud of you," Vanessa said only to hear him say to her in return, "I'm proud of you for going back to school," which made her beam with pride. That much happiness in the kitchen is what I live for.
24 year old Sergi took a backpack with him to stay at Joe's house in town this week. "You running away from home?" I cracked. "Nah, I'll be back," kissing me and leaving, reminding me that the world must be made of rubber so often do my kids bounce back home.
Soccer season is beginning again so the four in the U10 league scrambled for shoes, shin guards and socks, this'll be Scotty's first season, and Yolie came by to join us. CJ had taken his first steps last spring on the soccer field, with Daniel filming, and now CJ was scampering everywhere, bring weed flowers to Yolie and I, grinning with all 6 teeth.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Cops & Robbers
On Claudia's coat tails, as usual, I added my blog to one of her new spots.
In one of Georgia's late afternoon, heat-induced macro thunderstorms yesterday we lost our power and, quite likely, my laptop. I just don't know yet as I haven't had time to mess around with it. I'm on the kid's computer right now and they're all breathing down my neck.
The sun came out after the storm so I took all the kids swimming while we waited for our power to return.
Edgar, 19, and Joey, 17, were playing a very intense game of Cops & Robbers with all the Bubbas when Joey tripped hard over the diving board that has always been there, and wrenched his knee bad enough to warrant a trip to the emergency room. We keep spare crutches but I still needed Edgar to drive us, and to tote a 200 pound Big Ole Joey in for me. No broken bones, but he'll miss several days of work and needs to be on his crutches. Right in the midst of this YDC called to inform me Fabian had been in a fight but he was OK, and that same nurse called me within the hour to report yet another incident.
This morning, after just a few hours of sleep, I had to get 20 kids out the door and drive 100 miles to move Alex to a new facility near downtown Atlanta, do her intakes, and I still got to my mailbox at the exact minute the bus driver was letting the Bubbas out. Close call for me.
Yolie was making appointments, trying to get a follow-up for Joey with someone who'd take Medicaid and get Miriam back to the dentist for re-chipping her front tooth while I fielded texts and calls from many of my other kids.
Now I'll need to slap something together for supper and get four kids to soccer try-outs before the next rainstorm blows through and knocks out the rest of our electrical appliances.
Gito had recently referred to someone around here as the "skidmarks on the underpants of society," and if I had to live in Atlanta that's about how I'd feel.
In one of Georgia's late afternoon, heat-induced macro thunderstorms yesterday we lost our power and, quite likely, my laptop. I just don't know yet as I haven't had time to mess around with it. I'm on the kid's computer right now and they're all breathing down my neck.
The sun came out after the storm so I took all the kids swimming while we waited for our power to return.
Edgar, 19, and Joey, 17, were playing a very intense game of Cops & Robbers with all the Bubbas when Joey tripped hard over the diving board that has always been there, and wrenched his knee bad enough to warrant a trip to the emergency room. We keep spare crutches but I still needed Edgar to drive us, and to tote a 200 pound Big Ole Joey in for me. No broken bones, but he'll miss several days of work and needs to be on his crutches. Right in the midst of this YDC called to inform me Fabian had been in a fight but he was OK, and that same nurse called me within the hour to report yet another incident.
This morning, after just a few hours of sleep, I had to get 20 kids out the door and drive 100 miles to move Alex to a new facility near downtown Atlanta, do her intakes, and I still got to my mailbox at the exact minute the bus driver was letting the Bubbas out. Close call for me.
Yolie was making appointments, trying to get a follow-up for Joey with someone who'd take Medicaid and get Miriam back to the dentist for re-chipping her front tooth while I fielded texts and calls from many of my other kids.
Now I'll need to slap something together for supper and get four kids to soccer try-outs before the next rainstorm blows through and knocks out the rest of our electrical appliances.
Gito had recently referred to someone around here as the "skidmarks on the underpants of society," and if I had to live in Atlanta that's about how I'd feel.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Nando's New Tie
Ms. Carr brought some art supplies for Tabby yesterday (plus Nando and Lily) and Tabby went a little dizzy on us, pouting and carrying on, asking if we were still going to live in our house. Like something had immediately changed?
In her world view it could conceivably have changed in a heartbeat, just like that, with no warning. I've spent a year and a half reassuring her just about every 30 minutes or so, answering her millions of questions, agreeing that she's "stuck with me" and that we will never, ever move.
If 19 1/2 year old Edgar still struggles with that, then how much so for Tabby? Edgar now believes on almost every level that I'm the real deal, yet I often still see glimpses of his well-deserved fear, along with his need for reassurance.
If this seems to be the theme of my blog it is also the soundtrack to my life.
Faith Moments
Sipping my coffee, reading online, I was stopped short in my tracks as I clicked away from Claudia's blog to a "compelling blog." I double dog dare y'all to do the same, and not come away deeply disturbed and stunned.
Contrast it with the mindless way I spent my evening yesterday. Hannah, Vanessa, Edgar and I went to the dollar theater to see The Devil Wears Prada. I adore Meryl Streep and I wanted to see a movie that was way outta my league. Watching the New York City fashion world is as counterpoint as I could find from my dirt road loaded down with traumatized children's issues. For nearly two hours I was swept away, enthralled, and lifted above my daily stress. I wouldn't know a Prada if it bit me on the butt, nor do I look at fashion mags, I dress like crap actually, but I wanted to be entertained and I was.
I'd go again tonight just to not sweat for two hours, but Claudia's entry hit me like a thunderbolt.
How can there be such disparity on earth? There's nothing else I can add, in the way of my own feeble opinion, the contrasts are vividly staggering. I won't get the picture of this child out of my mind for the rest of my life. I'm wired that way. After my kids are grown, I'll do something else that makes my life matter, that gives someone else either relief or joy, because I deeply believe that is also the source of my own satisfaction.
Reading Audrey's post as well, I tried to comment but I've changed to the Blogspot Beta Version and I'm still figuring out the kinks in it. I wanted to tell her, "Welcome to my world," as she was being blamed for the misery of others.
The other night after screaming sessions from scrabbly kids, I'd stood on my deck and lectured them all about their all too often hatefulness that is directed at me, the only one who's ever stayed with them. They project it all back on me, it usually bounces right off, but oftentimes I have a public cow about it.
I don't link stuff just to link stuff. I link stuff to open my eyes and the eyes of others to that which needs changing in our world.
My heart is especially burdened for the children of the world that do not have parents to care for them. The needs are undeniably staggering everywhere, but everyone can do something somewhere for someone somehow. There are children's charities needing money, foster and adoptive parents are in short supply, there are medical needs and billions of volunteer opportunities everywhere.
"Tragically, the photographer, Kevin Carter, overcome by depression, committed suicide three months later. His journal was later found. In it, he wrote: "Dear God, I promise I will never waste my food no matter how bad it can taste and how full I may be. I pray that He will protect this little boy, guide and deliver him away from his misery. I pray that we will be more sensitive towards the world around us and not be blinded by our own selfish nature and interests. I hope this picture will always serve as a reminder to us that how fortunate we are and that we must never ever take things for granted. . . ."
I have never felt this overwhelmed, I strongly feel that while there is life in me, I can do something. I can never do enough though, no one can, but more can be done constantly.
The dream/vision that I mentioned several days ago has been branded into my brain, I think about it every hour or so, I've tried to describe it to some of my kids. I'm now believing it was a sign of encouragement for me, a God given glimpse deep into the source of my faith that I could never have imagined on my own.
Fifteen years ago I'd gotten a stunning answer to prayer, not asking for something, rather I was praying for a revelation and I'd blindingly received it in a life-changing manner. I'd describe it more deeply, but I try and be as quiet, as a Southern Church of God woman could be, and as inoffensive to the beliefs of others. Suffice it to say though, without my deep faith, I doubt that I could ever even attempt to raise 39 children on my own. With my faith, I'm certain that I can do so.
Several years ago my older children put their money together and bought me this Bible, knowing I'd been reading many of John Maxwell's books. I try to build, support, and feed my faith daily as it is often sucked out of me by life's many trials and tribulations.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Birthday Shopping Of Sorts
"Georgia has the fastest-growing illegal immigrant population in the nation, more than doubling in the last five years, according to a federal report released Friday.
From 2000-2005, Georgia's population of illegal immigrants jumped to an estimated 470,000, an increase of 114 percent, a U.S. Department of Homeland Security report said.
The increase far eclipsed the state with the next-fastest growth — Arizona — which had an increase of 45 percent."
I thought I'd noticed a change around here lately, hearing Spanish everywhere that I go like yard sales, Goodwill, various grocery stores and Wal-Mart.
We've had major end-of-the school week meltdowns, I've never seen, nor heard, so much fussing and squabbling, screaming and hollering fights as last night at the pool.
Vanessa is turning 16 and Lily's turning 9 this weekend so I just took Lily to an art store and Vanessa to get new clothes. Vanessa had already scored at yard sales, spending $6 of my dollars and buying 6 cool purses to add to her already huge, but accumulated at yard sales, collection.
Lily found more art supplies and I got more Hardy Boy books for Chuy. Vanessa's darling friend, Hannah, spent the night and had a blast with us during our treasure hunting expedition all over the county.
Our entire house was rocking by 5:30 this morning as the Bubbas were glad it was Saturday, and I needed to get Miriam and Joey to work by 6 for their breakfast shift. Yolie's picking them up as Joey has been helping over at her house and he's going to join them for a cookout with Chuck's parents thereby allowing me to take Vanessa and Hannah to the dollar theater to finish celebrating her birthday...which technically is Tuesday but we'll celebrate for a few days.
From 2000-2005, Georgia's population of illegal immigrants jumped to an estimated 470,000, an increase of 114 percent, a U.S. Department of Homeland Security report said.
The increase far eclipsed the state with the next-fastest growth — Arizona — which had an increase of 45 percent."
I thought I'd noticed a change around here lately, hearing Spanish everywhere that I go like yard sales, Goodwill, various grocery stores and Wal-Mart.
We've had major end-of-the school week meltdowns, I've never seen, nor heard, so much fussing and squabbling, screaming and hollering fights as last night at the pool.
Vanessa is turning 16 and Lily's turning 9 this weekend so I just took Lily to an art store and Vanessa to get new clothes. Vanessa had already scored at yard sales, spending $6 of my dollars and buying 6 cool purses to add to her already huge, but accumulated at yard sales, collection.
Lily found more art supplies and I got more Hardy Boy books for Chuy. Vanessa's darling friend, Hannah, spent the night and had a blast with us during our treasure hunting expedition all over the county.
Our entire house was rocking by 5:30 this morning as the Bubbas were glad it was Saturday, and I needed to get Miriam and Joey to work by 6 for their breakfast shift. Yolie's picking them up as Joey has been helping over at her house and he's going to join them for a cookout with Chuck's parents thereby allowing me to take Vanessa and Hannah to the dollar theater to finish celebrating her birthday...which technically is Tuesday but we'll celebrate for a few days.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Serious Mental Issues
Sharon, an adoptive mom of another large family, writes about her very troubled child here.
Out of 39 children, I have four, Alex, Joey, Teresa and Fabian with very serious emotional issues, disabilities, diagnoses, and a huge need for help.
I also have four children who are, or have been, in Gifted classes...Sarah, Yolie, Daniel and Chuy.
The other 31 children fall somewhere in the middle, truly illustrating the Bell Curve here, the curved shape of a graph that is highest in the middle and lowest on the sides. I suppose that, more than anything, normalizes our family.
Stupid Socks
"Haveson, now clean for 21 years, says part of the problem is society, but a large part of it is parents not willing to parent. (I hear that phrase constantly as I seek out professional help for my children. I'm full of questions for every counselor that I meet.)
A father himself, Haveson said he doesn't want to be his daughter's buddy — and has no problem issuing zero tolerance rules when it comes to drugs and alcohol.
"A lot of parents want to be the 'cool parents,'" he said, "and they don't realize the damage it does to their kids."
This article scares the snot outta me. How watchful must we be? A great, but very scary, article. I'm strict, overly protective, suspicious all too often, and I'm positive that I've been hoodwinked by my kids on numerous occasions. Shocked and amazed by what I see, and hear about other high schoolers, around here, my own kids also have sent me over the edge with their shenanigans. The grown kids that I now label as successful had all caused problems, had all been grounded over some of their stunts, and had all devised different methods of deceit when they were rebellious teens. I sure never meant to hint that they'd been well-behaved. It was a whale of a battle.
The one thing though that all 39 kids would agree on though is that Big Mama sure ain't cool. I'm fashion challenged, goofy and square. I think today's current music videos are from Hell and I'm not much more impressed with TV nor movies.
I want to impress upon my children the need to feel strong internally, not based on their appearances. I want them all as educated as possible and, certainly to all be gainfully employed, managing their money and living out strong value systems. There's my uphill climb, I don't need a Stairmaster.
Edgar came in after work and threw a fit because I was wearing the Bubba's socks and they were mismatched plus I had on old raggedy garden shoes. He said I was grossing him out. Well who cares? I'd banged up my now bloody big toe, slipping in the garage, and I was protecting it from horse manure, fire ants and rose thorns as I'd worked outside. He never let up on me, up until bedtime about how stupid I looked wearing those socks. Oh well. My feet were hot ,but I kept the socks on just to listen to him bellyache about such an unimportant aspect of our lives.
Edgar drove me again last night to McDonalds to pick up Joey and Miriam at 9, I was telling him about this article I'd read and how I was going to live to be over 100 years old so he may as well get used to me wearing old lady outfits. He'd wanted to do grocery shopping then, I'd rather wait until the next morning, he was calling it a tradition since we'd done so together since they'd been McDonald's employees. A month does not a tradition make. But maybe so in his world.
I have 17 kids under age 12....watching them at the pool tonight was a breeze as Joey and Fabian, my huge instigators, were not there. I realize that many of these children, hitting the minefields of adolescence, may not remain the charming sweethearts that they are now, but just maybe, the more years that I have had to parent them will count for something. I laugh harder at our pool than anywhere else as they are all so silly up there.
I woke up at 4:04 this morning after a shockingly uplifting vision/dream that was a faith builder and a half. I just lay there thinking about it, wondering if God was preparing me for something... or simply reminding me of the source of my strength. I was way too excited and happy to go back to sleep. That was akin to a rocket launcher for me; a turbo boost, and the motivation to continue in an often thankless lifestyle.
As the kids grow into their twenties I see their eyes open, like kittens, in that they begin to realize, especially as they become parents, what a real mom really is. Then it is very gratifying to be me.
Yolie, 26, and her son, CJ, are pictured here under the caption of Stupid Socks which will cause Yolie to raise her eyebrows in wonderment as the stupid socks are my domain, not hers.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Snoozing Too Late
Carlos, my darling son-in-law, came walking in to show off his baby boy's new sunglasses. Alexander seems to be nearly his twin.
About four years ago, before Yolie and Chuck married, when I knew we were hosting their wedding reception for a couple hundred people at our house, we pulled up the worn carpet from our living room, dining room and very long hallway. I don't like carpet anyway and got a great deal on hardwood floors that involved us pulling up the carpet and nailing down a subfloor.
The store owner, a Yankee, had called me, and mentioned his fears that the floor might not hold up under our family's traffic. I blew him off with a, "Honey, it's wood! Not spun glass. Jeepers!"
But, um, he was right.
These floors look like they've been down for a century or so. Even I remain flabbergasted and astonished at the wear and tear around here.
Claudia's husband, Bart, wrote an interesting post about perceptions of large families.
When people come here they are surprised that we have a large house...like maybe I'd squeezed everyone in to a two room shotgun house?
Edgar came in around 6 last night and collapsed on the sofa, my kids tend to nap downstairs in the sibling crowd for comfort rather than to isolate themselves in their bedrooms, unless they have an attitude. Yolie and Audrey were college roommates, Yolie could and would nap on a bed in their dorm room on her bookbag amongst talking girls. This ability is a gift; a practiced art form in a large family.
Sarah, Preston and Ray have one of the most beautiful houses I have ever entered, yet Ray has a cow each morning to get over here to the fun house so he can play with Tabby and Nando. When my children ever, hopefully, grow out of their destructive anger at their pasts, our house might once again be as nice as it is now entertaining and supportive.
Large families just don't exist anymore. Stupid movies depict them as chaotic, and the overwhelmed parents as stumped by the logistics and the challenges.
I'd match my organization, my ability to get the kids to church and school on time, and my strategic planning up against any family with two parents and just a couple of kids. Get with the program, this just isn't that hard. Cook in a small pot versus a big one, go to a gym or get my aerobics by constantly loading the washing machine, push one grocery buggy or haul a thousand pounds in from a food warehouse (like Joey and I did yesterday, 1044 pounds of salvaged foods, see picture of pantry here). It's all in one's perspective.
Joey had helped Yolie and her sister-in-law, Tara, all day on Tuesday. He'd also worked in Yolie's yard as Chuck is holding down two positions right now. Chuck wanted to pay Joey but I stepped in as the heavy.
No.
I explained it later to a very receptive Joey. This is family. Chuck helps me in a heartbeat when I need help. We reciprocate. Yes, son, when you work for Chuck's landscape business you'll get paid, but I don't want family members paying each other for help, that should be a given.
Joey totally understood. He loves helping Chuck and Yolie. He loves being with Sarah. He is always totally charming with them both, never is he aggravating to either of them. Just as Edgar can be prickly and emotionally threatened by my grown kids and then a charming mama's boy to me, so does Joey respond as absolutely a different kid to my grown ones.
As he and I worked side-by-side yesterday cleaning out the pantry, I explained my theories to him about giving back to society. We've been given so much, we are so blessed and we need to all learn altruism...we'll all be happier for it, less self-involved, and not overly concerned with petty details.
A lofty concept I know, to be teaching higher order thinking to kids who sometimes can't walk down the hall without accidently, or vindictively, peeing on something. But I gotta try.
I used to tell the Biggers, my grown daughters, at youth group events to have a servant's heart; to be helpful. Did that contribute to them all being successful in life later? Who knows? I just gotta keep trying all I know, with all my might, in the strong hopes that these values will stick.
Early this morning, before 6 a.m., I received Edgar's text, "you snooze, you lose," referencing the fact that I was not up to witness a real man going to work at 5 in the morning, therefore no good-bye kiss for me, I certainly didn't deserve one what with me being so lazy as to sleep in until 5:30.
Lazy or not, I still got 20 other kids out the door this morning, fed, photographed, and wearing collared shirts.
Scotty, 8, Jonathan, 9, and Jack, 6, this morning before school.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
More of My Sons
Nine year old Lily, Miss Artist, cut Tony's hair perfectly last night for him with fairly new clippers during all the hustle and bustle of supper and therapies. Tony's the one who tore up a dresser last Saturday, he struggles with so many emotional issues and desperately needs Lily to be in the same grade, same class and same hemisphere at all times with him. His meticulous attention to detail benefits her as well.
Nando in the morning.
Javy, huge at age 12, and his birth brother Chuy, a boy genius at age 10. Javy will take down 20 year old Sonny gleefully in their many wrestling matches. He, Javy, is the oldest of his original sib group. He's hot-tempered and has broken his share of windows and furniture here plus a bedroom door, but overall he is sweet-natured and helpful. Responsive to therapy, glad to have older brothers, he has come a very long way in 50 months of living within our family. Javy can wear a T-shirt to school if he wants but he also better have on a collared shirt. Y'all better look good when you walk out this door each day is my constant refrain.
20 year old Sonny, living across the way in the doublewide, really just an extension of our house in that Sonny eats with us, touches base ten thousand times a day but also is very helpful to me much of the time.
Jobs, Careers and Education
Cristy, 29, came over, beside herself with excitement, as she'd just been hired by a county school system as a special education clerk. The school is 1/3 Hispanic so Cristy's bi-lingual abilities are needed. She'll continue working her night job as well since she's not transferring schools until January. Armed with her Associate Degree, she'd applied to the Big One here, a major university where I have no doubt she will excel.
There's not enough room on the internet to blog what she went through as a teen, now a poster child for over-achievers, I want to claim all the credit for what she has accomplished but she's the one who did it, she made us inordinately proud.
Joe and Sergi were jobless Monday for about ten minutes, they are already working for someone, and have several other offers to sort through as they are experienced, dependable and certainly entertaining workers. I'm proud of them as well, they handled a tough situation with class and grace.
I'm reminding myself how tough it was, back in the 1990s, when these were my teenagers, how I despaired at times of Joe even living through his rages, and how I brighten up like an incandescent lightbulb when I hear Joe walking into my house nowadays. Jesse also, still serving in the Navy, makes me break out smiling with pride, thinking about his handsome self. Daniel, in the Georgia National Guard and a UGA student, has given me back so much in the way of pride. I have some awesome sons and I expect this of Fabian and Joey someday as well. I truly believe that both will rise to my expectations, that's what keeps me going even when it appears bleak. Fabian is in a lock-up, serving time, yet that's not what I see in my mind's eye. Relentessly optimistic, with boundless enthusiasm, I continue forward.
I've been tough on my kids, now they are disciplined their ownselves. It has paid off, my constant attempts, back then, to hold them accountable and responsible, for listening to their needs (or trying to figure them out through the smokescreen of everything else), and helping them follow through on what they thought they wanted to do either in school, jobs or places in their lives. We've all learned to be flexible and we've all made many changes and adaptations as we've gone along. There's no road map so we're all allowed to make mistakes and to regroup. I will be the first to admit to my missteps, mistakes and wrongness, the kids have to know it is OK to fail if you learn from it and get back up.
This morning I saw this article about over-indulgent permissive parents with these quotes, " "The role of the parent is to prepare a child to make it in the world on their own."
Consequently, the (over-indulged) kids will grow up and not be mentally or physically tough enough to survive out in the world, Keller said.
"If a child grows up not respecting his mother, he's not going to respect anybody."
Psychotherapist Gordon Hudson says such children will not know how to be responsible and will have problems with authority."
A great article, the pitfalls of permissiveness will cost the children eventually.
I am a boring broken record, this I know...but I am adamant in my feelings about this, and now very grateful to have grown children to illustrate it.
I am fortunate as well in all the counseling we've been the beneficiaries of over the years. I can't say enough about Miss Pat, an IFI woman, who made me blurt out yesterday, "You are good," as she explained yet another salient point that I didn't see, although it was patently obvious.
The director of an adoption agency, Emily, and Dr. G also help me very intently, always able to point out what I'm missing in my assessment of a situation as does a favorite pastor of mine. I'm so deeply involved here that I can miss what I can't see in front of my face for various reasons.
Being older now helps as well. I've lost some quirks that might have held me back over the years, gained some that have helped.
I awoke very early this morning and came downstairs to blog in peace and watch some TV news. Edgar galloped down right before 5 as he leaves very early for work, and he just kinda chuckled to see me already sucking out of the coffee pot. To me, he needs an audience and an appreciation of what he's doing also. It's not easy to get up that early at age 19, drive 30 minutes and work 10 hours, but he does it without complaining. Manned Up on me, and he needs to know I'm proud of him.
I don't hold back compliments for my kids, I don't sit quiet either when I see issues that need to be addressed here, and I readily, greedily, accept the helpful remarks offered by those in the know. Besides Dr. G and IFI, I listen to my older children as well and their input on our family. Their perspective is interesting, relevant and helpful.
Yolie had called me yesterday when she saw a police car out front of the high school. Did I know where all my kids were? Yes, with great relief, we were not involved in whatever was happening there. Another lady emailed me about a McDonald's rage incident here, wondering if that's where Joey and Miriam worked. No, thankfully that was in the next county over. My sense of relief at us not being involved constantly in stuff is allowing me to pig out once again. Carolina made an ice cream cake and brought it over, Sarah is cooking and bringing me lunches.
Dr. Mandy also has provided thoughts I've mulled over lately. She came by yesterday afternoon for two more psych evals while Miss Pat worked with Teresa. Two different ladies from church brought us much needed sacks of clothes, nearly all my grown children made appearances, and somehow I still got supper on the table which demonstrated just how capable Vanessa can be.
I kept having to answer the non-stop ringing phone, greeting people, nagging kids to do homework while trying to cook barley and ABC pasta for dinner. Vanessa, while doing homework at the kitchen counter, made cornbread and stirred the various pots which allowed me the freedom to go room to room and participate in Teresa's therapy, oversee the psych evals and plan with Dr. Mandy for Thursday as well.
After cleaning up the supper mess, I slumped in a pool chair to supervise the kids swimming, it was nearly 8 p.m. by then, and it immediately started raining. Got everyone inside quickly, dried them off...and the rain stopped. Oh brother y'all, let's just try and get to bed early tonight, the house was quiet and dark by 9 p.m.
Mrtin, 12, CW, 10, JoJo, 9, and Allen, 10....Tuesday, then Wednesday morning
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Advocating
I went to a Match Meeting this morning at DJJ. The school social worker, an IFI lady, and another lady that I believe was representing DFACS was present.
They get it, they understand the needs of children with emotional issues yet their hands are so often tied by red tape and funding.
We will put IFI in place for Fabian but I truly believe he needs a male team. Teresa has an excellent female team, insightful and on target, but Fabian would balk at them I'm certain.
He'll start alternative school here which is quite good in 60 days and we will apply for an outdoor therapeutic camp but funding may not be there.
It's hard enough to be out there advocating for resources for your children, feeling like you've failed to provide for their issues and needs that were not caused by your parenting but from a previous lack of parenting.
The money part is frustrating. Does the state want to pay now for preventative measures or later for punitive reasons? Therapy now or prison later?
Fabian called me last night. I built him up for admitting to all the charges rather than lying about them. I was proud of him for that and made sure he knew. He's not mad at me for taking such a stance against his personal freedom yesterday. He understands that I care about what happens to him. There's progress for you.
He'd written and mailed letters that we received yesterday after court in which he wrote about being excited to come home again. That makes his consequence all the more imperative I believe. We want him home also but not at a risk to our personal safety or even our emotional well-being.
We should not have to live under a constant threat of violence. I'm working hard to settle our house down, to keep it calm. Loud I can live with, but the violence and destruction needs to ease up at some point or I won't even have that lone beach chair in my dreams.
They get it, they understand the needs of children with emotional issues yet their hands are so often tied by red tape and funding.
We will put IFI in place for Fabian but I truly believe he needs a male team. Teresa has an excellent female team, insightful and on target, but Fabian would balk at them I'm certain.
He'll start alternative school here which is quite good in 60 days and we will apply for an outdoor therapeutic camp but funding may not be there.
It's hard enough to be out there advocating for resources for your children, feeling like you've failed to provide for their issues and needs that were not caused by your parenting but from a previous lack of parenting.
The money part is frustrating. Does the state want to pay now for preventative measures or later for punitive reasons? Therapy now or prison later?
Fabian called me last night. I built him up for admitting to all the charges rather than lying about them. I was proud of him for that and made sure he knew. He's not mad at me for taking such a stance against his personal freedom yesterday. He understands that I care about what happens to him. There's progress for you.
He'd written and mailed letters that we received yesterday after court in which he wrote about being excited to come home again. That makes his consequence all the more imperative I believe. We want him home also but not at a risk to our personal safety or even our emotional well-being.
We should not have to live under a constant threat of violence. I'm working hard to settle our house down, to keep it calm. Loud I can live with, but the violence and destruction needs to ease up at some point or I won't even have that lone beach chair in my dreams.
Balls
A good many of our photos are literally a happy pile of kids but, I suppose, so is our life.
We piled in the pool last night after supper, Marcela, 25, came by with her puppy who must have really gone home later exhausted. I sat and talked with her a long while as my boys rough-housed for a couple of hours. I need a better word than that, one that connotes much pushing, throwing, macho wrestling but with a good bit of laughter. I think I belly laugh more at the pool than anywhere else as they are absolutely downright silly.
Sergi and Joe have already gotten new jobs, they start today, had a couple of opportunities by noon yesterday, and I was proud of the way they handled a crappy situation.
Miriam had tossed an, "I love you, Mom," over her shoulder as she pranced out the door to school yesterday. That was a first after 6 years and two weeks of living with me. She responds when I say the words but she never initiates this until yesterday. But by late afternoon I'd ruined the moment by fussing over the phone to her as she'd mixed up her work hours and required a wasted trip to and from McDonalds. Oddly enough, she came and apologized...bullet dodged, no run-in or slamming doors necessary for once.
I have a DJJ meeting this morning about Fabian. My friend, Linda, reminded me of Joe's teen years, how we'd asked for, and obviously received much prayer. She also offered to do all that Thursday driving regarding Alex but a parent is required. What a sweet offer though.
Tina called last night with a new dresser, knowing Tony had ragefully destroyed one last weekend. He'd finally put his exploded one back together that afternoon, knowing I was right furious with him, it's rickety at best. Several email and comments indicated appreciation of me posting a picture like that, as if we didn't have such days? Days where I slump on the sofa with my head in my hands? Vanessa took a picture of me after Fabian was taken away by the police, well much later that evening, and I'd debated posting it as the despair is etched on my face and my wringing hands look elderly. The picture alone makes me too sad, suffice it to say, when one feels that downcast, I believe my words alone can express it.
I also have a hilarious picture of Gito, 15, up at the pool with two basketballs in his shorts, illustrating ballsy-ness. I debated posting that one since you can't see his face in it, funny thing is he's pretending to be me.
So if my own children think I'm that strong, that dependable, that, um, well gutsy...I'll just keep it that way with them.
Most of my readers are adoptive parents, parents sharing my raggedy shoes, parents needing a laugh for relief so if we can play the clown at times then I'm fine with that.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Ringing
I wish my phone would quit ringing.
Joe, 23, and Sergi,24, both lost their jobs today but no one is unhappy about it, Preston used to work for this particularly difficult man. Joe and Sergi were hunting new jobs within 10 minutes.
Cristy, 29, got a new job in the school system today...a great one, I'm proud of her.
Alex is being moved to a step down facility this week since I didn't already have court, a Match meeting, various therapy appointments, IFI, paperwork, housework and more psych evals scheduled. They need me to drop everything to transport Alex which is an all day situation of driving across Georgia and back. OK.
But, in the meantime, Joey and Sonny drug one of the freezers outside to defrost it for me. This charming view of Joey is often in my line of sight, no wonder I quit eating.
And Yolie updated her blog today.
Joey also just caught another very large mouse, a field rat, by the tail. I'll never eat again at this rate...
Heartbreak in Court
Joey, the corroborating witness, and I were prepped for Fabian's arraignment today, the D.A planning to sequester us as we each gave our testimony detailing Fabian's violence against different members of our family, but it did not come to that as Fabian pled guilty to all charges. That's what I call manning up. I was proud of him for that but, more importantly, he did that on his own without me either suggesting nor pushing it. There's progress.
He had a Legal Aid attorney whose job it was to defend him, to actually try to get him out of trouble, but I held my ground in my heartfelt attempt to get help for him; for him to finally understand that there are consequences for six counts of family violence within 6 weeks, too many times for police intervention in one family.
The man from DJJ, the DA and I were all wanting confinement for Fabian. 60 days now when he is a juvenile so that he can learn that there are consequences, versus him growing into an untameable monster who'll be locked up for decades as an adult. Fabian, in handcuffs, was sitting between me and the Legal Aid attorney, and I was practically making a scene with my insistence on holding him responsible, mean ole mom once again.
Legal Aid wanted credit for time served but I disagreed there also. No. This was not his first time to be locked up. Mr. Tough Guy needs a very big wake-up call. The judge agreed. In the last two years we also have to factor in felony theft charges from the Ranch and another juvenile complaint when he threatened his older, bigger, stronger birth brother with a knife.
Our local juvenile judge is awesome, there are not enough wonderful words to speak about her because she gets it. She totally understands and she is firmly on the side of behavioral accountability. She comprehends the need, at times, for punitive situations and at other times for therapeutic intervention. She expedited psychiatric help for Alex years ago, and probably saved her life in that she immediately received residential therapy. The same judge got the Intensive Family Intervention services for Teresa and we've seen huge improvements in just a few months.
It is terribly sad that we've needed so much help, that birth parents, multiple placements, neglect and abuse have taken their toll on many of my children. I'm very grateful for the resources and for the help, I've taken some humiliating blows in that others may incorrectly think that I shouldn't have bothered with "throwaway children," but they'd be wrong. It is not easy to raise sibling groups who've come from the foster care system, there's my understatement for the day. Go to this link and read this awesome lady's blog.
Fabian will be a success. He's having to learn too much the hard way, but I believe that he can and will learn. There's a lot of people pulling for him and praying for him.
His face crumpled when we had to say good-bye, he cried pretty hard. Joey cried also, but I didn't. I gave Fabian the letters that his Sunday School class wrote to him (after the deputy fanned through them) and reiterated all that I stood for which included right and wrong, all my love for him, and how his behavior must improve. I told him that I wanted him to return to our family and our home, that's where I'd spend time with him, but that I doubt I'll visit at YDC. It's not fair to leave the many good kids who've remained at home to visit the one who physically threw me across the room and threatened worse violence. He understood, it's the kind of message I have always sent to my children. He wants me to print out the blog everyday, send it and to have everyone write to him which I'll gladly do lovingly, but not in an enabling way, to demonstrate my everlasting support.
He had a Legal Aid attorney whose job it was to defend him, to actually try to get him out of trouble, but I held my ground in my heartfelt attempt to get help for him; for him to finally understand that there are consequences for six counts of family violence within 6 weeks, too many times for police intervention in one family.
The man from DJJ, the DA and I were all wanting confinement for Fabian. 60 days now when he is a juvenile so that he can learn that there are consequences, versus him growing into an untameable monster who'll be locked up for decades as an adult. Fabian, in handcuffs, was sitting between me and the Legal Aid attorney, and I was practically making a scene with my insistence on holding him responsible, mean ole mom once again.
Legal Aid wanted credit for time served but I disagreed there also. No. This was not his first time to be locked up. Mr. Tough Guy needs a very big wake-up call. The judge agreed. In the last two years we also have to factor in felony theft charges from the Ranch and another juvenile complaint when he threatened his older, bigger, stronger birth brother with a knife.
Our local juvenile judge is awesome, there are not enough wonderful words to speak about her because she gets it. She totally understands and she is firmly on the side of behavioral accountability. She comprehends the need, at times, for punitive situations and at other times for therapeutic intervention. She expedited psychiatric help for Alex years ago, and probably saved her life in that she immediately received residential therapy. The same judge got the Intensive Family Intervention services for Teresa and we've seen huge improvements in just a few months.
It is terribly sad that we've needed so much help, that birth parents, multiple placements, neglect and abuse have taken their toll on many of my children. I'm very grateful for the resources and for the help, I've taken some humiliating blows in that others may incorrectly think that I shouldn't have bothered with "throwaway children," but they'd be wrong. It is not easy to raise sibling groups who've come from the foster care system, there's my understatement for the day. Go to this link and read this awesome lady's blog.
Fabian will be a success. He's having to learn too much the hard way, but I believe that he can and will learn. There's a lot of people pulling for him and praying for him.
His face crumpled when we had to say good-bye, he cried pretty hard. Joey cried also, but I didn't. I gave Fabian the letters that his Sunday School class wrote to him (after the deputy fanned through them) and reiterated all that I stood for which included right and wrong, all my love for him, and how his behavior must improve. I told him that I wanted him to return to our family and our home, that's where I'd spend time with him, but that I doubt I'll visit at YDC. It's not fair to leave the many good kids who've remained at home to visit the one who physically threw me across the room and threatened worse violence. He understood, it's the kind of message I have always sent to my children. He wants me to print out the blog everyday, send it and to have everyone write to him which I'll gladly do lovingly, but not in an enabling way, to demonstrate my everlasting support.
Sexy Music Lyrics...Not On My Watch
I have mentioned before that I am a stickler here about what I allow in our house. I pay the bills, I make the rules...an equation hopefully designed to impart to the kids a respect for authority. Y'all are more than welcome to make your own rules when you move into a place where you pay all your own bills, but for now, I'm large and in charge.
I have a rule about current music as well. I grew up in the very different generation of the 1960s when everything was standing on its head for a wild moment. I'm not going into a history lesson, but what has evolved musically since then is horrendously anti-female. I do not want my daughters growing up to be a "ho" nor do I want my sons to think that way about women. Today's lyrics seem to fill one's head with such peawash. I do not care if my kids think I'm a dinosaur, I simply don't care if everyone thinks I am old and deluded, too conservative or whatever label someone wants to dump on me. I care that my children grow up to be emotionally strong, with well-developed healthy self-images. This story about overly sexy music lyrics actually supports my gut feelings.
Here where we live, we are blessed to have a radio station that is positive and uplifting. Believe it or not, out of all our rebellion battles, this one has not been that difficult. Yes I am aware that my children do not perfectly mind me in this area, but no one is blatant about their disobedience, nor is it an issue that comes up often. Another advantage to a large family is the lack of sit around and mope to music syndrome that I remember back when we had transitor radios to listen to Motown on.
I'm equally as nutso about R-rated movies, I don't watch them, I don't rent them, I don't want the F word being yelled in my house by some TV box. My grown kids, who now do what they want, are more sensitive (I believe ) for having had someone point out the whys and the why nots of putting garbage into one's minds. My grown kids call and come over frequently, and it is such a reward to me to hear my words, spoken in their sweet voices, coming out of their mouths, and knowing that they also will protect the next generation from filth.
On another level, it is very comforting to my once rattled children to know that they can count on me as well to practice what I preach. I am so predictable, they can so count on me and they know it. They deeply fear that I will not be there, but on some 10th internal radar level they are all starting to learn that Mama is who she says she is.
I am fun, goofy, silly and loving...they appreciate that, they count on that...but they also know they won't come home in the middle of the day to find me drinking, smoking, cussing, chewing tobacco, watching R rated movies or dancing around to rap music. Ain't gonna happen. I'm strict and they want strict. It shows I care and I've been strict on 18, 19 or 20 years old if they still live in my house. My opinions and advice to grown children is also strict, predictable and a 'do the right thing' choice. Just because they're grown doesn't mean my conservatism has lessened. Duh.
They know I won't wear dresses or heels over 1/2" (because I'm clumsy and I'll fall down) except maybe to a wedding. They know I won't drink a can of chemicals (coca-cola) or eat a dead cow (Big Mac). I won't not be in the middle of some book, I won't not grow a garden and I won't not provide for them. This they know. I won't sneak out at night nor go on a vacation without them.
Just as Edgar will keep his keys in my purse, or Sonny will need help filling out paperwork, or another grown kid will call to ask about a decision that they've already made, just to hear me praise the right choice, and they can bask in it because they already knew what I would do.
They have to be able to learn to count on me constantly. It is repetitiously demanding on me but it pays off. They'll elbow me in church when the pastor says something that they're tired of hearing from me, they'll come home and share what they heard from a kid in school. Vanessa, who yesterday had to go back inside and change her inappropriate outfit that she'd tried to wear to church, will tsk tsk at what some other mom allowed their daughter to wear to school. Ok Miss Pot Calling The Kettle Black.
"Let me see you get that past Mom," someone will guffaw at someone else, and a crowd will form in the hallway to watch the obvious offender get busted. "I told you so," will then be the resulting chorus as big eyes turn to me for secondary approval as in, "see, mom, I know better than that."
Vanessa's excuse yesterday was her piercing PMS, that at least didn't get her kicked out of school during her first week back. She be 16 next week, hormones raging, she squabbled with me over her laziness, I didn't take the bait, but my resulting icy demeanor can be worse, as she'd rather fight and feel justified in her unreasonable anger.
We went swimming last night after supper and I heard her screech from down the hall, "Praise God I started!" knowing her uncontrollable mood swings would subside, giving her relief from her own hellcat self.
"Gross," was Edgar's response.
"Started what?" came from Jose's room in an innocent high-pitched Bubba voice. Realizing he'd dared to respond to a viperish Vanessa resulted in a quick door slamming silence from him and a wary, "Uh-oh."
As we swam, Vanessa mopped the kitchen, without me asking, as her way of making up for her very crappy attitude all weekend. I accept her apology.
I have a rule about current music as well. I grew up in the very different generation of the 1960s when everything was standing on its head for a wild moment. I'm not going into a history lesson, but what has evolved musically since then is horrendously anti-female. I do not want my daughters growing up to be a "ho" nor do I want my sons to think that way about women. Today's lyrics seem to fill one's head with such peawash. I do not care if my kids think I'm a dinosaur, I simply don't care if everyone thinks I am old and deluded, too conservative or whatever label someone wants to dump on me. I care that my children grow up to be emotionally strong, with well-developed healthy self-images. This story about overly sexy music lyrics actually supports my gut feelings.
Here where we live, we are blessed to have a radio station that is positive and uplifting. Believe it or not, out of all our rebellion battles, this one has not been that difficult. Yes I am aware that my children do not perfectly mind me in this area, but no one is blatant about their disobedience, nor is it an issue that comes up often. Another advantage to a large family is the lack of sit around and mope to music syndrome that I remember back when we had transitor radios to listen to Motown on.
I'm equally as nutso about R-rated movies, I don't watch them, I don't rent them, I don't want the F word being yelled in my house by some TV box. My grown kids, who now do what they want, are more sensitive (I believe ) for having had someone point out the whys and the why nots of putting garbage into one's minds. My grown kids call and come over frequently, and it is such a reward to me to hear my words, spoken in their sweet voices, coming out of their mouths, and knowing that they also will protect the next generation from filth.
On another level, it is very comforting to my once rattled children to know that they can count on me as well to practice what I preach. I am so predictable, they can so count on me and they know it. They deeply fear that I will not be there, but on some 10th internal radar level they are all starting to learn that Mama is who she says she is.
I am fun, goofy, silly and loving...they appreciate that, they count on that...but they also know they won't come home in the middle of the day to find me drinking, smoking, cussing, chewing tobacco, watching R rated movies or dancing around to rap music. Ain't gonna happen. I'm strict and they want strict. It shows I care and I've been strict on 18, 19 or 20 years old if they still live in my house. My opinions and advice to grown children is also strict, predictable and a 'do the right thing' choice. Just because they're grown doesn't mean my conservatism has lessened. Duh.
They know I won't wear dresses or heels over 1/2" (because I'm clumsy and I'll fall down) except maybe to a wedding. They know I won't drink a can of chemicals (coca-cola) or eat a dead cow (Big Mac). I won't not be in the middle of some book, I won't not grow a garden and I won't not provide for them. This they know. I won't sneak out at night nor go on a vacation without them.
Just as Edgar will keep his keys in my purse, or Sonny will need help filling out paperwork, or another grown kid will call to ask about a decision that they've already made, just to hear me praise the right choice, and they can bask in it because they already knew what I would do.
They have to be able to learn to count on me constantly. It is repetitiously demanding on me but it pays off. They'll elbow me in church when the pastor says something that they're tired of hearing from me, they'll come home and share what they heard from a kid in school. Vanessa, who yesterday had to go back inside and change her inappropriate outfit that she'd tried to wear to church, will tsk tsk at what some other mom allowed their daughter to wear to school. Ok Miss Pot Calling The Kettle Black.
"Let me see you get that past Mom," someone will guffaw at someone else, and a crowd will form in the hallway to watch the obvious offender get busted. "I told you so," will then be the resulting chorus as big eyes turn to me for secondary approval as in, "see, mom, I know better than that."
Vanessa's excuse yesterday was her piercing PMS, that at least didn't get her kicked out of school during her first week back. She be 16 next week, hormones raging, she squabbled with me over her laziness, I didn't take the bait, but my resulting icy demeanor can be worse, as she'd rather fight and feel justified in her unreasonable anger.
We went swimming last night after supper and I heard her screech from down the hall, "Praise God I started!" knowing her uncontrollable mood swings would subside, giving her relief from her own hellcat self.
"Gross," was Edgar's response.
"Started what?" came from Jose's room in an innocent high-pitched Bubba voice. Realizing he'd dared to respond to a viperish Vanessa resulted in a quick door slamming silence from him and a wary, "Uh-oh."
As we swam, Vanessa mopped the kitchen, without me asking, as her way of making up for her very crappy attitude all weekend. I accept her apology.
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