Good Books

Between on-line used books for sale, and yard sales, I rarely lack for something to read. Just as I re-read my garden books all winter, I love house books which is laughable considering I live with angry children. But a girl can dream...

This afternoon I lost myself in this one, telling Sarah that I think I'm having such a tough time with all this recuperation because I'm totally bored with it now. I want to be working on projects, running around town, hauling manure, leaves and wood chips; this couch sitting sucks. This isn't my style.

Sweet Millie had sent us pizza gift cards, right before my surgery, and this being Jose's birthday and his request was for pizza, we have absolutely stuffed ourselves, and it was the uptown stuff, not our usual Dominos. The kids were giddy, happy to see me scurrying around the kitchen but, hey, who can't serve pizza from boxes?

Halloween at Wal-Mart

At least it's Halloween, the clerks at Wal-Mart sometimes dress up.

Sarah drove me to Wal-Mart this morning where I pushed my buggy around in my pjs...I suppose some thought it was a hospital patient costume? Or just a new low for me?

Ray distracted everyone anyway by puking his guts up in the check-out line.

Going Down Crying

I'm getting so many encouraging emails and I so appreciate the kind words; those of y'all who express your feelings that I am an inspiration...well this morning I'm just gonna let you down a little bit as this has been a very tough time lately for our family, and I'm not gonna sound much like Pollyanna.

It all hit me tremendously hard yesterday afternoon, Sarah had driven me to the hospital to see Grandma who was sitting up looking wonderful, feeling great, despite having undergone an angioplasty procedure and still facing another one tomorrow.

Fabian, Miriam, Vanessa, Sabrina, Sergi and even Joey (for one four hour period) have been wonderfully helpful, but I simply melted down yesterday. I'd slept for an hour on the sofa after the hospital visit, I don't sleep in the daytime, but I didn't even hear Yolie leave. Three months pregnant and we've hardly had a minute to celebrate what with all that's happened lately; she'd yanked CJ out of the tub the minute I called crying about Grandma on Sunday, went into alert mode, forgot about herself, and took over like she always does in a crisis. I didn't even say thank-you.

Mr. Ed, Lisa's brother-in-law, had given us veggie garden burgers, the really good kind, and Vanessa helped me cook and serve them last night to everyone's delight.

I made it to two soccer games but I was way beyond miserably hurting. Miriam and Fabian covered me with blankets until I looked like a homeless woman swathed in rags, a bundle in the chair, and it was 60 something degrees yet I shivered the entire time. Only my eyes showed and I was fighting tears of pain the entire time.

I absolutely dissolved into sobs at home, acutely distressing my older boys who wanted to help. I just couldn't stop crying. I believe it was a delayed reaction to my own stark fear at helplessly watching my mother have a heart attack. There's nothing quite as alarming. Yes, we were safely in the ER, but it was a horrifying experience. I was convulsing with sobs, slinging snot, glad the little kids were all in bed.

Gito had been as oppositional as a cartoon character, and Sergi had lit into him, "Boy, you don't want me to call Jesse, he will have your head on a platter. I'm the nicest guy you'll ever meet, but Jesse's gonna be ashamed of you." Jesse is Gito's oldest birth brother, a king in Gito's eyes. Then Sergi fell apart, so alarmed was he at my grief. Finally he and Miriam went over to church at 9 p.m. to watch Judgement House and bring Javy, Mayra and Martin home at 10 on a school night.

I cried myself to sleep, knowing I was being a big fat crybaby, but I couldn't get a grip.

I know my mother will be fine, I'm healing, and this wasn't malignant, so I am very thankful...but I gotta say that the stress load has been unbelievable lately.

I'm trying to get my kids back to what we called normal...Mama cooking, doing the laundry, running around, and taking care of business...Sarah is helping me fake it in a really big way. She'd called this morning, offering to take over the laundry but I don't mind doing it, I need to move around, heal faster. At least this morning I have a grip on my own emotions.

Ms. Carr again wanted to bring food, but I'd later decided against it as the kids are circling me so warily, needing me to reassure them that I'm tough, strong and we're gonna get through these 1-2-3 punches that have hit us so hard. I'm so deeply grateful to her, and to many other teachers and church members that have done so much for us, if Ms Carr had done nothing but hug Jonathan throughout this ordeal, it would have been enough. Interestingly Jonathan, once quite a rager, has held it together astonishingly well, I credit Ms. Carr's no nonsense, yet incredibly compassionate, love for him.

Sarah's best job is feeding me. With a foot of my intestine gone I'm having even more trouble gaining weight, if I eat then my stomach hurts and I don't absorb nutrients as well as before, if I don't eat I am really light-headed. I ALWAYS eat what Sarah cooks. DUH.

Being Their Mama

At least I'm sleeping well and recovering quickly from surgery. My rock solid faith in God is holding me up through all the trials that my family seems to be encountering this year.

I woke up full of relief that Grandma survived yesterday. Sarah pointed out that within the last nine months all three generations (Grandma, Big Mama and Sarah) have been hospitalized with life-threatening problems.

Hmmm...have we all been so smug and over-bearing about our supposedly perfect health that we've all needed a wake-up call about the fragility of life? What's up with all this mess?

Again it was Edgar and Yolie who took over my house, driving kids where they needed to be, getting everyone to and from the church festival and services yesterday, feeding the family, and reassuring everyone that Grandma would be fine, Mama would be home soon.

Sarah'd driven me to the hospital, stayed strong while torn up on the inside about Grandma, gotten me home, and will take me back this morning to check on my mother.

I'm amazingly strong for 16 days outta surgery, maybe it's just the adrenaline propping me up, but I also have awesome older kids who help. Again, it'll be Edgar getting two teams to soccer games tonight, carrying my chair, driving me, setting us up, and getting us home again. He will also get all the "actors" in my family for Judgement House to the church three nights this week...while also working 50 hours a week.

It is such a blessing to be his Mama, I thank God that I was given this privilege of parenting him.

A Sudden Heart Attack

My parent's house is attached to mine, connected by the sunroom, when you drive up it all looks like one huge house. My parents are 76 and they've worked hard, along with my older kids, while I've tried to get strong again, today being Day 16 from surgery.

I did make it to church, Edgar drove 23 kids to Sunday School, and he zipped back home to get me for the church service.

I hadn't been back home but for a minute, fixing lunch, when my Dad, in tears, came over asked me to go make my mom go to the hospital.

I ran over there, Edgar and Fabian on my tail, to find her slumped over in a chair, and Jack, big-eyed with shock, standing next to her. She's stubborn, wanted to wait until the moment passed but I threw a huge fit and told her if she didn't get in the car, Edgar would toss her in it. 911 would take too long from where we live to get an ambulance.

She actually refused, I repeated the threat loudly, Edgar and Fabian stood there debating if they should just wrestle her down and pick her up, Mom saw the fire in my eyes, Vanessa got shoes on Grandma's feet and we got her in the car.

She had a heart attack in the emergency room.

I got there within a few minutes with Sarah, and an absolutely awesome cardiac surgeon put a stent (sp?) in an artery, she'll have another one put in Wednesday but, thankfully, she will be fine after a week in the hospital.

I was frantically calling my brothers Gary, Jim and Kevin; not knowing what was going to happen, hating to make these calls, hearing the fear and concern in their voices. Yolie was calling all my other kids asking for prayer as she drove over to my house to take charge.

Yolie, Chuck and Edgar got the kids to the church festival, that I'd been looking forward to all week, and home again.

I've called Mom's remaining two brothers-in-law, and am leafing through her phone book shocked that most of her friends have already gone on. She used to be one of six kids. Now her kids and grandkids are what's left of her family.

I've run all the what ifs through my mind, what if she'd been here alone, she wouldn't have made it, if she'd ignored us, she wouldn't have made it...but it all somehow worked out today and she will be fine. I am limp with relief, my kids are in shock and my dad is a total wreck.

I am simply thankful to God.

Being Positive and Uplifting

Lily and Tony, pictured here, are often rays of sunshine but...

My darling sib group of 7, extremely attractive all of them, seem to carry a visible cloud, much like a comic book character with their constant negativity. It wears on me worse than punched in walls and windows.

I get bored, aggravated, and annoyed with the whining, whoa is me, gloom and doom, and downer talk.

I told Fabian last night, who'd snuggled constantly with me, that the next day we would disallow any negativity.

With the time change. everyone is up before the roosters, and I've already redirected a rather agreeable Fabian who concurred, "You're right, it's the Sabbath."

This oughta be fun today.

I'm wondering if I can get away with my Wal-Mart shiny pj pants at church, they look black and dressy, with nary a rip in sight, we sit on the back row. Edgar already listed the people who'd try and bear hug me after an absence of two weeks, "I'll run interference," he'd offered.

All our clocks are wrong, all my kids confused on a good day, baffled as a group today by the return to standard time, by tonight when it gets dark early I'll have a mess on my hands. Within a week, everyone will have adjusted, and my Mom is starting to worry me already about Thanksgiving plans.

Chill woman, my plan simply involves eating, grown kids bring dishes, pot-luck, we'll all cook a lot and there'll be 75 or so people here. I don't need to stress right now, and I'm simply hoping both my brothers will come for the weekend, one from Florida and the other from Virginia; turns out my dad needs surgery for a hernia between now and then, that's gonna be a mess as I'm still not driving so he's been taking the kids to school for me.

Again I wanna brag on Edgar who has done so much for me these past two weeks, driving, being the team mom, lifting stuff, remaining by my side when not working, and simply being our family hero. What a man. I am so blessed and very thankful.

I'm cooking dinners again, Vanessa by my side, lifting the big pots and pans; Mayra, Sabrina and Tony also very helpful in the kitchen. Kids, with mouthfuls of pinto beans, acting like it's the best they ever ate, just glad to see me on my feet acting normal and restoring their world once again. Whew we'd made it through yet another family crisis, came out on the other side strong and intact...except for Mama, with that gash down her middle and sporadically bent over with pain, but even she is smiling, cracking jokes, and trying to water the thousands of houseplants.

Protecting My Belly

My kids often, no usually, come up behind me and wrap their arms around me. I'm gingerly walking around now, protecting my belly from head-butts and hugs. Although I'm getting around way better than even a week ago, I feel fragile and there's still a lot of pain.

Usually for Halloween weekend, we go up to the firehouse for hay rides and candy, but I just wasn't up to it this year. I didn't want to be jostled by the crowds.

Tomorrow I am going to attempt to get to church and then our church has a Festival in the afternoon that my kids would walk to if necessary...we haven't missed it in 25 years, between this church and our former church.

I don't know what I'll be able to wear tomorrow besides a nightgown as I can't let anything touch my incision without great pain.

Jose is showing off in this picture because he so outweighs me. Big Whoop, son.

I Want Happiness and Good Times...I Insist

Fabian, pictured here with Nando,has been home from YDC for nearly a week now. He was sent there for various acts of family violence this past summer, he ended up spending 90 days confinement where he learned his behaviors were unacceptable. Is he better?

I don't know. He wants me to think that he is, but I've been chumped way too many times before to be gullible anymore. We clashed the other day for a minute, but he got a grip. I'm the one on edge, due to feeling awful two weeks after surgery. I'm no fun, my activity is limited, I'm not the same tough in-your-face mama that he squared off against last summer.

Possibly my helplessness could be used as a wake-up call for him in that I just can't, and won't, live with this level of violence and hatred anymore. I've given and given, loved and loved until it has physically cost me my nervous system, my strength, and a chunk of my good health.

We've crossed over into another arena now, one in which I expect some reciprocal giving. I can't "heal" the issues, I can help facilitate emotional healing by my continued commitment, but I'm going to call the police, call the mental health professionals, DJJ, and anyone else in to help me deal with these over the top behaviors.

No one is going to cost us our safety and security, no one is going to hold our family emotionally hostage, all this bullcrap is going to be over. I'm not as understanding as I used to be. Fabian has had six years and 3 months to get a grip. He can have minor slip-ups, we all can, but it's time to grow up big time.

Tiny Titan

If I remember correctly, I wanted to read this book because Sharon was reading it. I ordered it from Amazon.com, and hardly put it down all day yesterday, it was another book I'd started, but didn't get around to finishing until I was so suddenly benched by surgery.

It is must reading for any mother who is parenting a mentally ill child. Ann Yurcheck is the birth mom of a medically special needs daughter, several other birth kids, and she went on to adopt a sib group of 5 severely disturbed children. Her perseverance is astonishing and personally encouraging to me.

She also talked about being on several email adoption groups, and the knowledge she'd acquired there, along with the support and the horror stories shared by others who've been there, done that. I have found that area as well to be a source of inspiration, support and encouragement for me. I've met most of my online adoption mama-friends there over the years as we have shared and commiserated with our severe ups and downs in the very uncharted adoption world.

It was, at times, excruciating painful reading as I've been in her shoes, as have many other adoptive parents. Where we once entered this arena filled with hope and the soaring dreams of providing love and a family for children, we are all too often met with sheer frustration, loss, anxiety and an ongoing dread for the future. We end up with PTSD, anxiety disorders, and even the feeling that we've lost our own grip on reality as the traumatized children recreate the only comfort that they know...that of pain and chaos in our once peaceful homes.

A retired schoolteacher, like me, has, or once had, plans to retire to a beach community, not to be living in a house with broken windows, shattered sheetrock walls, and torn up furniture. I never envisioned the need for police protection in my own home, I sure didn't see this life of mine coming. At 22, I assumed I'd have it made by the time I was 52. I've since pushed that thought back to age 72, but maybe then I'll be in Haiti working in an orphanage, or I'll be fighting society as a CASA person, making sure the children are not forgotten by bureaucracy bs and stupid, inane policies that could entice me to cuss here.

I have had to fight valiantly for years to keep our home atmosphere positive, to instill a new mindset in my kids, to even convince them that there is any hope for them. Although I have physically attributed this past tumor of mine to the sick-building syndrome of my former job, it is not lost on me that the negative emotional environment here could have easily facilitated the growth of this tumor. One just can not continue to absorb all the hate, the fear, the anger and the damaged emotions without some physical or emotional repercussions. The author touched on that as well, how the emotional and physical stress often literally takes out an adoptive mother with physically debilitating ailments. Now I believe it. I stupidly used to think...not me.

Sarah asked me yesterday, "How can you read about it and live through it?" The day before I'd watched a mindless TV drama that never mentioned adoption, traumatized children nor any acting out, the escape didn't do much for me. I need answers, I need to understand; to comprehend, I need a tour guide here through Hell. I need to know if we are normal in adoption terms, I need other people's experiences and explanations. I need encouragement, and I need knowledge.

However this 470 page book's subtitle is a "journey of hope" as Ann Yurchek presses onward to many substantial victories with her children. It can be done, this impossibility can be accomplished against all odds, the children can heal on many different levels. I obviously share her belief that this can be done. Duh. It is often facilitated in the children without the help that was promised by adoption workers, it takes a hard-headed, unstopable mama. The system is not on our side, the system itself can hurt us.

I've personally been fortunate to have a pro-active, long lasting, experienced adoption worker, Emily B, who has interpreted many issues for me over the years; who has encouraged me to keep looking for help, and has also pointed the way on many, many occasions. Being an adoptive parent herself, she gets it.

Adoptive parents, like me, thinking love can, and will, heal all the hurts, are always blindsided by the depths of the children's pain and damage. The adopted ones are the fortunate ones, it boggles my mind to think of all the nearly feral children aging out of the system never having experienced even one iota of love, empathy, concern or human decency in their entire lives. No wonder 90% of them end up homeless, dead or in jail...I'm surprised even 10% succeed on any level.

How can we as such an affluent society sit by and allow this?

High School

When I was in high school I hung out with two nutbirds, Mac and John, both of whom I absolutely loved and adored, yet never dated; we were truly just friends. They took me fishing, camping, farting around everywhere, we lived near beaches then, and Mac's father owned a boat dealership/repair so Mac sometimes took me out on really fast boats.

Mac dated a beautiful girl back then, Kim, for years. I can't remember how long as I left southeast Virginia 30 years ago to return to Georgia where I'd been born, and it's kinda hard now for me to travel what with all these darling young'uns of mine.

I think about my childhood friends, Barbara, Dottie, Jane, Patti, Debbie, John, Carole, Mac and Kim and my first husband, Jamie. Barbara and Jamie are the only ones I see or talk to anymore with any frequency.

Out of the blue today Kim emailed me. I just about fell off the sofa in total excitement, I emailed her back with ten tons of exclamation marks; punctuation police can kiss my butt, I was so excited.

She'd searched the internet, found my blog, and shared the last couple of decades with me. I can't tell you how much that meant to me, that anyone would bother, or go to the trouble. She'd been reading my bigmouth, know-it-all but constantly-take-my-lumps blog and, she'd amazingly enough had twins at age 47.

I HAVE to see her again! Unless she wants me and mine to come see her in Mississippi, she best plan for a Georgia trip.

She knew me, way back then, when I was normal...and very young, and, fairly unlikely to end up living down a dirt road with 39 children.

Miriam's Heartbreak

Miriam, 17, is gorgeous, a fairly easy child to parent, the second oldest in that wild sib group of seven that has been in our family for more than six years now.

Last night at work some ignorant redneck asked her where she was from and
she'd replied, "Mexico," in a totally unaccented voice, southern if anything, athough she is fluent in both languages. She dresses like any other` American teenager, somehow on top of the styles even though we shop at yard sales and from bags of clothes that we are given. She always looks preppy and very well put-together.

"Well you need to go back to where you came from," was this stupid guy's response to her, kinda like verbally slapping her in the face.

Sergi picked her up at 9 after work and when she came to my room to tell me she was home last night, I asked her what was wrong. She replied, "nothing." I kept pressing but she didn't want to talk about it.

This morning at 7, she and Vanessa got into a squabble that they both came running to me about, wanting me to hobble down the hall and referee, which I did, got nowhere and Miriam left early for school.

Vanessa then told me what had happened and how this morning she'd called Miriam an illegal alien which caused Miriam to absolutely lose it. These are birth sisters, aggressive and non-supportive, and I've spent 6 years and three months working with them about this...about how I wished I still had a sister to fuss with. I've been all over that entire sib group about their ugliness to each other, the unacceptable negative words and their all too often hatefulness to each other.

I can't protect them from ignorant comments out in the world, nor save them from prejudice, but I can continue to keep insisting, here within our home, that they only build each other up. Life is hard enough without being emotionally beat down within one's family.

Mriam has already texted me an apology for her behavior.

Turns out she'd cried most of the schoolday, came home early, sick about it all, needed mama time, Sarah made her a cup of raspberry herbal tea, and then Miriam accompanied Grandma and Grandpa to the doctor's appointment and Wal-Mart; briefly needing the emotional security that only family can provide.

She'll be OK tomorrow, strengthened once again to face the world.

Friday Morning Counseling

When I told Jose that Dr. G was coming to talk to him today he immediately asked, "Why? I've been good."

"Yeah, you have son, but can't Dr. G just come and enjoy the good times also? Do you think he only wants to deal with all the bad stuff? Can't he get to see the progress that he's made with you?"

"Oh, OK, I guess so."

Jose has been awesome all week. He wasn't much fun for Yolie last week, despondent, antsy, a little rude, not an enjoyable houseguest, but at least the sheriff didn't have to get involved.

This week, horrified by the shape I'm in, a couch sitter with a long gash up the middle, he's fallen all over himself to be helpful. Literally, I'm hearing, "Mama, what can I do to help you?" as he wields a broom and dustpan, takes out the garbage or just hovers anxiously near me.

"Boy, I'm gonna be fine, just give me time, I'll be lean, mean and all in your business once again," I've reassured everyone constantly, yet seeing me down like this is emotionally taking it's toll on our family.

Edgar's totally bored with me being an invalid. He has had to take on the entire soccer schedule, in charge of snacks last night, two games; one game the night before, doing the driving, the cheering, and the supervising after working ten hours and driving 45 minutes each way to his job, getting up at 4:45 each morning...he's changed so much this year, from an immature, emotionally needy high school senior last year irrationally worrying that I would put him out at age 18 to a handsome, confident, capable grown man with a job and a plan; emotionally secure with his role in our family at age 19 1/2.

I've poured out a lot of love on him and I'll continue to do so, but he's easy to love...I need to do as well with those other children that are harder to love.

Claudia blogged this morning about adopting younger kids, and while a two year old is the youngest I've ever adopted, I do want to echo some thoughts. My Alex was five when she came, nurturing couldn't prevent her mental health breakdown into a psychiatric placement, nor Paloma's oppositional, aggressive behaviors. Tony was three when he arrived, yet due to Cerebal Palsy and other emotional issues, he might never become capable of living on his own. Again, it has been my older children who were easier.

Being Tremendously Humbled By All This Help

I am very self-conscious about having 39 kids and, as such, I rarely ask anyone for help. Part of that is, of course, me being stubborn and prideful, but I have a huge fear of someone thinking, "Ya shouldn't have had so many kids if you need this or that." And that would be a legitimate thought on their part. I never adopted a sib group that I didn't think I could handle, I like to think that I also never over extended myself. Before I added each group I spent months reviewing the logistics in my head as to best make everything happen.

In this picture, taken while I was gone, Nando's trepidation is visible in his eyes, Tabby doesn't look much better, and it must even have been passed on to Ray; who looks a little skittish as well.

When I first learned that I needed major surgery, I thought to myself that we would be able to handle everything in-house so to speak, and I told a large number of people who asked what we needed, that we'd be fine, we had our bases covered...but thankfully everyone realized I was full of it, and they came anyway.

Sarah quickly realized we could use some help with Big Mama severely sidelined by the surgery, the pain, the morphine, recovery, and other meds; Sarah reached out to Miss Lisa and Ms Carr. "Yep, we need help," she simply said and the floodgates opened in a staggering way.

The blessings on my family absolutely flowed. Part of my fear of accepting help is my obvious inability to reciprocate well, being tied down by 39 kids, a dozen grandkids, and my in-law children keeps me hopping and trying to meet all the demands.

We have had a house full of food, we have flowers and plants, a garden book, a garden magazine, people have sent clothes to the kids, and several extremely generous gift cards from schools and friends; the calls and the cards have kept coming, and the love poured out on my family has left the kids wide-eyed with wonder.

I've said this a million times but it always bears repeating, maybe just for me, as I simply can't believe that back then my own kids were so abused, neglected and mistreated. I harbor anger that someone treated my children that way; I struggle with my own unreasonable shame that I wasn't there to protect them. I know there was nothing I could have done, but that doesn't lessen my personal feelings about this.

Now the tide has so turned for my children and though they've spent years trying to accept the love I give, they are floored to start to realize how much their teachers love them, that our church physically and emotionally supports them, and even the community has reached out when their own worst fears were realized...something bad had happened to Mama.

For my kids, simply comprehending that their teachers know where we live is a layer of security they've never had, having the teachers in our house cements that feeling, but beyond even that, these same teachers who hug them at school and act like Mama...these same loving teachers have also provided tons of food for them. Last night at supper, "Ms Carr made this black bean chili? Mrs. Zuber made this macaroni?" was all I heard. Like they didn't believe teachers could cook?

Like Lily hasn't been in classes with Mrs. Zuber's son all her life? What does she think John Z eats? I worked with Mr. Zuber, J.D, for 13 years my ownself, and I'm going to send him my sick building theory...knowing he's safe in a new building now.

Ms. Carr even got Jonathan's bookbag to school yesterday, she'd come by while her class was in P.E. to load us down with food...Jonathan previously came from a school system that blatantly disliked "foster children." Jonathan now can reach out anytime he wants for hugs and reassurance from his teacher and he knows it. My kids brought their fearful, defensive attitudes with them to these schools that have embraced them, my kids previous negative worldviews have been replaced by positive experinces and successful school situations...again leaving my children nearly in shock...good things can happen to us? Dare we believe this? This is permanent?

This is why my family has been so successful, it has taken all this love to pull them through; my church, the schools, our community, and my elderly, but strong as oxen, parents.

My grown kids also, driving my kids around, showing up at sporting events to support the little kids, babysitting, refereeing, shopping for me, paying bills and everything else, have helped so much.

Yes, some of my kids have been arrested, some have been in jail for more than overnight, some have stayed on the Honor Roll, gotten pregnant outside of marriage, been kicked out of school, starred in sports, and pretty much run the gamut of all stuck-on-stupid activities alongside positive ones as well,and more...but eventually I have full assurance that all will pull through somehow someway, but not without all the help that we have been given.

How will I ever be able to express all my trendous gratitude to so many people for so much help to our family?

Charred Souls

I had a relapse today, I could hardly move, slept most of the morning, sticking my disheveled head up off the sofa twice to greet two friends of mine, Emily C and Susan, later in the morning. They'd both brought ten tons of food here, thankfully, as I felt like a wet rag all day. I could hardly eat and kept telling myself, and Sarah, that maybe I'd just pushed myself too hard too soon.

This afternoon, when I felt I could hold my head up, I finished reading Charred Souls: A Story of Recreational Child Abuse by Trena Cole.

It was horrifying, bleak, and depressing, but I read these books so that I remember why I do what I do; so that I don't look at my raging children as monsters, but as the victims that they truly are.

Yolie had tried to read this book but found herself totally unable to continue, I'd had to take a break from it for a month or so.

Interestingly the author was the oldest of her own sib group, that was never rescued from abuse, she felt she survived because she was the one who always had to be the parent, to protect the rest of the seven children. She was the only one who ended up in therapy or having any sort of success in life, the others turned to drugs, crime and alcohol.

She reminded me of Edgar, Jesse, Yolie, Sabrina...all the older sibs I'd blogged about this morning.

I need constant reminders, if only to keep remembering my kids act out for a reason.

Stretching Carefully

I want to stretch my body, to sling my arms over my head, extend my legs across the room and simply sssssssstttttttttttttrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeettttttttttccccccccchhhhhhhhhh.
But that'd pop my stitches out. Day 12 after major surgery and I'm so bored with it all; needing a nap after walking around the house for an hour tending to crap, missing a soccer game last night, and feeling like, "I just ain't able," just isn't my style at all.

I got up when Edgar did this morning out of pure T restlessness, but I also needed him to carry my laptop downstairs because I can't lift. "Sweetie, grab my heating pad too please, " I'd asked, expecting him to retort something about me being old and in the way, but he's not real witty at 4:55 in the morning, simply obedient.

I'd received the most glowing email yesterday from Edgar's boss. He'd moved Edgar into another job slot to protect him from layoffs, Edgar wasn't thrilled about the new position, yet he'd remained professional and had done a superb job. He's attracted the attention there of all the higher-ups, plus he's bilingual and absolutely as personable as they come, I've been acting like I birthed him or something ever since, all I ask of my kids is, "make me proud of you." I am way proud of all this info.

Truth is, I'm equally as proud of Sonny, keeping his Burger King job now for several months, plus taking a good many side jobs, Sergi and Joe both working full time and part-time jobs; Marcela is hardly a month from her UGA graduation, and Saray is enrolling again to finish her degree by May. That'll make my first sib group, Honduras in the 1980s, all college-educated; just as I'd dreamed.

Of course, in contrast, and in response to Fabian's return home, Joey has escalated his butt-headedness. Surprisingly no one, but me, and I'm addled from the pain, has taken the bait. Joey is being effectively frozen out by the rest of the family that right now is focusing on school, sports, Judgement House at church, and several other upcoming events. I'd quickly shut down any jailhouse talk as the kids questioned Fabian, "we're not having any inappropriate discussions y'all," they'd heard me bellow from the living room. Fortunately Fabian is appropriately embarrassed and ashamed over his poor choices.

Having me back home, and dependant on everyone, now has also helped reinforce the, "WOW, guess Mama really won't ever leave us," as they see me slumped over on the sofa overseeing everything rather than going to my room and pulling the covers over my head until I heal.

Allen turns 11 today, 4 when he came here, second youngest of the wild sib group of 7, now sweet, fearless and almost self-confident. I'd told him that Grandma and I'd take him out of school an hour or so early for some Mama time that he craves.

Allen is cute as a button, affectionate, watching his father figure (Edgar) constantly for pointers, reminds me how fortunate I've been to have the oldest sibs of sib groups usually act as role models; Jesse had done a great job with Alex, Gito and Sonny; Yolie over Daniel and Joe; Javy over Jose, Paloma, Chuy and Jonathan and, of course, Memaw over Tabby, Nando and Scotty.

By contrast once again, Joey has done a pitiful job with his sib group; Martin has stepped up to the plate instead. Marcela, way more confident, bossy, and full of leadership qualities has always dominated Saray and Deysi from the start, even though she was the baby of their group.

Which just burns my butt off to constantly hear pre-adoptive parents ask for just the cute youngest ones in a sib group, dismissing the older children as un-parentable, when, in reality, they are the neediest, the most deserving, and the most rewarding of the bunch. Watching them bloom after years of them parenting kids, when they themselves were just kids, makes me grin with joy.

Giving Birth At 50

Becoming mother at 50 'no risk to health'
From Mark Henderson, Science Editor, in New Orleans

WOMEN who give birth in their fifties are just as healthy, both physically and psychologically, as those who start families much earlier in life, according to research that will significantly strengthen the case against upper-age limits for fertility treatment.

I'd need way more Percocet first. When I was 50, Sarah was 31...I had grandchildren, thank you very much. But then again, Tabby was born when I was about that age so maybe I'll fit in better now with all these older moms. As it is, it's weird enough having kids and grandkids in the same grade, or Tabby an aunt to a middle-schooler.

I did wear my PJs to the meeting and I was super impressed with the director of the alternative school as well as with every aspect about it. Fabian is already now enrolled and attending classes hardly 12 hours after returning home.

He'd had to put on my shoes and socks for me since I can neither bend in the middle, nor use my stomach muscles which were cut through in surgery. I'm exhausted from my first outing and still have a 4 o'clock IFI meeting here this afternoon.

But Emily brought over delicious muffins she must have baked this morning and I'm stuffing my face.

Swim Trunks Fashion Faux Pas

Cristy's husband, Chris, took CW to the UGA-TN game several weeks ago. They were in a V.I.P. area due to Chris's job, and CW was photographed with two former pro football players. I have no clue who they are, what with me being a Baseball fan.

Fabian came walking in the front door last night, after being released from nearly 90 days YDC confinement, wearing the same yellow swim trunks and T shirt he'd been arrested in back in July.

"Boy, we done closed that pool about a month ago, go change your clothes, and come back downstairs to apologize for the way you left out of here." Pretty much how he expected I'd react to a non-heroic return from a punitive situation.

Grinning ear to ear, happy to be home, he'd have licked the kitchen floor if I'd have allowed such nuttiness. Lord knows it needed a good cleaning.

He, of course, behaved well, took his Big Mama lecture like a man, endured some crap from Edgar and Sergi for letting the family down, and stayed glued to Vanessa who alternated between being Queen Witch-with-a-B and a sweetie pie.

The faculty, from the school from which I retired, brought us supper last night. Miss Judy, Miss Ellen and Mr. T all came in, laden with dishes. Sabrina, not used to a small community's love and support, was thrilled to see her sixth grade teacher here in her kitchen. Miss Ellen, loving by nature anyway, has no idea what her presence here last night meant to a child who's slept in several hundred places before she was 10 years old...compared to CW who has lived since birth right here in our home. Memaw (Sabrina) is openly emotionally needy yet I am blessed at the remarkable lack of acting out from within her; that part I have no explanation for, by rights she should be one of my angriest children, yet she's not. Thank God.

Ellen and Judy met Sabrina's younger birth siblings and saw which three fifth graders will move up to the middle school next year. Children coming out of foster care tend to not have very positive teacher-student relationships as they usually have been so transient and blind to common goals since the children are simply living in grief and survival mode...what will happen to me next; where will I go?

Sabrina is basking in stability, I'd called her from the hospital and apologized for having to leave her for surgery; promised I'd be back, and somehow she tried to believe me although Sarah told me Sabrina'd been crying and literally howling with internal emotional pain in her room after the phone call. It also fell on Sabrina to step into her Memaw shoes and reassure Scotty, Tabby and Nando that this wouldn't all end because Mama was in the hospital. When even a 19 year old like Edgar, or a 26 year old like Yolie is visibly uneasy over Mama's absence, imagine how much more so for a new daughter like Sabrina whose worldview had taught her that nothing lasts?

Mr T has, for years, employed my boys at his farm. More importantly though has been the attention he has showered on Sonny and Gito as have Mr. T's gorgeous wife, and his parents who also live on that land. My kids soak up examples of permanency.

Someone at the school had sent us a good bit of money anonymously in a separate card. The children gaped in amazement, grinned spontaneously as a group, and ran to chatter to any other child who was not in the kitchen right then. Again, it cements their feelings of acceptance here, that things really will turn out alright for them somehow, someway; that now they might even begin to believe that they are safe, secure and loved. The school had already sent us a hugely generous gift card; my children's emotions are careening between gratitude and amazement. They used to feel that no one cared about them, now they're astonished at how many people care about them. I'm grateful at all the tangible evidence being poured out on my family.

I'd been on my feet a good bit and I was absolutely exhausted by the time I'd spread out, and served all the supper that I had not cooked (Thank God) so when Daniel walked in the house I was slumped on a stool, tired to the bone, and not as entertaining as he'd been told the drugs were making me be. I fussed at him about something he doesn't want me to blog about, and we worked it out a little, he stayed with me until I'd settled back on the sofa later. Being Daniel, he'd gone around the house fixing computer glitches and issues as well.

Today I have to get off the sofa and go out in public for the first time, a meeting with the assistant superintendent and some administrators about getting Fabian into the alternative school, there is a soccer game that I can't even think about getting to tonight, but Edgar, Miriam, Vanessa and Fabian will go be me there, and supper's on me for the first time in almost two weeks. We have enough leftovers so that this won't be a problem and the kids have been quite helpful.

I'm going to the meeting in (clean) pajamas though as I can't put anything on my waist area yet, this long incision is only 11 days old, both Daniel and Fabian were shocked at it's length, yet the surgeon actually made it shorter than he'd first predicted.

Grandpa had gone to his own regular doctor yesterday. The doctor said, "look's like you have a hernia," and Grandpa is, unbelieveably being sent to the same surgeon who just tended to me. Great, now Grandpa shouldn't do any heavy lifting. Sucks to be Grandma around here with two adults now down for the count.

She has Bridge Club this afternoon that I'm making sure she gets to go to, that woman needs a break.

Zambia

Of course, through this blog, I highlight adoptions, or more precisely, living in an adoptive family, but I never want to guilt anyone into adopting, only to encourage someone if they feel called. You gotta know that you know that you know before you should try this at home.

I won't ever feel guilted into adopting from Africa, but maybe someday when the kids are grown (notice I quit saying grown and gone), I'll work with a relief organization or an orphanage. While I'm sidelined to the sofa this week I've been reading other adoption blogs and this one, from my imaginary friend, Holly, sucked me right in. Dadgum, she's been to Africa. It is very interesting reading.

Sharon has an email group for large adoptive families that drew us all together years ago, it's where I met Claudia and many others who I've grown close to over the years; hard to find a place with this many moms like us. I've learned so much from others as the adoption community is very diverse and meets many different needs.

Obviously a country gospel music fan like me doesn't listen to Madonna and I've been in too much pain to ponder her adoption situation. But I do read newspapers and found this opinion piece to be thought-provoking, distressing, painfully brutal, and very blunt.

My opinion doesn't count for squat anyway. What matters is, as always, the children.

And just as I don't want to guilt anyone into anything, I simply want to point out that the needs worldwide regarding children are astronomical.

Seed Pods For Entertainment

I sound like an elderly woman, cataloging my aches and pains, here 10 days after major surgery. I mentioned last night, to my kids, that most people come home from surgery and take to their beds for a few weeks. The kids looked at me blankly, Edgar snorting, "yeah right! Good luck with that." A nurse at the hospital had a similar surgery, she's 20 years younger than I, and she had to stay out of work for 8 weeks.

I'm weaning myself from the painkillers, yet with Fabian coming home today, blurred edges would be infinitely preferable. Too bad, too sad for me, deal with it. If I can't buck up under the strain, how can I expect the kids to do so?

Without the Percocet, this is a little more painful that it was yesterday, but I was kinda cut up all along the way, torn skin doesn't just grab itself together and heal, I'm eating well, and taking my mega-vitamins.

Back deck barbershop all weekend, Miriam and Joey taking turns giving haircuts to 15 boys, I still supervise baths for the youngest 13 kids, and I was absolutely out of breath last night when everyone finally smelled better than wet old goats.

My parents have been pretty amazing. Grandpa's cleaning the kitchen after 24 kids trashed it on their way out the door to schools and jobs this morning, Grandma's keeping up with the laundry.

Scotty has The Warts From Hell all over his hands, and every three weeks I carry him to town for treatment, Grandma has the dry ice duty today.

Gito, as awesome as he was awful, two ends of the spectrum, my kids can traverse it faster than your kids can say, "bi-polar," maintained himself all weekend. He got my geranium in; note singular, buts that's better than nothing, and the remainder of the houseplants, Paloma picked buckets of peppers, green tomatoes and the last of the cucumbers; most likely a frost tonight. Good-bye tropical plants, but they over-winter fine in the ground here. I need to wobble outside and save seeds for next year, bring in seed pods so I'll feel horticulturally fulfilled, chump my own self into believing I'm working in the garden.

Big Joe watched the Falcons game over here with Marcela and Edgar, as I re-read last years gardening magazines on the sofa intermittently while stuffing my face...a solid 113 pounds now, within another month I'll be pudged up fine, and trying to squeeze my rear end into a lardass stretchy pants size...and I'll be happy as a pig in a poke about it.

Sarah had explained all this to Preston's sister, George, who is a nurse. "OK, Girls, losing weight is a sign of something wrong." But it is also a response to stress that I've noticed in myself for decades, however for once in my life I did not let my own self-diagnosis of White Coat Fever prevent me from going to a doctor. Within months of me noticing this growth in my belly, I was in the O.R.; MRI , CT scan and three doctor appointments later.

I feel as if our family has climbed yet another mountain once again and survived, stronger than ever; kids, this is what a family does, this is what life is...all families struggle, not just families like ours. Even Mama went down this time, but she's back up, as annoying as any Jack-in-the Box, weaker temporarily, but you best watch out young'uns, I plan to be physically, mentally and emotionally stronger than ever; my resolve is set in stubborn cement.

Recovering

Again, early this morning as well, I feel remarkably fine considering the doctors tossed a foot or so of my intestines in the trash, leaving me with sutures inside and out. Heckfire, they'll dissolve, even the steri-strips lined up neatly down my middle will fall off, or so says the doctor, "Just peel them off as they pull away," he suggested. EEUUWW gross, I recoiled at the thought, medically challenged as usual.

The surgeon had neatly detoured around my belly-button, I suppose to avoid costly reconstructive surgery. Who knows? It's not like I was getting the area pierced later to show it off or something. God made midriff covering shirts for a reason.

Truly I'm bored with this crap already. I'm thankful beyond measure at such a great outcome, and I don't want to lose sight of that, but as I told my favorite baseball fan, Kevin, yesterday, "I couldn't have gone to the World Series Game 1 anyway." Notice how I qualified that. If it'd been Game 2 or so in a Braves-Yankees event once again, he could've just carried me there, I don't weigh but 113 anyway, all poking out bones and and crabbiness. But I've put on four pounds already since being disconnected from my morphine induced, "I ain't hungry," mantra.

Kevin explained to me why Detroit deserved to win, OK I get it, and I agree on some level, but he's still an American League fan, and the Cardinals pulled it out for me last night as I whooped and hollered before the Percocet and Finergan conspired to mute my volume.

The kids were amazing yesterday. Gito transformed somehow by having me back home and shortening his leash maybe? I made him practice apologizing for his hatefulness a dozen or so times before I'd even allow him to stand in front of me and insult me with a piss poor quality apology. He got it right within 15 minutes; this from a kid with no discernible diagnosis. He's fixing to join the high school wrestling team to channel those aggressions now anyway, IF he makes it through the weekend successfully making up for being such a butthead at Yolie's house.

Yesterday he and Javy helped Grandma, all morning long, run that Kirby that she pulls out so that I'll know, without a shadow of religious doubt, that she means business. It's bigger than her, her weapon against mayhem, which rarely works at quelling the riled-up young'uns, and after she sucks up a kid or two she usually quits in disgust, "I'm not gonna risk breaking this over here where no one appreciates its abilities." Big group DUH.

At 76 she's been incredible, cleaning, cooking, managing me, "Cindy stop scrambling all over, you need to get well," fearing if I didn't, then she'd have to be me as Sarah already had a taste of that OSHA-less job position.

From my family room, kitchen, and living room it is two straight flights up to Grandma's bedroom. She scampers up and down a double flight of stairs all day, rarely very breathless; she got a good laugh at Edgar doubled up the other night when he went to her top floor hunting our resident Houdini team of Ray, Tabby and Nando. Dern child, you're a weightlifter.

So far, no one has head butted my incision area, a miracle in itself as hugs are non-stop here. I've requested kisses instead, and my face is stickier now than my kitchen floor.

It's a Sunday morning and we're not getting ready for church. How odd, kids are walking around heads tilted as in, "How can this be? No yard sales, no school...must be a Sunday? Underarms still stink, guess we're staying home"

We're going to have some colder nights this week, no frost expected yet, but it sneaks up on you in the south, I'm going to pick everything just in case, well not me, but the kids, and dig some geraniums for winter aromatherapy. Cristy went and got me a huge sack of potting soil yesterday, can't let it go to waste. She also brought me a stack of books I'll try and plow through rather than jumping rope which is what my cramped up body longs to do.

Without getting drunk on irony juice here, Cristy has introduced me to another parenting expert, Dr. Sylvia Rimm, and I'm impressed already. In the book I'm reading, a child, a fifth grader, was quoted as saying all he knew about sex, he's learned from movies. WHAT? Where are his parents? Cristy was working at a video store and told me that kids rent R rated movies, or tried to, on school nights. A double whammy. As much hell as Cristy put us through, she still managed to absorb many of my values that she'd rebelled against, and she acted out her best Big Mama impression when those kids would try and pull a fast one on her.

"You wanna do what?" she'd bellow back at them, tottering on her stiletto heels, blowing up her 95 pound frame that way she'd seen me do for many years thus making a smaller person appear formidable and HUGE. "Not on my watch, kids."

Slowly, nearing age 30 now, Cristy is learning that strict parenting quite often means someone cares about you. Duh, girl.

Wonder if the Punctuation Police object to the overuse of DUH. Should I title my book, The OverUse of DUH: Life With 39 Kids! OR The OverUse of DUH!: Life with 39 Kids.

Low Tech Fire Extinguisher

Sarah made it seven days here with no fires. Gito just checked all our smoke detectors, added a new one in the hall since I'd bought a two-for-one somewhere.

Within minutes, Jose had set the back stove on fire, I had to jump up, as Gito & Chuy were getting a dead cat out from under the house, flap my arms and blow clumsily at the flames, along with about 3 ten year olds, but we got it out right before Mr Smart Alec came in to tell me the smoke detectors work. No goat son! My ears weren't operated on.

38 more minutes until I can take my next Percocet.

LBJing It Big Mama's Way & Cristy's News

41 years ago, to the day (yesterday), Lyndon Baines Johnson's photo op went around the world with lightening speed, way before the internet, or much more than snail mail, was available. I was 11 years old and this made the news, and its mark on me, as we then lived in the Washington DC area.

I've made cracks all week about it and watched my Hispanic family look back at me blankly...OK, most of y'all are from TEXAS thank you, LBJ's a legend there.

Cristy's on her way over now to see my scar, realizing she's one of the last to look. I'm nothing but entertainment apparently.

BUT, I say all this with the HUGEST smile on my face. Many, many people helped me over the years with Cristy, and many more prayed for a very long time without seeing any results. Cristy recently graduated with her two years Associates Degree, a feat enough in itself, and I was giddy with happiness. She has now exceeded even that. An increasingly selective University of Georgia has just accepted her to start in January which will give her the opportunity to earn a Bachelor's Degree.

And it was prayer that enabled Sarah to step into my big britches as well, she's recovered nicely now.

The fact that my family contains so many walking, talking, Pure T Miracles still staggers me off my feet each time.

I feel like a million dollars myself.

Rat Genius

"Y'all are screwed!" Big Joe bellowed at us, laughing his butt off as we watched a National Geographic Rat Genius show. The rat's innate intelligence showed us what we'd been up against several months ago. Due to residential development, clear cutting, and two new schools near us, rats in the woods had scurried to our acreage, and some even into our house. We spent months setting traps, dumping many dead ones, yet finding evidence each day of more.

This show detailed their astonishing intelligence. Big Joe could hardly get his breath, laughing so hard, particularly at Edgar and Gito who'd battled valiantly against these nasty rats. We were so inept and over-matched. We'd eventually won this battle, haven't seen a trace in months, yet it was alarmingly hard fought and now I can see why we had so much trouble.

These dadgum rats were videotaped opening a refrigerator, Edgar reassuring himself aloud, "yeah but those are city rats." What?

"Country rats can't do that?" I'd retorted, without realizing I'd been sucked in once again.

We've seen amazing country rat shenanigans here. Due to our new found uppitiness year, the DVR is already, at 6 this morning, re-showing this show to the Bubbas who go to bed early and get up early. They are glued to the set. I wish Ms Carr could see this science lesson being absorbed quietly by a mess of entranced, usually attention-challenged, Bubbas at the crack of dawn. Except Tony is screaming in his room because someone looked cross-eyed at him.

Speaking of Ms. Carr, talk about singlehandedly pulling a rattled family through an ordeal, she'd come by and taken several kids to UGA's Botanical Gardens last weekend when I was medically out-to-lunch, dining at Chez Morphine. Bringing by therapeutic coloring books and crayons, touching base with Sarah, rallying teachers at the elementary school to provide dinner one night and tending to distraught kids at school who were irrationally afraid Mama was gone for good, Ms Carr still managed her full-time job of 20 something other children in her classroom along with her own active life and family.

Once again, to everyone who asks me,"Cindy how do you do it?" Obviously I've leaned on people a good bit, especially lately, and all women juggle different roles, responsibilities and burdens; many that I'd be unable to even think about performing. This is what I do, this and only this; being Big Mama.

Rereading Sarah's posts, "how does Big Mama keep up this pace constantly?" she wondered. It's purely a habit. I don't wake up and think, "I really don't feel like doing so and so today." That's not an option. The only option is - I get up and do what needs to be done...kinda like the National Geographic Rat except I'm not as smart as the rat.

This morning I awoke to the sound of crying at 5:30 on a Saturday morning. Jack and Chuy had folded out futons at the foot of my bed, Jack's throat hurt, and I'd gone to bed telling Joey he had to be responsible for getting he and Miriam up by 5:15 to get to work. Edgar'd planned to drive them so I could sleep and speed up my recovery, but there went my scheduled sleep. I did get to witness events unfold that I'd ordered. That rarely happens in our raucous world.

Soccer practice today is the only thing on the planner, other than Grandma running Sabrina to a nearby yard sale, a slower pace is working its magic on me. Edgar, other than having several sullen moments, has done all my driving; Vanessa is supervising the kitchen as I holler instructions, Grandma is keeping up with the laundry (at age 76), and I'm getting around right good for an old pooter.

My one childhood fear, getting bit on the butt by a rat in the toilet, happens on this NG show. Miss Lisa had highly entertained the children with a story about a rat in their family's toilet, we'd just had a plumber come this week and fix every single plumbing problem. We once again have 9 functioning rat-less bathrooms and Grandpa is on a campaign to maintain it like this...have at it boy, it'll be an exercise in futile frustration since he doesn't "get" the feces issues with abused children. He'll be begging for the Percocet soon...

Catching Up With Myself

I feel really good for someone who had major surgery just a week ago. Now I'm hearing more about my non-lucid condition last week, and am super appreciative of Miss Lisa spending that afternoon, when the outcomes were unknown, with my mom who was right upset. Then Lisa had driven straight to my house to reassure the kids.

Carolina just brought me a ton of food, I've eaten half a ton of it already, and since I'm stuck on the sofa for awhile I've rejoined an email adoption group that I once was a part of, ran out of time for it during our last three or so crazy years.

But right now I'm sitting in the living room while Big Joe, Sergi and Edgar are all looking at pictures of shoes...like girls, but with deep voices, beards and tattoos. Friday night and all three sitting here with their mama wadded up on the sofa, like the rag doll surgery turned her into.

Last night, Sergi remarked that I could blog faster than he could walk from the kitchen to the bathroom...Duh son, I blog for the release, the same release you're apparently gonna get what with you headed to the bathroom full speed like that, knocking Bubbas every whichaway because you waited too long.

Detroit vs St. Louis

I just saw that I had a reader from Detroit. Wonder if they heard me hollering this morning about the World Series? Who'd have thunk it? No Braves, no Yankees and no Mets? Game 7 last night of the NLCS...bye bye Mets. I lost a critical week of my baseball life certainly while hospitalized. The morphine took over the playoffs in my mind.

No need to respond to this. I know you're smiling

Miss Judy, a veteran school teacher, veteran by way of many of my children that she has loved and adored, wrote at the bottom of her very encouraging email last night, "no need to respond to this. I know you are smiling."

How'd she know that? I was grinning goofily at the screen. This was after the raging of Jose and Joey last night...she made me smile? And, by golly, it felt great. I shut down the computer and wobbled upstairs where Lily and Jack figured out how to get me out of the surgical knee-highs. 15 or so kids hovering, trying to settle me down for the night.

Miss Judy has taught Alex, Vanessa, Fabian and now Jose plus others. Three tremendously disturbed children that have been nearly unreachable. She's loved them through their time with her. Also now she has my darling granddaughter, Baby Yolie...talk about a reward for one's efforts.

Miss Ellen, at the other end of that same school hall had my very emotional Sabrina on her hands all week. I recall when Daniel was so upset over Miss Ellen's brain surgery years ago, coming home and talking about it. Knowing Miss Ellen was praying over me has helped me get through this. She is exactly who Sabrina needs for reassurance.

Mr T, yet another family supporter, came by yesterday with a card and a gift certificate to Sam's Club...where else would I shop?...from the faculty there...they're bringing dinner Monday night...my tears of gratitude surprise even me.

Maybe I'd chose to go through all this again just for the outpouring of love that my family has received, too much to list, and it cements my children's feelings of "people really do care" about us after their years of being kicked around by society, left on the streets, abandoned, mistreated and abused.

Mama went down hard and a bunch of others stepped up to the plate. It took a bunch of people..."Did ya count the police officers too?" Pastor Geoff questioning my tally figure, cracking me up like my kids. I suppose that is speeding up the healing of my stitches?

This has shown me also that I've not been as sensitive to others as I should have been many, many times before. We'd just heard in church that God doesn't punish us, He corrects us. He has a huge job here with me everyday.

I want to push all this ill health behind me and move on, get well again, regain my strength, the kids need me to show the way. Edgar has a day off, laying on the sofa, fussing that his "pillow" needs to heal faster.

Dr. G over came this morning, butt kicking where need be, get to the root of everything, reinforce Big Mama, putting us all back on track, our usual schedule. Man to puppies...he met individually with Gito and Joey.

A silly segue..."
The TSA is looking for volunteers specifically in Austin and San Antonio to foster puppies. Before the puppies start bomb detection training, they have to be socialized. That's where volunteers come in, and take care of the puppies for about a year."

I've taken care of these kind of puppies for YEARS. I'm gonna box 'em up and send them to the TSA...

My P.A.

If I had money I'd hire Sarah to be my personal assistant. Heck, she does it for free, but I wish I could pay her. In my Percocet haze she tried reasoning with me, explaining in details floating over my head, this afternoon, showing what bills she'd paid, appointments made, Teresa's new medication for her hives outbreak, paperwork she'd handled, and mail she'd taken care of. She'd directed our traffic flawlessly, wanting only once to throw a plate on the floor.

She's extremely efficient, uses her Franklin Planner properly, ran two houses for seven days, brushed herself off this afternoon, and took Ray home for the first time in a week. I'm in awe of this as she's not quite 33 years old.

Do not be awe struck by other people and try to copy them. Nobody can be you as efficiently as you can.
Norman Vincent Peale
US clergyman (1898 - 1993)

Although she is totally like me, she's also uniquely Sarah. She didn't be me, she was Sarah while she was here, making lists, signing papers, enjoying herself immensely. The kids love her, CW slung his arms around her waist this afternoon, just because he loves her. Tabby and Nando are super attached to her, the other Bubbas bonded with her and a great time was had by all.

Yolie, with my three most hateful, belligerent malcreados; neighbors saw all the police at her house, between barfing and cleaning up after the laziness of her houseguests from Hell, Yolie was driving between our two houses, and tending to Mr. I Have A Mind Of My Own (CJ). The 22 silly goats with Sarah was a spa visit in comparison. Chuck took a week off from work to go to the imaginary beach. Who knew I'd take a dive? I told Yolie to blog it out but she was afraid she'd look too negative after Sarah's cheery posts...but look at the material I left with Yolie. Yolie is second guessing any adoptions after this cruddy experience I dumped on her. Then Chuck came over here to work on Sonny's truck and give him personal finance lessons. What a vacation?

Sarah has my schedule embedded in her own planner, an eye on my grocery needs, and plans in her head. Like she doesn't already have an accounting business, a family, a social life, almost seven acres, and an equally large amount of her own dreams. She offered to stay with me tonight as did several others, but I'm really wanting to stand on my own again. The pain in my belly has brought me to my knees a couple of dozen times today, but I feel better every single day.

Yolie and Chuck will build in the next few years in the woods between Sarah's house and mine. I hope they site the house in such a way that I have to walk through their kitchen to get to Sarahs'. I'd be in hog heaven. Carolina and Jose have claimed the last couple acres up on the front of the property. Does life get any better than that?

While I'm incapacitated for the next couple of days I feel a bunch of blogs eeking out through my battered pores.

As Bad As We Thought...

They saved it for me. As soon as Yolie and Chuck left, both Jose and Joey went down in rages. Sergi was beyond angry. He, not Joey and Jose, has the capacity to love his mama deeply, and he tore down the hall after Jose. 30 minutes of tearing up his room, now Jose's sweeping and cleaning. Score one for Sergi.

Joey went slap stupid, tore around the house yelling, Sergi went after him too...now Joey is washing dishes, but no one has apologized. Mayra sat in time-out for two hours because she chose to do so rather than tell me the truth about team detention that she didn't go to, which resulted in a more serious afternoon detention.

Tony, who was super helpful to Sarah, had a fit that resulted in Sergi going ballistic once again.

Edgar took seven kids with him to the soccer field, Sergi will pick up Miriam, and I get to learn how to sleep on my back without morphine.

All the kids have seen my incision, it scared some and impressed the rest...Mama's a hero, look what she survived.

But she LEFT us, she had PROMISED to always be there, and now she's gonna pay.

Filterless and Gutless

They filleted me like a fish. Took out a foot of my large intestine, a couple inches of my small intestine, and a tumor the size of a large grapefruit. It appears physically impossible for my shrunken torso to have contained a grain of sand in it, much less a tumor. But I'd felt it myself, had gone running to a doctor, went through all the tests, and ended up gutted on a gurney.

When I came out of surgery, Grandma and Miss Lisa made an immediate decision to change plans due to these surprising circumstances, Edgar was out as the caretaker, Grandma was in. It wasn't gonna be a matter of run to Agua Linda and get Mama a burrito, it was going to be stay up all night and tend to Mama who was on oxygen, an NG tube, a catheter, an IV, sporting a long abdominal incision, and most importantly MORPHINE which was all that kept me laying flat for five days. I'd woken up hollering at my mom, "This wasn't the plan...what's WRONG with me...I miss my Bubbas" over and over all night long.

They fed me ice chips for several days plummeting my weight to 112 which is gaunt, scare the kids, beanpole skinny at my height.

I wouldn't eat the hospital food, nasty as it was. Get real, I have a personal chef, homegrown delicacies, and they wanted me to eat chemical blobs from plastic tubs? Within ten minutes of coming home today, my darling chef Sarah cooked me a cheese bruschetta. Grandma is cooking for me also right now, fatten me up in a day. I look pathetic.

I'm on Percocet now so I still have no mouth filter. I'd even told my Pastor Tony a story about Jesse's balls that would go clink clink when they hit the floor one day since they'd eventually fall off if he didn't include tomatoes in his diet. The studies are conclusive in that tomatoes lower the risk of prostate cancer. Jesse's gonna call me and make me take this off my blog when he comes back from being out to sea.

I'd initially demanded a No Visitors policy, put the sign on my door when I thought I'd be home in a day or two but I changed my mind as the days piled up...however my grown kids who came all wanted to just see my scar. OK kids, no panties here...can this wait?

I never did let the little kids come, Big Joe brought Alyssa though, Edgar took great care of me on Sunday, and finally I didn't even want my mom spending the night there, as I wanted to learn to do everything my ownself. I felt bad for mom, the last time she'd done this, my sister had passed away. This must have been terribly traumatic for her but she soldiered on.

My short leash rang constantly, mostly grown kid who needed reassurance that I'd live. See I told y'all so. Sonny stood in my hospital room wiping tears, worried sick. All early tests indicate it is benign. Two doctors who go to church with me told my pastors they felt that this was nothing to worry about.

Everyone already knows how awesome Sarah was here at home. Our physical resemblances, our scarily similar mannerisms, and 33 years of seeing each other everyday has made us quite alike. She's more refined than me (who isn't?) due to the fact she's half British and used to spend a good bit of time, growing up, with a spectacularly British grandmother Peggy. She used to be quieter than I, but Yolie told her yesterday that she could easily reach the same decibel level as I on a moment's notice. Quiet don't fly here.

I have a blog to write that Millie and Devin won't like. Nah, I'll say it here...the school in which I spent 13 years had 7 people sicken (5 died) of cancers and tumors. My conspiracy theory is that I too was exposed to the asbestos, or whatever made it such a sick building, but I didn't get as sick due to the fact that I'm usually so strong and healthy, vitamins, vegetarian, yada yada yada. I probably wouldn't have been affected at all if I didn't live under such a severe stress load that eventually wore down my immune system. Back then I brought my own water to school, my own food, had plants everywhere and my office window wouldn't shut right thus giving me fresh air.

Joey was such an a%^HOLE at Yolie's house that it took three police cars, Chuck, and Pastor Geoff to calm him down. Chuck NEVER gets mad, but this pushed him over the edge. Yolie commented, "Imagine being Mama and dealing with this 24-7."

Yolie and Chuck had Joey, Gito and Jose, three often hateful boys who didn't give a rip that they'd cancelled their beach vacation, that Yolie was a puking pregnant lady with a one year old and that they were guests in someone's house. Those boys simply don't care, there is no empathy, Gito was ugly to me on the phone, I didn't miss them one bit. Dr. G will be here in the morning to help me handle it all.

Now that I just went through this health crisis that has scared us all, there's gonna be huge changes around here. Since he is now 18, Joey can act right or find his own place to live, I should be free of this now. This shouldn't be a life sentence for me, it shouldn't cost me my health...the other kids need me. Gito is in some deep doo doo and Fabian comes home on Monday. I'm going to make an extra effort to tend to my health.

Day Seven: Big Mama is Coming Home!

We woke up to Day Seven without Big Mama this morning. Actually, we were woken up at 5:00 am by Big Mama herself, calling to let me know I needed to get a different set of keys out for Edgar. Naturally, I couldn't get back to sleep. So of course I called her back and told her if she was going to wake me up at the crack of dawn, the least she could do is keep me company.

Tony heard me skulking around in the kitchen trying to make the coffee, so he scurried out to lurk over my shoulder. Chuy spent his sixth night in a row upstairs with me and Ray, and we were joined by Lily as well. Tabby and Nando tried to sneak in too, but I booted those two over to Grandma's when it was 8:45 at night and all three toddlers were still awake.

Honest to goodness, I think I've gotten used to this. And even more strangely, instead of this experience scaring me away from children forever, its really making me think it might be time to start adopting.

Maybe I just need a good night's sleep.

- posted, for the last time, by Sarah

Day Six: Down in Flames

Oy. The kids have held it together for as long as they could, and its all beginning to unravel now. This is Day Six since mom went into the hospital and apparently five days is the limit for how long this family can function without Big Mama.

The truly sad thing is that I woke up this morning and thought to myself, no big deal, we've been doing this for nearly a week now, and I've got it down to a science.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Jonathan woke up with a stomachache, so I told him he could stay home. Within 30 minutes, Ms. Carr called from the school and whispered into the phone, "Sarah, you forgot to wake Jonathan up and send him to school." I laughed and told her he was sick and that he would be staying home today, a little surprised that the other NINE Bubbas hadn't told her he was sick. Amazingly, the little brats (all of whom heard me telling Jonathan he could stay home) had told their teachers that I forgot Jonathan. The whole darn school was laughing about it. Ms. Carr said she would spread the word that Jonathan was sick, and that I had NOT forgotten him.

She also told me that another one of the kids had been wetting his pants at school this week and that I should get a clean pair of pants up to the office just in case. I was headed to the laundry room to find a pair of pants when...

Yolie called and said, "We have a problem." This particular problem, by 10am, has already involved one pastor, two policeman, an older brother to come over and stay with me to protect the little kids (just in case), another older brother and one of my friends to go and try to reason with The Problem on the side of the road, and me standing outside in the driveway twirling my greasy hair around my finger and wiping my runny nose on the back of my wrist. The Problem (aka Joey) has now shown back up at Yolie's, and we will now be needing prayer covering this situation. On top of all the other situations. One big prayer request, that's us.

Teresa broke out in hives yesterday afternoon and had to be taken to urgent care. Miriam and Joey both have to work tonight, Sabrina has to be picked up after Hero Club, the older kids will want to go to church, and Chuy needs one of us to go to the store and pick up posterboard for him to do his project tonight.

Thank God our fabulous, incredibly supportive and understanding church is handling dinner tonight for us. Again. And Ms. Carr sent me a copy of Fine Cooking's new luscious Best of Chocolate issue via Jonathan's book bag earlier this week, and Emily B showed up this morning with a batch of her chocolate chip muffins. These two things have made me weep with joy.

Big Mama might be coming home tomorrow, but I am long past getting my hopes up. She has lost even more weight now, and is the approximate size of a seventh grade cheerleader.

In summary, please pray that:
(1) The sweet little Bubbas can make it one more night without their Big Mama
(2) That Yolie & Chuck can make it yet another night with the three most disrespectful, challenging children I have ever met
(3) That my sinus infection doesn't get any worse and that Ray's breathing problems respond to the treatments I'm giving him
(4) That Joey realizes the error of his ways and apologizes to Big Mama, Emily B, Yolie, Chuck, the deputies, his probation officer, etc (which means we will need to also pray that Hell freezes over)
(5) And most importantly, that Big Mama eats some solid food today and gets to come home tomorrow

Amen.

- posted by Sarah

The Sky is Falling, Day Five

Wow. I don't know how Big Mama keeps up this pace day after day. At 8:30 last night, someone said something about the next day being Tuesday and I nearly fell apart. I was utterly shocked that it was STILL Monday.

We did well again this morning, even with the rain. I slept through Edgar coming upstairs to collect the car keys, but still made it downstairs to start the coffee by 6:00. I woke the kids up, enlisted Tony's help in double-checking that everyone was out of bed, and made sure everyone ate breakfast and wore pants (too cold for shorts, though that was the biggest battle this morning). Paloma's shirt was stained and had to be changed, Scotty had to be corrected four times, Martin was finishing his project two minutes after he should have already left, and Sabrina and CW both had aches and pains to complain about. But we did it. Everyone made it to school on time, with their bookbags, dressed appropriately, with full bellies.

It's 9:30 now, and Ray, Tabby, Nando and I have also had breakfast and gotten dressed. The kitchen is clean and the dishwasher has already run, the living room is straightened up, Grandma started another load of clothes and folded the clean ones, and here I sit again, staring at my computer. I have payroll tax returns to do for three clients, and eight reconciliations to do for another client. Its not looking good for them. I'm already exhausted.

The big goal was to get Big Mama home from the hospital today, but I'm beginning to lose hope on that one. When I spoke to her this morning, she was in a lot of pain and was starting to sound depressed. She has missed five days in the lives of her 39 children, and she desperately wants to be here taking care of everybody. Please pray. We need our healthy, happy, strong Big Mama back. Now.

Homework was a struggle last night, and Ray got sicker and threw up all over the living room just as I was dealing with a couple of other issues. There were moments last night when I needed to pay more attention to my son, but couldn't. And I only got to see my husband for about 10 minutes during dinner before he had to rush out of here again.

But then there were breakthrough, rewarding, beautiful moments as well. When CW's team got home from their soccer game, everyone acted it out for me loudly in the living room and happily shared their leftover snacks with Ray. Bedtime went relatively easily, and I snuck in a minute of conversation with Edgar and Vanessa before I got in the shower. Miriam came upstairs to smile and chat when she got home from work, and Chuy spent the fourth night in a row upstairs with me. This may be a difficult group of kids at times, but they can also be the most loving children.

When I went upstairs after coming down to check the lights (again), I walked quickly past Vanessa and said over my shoulder, "Good night, Vanessa. I love you." I knew I was pushing my luck there, but I figured it would be okay since I was giving her an easy way out in that she could simply wish me a good night back (without having to verbally express any emotional connection), but then she shocked me when she hollered back, "Good Night, Sarah. I love you, too." I pumped my arms in the air and danced the rest of the way down the hallway.

- posted by Sarah

Missing Big Mama

I just went to the hospital to see Big Mama for the first time since Thursday evening, when I left her in pain and looking miserable while she tried to deal with her pre-surgery medications. I was prepared for the worst, but was incredibly surprised. She looks great! Of course, she's not a bad-looking woman to begin with, but she's got color in her face, the tubes have been removed from her nose and throat, and she's getting up and moving around by herself (mostly). And the morphine is making her say really funny stuff. Seriously, there's nothing funnier than Big Mama on pain meds.

I had to force myself to leave her there and come back to her house to get ready for The Bubbas to come home from school in a couple of hours, but I made sure to make a pit stop at the bookstore so I could stock up on some vapid fashion magazines (because its REAL hard to read anything serious at The House of Chaos) and a GIANT cappuccino. I feel like a new woman.

Now that I think about it though, I should've ordered two cappuccinos. The next few hours will be a test of our organizational abilities.

Ms. Carr is ordering pizzas for us tonight (she tried to convince me that it is the elementary school handling dinner, and I can only hope its not her doing it by herself). We'll do the 30 minutes of reading time at 3:00 for the elementary school kids, and then Grandma will take Joey and Miriam to work at 4:00. Yolie will be here to pick up Gito and Jose when they get off the bus, and then Grandpa will take CW's team to their 6:00 soccer game. Edgar, if he gets off work in time, will handle taking Mayra's team to their 7:00 soccer game, and then Grandma will go back to McDonald's at 9:00 to pick up Joey and Miriam and to drop Joey back off at Yolie's house. My day planner is getting a workout like its never known.

I'll try to handle homework and bedtime, and then we'll start all over again in the morning. If all goes well (the Good Lord willing and the river don't rise), Big Mama will be home tomorrow. And not a day too soon either. This house seems empty without her.

- posted by Sarah

All Things Considered

EVERYONE made it to school. There were some "I can't find my shoes" and "I don't have any socks" issues, but for the most part all major crises were averted. Sabrina did call to say she forgot her project (which I reminded her of twice this morning), but Grandpa has run to the school to take it to her.

Edgar woke me up at 5:15 to get the keys to the Honda, and Big Mama called at 6:15 to make sure I was up (um, Duh!). I fully expected that two or three kids would go down in flames this morning, or that there would be some fevers and upset tummies, but everybody did great. Tony saved the day again, finding Jonathan's shoes for him; and Paloma found socks for Lily who acted more helpless than I had ever seen her.

And my Big Mama genes kicked into full gear, as I stood suspiciously by the front door and checked the girls for inappropriate clothing (they were all dressed perfectly). The boys all had on collared shirts, and I fixed Lily's hair to the best of my abilities. There were no tears (except from my poor son as he watched the Bubbas leave for school).

I counted the kids (loudly) as they left and held my watch in my hand to make sure we were on track. Everyone was clean, everyone had breakfast, and everyone had their bookbags. I can't believe we did it.

By 9am, Tabby, Ray and Nando were dressed and fed, and I was dressed and had makeup on. The kitchen was clean, the dishwasher was loaded, and the family room and living room had been straightened up.

Big Mama has called three times this morning, sure that I am keeping some serious transgression from her, but honest to goodness, the kids are saving it all for when she comes home. There will, without a doubt, be hell to pay then. All Big Mama had to say to that was, "Thank God for the morphine." I didn't have the heart to tell her they aren't going to send her home still hooked up to a morphine drip.

And now, other than Big Mama still being in the hospital, its a normal Monday. Ray and Tabby are alternately squabbling with each other and then kissing and making up. Nando is eating every 15 minutes, and I and my laptop are set up on the end of the counter where I work every Monday. Of course I'm not actually getting any work done. I'm staring off into space and looking like I need to be committed.

- posted by Sarah

50 hours and counting...

Big Mama is still in the hospital, but might be able to come home tomorrow. She sounds better when we get to talk to her on the phone, but so far Grandma is the only one who has actually seen her. Edgar will go to the hospital today and stay with Mom all day, while Grandma will come home to take a nap and help out around here.

We're staying home from church this morning. Mom has had a hard enough time the last few Sundays, having to miss Sunday School while she wrestles a raging kid to church, so I'm sure things would only go worse for me. I have no qualms about taking the easy way out. Besides, Paloma has already fallen apart three or four times. I have been thanking God every waking minute that Yolie has Jose, Joey and Gito with her, because they would, without a doubt, be the straw that broke the camel's back. She has the most difficult kids by far.

Marcela, Cristy and Carolina have all offered to help in any way, and have been checking in to make sure we're doing okay. Yolie and I have strategized on the phone every few hours since this started. Cristy took CW and Lily to her house for a few hours yesterday, and picked up something that Miriam needs for school tomorrow. Grandpa and Edgar have shuttled kids to and from work and soccer practice. Miss Lisa came by yesterday with cases of pies, tons of bagels, and lasagna for tonight's dinner. Vanessa single-handedly got dinner cooked yesterday; and Miriam, Sabrina and Mayra helped serve everybody.

Today's biggest goal: to bathe 10 elementary school kids. My biggest fear: bathing 10 elementary school kids. But everyone is getting a little too ripe, and if we start getting ready NOW, we might get everyone to school on time tomorrow.

Amazingly, I got to sleep in until 6:15 this morning. Edgar took Miriam and Joey to work, and most of the Bubbas slept until 7:00. A passel of Bubbas and I had a sweet time snuggling on the sofa for about an hour this morning, huddling under blankets and watching cartoons. I see why Mom loves this so much.

50 hours have passed since Mom went to the hospital for surgery (yes - I have been counting - and I'm not the only one), and so far we haven't burned the house down, we haven't had to make any trips to the emergency room (though my own child has hurt himself twice), and we still have the same number of kids we started with on Friday. But there's still time...

- posted by Sarah

So Far, So Good (otherwise known as Famous Last Words)

Grandma has stayed with Big Mama at the hospital since 8:00 Friday morning. This has all gone slightly (mostly) different from the way we planned. Grandpa successfully got four kids to soccer practice last night, and took another four with him as spectators. Vanessa and Miriam went to the football game at the high school, and Yolie took three kids home with her. Ms. Carr came by with coloring books and crayons that kept everyone busy until bedtime. Somehow, I managed to get the kitchen clean before Lights Out last night, but I owe that mostly to pizzas for dinner, eaten on paper plates.

Bedtime was a little more chaotic than I had hoped, and it involved me stomping back downstairs a few times to holler about the noise, but Mayra totally stepped up and helped me get the bubbas settled down. I think everyone was a little subdued from watching me walk around snuffling when I got overwhelmed after dinner.

On one of the trips downstairs to check on bubbas, CW got up to hug me, and then Scotty needed a hug too. When Jonathan got up and walked towards me, I tried to get out of his way, thinking he needed to go to the bathroom (because I don't think he has ever loved on me), but he wanted a hug too. And then he nearly got me in tears again when he asked if Mom was going to be okay. So I stood there for a few minutes, and for the twentieth time in a five-hour period explained yet again that Mom would be fine but that she was too groggy from medications to talk to us yet.

Chuy conned me into letting him sleep upstairs with me and Ray, but he farted all night, leaving me struggling for breath, so we might revise this plan tonight.

So yeah, so far so good. But then again, we have long ago learned that the kids can often be angels for a babysitter (always a family member), because they're busy saving up all their acting out for when mom comes home. Paloma seriously considered having a meltdown last night, but four of us talked her out of it.

I woke up this morning at 5:00am (its tough pretending to be Big Mama) to wake up Grandpa and Miriam and make sure they got out of here in time to go by Yolie's to pick up Joey before Joey and Miriam had to both be at McDonald's by 6am. Two bubbas were already awake, waiting patiently for permission to get on the computer. The house was FREEZING cold and it took five of us to get some of the windows shut that were stuck from being open since February. Unbelievably, it was tiny little Tony that saved the day. I have now turned on the heat and shut the doors to all the rooms with broken windows. Mom will kill me when she finds out that I've turned the heat on already, but I figure it will be a few weeks before she's strong enough to do anything about it.

Grandma called this morning to say that Mom was becoming more lucid now that the anesthesia has worn off, but the pain meds still have her too out of it to talk to any of us on the phone. This is already longer than Mom has ever gone without talking to some of her children. They are handling it remarkably well, but I'm walking on eggshells about it.

Two of the kids are making pancakes, a handful of them are watching movies, and we will soon see if we can handle two teams' worth of soccer practice today. Then I'm going to try and tackle the bookbags that were thrown down Friday when the kids got home. THEN we'll see about washing the clothes and cleaning the kitchen again. Big Mama makes this look so easy...

- posted by Sarah