No Mexicans?

I drove nearly 600 miles today round trip, Family Day for Fabian, at the corner of Georgia, Florida and Alabama, right on the Chattahoochee River. It was a beautiful camp and I was transfixed by swamp magnolias and a charming Alabama man. If I were two decades younger and had two dozen less children...never mind, Fabian looked and acted great.

I ate an entire 12 inch Subway veggie sandwich on whole wheat bread with tons of peppers plus a huge carton of hot boiled peanuts. I haven't had that much food in my stomach since July. Sure did feel great.

Wore my cell phone battery out with calls from my children, the school and other matters I'm tending to at the moment. Claudia had called me from her Iphone to tell me what all she can't blog and vice versa, some stuff you gotta work through first. But man do I have some stories saved up in my pea brain.

Yolie and Grandma babysat until I got back home after school, I'm glad for a three day weekend so that we can regroup. Four soccer practices tomorrow, no yard sales and we gotta get this grass mowed, tomatoes, peppers, and watermelons picked, froze and canned.

After my darling son-in-law stopped his kids from trashing his desk, he was asked to attend a planning commission meeting regarding a project his firm is involved in. The subject is affordable housing and some white folks there are objecting to Mexicans moving in their neighborhoods.

I don't even know where to begin....

That's Was A Short Moment of Bliss

64 minutes in the garden and I got a phone call, "Come get Jose, he's being discharged."

Too bad if he still wants to murder me.

When I got there he told me he was still sorta angry at me. I asked the nurse if she'd heard that. She held the exit door open for me in response.

Ouch.

I know that there is little to no funding at the moment for mental health. I know that her hands are totally tied.

I'd made a half dozen phone calls and finally our state mental hospital, several hours away said they'd consider him. I took Javy out of school knowing he'd stop Jose from attacking me. We had a 911 plan rehearsed if need be.

They immediately admitted him after reading the letter from our psychologist expressing his concerns and listening to me. Jose sat there and badmouthed me.

But this is a short term solution to a very huge problem.

I drove 250 miles, seven hours on the road while back home Sarah, Grandma, Vanessa and Miriam were scrambling to take over for me.

Tomorrow I have an even tougher schedule so I doubt I'll blog until it's over.

Bliss Again

I felt pure joy this morning once again and it was superb. Listening to Greater Vision on the radio, pumped me way up, reminded me of the source of my strength, something I forget in times of trouble. I keep the big picture in mind but sometimes lose my way and get consumed by fear and anxiety.

JoJo continues to struggle, he misses Edgar terribly. Well son, I do too, but this is what life is all about. I have to teach kids to grow up someday. For JoJo it was like a dad walked out the door when in reality it was a grown brother doing what comes naturally.

I shut our pool down last night after church. We have 5 days of soccer practice each week plus Wednesday night church, literally no time to swim.

The elementary kids started their Christmas Musical practice last night.

All of our suppers involve comfort food. Mama's cooking ain't elaborate at all, but it fulfills them, last night I cooked good ole Southern black-eyed peas with brown rice, fresh tomatoes, bell peppers and jalapenos from the garden, and another Moon and Stars watermelon.

This morning will be some me time; dishwasher and clothes washer doing their jobs, I'm gonna go outside, pick produce and weed the garden after I feed the hens. Pure Bliss for me.

Psychological Help

If you are a foster or adoptive parent and you don't have your kids involved in therapy, I gotta say you're likely to encounter trouble at some point in your family's existence.

Some of my older kids didn't act out terribly and I didn't seek therapy for them back then. Maybe they would have benefited from it, I'll never know, but if I had a do-over, that's what I'd redo.

I saw issues emerge later in adulthood that might have been allayed earlier in their lives if it had been addressed in therapy, but I have no real proof of that.

Having worked for quite a few years, I'm thinking it's been close to ten years, with one therapist, Dr. G, I can't begin to describe the benefits. Vanessa is living proof; a walking, talking model. She resisted all attempts at first, however coming around and listening to someone besides Mama had such a very positive effect on her.

A former feces smearer in my house stopped doing so after years of therapy, also initially distrustful, eventually understanding that this was his time with someone else who seemed to understand him.

Dr. G has helped me understand when some kids needed more than could be provided in weekly therapy, he's provided understanding to my frustration, and explanations when I'm absolutely lost in the maelstrom of issues here.

He's also enlisted Dr. Mandy who has spent several years testing and doing psychological evaluations on my children, now earning the trust and confidence of my children, counseling a dozen of them, coming by three times a week.

I'm just a mama, we need outside professional psychological help for every reason in the book. Even normal everyday folks could benefit from a neutral, educated third party...how much more so for a family like mine.

Everything that ever happened to my children affects who they are today and how they respond to everything.

Wide-open, loud and passionate about my walk with God, my family, my garden and Braves baseball, in that order, I'm still struggling with the false accusation that implied I'm not home enough, when the reverse might be more true, a budding agoraphobic who never leaves her home. I'd read up on it though and that's not me either as I'm happy, not anxious when I leave home. I simply prefer being here to anywhere else except maybe church and Turner Field.

I started counting houseplants up in my room, several hundred, and several hundred downstairs on the front porch, family and living room. If I were not constantly at home, how would I keep them all properly watered? Or how would I be dragging in bucketloads of fresh produce each day from my gardens?

I just saw Casting Crowns on a local newscast, they're from Atlanta, and their song fired me up this morning. Again always listening to rousing country gospel music, it provides strength and motivation to me, a reassurance that my world is right and that I know I can continue in this walk no matter what.

In all this morass lately, Sarah's growing hugely pregnant and we're all getting excited about Hazel Bay's arrival late next month, joining the other three new grandbabies, Cindy Mae, Alana and Estrella.

Someone recently asked me, "Do they all live with you?"

What? I'd inwardly screamed.

Do people think that of former foster children, now successfully adopted; many college educated, home-owning, business owning strong adults...that they live with me? They hang out with me, they're often with me and of that I am very thankful as I enjoy my family. Y'all, this ain't a burden, this is a JOY.

Gathering up to contain all my outrage, I just smiled and said, "No, they all live with their husbands in their own homes."

Jeepers.

I timed myself, I wrote this post in three minutes. Three minutes of therapeutic intervention in my life, worth an hour of counseling.

Thank God For Black Beans

Each afternoon when my elementary school kids get home we have reading time. It is set in stone. Three until three thirty so I can honestly sign their agenda books certifying they read as required. Looking at their CRCT reading scores, this strategy has paid off, something we've done now for my entire retirement, I'm in my sixth year.

Yesterday, after our two week extreme stress period, JoJo had a 3 p.m. screaming, slobbering, meltdown hissy fit. Kicking my walls in a rage, I grabbed his feet only to hear him yell, "Don't touch me! I'm going to call those ladies and tell them you are hurting me!"

"Baby boy, you're hurting my wall! Stop kicking!"

His birth sister, Miriam, also fruitlessly tried to calm him down only to have him turn on her bellowing, "You're a freaking retard!" Over and over, for 54 minutes he screamed, Miriam and I sitting on either side of him in the hallway, my anger growing at the trauma he'd encountered lately by being yanked out of his class and questioned.

The other kids, 20 feet away, were calmly reading their books.

JoJo kept screaming that he wanted to die and go to Hell because I wouldn't be there to boss him around. "You don't love me!" he hysterically shouted while Miriam rolled her eyeballs.

My son-in-law, Chuck, had told Yolie last week that he felt our latest ordeal might be what finally convinces the kids that I truly do love them and that I'm in this forever for them.

Second bus load arriving at 4 p.m., they all walked in to check where I was, still sitting on the hall floor with JoJo and Miriam, Jojo began heartbreakingly wailing, "Where's Edgar?"

And then I understood (because Sarah explained to me) that in JoJo's mind The People Movers (CPS) had been to our house and now Edgar was gone.

The distinctly different events collided in ten year old JoJo's mind, he made a wrong connection, and I then tried to explain to him that people grow up and move out, but they'll be back. Tony listed all the grown children that had been here in the last week, trying to reassure both him and JoJo.

JoJo apologized and commenced his reading time, face swollen from an hour of screaming and crying.

I checked PowerSchool and questioned Javy on his no grades in Spanish class while I browned flatbreads in my big black cast iron skillet, listening to his song and dance routine on why this teacher, Miss Kimberly, was so behind in posting his grades.

Within minutes, lo and behold, this same Miss Kimberly walked in our back door, carrying Allen's bookbag that he'd left down the dirt road by the creek, asking me where Javy's missing assignments were?

Too funny. Y'all can't get away with anything in this county. Busted. A very sheepish Javy standing there between Mom and his teacher, stammering, losing his computer privilege for the day and knowing it. Sucks to be you, son.

I'd finally broken my two week fast. My stomach slams shut in extreme crisis situations, no way on earth can I eat nor digest so I just don't even try. Last night I ate two very large flatbreads filled with black beans and rice, loaded with melted cheese, sour cream, garlic, fresh sliced tomatoes and the jalapeno sauce that CW and I'd made. Following this feast with at least a quart of water, I could hardly stand up straight. Some kids ate four. These are huge. I don't know how the soccer boys ran at practice last night, I was waddling.

At the ballfield, JoJo boastfully told Pastor Tony that he'd broken his own rage record. "Tell Tony about the Hell part son," I'd needled.

But by nine pm everyone was in bed so Miriam and I settled down to watch a mystery show (48 Hours) we'd recorded only to be surprised by sacks of dessert from Miss Elise, left over from an evening school function, an out-of this world lemon cake. I could hardly sleep on my stomach last night, so blessedly full was it.

Twelve hours later, I'm still stuffed. An early release day, the kids will be home in three hours and we're going to swim all afternoon.

(This is Martin pictured here, not JoJo)

PAINS

I'm going to over-obsess in ruminations and writings over our latest gut-wrenching life experience.

Asking a social worker today, an adoption worker all her life and an adoptive parent, "What can I tell people? How can I get them to avoid this type of encounter?"

"I don't know," she replied. How's that for encouragement? At least it is honest.

Although I daily choose to walk on the sunny side of life, thanks Linda Up North, storm clouds hit us hard just the same, catching me unexpectedly but not unprepared.

Probably the only thing I can advise others is to be ready. Have your ducks in a row. Document bizarre behavior from troubled children, have a file of school discipline referrals, have dental and shot records up-to-date, and be ready to defend yourselves.

If anything I go overboard in my parenting to just try and appear normal in a world of very small families. Making my sons dress in collared shirts each day, combed hair, and never late for school, participating in IEP and SST meetings and teacher conferences, having a small army of therapists working with my family including speech, mandated reporters in and out of my life, not being secretive, but open and available for inspection if need be.

Other families don't have to worry about the spectacular level of stress that adoptive families live under. Children from the foster care system quickly learn that false allegations can get them moved into a house with fewer rules, less supervision and accountability...teens are notorious for this. Divorcing couples call CPS on each other as do malicious neighbors, all for nothing while meth labs explode with children living there and the caseworkers busy on unimportant calls that they must, by law, respond to.

I believe that the supervising adoption agency should have the immediate oversight ability, they are the ones that did the homestudies, examined the parents and the home situation, they have a huge stake in the family's success. They are always the one I go to for advice, support and help.

I am blessed in so many ways here in my own circumstances. Two superb therapists who come to my home, deeply interested in helping and watching my children grow from traumatized children into successful adults. It takes intensive therapy for years, no quick fix, but rather other people, besides mama, invested in them.

I've said it before and I'll say it forever, I have the best adoption worker on earth. I've listened to her, implemented her suggestions, gone to her for advice and help, and relied on her intuition and knowledge of issues that have bamboozled me.

Our school system presented a united front on our behalf, knowing I'm 24-7 in my kid's business, checking Powerschool like a hawk, signing agendas and papers and always taking the side of faculty and staff in any endeavor involving my children.

I'm grateful to the mamas in the Foundation for Large Families group that I listened to for over ten years, most have gone through CPS scrutiny, all are dedicated mothers who have adopted special needs children which then automatically must make them and I suspects. "Why don't you adopt a normal white baby?" seems to be society's unspoken thought. "Why would you choose sub-normal children?" they imply.

Society doesn't question me that years later when the kids graduate from college or when they are raising adorable children their ownselves.

I'm fighting a mixture of bitterness and relief, running on ragged nerves, still not totally convinced our pains are over. (PAINS, get it FFLF?)

Folks who should have known better peeled long-healed over scabs from my kid's hearts, filled them with terror, even my grown kids. They assumed I was a liar, and their behavior said so in front of my children that I have begged to trust me for 20 years.

Yes, I know they were just doing their job, but there must be a better way when adopted children are concerned.

The Storm Has Passed

Shockingly as fast and as furious as it started, it is over.

A quickly called meeting yesterday resulted in case closed, door shut, go on about your business, taking me totally by surprise. I'd expected a 90 day struggle and I was too stunned to react.

From the very start I had really liked one person in particular, a 26 year veteran of the system who knew her stuff. But I was badly frightened, traumatized by my children's past events and fears.

A control freak like me needs to learn to let go and let God handle it. Put into a position where I had less than zero control forced me to rely on God and to trust in the prayers y'all and others offered up for us.

I learned so much. There's a great deal that families like ours need to be aware of and I'll share in my blogs later, today I need to start at 9 getting my middle and high school kids to the dentist.

I have no way to express my gratitude to you all for your prayers. I am deeply grateful to everyone and I am now trying to re-normalize us.

Thank you all so much.

I may start my posts at the crack of dawn when it is quiet but sometimes I can't get it proofed until after awhile. At 6:30 I stop and wake everyone up and run around until 8 when they are then all in school. Start the dishwasher, clothes washer and sweep up the house...where's my To Do list?

I love getting up first. I love the early morning darkness and quiet when I can gulp my coffee, read and write. That's living to me; that's therapeutic.

I always walk downstairs in the dark, not turning on any switches until I get to the living room. I've lived here almost 15 years and know the way as I trip over Tonka trucks and hope that was a dog that just brushed past me. Hmmm, we have outside dogs yet I've caught one in particular, Rosie, opening the door and shutting it behind her as well. My kids don't even do that.

I felt for the light switch and found a note taped to it from Vanessa where she wrote me the most beautiful thank you note for being her mama. Upset at seeing me cry again at church, she'd told me how helpless it makes her feel. I am not known for crying, I'm known for being rock solid and strong. I'm sorry that I'm scaring them with my tears and fears, yet I also want them to know that no one is SuperPerson.

She quoted me, "Mama, we'll get through this too as a family, we always do."

Something I've said to them over and over for decades.

A grown kid deeply disappointed me this weekend, making poor choices and the resulting natural consequences will be tough on him. I reminded him of my expectations, my love and my grief over his bone-headed mistake. Another grown one not doing much better either at the moment. Reacting to my stress level, acting-out prevails everywhere.

We'd had such a quiet stay-at-home weekend, me rejoicing over a 30 minute downpour yesterday afternoon followed by drizzle. JoJo exploded this morning over having to go to school, kicking the van seat the entire five minute drive, I know he's emotionally afraid as our pillars seem to have been kicked out from under us.

I resent that others are causing my kids to suffer with their insensitivity, yet I want to apologize to anyone that I've given the impression that I think I'm too good to have to go through this ordeal. From y'all's emails I'm understanding how common this is, how we adoptive parents are held under different standards, and how much more of a high risk we are since we parent such troubled children.

OK, I get it, I understand that, yet why make it infinitely harder on us? Why not help us? Why make us fear for our lives from murderous kids? Why believe what disturbed kids say rather than the facts? Does what we do for the children count for anything?

We, adoptive parents, know we'll never get the pat on the back...and we're OK with that....we have the internal assurance that our kids will someday appreciate us...we just wish others wouldn't try so hard to denigrate our heartfelt efforts.

I want my life back, where I can obsess over our nation's nutritional needs, farming policies, and the study of optimism rather than feeling like I'm in the midst of a crazy scientific experiment, "Be glad now if you can!"

I can't wait to read the Thanks! book. I need the mental reassurance. Sarah pointed out that we read the Bible over and over even though we already know what it says. We need reinforcement, reminders that we are on the right track as it seems circumstances try so hard to derail and depress us.

I'm reading`Sarah's book, The Omnivore's Dilemma and she doesn't allow underlining. I can't hardly read without underlining so she gave me a pack of post-its to mark what I'm impressed with.

Are you kidding me? By page one I was entranced. Every word needs underlining. "How did we ever get to a point where we need investigative journalists to tell us where our food comes from and nutritionists to determine the dinner menu?"

By page 3, "...Americans eat a fifth of its meals in car and feed fully a third of its children at fast-food outlets everyday."

Not my kids. We eat at the kitchen tables as a family, home-cooked from scratch meals, home-grown as much as possible with me adding up the grams of protein in my head and, during soccer season, supper right before 5 with huge snacks before bed....good snacks though...CW and Paloma must have eaten a dozen fresh bell peppers each yesterday afternoon.

Grandma polished off the Paula Deen book in one long sitting, Yolie's turn now. Four readers, one book...do the math.

Miriam's Treat For Mama

Either because I've cried so much lately or because my weight has fallen to 117 pounds, but after church today Miriam drove to town to my favorite health food store and came back home with a chocolate coffee truffle and a bottle of Gerolsteiner water plus a triple chocolate butterbar fresh from their bakery to plump me back up.

Oh my goodness, this is hog heaven.

Miriam had to call Sarah several times to find the right store...

Am I An Idiot?

Gorgeous Marcela holding Deysi's son and Monica's daughter. It is just as I told them decades ago that it'd be. Your sisters will be your friends forever, you'll see that more as y'all grow up and indeed it is so.

In spite of our hundred year drought that weighs heavily on a gardener's heart, I am easily picking a big ole measly 5 pounds of vegetables a day. Not much, but doing the math, over the summer it amounts to several hundred pounds from only a couple dollars worth of seeds.

I picked a Moon & Stars watermelon yesterday, maybe two dozen or so more on the vine. It was delicious and we've dried and saved the non-hybrid seeds for next year. I'll save hundreds of seeds optimistically. The late freeze last spring devastated my figs, yet they made a valiant but dry comeback and have squirted out enough for some good fresh eating.

The kids and I talked about going to see Evan Almighty at the dollar theater yesterday but decided against it after such a stressful long week at school and the outside pressure, scrutiny and judgement on our family. They wanted to hunker down, hang around the house, and be comforted. Yolie, Sarah and Monica all brought their big babies over to play and it was a very sweet day. A family day that we needed very much, never cranking up the van, not leaving our property, Miriam took a twenty dollar bill from me and thankfully picked up milk on her way home.

Reading Claudia's blog, I'm thinking I'll surely rent the video for the kids later. I was even kind of afraid it would be offensive so I'm relieved to learn of it's potential messages.

Sarah brought me two books I've wanted to read. Omnivore's Dilemma has been high on my list, she told me it was heavy ready, a lot of thinking involved, and I can't wait to slowly dive in. I also started and finished Paula Deen's, "It Ain't All About the Cooking.

Sarah loves cooking shows, I prefer Braves baseball so I'd only barely ever seen Paula Deen before except on Larry King Live one night when I found her to be hilarious and charming.

She'd remarked, "there's never an excuse for store bought potato salad," summing up her feelings and that in her late fifties she only wanted "peace and contentment" to which I say a big amen. Both points neatly wrapping up a life philosophy that I am in total agreement with as I want to be a sweet, joyful abuelita shedding the cloak of bitterness and ire that has wrapped me tightly for ten long days.

It was really nice to step out of my life and into someone else's life who does not have the same level or type of stress. She, Paula Deen, had her own heavy challenges, as does everyone. Reading the Drudge Report this morning, I was shattered at what this mom is facing. It put my own fights into perspective; my kids are all healthy and whole.

In the mail I'd received my copy of My Turn Now that I use in my AAN work. I stared at the tome, wondering why I'd inflict this amount of potential turmoil on another family. I am really struggling with this concept, thinking of how I have been treated and I am so not alone in this. In the past dozen years or so, the horror stories that I've heard, the additional trauma imposed upon children, and the maliciousness is overwhelming to consider.

It is hard enough to raise traumatized older adopted children without the outside negativity. There is often so little help available, only condemnation it feels as times. Parents who are dedicated and in it for the long haul are viewed as idiots, never commended by the professionals who should be their encouragers.

Scotty's teacher came over, saw him playing Nintendo and made him get off and do his homework that he'd not turned in on Friday. You best believe he did it immediately, copying his spelling words three times each and turning it in to her pocketbook there on a Saturday. It is moments like that we will all treasure and look back on.

Missing Lauren and Natalie

Just as CJ yelled, "No!" to me when I tried to explain that this very tall white man was my baby brother, Jimbo, since none of my children nor grandchildren seem to comprehend that white people can be related to me, I've unofficially started claiming Natalie too as my niece along with Lauren.

Two weeks ago at yard sales I seemed to be constantly having to explain her presence to people I'd encounter. "My niece's best friend" explanation took too long so I shortened it. Much as Natalie prays for us from 600 miles away, as many times as she's visited in the summers, and as much as my kids all adore her, she should at least be an honorary cousin to them.

Right now, today, at time-warp speed, as it seems to me, both girls have entered college.

I finally finished reading The $64 Tomato. That only took a couple of months as I flit from book to book depending on my mood. I read Grandma's Southern Living Magazine last night, marveling at the way that normal people live. My son-in-law, Big Jose, came over with food for me that Carolina had cooked, he's coming next weeks to patch my punched in walls for the thousandth time it seems.

On the other blog I've been releasing my angry thoughts. A reader and commenter there, has raised some interesting perspectives that I'd not even considered in 20 years of parenting traumatized kids. Here's the deal: though I come off as a know-it-all, there are many times where I cry out that I just don't have the answers and how much I also try and absorb from others.

I'm not going to yard sales today, I'm behind on everything here due to the stresses of the last 10 days that have already cost me 6 pounds of old lady padding. Although we're still forecast very hot weather, it is significantly dropping to the low to mid 90s rather than the 100s. We also had yet another brief rain shower, miraculous to our eyes.

Only a few of my kids have moved out properly over the years, usually there's an argument provoked by them so that in their minds it's easier to leave a mean ole mama or they just quit sleeping here, moving their belongings slowly as Edgar now seems to have done. There are often false starts, returns, and better leavings as he's also done before, but he's been gone about a week now, ignoring even Miriam's text messages and phone calls. You think it's hard to leave the only mama that ever loved you? What about the younger siblings? This is a tough, tough time for young adults who never had enough time to be kids.

It finally dawned on me yesterday to call a longtime friend at the state level. Peggy who has known me since Sarah was in third grade, who remembers I'd sooner be home in the garden way back then rather than anywhere else, I've always had my dirt road preference where I'd brag about how long it'd had been since I'd been on a paved road. A euphemism for how unnecessary I found the outside world to be for me.

Peggy listened to my outrage, I poured out how this had ripped the scabs off my children's hearts and stirred up all their old fears to such an extent that I too was unable to eat or sleep. I'm blogging more on the other blog about this encounter that all adoptive or foster families seem to face all too often.

I've now compiled our soccer schedule for the next two months as all four coaches have called. Soccer practices from 8:30-2 on Saturdays and also Monday, Tuesday and Thursday with church on Wednesdays. We're gonna be scrambling for socks and shin guards for two solid months.

Old Woman on Guard Duty

I often get up at night...an old woman thing when one can't sleep. Thoughts, plans, and worries racing through my mind. I walk the house, making sure no one has snuck out, checking door locks, picking up cups that were left out and/or clothes that need to hit the laundry room.

I'd been reading and typing since four this morning when I heard someone down the hall in the bathroom. My kids generally sleep through the night so I got off the sofa and caught Paloma holding one of our barn cats. A no-no in the house. Like I need fleas, cat urine and feces in this house?

She flat out lied to me, "I don't know how it got in," wide-eyed, sticking to her story. Every door was locked tight last night, this I know as I walked around making sure because of the storm.

At fiveish in the morning I'm standing here explaining to her that this is one of the reasons that we attend so many therapy sessions. Honesty is a luxury that I am striving for 100% participation here. This is the same child who swore she was at the tennis courts at the park that we'd all searched, she won't admit that she went to the gym across the parking lot without permission. She absolutely wants us to believe that we are all wrong and that she is right.

Our eyes are wrong, the facts are wrong, her oldest brother Javy stressing, "Paloma you are lying, we looked there," but she is totally unbudging in her fabricated story with a 'you can't prove it' attitude.

She has now earned a stand-by-mama's-side rule instead of free playground time.

I talked at length yesterday to a professional about kids who lie and are so good at it. Unwilling to let go of this control issue. What's the answer? No one knows, continuing in therapy is our best option. Again I am totally grateful to Medicaid for financing this option for us.

I am still wringing my hands over our own challenges here, talking with yet another professional yesterday...everyone has challenges and battles...Robin Roberts and a local newswoman Jaquitta Williams both battling breast cancer, very young and vibrant women. My prayers go out to them.

Trying to hang on to my usual attitude of gratitude, I'd heard an author on the radio talking about his book that I want to read: Thanks!: How the New Science of Gratitude Can Make You Happier by Robert Emmons. I need the emotional reinforcement at the moment.

I started this post at 5:42 this morning after the cat problem...it is now 6:05 and Paloma just came up to me and apologized for lying both about the cat and where she was at the park last night. I am flabbergasted and have gushingly praised her for her honesty. This was a shockingly fast resolution to a problem, something I'm so not used to, usually this goes on for days.

Wow, Thank you Lord, I'm believing You are healing consciences here.

Now at 6:11, Tony, Allen and Jojo have drifted into the living room, radars alert, looking for Mama, I need to stop typing and spend the next 20 minutes chatting with them before we wake the other kids up for school.

Water???

I saw water falling from the sky yesterday, Sarah later recalled Ray yelling in absolute astonishment, "Mom, it's raining water." No exaggeration, it's been months. It rained for about 20 minutes here, thunder and lightening cleared the soccer fields where we were at tryouts for the U14 League. Fortunately our "B" last name results in us being in and out quickly before the other hundred kids. Everyone correctly ran for the van except Paloma who'd left the fenced in play area without permission with a friend. Oh Great. We all quickly searched while she showed up nonchalantly, resulting in a time-out at home for disobeying.

The storm knocked our cable and Internet out though for the remainder of the evening. I can't check the weather radar screen? Who cares? We got rain. By dark, another storm had blown up, briefly giving us some more rain.

Oddly we learned that our Moxie still worked, digital TV shows recorded and I sat with the kids watching Just For Laughs, a 30 minute show we can fast forward through in less than 20. It is hilarious and Lord Have Mercy we've needed a laugh.

I got a $59 mail-in rebate check yesterday also. Clark Howard had once stated the very low percentage of people that bother with the paperwork, rebates are a retail cash cow for the merchants. His ripoff rebate theory is on target for me as well, Verizon owes me a $50 that I'll never see.

So I'm up at four in the morning, rewashing a comforter that was caught outside in our expected moisture shower. Bed wetting in traumatized children occurs no matter what the weather brings, although this issue has been greatly reduced in our home over the last year or so. Lately anxiety has sparked more.

I only cooked eight pounds of pinto beans last night, we had tacos with fresh tomatoes that are somehow still growing in spite of our 100 year drought event. I attribute it to great soil that I've worked on for 15 years and mulch. We're picking a large bucket a day still of peppers and tomatoes, not enough to can, just enough for fresh eating. I have already frozen some for the winter though, that puts a little smile on my face.

I'm wanting to close down our pool soon, it's expensive to keep running and with school and soccer, our swim time is so limited. I did the math the other night while I was life guarding, at least 100 times up there this summer, two hours a day is 200 hours divided by 24...a conservative estimate of an equivalent of 8 solid days of my summer spent poolside. Take it a step further, this is our 8th year at our pool, I'm up to 64 days solidly poolside, two months of my life.

But that's how memories are made...

Old Friends and Emotional Support

My oldest friend in this town, we go back 30 years, to when she was a young caseworker, younger then than Yolie is now, working with foster care. Ten years later, advising me on how to proceed into the adoption world. I was a young media specialist with just one daughter, then three years old.

Janet, now retired after 30 something years with DFACS, called to see if I could go to lunch with her today, knowing the kids were back in school.

I unloaded everything we are going through on her. Everything. Having a 30 year history with someone means something to me. Obviously I'm not going to be able to meet her for lunch as I'm swamped with our circumstances here.

I've had to neglect our friendship, relegate it to phone calls and the times she comes here to visit me. She fought breast cancer while I was working hard at home, trying to normalize my traumatized children. She knew, because she was there for me when my baby sister, Ellen, died of breast cancer, she knew how hard I took her having to fight that disease. She beat it thankfully.

Janet gave Daniel his first pickup truck, it still sits next to the barn, it's unrunnable now, from the 1980s, but I look at it and smile, thinking about Janet back then in the 1980s.

Janet taught me a great deal about foster kids, I used to listen to her stories, fascinated, wondering what I could do to help these children. In the late 1980s I embarked into this journey that I am still involved in, this is a lifetime commitment.

For 30 years Janet has observed my parenting, for 20 years another caseworker who has taught me more than I could ever type into the Internet has supervised and advised us, observing, making suggestions and giving me options to explore in an uncharted world of mental health treatment for some seriously disturbed children that I've dared to parent.

A state probation officer, a friend - not someone who has supervised any child of mine, read my blog yesterday, and called me to boost me up. I needed that.

People over the years have asked, "what can I do for y'all?" I've tried to cover all our bases and all our needs are usually met in a substantial manner. What I truly would ask, is for others to pray for us. To pray for children's emotional healing, for their anxieties right now, for continued strength for me and that doors would open for Jose.

Plugging Through

Soccer teams are being set up this week as we attend the try-outs. Loading everyone up in 101 degree heat after I've had supper on the table at 5, we run back home, swim and get ready for the next day.

Vanessa turned 17 today, we sat up and talked last night until 10:30 about everything. All my promises to the kids about life and family and the stressors we are facing right now. She's being sweet, worried about growing up, saving her McDonald's earnings for a car.

Six kids on the U12 league got Coach Tom again, it's at least their third or fourth time with him and they are elated. Hating change as they do, trying to maintain our level of consistency at all times, this was a blessing.

I am still not being believed that I cook every night, which is interesting as I've constantly blogged about what I've cooked as so many people are interested in the wholesome way that we eat. Or that I stay home constantly. Where would I go?

Chuck and Yolie bought me a free massage coupon four and a half years ago that I still haven't used. It would mean going to town, something I'm not enthralled with doing. Even this year, with all the kids in school, my idea of Heaven is a day alone here, tending to what all needs doing. I'm choosing to keep a log on the counter, on the rare times I have to leave and who babysit whoever didn't go with me. I go to soccer, church and yard sales with most, if not all, of my kids each time. Why is that suspect? I'm a 53 year old homebody.

I went to a Braves game last week, my annual foray into the real world, with my brother-in-law leaving both of my parents, and 3 18 year old girls (Miriam, Lauren and Natalie) to babysit plus Vanessa. A school night, the kids were all in bed at nine, leaving 6 babysitters with nothing to do.

I am disheartened and so saddened that who I am is being challenged but, as my kids know, they can count on me to get us through all this, to do what needs to be done and to come out on the other side whole, happy, healthy and sane.

I'll soon shake off this dark cloud and morph back into Super Cheerleader. I'm checking PowerSchool each day, signing agendas, reading school notes, packing book bags and adding more and more projects to my To Do list, feeling such a sense of accomplishment at the end of each day.

I already have a huge pot of pinto beans soaking for tomorrow's tacos, the seasoning aroma is out of this world.

Continuing, continuing, continuing

I started this post two days ago but was waiting on permission from a mom. I've received so many emails from folks like me, moms who love very tough adopted children. Kids who look so cute and normal on the outside but shatter emotionally into a million pieces at a moment's notice, bound and determined to release their inner rage on unsuspecting parents who are always buffaloed by the amount of storm that flows from within such a young child. Broken windows, furniture and busted-in sheet rock results. I turn my back in shock, walk away so as not to react and the kids then up the ante. They want me to rage back to justify their fury at what all has happened to them. I'm simply their audience, their listening ear, my shock is mirrored back at them and now, five years later, Jonathan is clinging with all his might, metamorphosing in front of my eyes from a bed-wetting, screaming, rageful kid to my sweet, armpit kid...the one who hasn't left my side in a week. I read aloud a note from his teacher about not following directions. Usually addressing such an issue results in a meltdown, last night, after his soccer tryouts and swimming, I received a "Yes, ma'am, I understand. I'll try harder."

Well bowl me over.

Sharon Epperson is the author of The Big Payoff. That's the name of the book from CNBC that I couldn't remember a week or so ago.

Not spanking children, I've had to come up with a loss of privileges, send them to their room or endure a lecture. I'd taken TV away from Jose back when he'd recently punched in a wall...he then cut the cord off the TV so that no one would watch it. I didn't see him do it, he's smarter than that...he'd fly into a fury if accused...I just had to write it off as a loss to me. Oh well, what're ya gonna do when the child can't/won't reason with you?

Jose called me at 9 last night, told me he was going away long term to get help, so that he could get better, something he's never said before. He hung up on me as I told him I'd support him in that.

I cried myself to sleep, hated and accused three times now by severely mentally ill children.

I've needed the ego boost that I've received from some of y'all. Your comments both here on this blog and here have fueled my determination. I can only hope that I'll encourage others as much one day.

A mom in Nevada writes:
"Some of us veterans can make it another day after reading your blog. You've gotten me thru our first brush with the law, our first probation officer, our first child old enough to distance himself so he can move out, our first really bad life decisions child, our first choosing to live with a married guy with a domestic abuse record, etc., etc.

I understand the conflict between the absolute certainty that kids need homes and the absolute certainty that it isn't going to be pretty for the parents. How can you ask someone to take on the responsibility-and then again, how can you not? No one reading your blog (and accepting it as nonfiction) will be going into adoption with rose-colored glasses. God knows that there are families out there that can parent these kids successfully. He also knows that they are going to need lots of support.

We couldn't be doing what we're doing without the extended relatives, professionals, kind strangers, and people like you. Some days just knowing that there's someone else who "gets" it makes the difference for me. Please keep it up."

From a local teacher:
"You’re at church now, getting renewed and charged up for the week. You sounded so down in your latest BLOG. Your readers love and respect you. Your children’s teachers are amazed at what you take on and how much you accomplish. You offer support and a reality check for the many other adoptive parents who read your BLOG. The children you have placed through Adopt America may never fully appreciate your efforts, but ….. and last, but not at all least, your children who are hateful and crazy sometimes all love you way deep down. They just don’t love themselves and can’t believe or trust that you can love them. And even when they start to believe in your love they are always afraid of losing you or your love. Then there are all the grandchildren..."

My sweet, handsome son Jesse, bracing for Hurricane Dean out in Texas, just called and reassured me, Yolie's taking it all so hard, Marcela and Monica were here giving me hugs and support. Daniel was with me today, always an emotional booster. Sarah's out of town until Tuesday.

Linda B, thanks for your note...and I cried in Sunday School, something I'm not known to do. Interestingly a lady that I've known for 25 years showed up out of the blue, sitting next to me, praying for me as I needed it so much right now.

Yolie and Chuck's baby was dedicated in church today and I keep counting to five inhale/exhale...trying to control my breathing so I wouldn't cry but my eyes kept leaking too much.

"Close to half say religion and spirituality are very important. And more than half say they believe there is a higher power that has an influence over things that make them happy. Beyond religion, simply belonging to an organized religious group makes people happier."

From the same earlier report, now on Fox News and I agree so much watching how my kids never want to miss Youth Group on Wednesday nights nor anything on Sunday mornings.

When I openly bragged on my 16 older kids accomplishments I saw a comment from Daniel about his three time college dodgeball championships (he was President of the Dodgeball Association)plus he hit 2 homers in an all star game, and hit off a Braves 3 d pick. Yep that's true but I didn't have room to list his ten years of baseball accomplishments nor he and Big Joe's many years of football nor Saray's soccer, nor Yolie's track team, nor Marcela's softball, nor the church league softball and so on and so on.

Are you kidding me? I pass the 34 year anniversary of parenting this fall...kinda hard to list it all. But my pride in them is also my spur to continue. Good thing I'm raring to go as we have ten dentist appointments this morning.

Joey's Counselor Speaks

"My name is E_______ and I just wanted to tell you how much you inspire me, as this seems like a time in your life where you may need a little more encouragement.

I first learned of your family from your son Joey when he was doing time at _______ . I was temporarily working as a counselor there and he was on another temporary counselors caseload... we shared an office. He told us about your family and told us that you blogged, and we looked you up. Ever since, I have found that I can't go a week without reading your blog.. always wondering how your family is doing and keeping you and your family in my prayers.

You are an incredible woman. You inspire this recent UGA Social Work grad to do more with her life than sit at a desk and shuffle papers for the rest of her life. Your unwillingness to give up on your children amazes me... I only wish I had half as much determination as you. Especially having some actual insight into what you deal with on a daily basis. I witnessed first hand Joey's irrational and manipulative behavior. I can't imagine what it was like having someone like him, and much worse, in your home. The fact that you are still determined to make a difference and help these children is wonderful and inspiring. And the fact that you have so many successful children is a testament to you and all the hard work you do every day. "

Reprinted here with permission. She'd emailed me this weekend, we've never met yet I have another son not demonstrating the murderous behaviors there (in a psych hospital) that he did here so I'm looking, once again, like an hysterical mama and this calm young man, my Jose, just can't figure out what's wrong with me.

His younger siblings, defiant and oppositional at best, are silly and carefree now with Jose not with us. He is angry with his other two sibs who have bonded with me, he feels they are traitors and that they don't care about him, yet all four deeply love him.

Keys To Kid's Happiness

"About three-quarters — 73 percent — said their relationship with their parents makes them happy."

This is from a study of kids ages 13-24. I found it comforting and realistic especially as I unloaded the dishwashers and thought about it some more. Vanessa, Edgar, Miriam, Sonny and many, if not all of my kids, fall into this category. They like hanging around here, my older kids frequently come over, who wouldn't like knowing someone adores them? The study is in the AJC today and a good, encouraging read for beleagured parents.

"...highly educated parents is a stronger predictor of happiness than income," is an interesting, thought-provoking idea. I earned all my college degrees before I started adopting fortunately as I think back on the amount of work that was then required of me, but I thrived on it and worked different jobs to accomodate.

But lately I've been treated like a moron and have gotten my feelings deeply hurt. Indeed I've cried, or leaked tears for about four days now.

The one thing I'm positive that I do best, which is parent my children, has come under attack and I am greatly saddened by the slur. My kids are clinging to me more so than ever, needing hugs and massive reassurance and also, contradictorally to logic, but this is their logic in their traumatized minds, acting out a good bit.

With Jose not here stirring the kids up however, Jonathan and Paloma have improved substantially. Not particularly affectionate, they've become smiling versions of relieved kids lately, no one is going to kill Mom, which was their deep fear when Jose was here continually threatening me. Vanessa took a picture of my bruised arm, a week later, faded to an ugly yellow brown.

"How can you still love us?" I was asked in amazement last night by this teenager who knows that I truly do. "Look at all we've put you through. You're old now, you could be doing anything you want to do instead of sweating over us all the time."

OLD?

Washing my face late last night before I went to bed. She's right. Lines are etching themselves into my face, my skin seems to hang on me, I'm losing weight again, but I know that we are just going through a tough period. I'll plump back up. I'd told the kids, "this is how your faith is built up, both in your family and in God," as we swam until bedtime last night.

Amanda's sweet comment about not having older kids yet to give her hope led me to jot down the pride that I have in my older 16 kids. It was a long, hard struggle but neither they nor I ever gave up and it has paid off for them all in a very big way.

16 grown kids of mine who have way exceeded any and all expectations:

1- Sarah - UGA Graduate, owns her own bookkeeping-tax accountant-business services business as does her husband (HVAC), Stay-at-home Mom and home owner.
2- Deysi - Piedmont College Graduate in Sociology

3- Cristy - Student at UGA, majoring in Psychology, Married, works in the public school system

4- Saray - Student at Georgia State Univeristy, Married with children, when she's in school, her husband is with the kids, he works at night.

5-Gina - UGA Graduate in Environmental Sciences

6- Yolie - UGA Graduate in Social Work, Master's Degree, LCSW, Married to a UGA graduate in Lanscape Architecture, Owns his own Business, Stay-At-Home Mom and homeowner

7- Carolina - Stay-At-Home Mom, Husband owns his own business, Getting ready to build their own house on two acres, five well-behaved children

8 - Marcela - UGA Graduate in Sociology, works in the banking industry

9 -Monica - Stay-At-Home Mom, Married

10 -Joe - attended Athens Technical College, one full-time job, one part time job

11 -Jesse - Navy, St. Leo College, Married

12 -Sergi - Navy

13 - Daniel - UGA Student, Georgia Army National Guard, ROTC

14 -Sonny - works several jobs, one full-time, several side jobs, is being tutored for college entrance (Athens Technical College

15 - Edgar - works full-time at off-campus bookstore

16 Miriam - works full-time, is being tutored for college entrance (Athens Technical College)

I have a middle group of children that have struggled, but I believe I can help them all to succeed as well. My younger kids came out of more traummatized backgrounds and I have equally as high hopes for them, even those that`are in OTP or other situations, they still have a mother here who loves them dearly...even the one who left a bruise on my arm in his attempt to kill me. I love him more than he loves himself.

Yet people wanna say this can't be done? We've done it...

Still Not Ever Quitting On My Kids

"I have been thinking about you and reading your blog. This could become addicting… “kinda like finding my favorite author has written a series”.

If I had not received this email this afternoon I might very well have discontinued both the writing of these blogs as well as any more work in promoting the adoption of traumatized children. Why would I want to continue to advise parents to unleash the gates of Hell into their once happy families?

Just as if you loan someone some money they will forever resent you for having to pay it back, so too is it in the world of parenting tough children.

Then professionals who do not do what adoptive parents do, come to cut your legs off at the knees. Well, I'll wobble along like that if I have to because my kids need me. And because I know that I am working hard for them.

The one who wanted to kill me and five other family members has told lies about me; something that has happened to me more than once by significantly traumatized children. Yet I still love them.

I could not live any more sacrificially than I already do, wearing the same pair of shorts every single day this summer, the same mismatched earrings for the last 20 years, being with my children 24-7 while "normal" people wonder why I don't go take a break and professional people don't believe that I never leave.

It's human nature to try and slip through life easily but I have always felt God's presence strongly in my life; I know that He is always watching me, protecting us and more than often blessing us. He is why I am honest, vulnerable, open and unafraid to continue to live in a very challenging life. I also deeply appreciate the comments and emails that I receive from folks like all y'all out there.

Kevin, Lauren and Natalie just left; witnesses to our anguish and trials, and they were so loving and supportive...something I often don't feel. Jimbo, my baby brother is still here with me, and my children have rallied in a big, loving way. I even had a difficult child verbally acknowledge my commitment to them, there's progress in a huge manner.

Company

I have company...too busy to blog...

He couldn't wait two more nights? I'll be there to boo Barry Bonds but I really wanted to be there for Bobby's temper tantrums.

"Means nothing. Just been around a long time, that's all." He's so cool. He's passionate about his team.

We've so had the blessings poured out on us lately. Adele is single-handedly responsible for brand new school shoes for Lily, Paloma, Sabrina, Tabby, Nando and Jack, while Miss Judy bought Vanessa a new LL Bean bookbag with her initials, more than a luxury here. She'd gotten me some breakfast bread that I'd never heard of, I awoke at 1 in the morning excited over the next morning's breakfast so I started watching National Geographic TV wanting to fall back asleep, but I became so engrossed in it.

Miss Judy's relatives make handmade milk soap. I used Sea Buckthorn last night...how cool is this?

As soon as I drop the kids off at school, I'm headed an hour away to the psych hospital about Jose. I used to have to do all this and hold down a job as well. Our biggest blessing was my early retirement. I'll eat the breakfast bread while I drive. Good, now I have a plan. It's gonna be 102 degrees.

Good Eating

The watermelon growing along and up my big back garden fence grew heavy and fell yesterday, no kids were involved. I was the only one home at the time.

Today I ate the entire thing all by myself, right after a large lunch of my usual peppers, tomatoes, squash and a cucumber plus grated cheese, flax and sunflower seeds.

Then I told my unemployed almost 26 year old son to move to the doublewide on our property, he's not being a good example to my other kids. I gave him a lot of slack after 4 years in the Navy and being there right outside Iraq, but he's been home for a year and a half and has done little to advance himself in life.

Now he can live with Sonny and Deysi, pay for his own electricity and groceries, try and grow up a little please. He's not happy with me but this isn't a popularity contest, sorry if I don't want to be an enabler.

But great news a coming...Lauren, Natalie and Kevin will be here tomorrow with my brother Jimbo coming on Thursday. I can't wait to see them all.

I just slightly blanched the peppers: red cherry bomb, hot banana peppers and jalapenos so I could then run them through the food processor and result in a mixture to douse food with. The fumes filled the air and while our house smelled like Mexico, our lungs were screaming...but not as much as our mouths and internal organs later after dinner.

I'd made the spaghetti sauce from fresh garden tomatoes over whole wheat pasta. Scotty ate the most sauce, he's gonna flame this morning. I pity whatever child sits near him at school as the temps will rise in that room. It's gonna be a 100 degrees again as it is, still no rain, worst gardening conditions in years so I've had to quit on many of many areas and am just concentrating on 10 out of 17 planted beds.

At seven I'd called my other grandbabies to come swimming with us and by late dark all was quiet, everyone asleep, allowing me the luxury of eight hours of sleep as well. I feel as if I've been on a vacation.

Sweet Paula had cracked me up. Opening the mail that had been piled on the kitchen counter while I tended to psychiatric emergencies, she'd sent our family a huge gift certificate to Krispy Kreme. If I hadn't been howling with laughter, glee and bliss I wouldn't have immediately drawn an audience of witnesses to the fact that now I have to share this very, very generous blessing on our family.

Flipping through a magazine while waiting on someone to help me help the kid who wanted to kill me, I was jerked back to other people's reality in O Magazine as I learned I could cut down on clutter in my life by spending $38 at plazatoo.com for a bag to hold my "extra" credit cards. I almost burst out laughing. Who needs extra credit cards? Do they have a clue how many gallons of milk I could buy with $38 and, wait a minute, clutter here is defined by 25 people taking off their only pair of shoes and cluttering up the family room, but then I remembered my girls have tons of shoes that were given to us or that they've bought at yard sales tremendously adding to my clutter. A thousand credit cards wouldn't even be noticed.

I'm really angry about another issue occurring here in our family, I'd fussed already this morning about it to Sarah and Yolie while I clipped pothos plants to root in my newest yard sale planters wondering if it is mentally unbalanced to have 1000 pothos rooting in one's house. I suppose I do it because I can; because it will be successful unlike those who choose to not get jobs. Pothos helps clean the air, Lord knows I need it filtered of the toxins that are emanating from me as I stew in resentment over adults sucking up the AC I'm paying for while watching the cable TV on my bill. Yes, I am doing something about it and I'll blog these consequences soon. This is unacceptable on every level.

Even though I started blogging 4 hours ago, I've revised my words trying to leash my aggravated thoughts. Just as Megamom's kid's accused her of tripping...so too am I on a roll; tripping would be a step up from ranting I suppose, but right now I am enabling a grown man to sit on his butt and that goes mightily against my grain.

Daniel was sitting on the sofa yesterday evening between Yolie and I; pretty much our idea of Heaven, breathing in intelligence and strength from a go-getter like him. He was being so silly, telling us about someone "acting out," jargon only a man who has listened to too many adoption conversations would have picked up. Living with a bunch of guys, my smart son chose the downstairs crappy bedroom, sharing a bath, but getting his cost cut by $25 a month. "You shoulda held out for $50," I'd cracked, while he also told us he was getting his wonderful girlfriend a sippy cup to contain her spills. If she's half the mess I am, Daniel has his hands full: I'm wearing a coffee stained shirt and have soy milk spilt on my shorts.

A Fuse

A quote yesterday from a mental health worker, "some drugs such as Tegretol can help lengthen a fuse on a rager," which gives me little comfort knowing that the rager still, quite likely, will blow sky high and act murderously violent again.

I'm not certain that we can live safely with Jose. I've struggled with this fear for years, watching him escalate his anger, his threats and his destructive rages. Are not broken doors, windows, walls and furniture indicative of a severely out-of-control, physically aggressive, dangerously violent child?

I cannot begin to relate the number of times he has lashed out at me and the other kids; at what point will others understand the danger that he presents to society?

And if he did cross the line and stab me, should I take one for the team? Then would others believe the level of danger we live in? Worse yet, what if he goes after a younger child?

Now he is temporarily in a lock down facility, they've called this morning and described him as an angry young man. Yep, they've pegged it.

But he'll be fairly compliant there I'm certain because he has long periods in which he functions normally. But then the anger comes out of nowhere and my older sons are scrambling to protect us all here, over and over, leaving us feeling like we live in a psychotic war zone.

I do still love Jose. that doesn't change. But I'd be happier knowing I can sleep safely at night; sometimes even Mama here needs to close her eyes.

It'd difficult for a new psychiatrist to understand a five year history here of threats from a boy with a litany of issues and mental challenges. I do not know what our options are, only that being a mama isn't enough to resolve some mental health problems. We've had counseling in place for years and years nor a very non-introspective kid. He started seeing a psychiatrist at age five when he entered foster care.

He's bigger and meaner than me now, with huge uncontrolled pent-up violence inside him and I'm worried for our family.

Bad

A pretty bad day. I blogged about it here.

Zoo Time

Chuck and Yolie had taken Tabby and Nando with them to our nearest town's little zoo (with one small bear and maybe a deer) recently, knowing they'd entertain CJ and have a great time. In our family, leaving Mama to go anywhere is rare, these two babies of mine would likely only allow Sarah or Yolie, possibly Carolina, and a yes to Ms Carr. Everyone else on earth would spark suspicion in their minds.

My post last night, with the frustration of full moon behavior, provoked a few of you to share the same with me via email. One of you really needs prayer regarding a returning runaway and the fall-out, and I use the term 'runaway' loosely, and it brings me to a rant on ingratitude that I'd learned from another of you.

I swell with outrage on your behalf and I find it unimaginably frustrating. I too want to scream with my own internal pain of being unappreciated... if that were all it was. To have kids take it a notch further past ingratitude into the realm of "I'll punish you for even trying to love me," as they tear everything up that's been provided for them.

My Depression era Mom, now 77, believes it comes from the welfare mentality entitlement syndrome and I think she's correct. Never having to work for anything, not understanding the intrinsic value of a dollar, it means nothing to them. In my kid's situations, their parents didn't work, their grandparents were equally unsuitable to retain custody of them; it was a generational dysfunctional cycle that is/was very, very different from the way I grew up watching my mom re-use aluminum foil and count each penny twice.

Chuy, with all his intelligence, raging yesterday because I'd asked him to clean his room, a room he does not share with anyone, it was his mess, absolutely upset me. He loves to be favorably compared to Daniel, he preens when it happens, and he brings it up often, "I'm like your new Daniel, right Mom?"

I icily pointed out in a steely tone that Daniel never, ever, not even once would have thought of disrespecting me.

Chuy crumpled like a rag doll. Stubborn though to the bone, he cleaned half his room, came downstairs only to see me giving him the stink eye treatment, narrowing my eyes to slits, demonstrating obvious displeasure; they'd rather see me blow sky high as they then wrongly think it allows them to do so as well, yet I maintained my resolve to rise above the fray as my blood boiled in my elderly veins. They know me so well, I can make my bones twitch at will, they interpret every movement I make, as they are inately hyper-vigilant and overly concerned.

I read Claudia and Salinda's battles, BTDT. Don't budge, girlfriend, stand your ground. Salinda best thank God I'm not her mama, because I'm way meaner than Claudia. I've had years of frustration to enable me to be so.

Another mom wrote that peace had been stolen from her once happy family with the arrival of a school age, manipulative, once-deprived child from another country. She wrote an eloquent letter that perfectly touched on what everyone should expect in a case like this. I felt like a fly on their walls, I could feel their palpitating dismay and stifled rage over what has happened after all they've poured out on her behalf.

Yet I have no answers, sometimes I can only hope that others feel better for having vented to someone who totally understands. Honey, I get it. I just wish I could help you through it better.

At 10 last night, because I'd looked sideways, or the planets flushed a toilet down on us, who knows? Tony had a screaming, bellowing rage in his room. Forty minutes of hollering alone while en masse, we successfully ignored him.

He came in the room this morning to apologize for his crazy behavior yet it'll happen again and again. Settling down in school is unsettling, they've lost the familiarity of last year, exchanged it for equally wonderful teachers of this year, internally pissed that I have six hours of quiet freedom each day and that I'm glad for the healing time it allows me. It enrages them; I should suffer like they do.

My sweet friends and mamas, I see y'all down here in the trenches with me. I see you wide-eyed, and your often frightened demeanors, reflecting back my own fear and frustration. It sucks at times doesn't it? In my prayers I ask God to strengthen us all.

I've said my own personal version of cuss words: 'sucks' and 'pissed.' and I'm on my way to church this morning. Am I a hypocrite? Yep. This is how and why I know that I need God in my life, forgiveness on a minute by minute basis and an eternal, supernatural, Alpha and Omega source of strength and internal fortitude each minute. The alternative would be too depressing for me to even contemplate.

Well who doesn't keep her wrinkled, bossy hands on her hips when it's a full-time job to keep everyone in line around here? They must have put mean juice in the school water fountain or forgot to change the filters because Idi Amin's kids came home to my house after school on Friday. Even my usually very good kids have had raging refusals to do as told, crybaby meltdowns over nothing and have elevated sniping at each other to world class proportions. What happened to my nice group of Bubbas?

I ain't having this buddy boys. I remained clam and took away computer and nintendo privileges and rewarded the only two good kids.

Finally I just bearhugged Allen until he calmed down, knocking over several kitchen chairs as he accused me of everything from Amelia Earheart's disappearance to the skyrocketing price of storm windows.

"What's wrong with all y'all?" I'd bellowed.

Sonny, 21, got into a pushing fight with 13 year old Martin, so I sent him home and he said a bad word going out the door in front of Grandma. Martin was crying and I was just about fit to be tied.

I was trying to get everyone decently dressed for Bronson's wedding, I was snarling by the time we got out the door. I'd fussed at sweet Sabrina, "run outside and pick me something to eat," and she scampered off, totally not part of the group psychoses in the house while Jose decided to pick MY side to be on for once, hovering over me like a helicopter with gas; laughing and farting til I thought I'd puke.

What's wrong with this picture? Chuy's yelling at everyone while Jose's being resonable, Allen is crying because I asked him to pick up something he'd dropped and Nando is slamming doors because he couldn't have two burritos. I'd suggested he eat one first, if he could finish it, I'd make another, they were thick flatbreads, he can't eat two. BAM! SLAM! and he turned over a dresser. They are possessed today.

What A Day

My granddaughter, Heidi's first day of school went well, a kindergartner now, she's Saray and T's oldest daughter.

I've been to a rousing funeral this morning. Dr. EJ, a brilliant man I've known for 25 years, and have looked up to, was buried this morning. I've had Victory in Jesus in my head all morning, a song he often lead the congregation in singing. He'd built an entire risk management department at UGA as well as two churches here from scratch, his wife had been my Sunday School teacher for 13 years or so.

I was a preacher's kid in the 1950s and 1960s, backslidden throughout the 1970s, landing with a thunk in a non-denominational powerhouse of a church in the early 1980s; a life-changing event. Our original pastor spoke at the funeral today, a bit shook up and still in awe of EJ's influence on his own life. Our regular pastor was hilarious as there's an abundance of funny EJ stories, he was one of the happiest men I ever knew.

And again Pastors Tracy and Terry were there; these five men Tony, Tracy, Terry, David and EJ will never understand what a profound influence they've had in my life as did EJ's wife, Bobby. I am a most blessed woman for having known them all.

Vanessa went with me, she'd been to yard sales from 7-9 this morning also, funeral at 10, then we rode two counties over to pick up 25 children's chairs from freecycle.

At five this evening, we'll go to our youth pastor's wedding...such major events today.

Three full days of school last week, everyone acted out yesterday evening in major ways, finally it was bedtime. I'd had Monica and Dewayne come over with their baby, Alana. Kitty and Elyse both came by laden with stuff for us; now I have new church pants, I'd worn them to the funeral this morning. Miss Kimberly as well had brought us food, now she's CW, Martin and Javy's exploratory Spanish teacher this nine weeks.

My dirt driveway coming up from the long dirt road may be single lane, but we sure do have a lot of traffic on it.

And........Praise God, a certain son I've been squabbling with who does not want his name used here, finally found a job. He can just take his handsome self there on Monday, leaving me here all alone smiling with pride and satisfaction.


My church just called me to come pick up all the leftover food, we are blessed in so many ways.

The nearest town to us hit 105 degrees yesterday, Atlanta and Macon at 103. The meteorologist said the asphalt temperature was 151 degrees, don't walk barefoot on it. Like I'd even go to Atlanta without my flipflops?

Fussing with my daughters over skanky clothes, I'd read yet another Big Duh."“The consequences of the sexualization of girls in media today are very real and are likely to be a negative influence on girls’ healthy development,” said Eileen L. Zurbriggen, PhD, chairwoman of the APA Task Force and associate professor of psychology at the University of California, Santa Cruz, earlier this year in reference to the report.

As a result of an over-sexed society, young girls are reaping the following mental health issues..."

Read the article all you Mamas. We all need to wake up and take our baby girls back, make them emotionally strong and able to deal with the years ahead of them. This article doesn't even take into effect the unplanned pregnancies resulting in unwanted children, STDs, or how men nowadays are about as weak as worms because women seem willing to debase themselves and settle for anything.

When I was in high school and right out of high school, before I was educated enough for a decent job, I spent seven year waiting on tables, driving a school bus, and running a rooming house all while taking a full load in college and raising Sarah...sometimes two jobs at a time just to have money coming in.

Suffice it to say, I am righteously disappointed nowadays in kids who are unwilling to work at this or that job. Money is money when it is honestly earned, and getting that realistic fact across to weak-minded, lazy children who don't understand that MTV is not the real world is extremely frustrating to me as a mom.

How does one get kids to understand that personal sacrifices are mandatory? Working is not optional.

Maybe it's because they don't want to grow up and be like me? Someone who doesn't have The Best In Fashion and other stupid examples? A church lady who doesn't care about going out? They want to live fast and hard like a cartoon character? A buffoonish existence? Wake up and smell that toilet you're going to end up cleaning when your life overflows with unpaid bills, dun notices and bad credit. Jeepers, get real.

Raise your hands if you can tell I am totally out of patience.

As usual, being around Daniel raises the bar, reminds me of how normal men should be. He's in the Georgia Army National Guard, ROTC, full-time college student and pays his own bills like a man. Jesse also in the Navy, taking care of his very beautiful wife, far from either me or her mom, out in Texas but in school and working. Sonny too for that matter, found a job the first day he looked, mowing lawns in 105 degree temperature without complaining? Hardly above minimum wage but he actually has money in his pocket that he earned. That's a real man.

Daniel just moved with three guys into a house with a brick living room floor that I can't wait to see. His very pretty, but more importantly nice, personable and intelligent, girlfriend is quite close to Tabby and Sabrina. All the kids like Lauren which is a plus in this crowd. It's kind of hard to win over my family as most are suspicious, distrusting and unwilling to allow others to get close. She's second year at UGA and Daniel is smitten.

And Daniel is mature enough to care about, and to value Yolie and my opinions...just as we deeply respect his input and feelings. That's what being grown up is all about. I was so richly blessed that day in El Paso when I met them and became their mama a hundred years ago.

I should have used this picture this morning of my three fifth graders, photographic evidence of what Jojo wore yesterday, pictured here in his bright plaid.

I've cleaned the garage and the kitchen fridge while listening to the county police scanner and being glad that none of my kids have a white Honda used in a hit and run, and that none of them go to the other elementary school that needed the paramedics for a child having a seizure.

But then...Vanessa called me to tell me that her cell phone and $30 had been stolen. Five hours of working at Mickey D's for that and she'd just earned her cell phone back yesterday after I'd confiscated it when she tried to sneak out one night in June.

I've melted down about unemployed wussies and they've scattered like cockroaches. My eyes were still bugged out when Regina and Elyse came by for a visit.

I ate hot tomatoes and peppers, fresh picked and fried on the vine, it was 98 degrees before noon. We won't swim tonight until dark.

First meltdown of the morning involved JoJo hollering, crying and flinging his arms everywhere like an ape, "But the teacher said to be sure and wear the same clothes tomorrow so she'll recognize everyone," as he insisted on wearing the exact same thing two days in a row.

The entire family tried to explain the term 'sarcasm' to a screaming 10 year old who stomped up to his room waking the bear Edgar who growled at him. Like I was gonna let an unemployed 20 year old sleep past 6 a.m.?

JoJo grudgingly changed his clothes while crying that I was ruining his life.

Our wonderfully accommodating assistant principal at the elementary school, at my request, had moved Jack to be with Mauri, since Jack went to school crying on the first day only to have Jack freak out at the possibility of change. We had to move Jack back this morning to his original class that he technically never left. His new teacher had won him over on the first day, not an easy task to do with any of my ultra-suspicious kids. His classroom is also in a trailer, excuse me - a modular, that any good God-fearing, Southern kid knows is suspect in tornado country. Duh.

While I was flying through the school, carrying a load of calendars that had been sent home in bookbags to our house...save a tree, I was returning 9 extras...an upset child stopped me in the hall, "Teacher do we go to the gym or to our class right now?"

Without explaining that now I'm a retired teacher I just sent her to her class. That child must be new, everyone else knows I'm The Mama. All my kids told me of new kids moving into the county. My kids, who've been moved pillar to post for all their lives before joining our boringly stable family, were expressing shock and outrage that other mothers would move and make their poor children change schools. I quickly described such things as job promotions, advancements and moving on up. (I just got the Jeffersons song stuck in all y'all's heads didn't I?)

"We're not moving ever, right?" I had to amp up the reassurance factor.

Jonathan found me in the front office, worried, "Mom, some lady asked me what the van driver's name was, is it OK that I told her you're a mama not a driver?"

Chill, y'all.

Jonathan's teacher told me she called him JoJo all day, hard to break last year's habit, and my own PTSD kicked in when my phone rang and it was a teacher this morning. But Regina, now working in another county, just wanted to come by and bring me boy clothes. Good, I need some new ones.

Tabby's teacher? PERFECT! Miss Donna, a former special ed teacher, a foster and adoptive mom of a large family, I think she has about ten kids, someone I've known for quite some time, her husband teaches at the alternative school. I am now certain I won't have to worry about Pre-K calling me if and when Tabby has one of her little baby rages. Tabby is thrilled with her, Nando is loving his class also as his teacher has taught a ton of my children.

Today's high in our town is predicted to be 102, heat index over 110. Even I'm noticing the heat that rarely bothers me. I best go pick my salad right now in the early morning hours...and so far so good, no little kids have picked the watermelons too early. Just counting my blessings out loud again.

What if my blog, without the police action of last year, becomes mind numbingly routine...no drama? What if readers turn elsewhere? Oh well, I blog for catharsis, not for the entertainment of others.

And how cool is this? Other than having to call a deputy to report when Vanessa ran away in June, we haven't had to call the police in close to a year, as there've been no fights, no knives brandished at me, and no threats (except Jose's) against me. I could get used to this.

Back To School 07-08

Eight middle schoolers in the top picture and the nine younger kids in the bottom picture. I'd dropped Sabrina off at Baby Yolie's house since pre-teens don't want to walk into school without a best friend...in our family it'd be an aunt and a niece.

Jack dissolved into tears, he's pictured clinging to Lily, if I have any regrets about him, I'd have not sent him to Pre-K. A teacher told us yesterday that her kindergartners who didn't go to Pre-K had done as well, if not better, than those that did go. I want that year back, I want a do-over. Tabby did go to Pre-K this morning, she's almost five, she very much wanted to go to school whereas Nando, who didn't go to Pre-K, in no way wanted to last year. New to our family, he desperately needed the two and a half years of stay-at-home mama time that I've been able to provide for him, today he was excited about going.

If only Edgar'd find a job, I'd have breathing room and six hours each day alone, something very therapeutic for me. I woke him up, sent him out the door like I've done every single day since he got fired.

Open House Day

Jesse does not need any remedial classes for college. I am incredibly proud as I sit here scratching my chigger bites and shaking my head in amazement. He'll start an English class on Lily's birthday (August 20th), and I've been talking to my other kids who also will resume their college classes this month: Daniel, Cristy, Saray with Miriam and Sonny undergoing their tutoring to get where the other grown kids are. Cristy and Saray are close to completing their degrees now. The money situation involves scholarships thankfully that we'd all been working on lately.

I had other really good news that I'd prayed for but I don't have permission to share it yet...

By 6 this morning I had quite a few kids asking, "Is it Open House for everyone today?" Hmmm...we've never not had Open House for everyone, did they think the opening of school was staggered by age group this year?

Because it is close to 100 degrees this week, I finally broke down and turned on our AC, something I totally despise. I couldn't hear my dueling roosters this morning, I smell too many little boy's stanky feet and it feels stale to me. I miss the early morning aroma of flowers blooming outside pulled in by the attic fan. I must have woken up 100 times last night, feeling stifled by canned air.

Mayra weighed my garden salad the other day. It does weigh 5 pounds. I'm eating five pounds of chopped raw veggies everyday in one meal (Cukes, tomatoes, peppers and squash). No wonder I feel so good.

Several of my tomato vines are shriveling and frying in the drought and the heat. Fortunately over half were planted later and mulched heavily, I'll still get another load of tomatoes. We've been watering both varieties of watermelons, they look great also as does Hales Jumbo Cantaloupes.

Daniels' stuff is here as he awaits his new rental house with his friends but he's staying over at Yolie's house; they both breezed through yesterday. CJ is enjoying the tar out of having a Big Bubba at his house. I'm jealous.

Trying to keep my kids calm about school, Sarah and I took them to see Surf's Up at the Dollar Theater yesterday. An odd movie, I dozed off twice...

0%

I'm using a picture Ms. Carr took in Africa. In yesterday's newspaper there was a story about an alligator the next county over. Supposedly this is 50 miles too far north. Fifty? I'd always assumed we were about 200 miles from alligator territory.

While it still continues to rain sporadically everywhere but down my dirt road, I'd asked the kids to pray for rain at church yesterday, Tabby telling me that her entire class had done so. Our temperatures this week are hovering close to 100. I'd needed another set of boxsprings, found a super deal on Craigs List, so Sonny, Jack, Mayra and I ran out to get it yesterday evening. 0% chance of rain in the five day forecast, yet the skies emptied on us while driving in the next county, the one time I'm toting a mattress. Go figure. Tabby smilingly claimed credit, "I told you we prayed for rain, mama."

Always the witch, I jacked out the words, "Cwap, darling, pray specifically for rain on my garden."

I'm reading Claudia and Bart's anger, despair and frustration over Mike. Even at odds, they're both right in their thoughts. That is so hard...so unrelentingly typical.

We're not certain what's going on with Joey. Marcela called and told me she'd seen him on the streets in the company of two police officers. Who knows?

My darling baby boy in Texas, a grown married man actually, although my children will always be my babies, thank God for Verizon as we can talk often and free, was telling me about a Church of God he was attending there and that he too will start college classes this month. Is this miraculous or what? I have formerly special ed kids working hard to attend college. Obviously this guy was labeled such as a former foster child, he was unnecessarily medicated with Ritalin and this righteously angry guy was labeled EBD (emotionally behavior disordered) although he was an easy kid to raise. He came at 12, scared, anxious, upset, and confused by all that had happened to him and his siblings, then he had to live with Big Joe's anger here, but they deeply bonded and got through.

One key though is that I have always expected them to do well, somehow and someway. My entire family has often been frustrated, even grief stricken at times over the hurdles we've faced, the challenges that have seemed so interminable. Right now I have to keep reminding myself that the kids who are now doing so poorly, this is only a part of the process, them learning the hard way, and I should know from experience that they also will find their ways eventually. They will someday rise to our expectations of success. Everyone doesn't have to attend college, but I do expect everyone to be gainfully employed, making an honest living, being resposible and paying their bills.

I should follow Tabby's example and stay in prayer, who cares if 0% chance is predicted?