Collecting The Rain/Reign of God in Our Lives

Ms. Carr is in rain barrel city lately, rearranging her outside areas, her house sited high on a hill with very interesting landscape architectural details. Lately I've been loving enclosed gardens, walls and fences - something I once eschewed as reigning me in, blocking me off from wide open spaces that I so craved, but now in my more golden years, I like enclosures, nesting nooks and boundaries.

Ms. Carr has an outside wall that I recognized from my own imagination as one I'd like built in a particular area. She had Jack and Scotty over at her house painting rain barrels - an adventure for my boys who ran excitedly all over her property. This endeavor was particularly healing for Scotty as Ms. Carr has retired and won't be at his school next year which will leave him a bit disoriented when school starts. There's also a new wing added onto the school which will also leave him dizzy. My children do not like change.

Yolie's moving in just three weeks to the most emotionally safe place she's ever known - here - in her dream house Chuck is building for her. A huge positive, she'll have five acres of land and her new house is gorgeous, but I double dawg guarantee I'll have to call Audrey - her best friend, a social worker, a supervisor now of foster care - to see her through. When Yolie married her wonderful husband and they bought a house, Audrey stood in surprise as Yolie fell apart. Standing in her room in the doublewide caterwauling, "I don't know what my place is anymore." Imagine how my less articulate children feel?

The fence man came last night and put me up a gate at the end of my driveway. I've had way too many nights when uninvited miscreants have driven up to my house past midnight and lured my teens out. Likely my teens had a hand in the planning but if they want to sneak out now, it's a long, winding walk through the woods to get to a waiting car. I cannot tell you how much safer I felt last night behind a locked gate.

It's about three nights too late though to have prevented whoever helped Fabian leave unnoticed. I've still heard nothing but an angry comment I didn't publish from a grown child of mine who called me 'high and mighty' and suggested that I was glad they were gone.

Not so. I'm glad when the hostility ceases, when those who resent me for not being a birth parent and have exuded anger, rage and fury for years, when that is not happening here, believe you me, I notice the peace. The negativity has worn me down, the resentment and the damage done to them that they want to share with me...after years and years of working so hard for nothing...it's kinda hard to continue to hold my head up. High and mighty? I wish. How about downtrodden?

And to the anonymous one who wrote that - girl, you know I still love you even when you don't love yourself. I still have very high hopes for you. God's gonna pull you through and I'm gonna brag about you.

So why do I do this? Why do I allow such mistreatment? Am I masochistic? Do I have poor self-esteem and think this is all I deserve? No kudos? No appreciation nor any acknowledgment?

Do I want to be a CNN hero?

No, I don't want to appear as a freak show. Look at ME! I don't think so.

A commenter yesterday, "I feel so lucky to have found your blog." No honey, I'm the fortunate one, to have understanding readers who commiserate with me, who comprehend our struggles as they seem universal amongst parents who parent children that seemingly don't want to be parented. I blog both to express myself and because I'm attempting to show the universality in our struggles. I'm writing your story as I'm so often told. Y'all are the positive responses to my sometimes negative life. This blog is written FOR adoptive parents and for those who also feel called to pray for us. I cannot adequately express how much that means to us as a family.

When I fail to respond to emails and comments, it's because I'm so ADHD distracted by the demands around here, but you'd be amazed to know how much I think about so many of y'all. A big prayer need today from my friend, Marcella in KY, for a kid (Robert) with an unknown ailment. Prayer is all that they, you and I need in order to get by - at least that's been my experience.

I've already driven Sabrina to Cheerleading Camp, looking at all we need to accomplish today, my writing time is limited to this.

Today's hero is my son-in-law, Preston, who is fixing the AC. Time to use it as it's been around 100 degrees with nearly 100% humidity, leaving me drenched in sweat constantly. All my kids are acting weird though, shivering and carrying on. Of course they would. Oppositional to the core.

Instead of rain barrels for us, I use the system pictured below, trying to capture any and all rainwater, but I'm very grateful for the nearly 3" that my redneck rain gauge (old buckets) showed this week, more than I've had all summer. I borrowed this photo from Lowes, I have brown ones that are long enough to drain to my gardenias.

Yeah But Y'all Are Together Here

Tabby demonstrates I'm not a food purist, allowing nauseatingly sweet treats at parties.

The Bible tells us, "In wisdom there is counsel," something I take to heart as the crisis level around here can be debilitating. I try and not over-react to disasters, but to think them through which is tough in the midst of a battle, particularly if I, or someone else, is at risk of imminent injury.

Just as I'd called Emily and Kim yesterday before deciding what to do about Fabian, I'd also spoken with both Yolie and Sarah for input and balance. I don't want Fabian locked up again, I'd also prefer no court ramifications of his dumb choice, yet the natural consequences of what he's done will affect him greatly. I still do not know where he is, I have an idea and I told the deputy, but so far there's nothing to report.

We had a very huge thunderstorm last night, it even rained water here for an hour, lifting my spirits considerably yet one kid remarked, "Hope Fabian's not out in the rain."

I reassured him that likely Fabian had found somewhere to be and I was thinking of how the foster care system accidentally teaches children that there always seems to be someone else to try out. "Here's a nice lady for you to stay with," they are told over and over, leaving a child to believe that the world is seemingly populated with nice ladies willing to take in children simply because they've had problems in a previous setting. I've listened to my ragers over the years scream at me, "Send me somewhere else!"

Like there IS somewhere else?

There's no thought from the child that the person, us, that is busting butt to provide a nice home and family for a traumatized child, might feel frustrated at said child's inability to understand any type of circumstance. Given severely oppositionally defiant children to raise, we the parents eventually ponder if up really is up, since down seems to be so nebulous, leaving me to constantly wonder if I'll eventually lose what's left of my mind.

The last several years have changed me hugely, aged me quickly, and worn me down greatly, leaving a feeble shell of the strong happy woman I used to be. I've had a superb summer in which I felt I was healing and with Fabian's improvements, as well as a better behaved Paloma lately, I've been so encouraged. Getting to garden more often and having less rages around here has helped tremendously so yesterday's setback, while shockingly unexpected, is a bit more bearable.

There's neither time nor space, nor my own willingness to detail much of life's frustrations, the stress that others dump on me, my own worry or hurt feelings seem to fade in importance. Pepe called last night, as friendly as a puppy while my elbow throbs from what he did to me, "Hi Mom! Do you know where I'm going? It's an income problem, right?"

That took me a minute to decipher but I realized he meant insurance, not income. My children come here with medicaid benefits and I add them to my Blue Cross policy optimistically knowing Medicaid ends at 19 yet my policy covers them through college. Oops, some of my children aren't college material and the Medicaid needs to be singularly primary in order to pay for some of the many resources we've needed, so I end up in a big tussle with Blue Cross which is why I've been calling them every single day lately to argue, faxing important papers and trying to explain to a square hole why this round peg doesn't fit. "May I speak to your supervisor," I'll ask politely and re-explain over and over.

My largest sibling group has been here for eight years now. As a whole they are negative, demanding, mean, lazy, violent and oppositional. A stranger could walk in here and pick them out of the crowd after observing a days' worth of behavior. They are also very attractive, loving, clingy and bonded to each other and to me which makes the aforementioned descriptors all the more complicated. None of them are college material. Maybe ten years from now maturity will set in and there might be an inner quest for knowledge but as a group, they've been supremely frustrated by school and unwilling to put forth any effort.

Another group, Pepe's family have been equally as difficult though with different characteristics. This is why I value other folk's professional opinions as well. Dr. Mandy can very concisely pinpoint what I sometimes miss in the heat of a struggle.

I've said this before but it bears repeating. I was always the only person who submitted a homestudy on the different sibling groups in our family. I've backed off from other groups that had a ton of studies feeling that God wanted me to find those children who more needed a family. That said, I also backed off from much tougher groups. I felt I was not equipped emotionally to deal with mental retardation, fire setters, pet abusers or those that acted out sexually, yet I've been buffaloed by the unexpected.

If I'd not adopted the children I've adopted, they would have remained split up in foster care. Period. I've accomplished at least one thing in that they got to grow up together. Yet I want more for them, I want them all to be as successful as is possible for each child according to their own abilities. I have to teach them to want it also, to understand that they deserve it.

Vanessa should, right now, be a high school graduate heading to culinary school. That had been her dream. Instead she is a high school drop-out, shacking up in a very dangerous, trashy trailer park, angry at the world. I do still have faith and confidence that someday she will be one of my success stories. I've had enough experience now to believe that this will be so.

I see thousands of other children in the Texas system alone who'll age out without a family and my heart breaks for them but it is what it is. I'm doing exactly what I feel God called me to do and I must remind myself of that over and over with my own broken heart and flagging spirit at times.

I'm fixing to go weed my garden and think, think, think....

A Bad Day Heading Further South

And the Braves just traded Mark Teixeira...

Happy Birthday Lauren Along With Everything Else Going On Today

I'd originally intended to start the morning with a Happy Birthday to Miss Lauren, Daniel's girlfriend, pictured here with her cake yesterday, a day earlier than the real b-day. Daniel had immediately called to check on us after reading my cryptic post earlier today, totally surprised at the turn of events.

I always call our original social worker, now my best friend, because nine times out of ten the initial shock of what's facing me leaves me speechless and unsure, my mind goes blank. She advised me to call Miss Kim at DJJ who told me to go to the sheriff's office and file a missing person's report. Emily'd voiced my original thought as well, "Can't any of the children stand to be successful?" She'd just been here, just seen how well Fabian was doing, gratified her ownself as she'd been the placing agent at his adoption eight years ago.

I'd crawled out of a very deep sleep, the sleep of the exhausted, sleep I feel I've earned when my cell phone started ringing but I was too groggy to get to it. The house phone then set to squalling and I picked it up to hear Joey bellowing, "Mom! Fabian's in trouble, I'm going out there to beat someone up."

"Boy what are you talking about?' I couldn't remember where on earth I'd left my brain.

I ran downstairs and found Fabians bed empty so I checked in Mayra and Sabrina's room only to find their beds unoccupied as well.

I couldn't get any air in my lungs, heart pounding I couldn't even think of asking Joey how in the world he was involved in all this. I must have been hollering because most of the other kids popped out of their rooms including, THANK GOD, Mayra and Sabrina who'd slept in Lily's room for some reason.

A flurry of phone calls, ten tons of stress, and a job loss/no show to Krogers. "I just want to live on my own," he told Miriam who tracked him down to a crappy part of the next county.

With no job? No abilities and school starting next week? Ohhhhhhhhhhh, I get it now. You don't want to attend school?

We've not been fighting, not arguing, if anything maybe I've been overpraising Fabian for the excellent eight months that he's been back home because he truly has been wonderful making this sudden exodus all the more inexplicable. His sibs JoJo and Allen were left stunned and fighting back tears at all this.

I went down and filed a report, the deputy shared his own theory which makes the most sense, he thinks Fabian has taken up with some people at Kroger that I might not have wanted him to befriend. So wow, lengthen his leash, let him out in the real world, and the temptations of thug life beckon? A sub-culture I've not wanted him to be involved with of course, there are two different Mexican gangs in the next county. The deputy told me he'd go check a couple of places for me.

"It's on him now,"Monica tried to console me, "He'll find out the hard way how good he had it at home."

Yeah, but if so, then I'll have a hardened street person wanting to live here with my younger impressionable kids?

Carolina is beyond surprised. Here we have her husband, Big Jose, willing to walk back from El Salvador just to live here again contrasted with spoiled American kids who have a swimming pool, huge house, plenty to eat, video games and computers but think that in a "free life" they can hang out with the folks Mama disapproves of and listen to music that demeans women and promotes criminal activity.

Nope.

"He threw it all away? His opportunities? This from Carolina, my daughter of much hardship, from a terrible background of deprivation, shaking her head in misery of this astonishingly poor choice.

What am I gonna do? I dunno. This ain't no advice column, I'm struggling just like all y'all...without a guide books and no easy answers. Just a lot of concern and love for children who can't reciprocate.

Oh my bad, I thought we were a family?

Pain

My friend Tina just called to talk me off the ledge. In response to my anguished question, "WHY do WE do this? Why do we pour ourselves into this 24-7 sacrificially only to have everyone blaming us for EVERYTHING?"

I feel like a battered, very abused mother. Y'all would be floored if I ever published the picture CPS took of me after Pepe attacked me. I should use it as my profile picture. I've absorbed my children's former pain so much that I twitch, cry, rail out to God and carry on constantly, shocked at the injustice, the rage and fury that is poured out upon me as I glide around providing for everyone.

Tina said, "If we saw a kid with a disease, we'd want to take their pain from them wouldn't we?"

Well, yeah.

"Cindy that's what we've done. We're taking their pain away."

Ouch.

Hello?

After such a good summer maybe I should have seen this coming.

I've learned that traumatized children too often sabotage their earned success - a deep, primal inner feeling that they don't deserve it. In their minds, "if I wasn't good enough for my birth mom then............" A loop that plays over and over in their minds even through some very intensive therapy, programs and resources plus years of being properly parented, years in which they slowly learn, and hopefully accept, the fact that it wasn't their fault at all.

A pre-dawn phone call shattered an illusion for me so we are working through the ramifications, yet don't have enough information to go on at the moment. No answers, no explanations, not even all the facts, maybe not the truth nor the whole story...

Fig City

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, my little cutting edge daughter called this one correctly, sounding the alarm quite some time back and getting on me about certain items like that low fat premium frozen yogurt I pigged out on for several years.

Sarah detailed her angst on this issue in a hilarious post back several months ago.

After any dinner replete with onions, garlic and jalapenos, I often crave something sweet to kind of cut the gunk, during growing season I can easily find a fresh fruit that'll do and in the winter a decent piece of bitter dark chocolate does the trick.

When I am very tired, usually every evening since I am terribly and oh-so dramatically overworked each and every day, what with providing for so many children, cooking and cleaning, dealing with tantrums, rages and outbursts while constantly attempting to grow more than I could ever eat, I'd really love to just sit in my non-existent easy chair and eat a couple dozen Krispy Kremes...but I don't do so, knowing I'd have to pay with my health, and that's kinda all I got left - my good health which enables me to keep up with my ownself each day.

Lately I have been cooking an enormous pan of popcorn on the stove in olive oil with sea salt. So delicious that there's soon a line at the stove for more, I'd recently read some horror stories about microwave popcorn, now feeling a need to phase it out of our lives. I have an uneasy feeling like my teeth have grown fur after eating microwaved popcorn, there's a funky aftertaste.

My first husband used to blow off stories like that with a vague, "Everything gives you cancer," resigning himself to the next news story to scare him off from something else yet again.

I take the opposite approach - danger, danger, let's change things then. Thank God for gardens and all they give us, coming back to Michael Pollan's siren song about Eat Plants, once again so glad I don't have that many bad habits to break as I truly consider my Krispy Kremes a sinful indulgence not a personal crack habit.

Looks like I can rationalize anything.

Miriam took the entire bucket of tomatoes and peppers I'd picked, wondering where the rest of the figs were. "I'll bring you a sack of figs to work when I take Fabian," still worrying over what my grown kids eat, begging Sarah, Yolie and Cristy to take home more basil as we are swamped with it while trying to coax my pepper plants to produce faster. Miriam eats jalapenos fresh. Jeepers, that's pretty strong stuff.

Sabrina accidentally on purpose dead-legged Jonathan for standing on her soccer ball. Jonathan dramatically fell to the floor and howled. That was our only drama for the day. Only outburst. The only one. He cried instead of raging and I rubbed his back to calm him, Sabrina apologized, and all was well. That was it folks. My amazement knows no bounds. No bashed in walls, no kicking doors...nothing.

Does one day like that make us a normal family? Could it be so?

And a big ole shout out to my baby Gina, now 31, and growing tomatoes and basil in patio pots at her house. Way to make your mama proud.

The Hot Light Was On

To further complicate our family, CW is pictured here with his birth mom, my daughter. He has lived with me every minute of his 12 years, in this house, very grounded, yet still affected by living with traumatized children. In his case it has been positive as he is very helpful and empathetic, emotionally close to Martin who has lived with me so long that he remembers nothing of his former life in south Texas. Born to a drunken, inhalant abusing woman who eventually left him and his three siblings in an abandoned house filled with garbage and rotting food. The children were taken into foster care with lice and scabies, diapers that hadn't been changed for days and hollow, empty eyes. 'Nuff said, I'm still helping them pick up the pieces of their souls.

In total contrast, CW is so solid and self-confident, two years younger than Martin, they've spent the last ten years side by side, talking, playing, riding bikes and being brothers - a by-product of this relationship has been Martin's emotional and physical healing.

CW is going through the know-it-all, rather rude spell that seventh graders think is cool, one that I'm constantly correcting him about, knowing and preferring he'll grow up smart and strong. He takes after his birth father's side of the family, he's very tall and lanky in a family of shorter, compact peers. Chuy, Allen, Tony and CW are all 12 years old, CW the baby of the bunch is also by far the tallest.

During this period of relative calm, this lull in the action, I can afford the luxury of contemplation, at other times I'm just too swamped with trying to keep everyone's head above water as the issues swirl around with suffocating intensity.

Daniel had CW, Chuy and Martin all day working over at his girlfriend's apartment and hanging out at his house, playing video games, eating Chinese take-out and painting the walls of the apartment.

Miriam made Fabian 45 minutes late for work, irking me royally as punctuality is something I stress around here, don't give me any flimsy excuses, I still need to deal with Fabian this morning about that. However his demeanor is so hugely improved that I don't dread the encounter as I once would have done, knowing it would then have inevitably spawned violence and death threats against me.

This upcoming week is the last full week in which to get everything done before school starts; my three upcoming sixth graders need shots, we need to cut everyone's hair, organize school supplies, and bemoan what we didn't get done such as paint the back bedrooms as we'd optimistically planned. Fabian and Javy's room is hot pink, we'd really meant to give it a red wash.

Oops.

But on the bright side, we haven't had the police here since Pepe attacked me four months ago, no one has run away nor hurt anyone else, and all in all the summer has been astonishingly peaceful. I'm going to have to see a specialist though regarding my elbow that has nerve damage, thank you Pepe, my right arm that I use constantly, even hoisting a coffee cup sends shooting pains and I'm not a sissy. A weird virus just coursed through our house, not affecting me as I so rarely get sick, but this elbow thing is painful even now as I type. It's a burning pain constantly in one spot. I've had two x-rays to rule out a broken bone.

Paloma's low dose of meds, Lexapro and Risperadol, do seem to be having a slight good effect on her, but I'm cautious in attributing success here as for years she's been so cyclical, long good periods suddenly marred by shocking outbursts of violence and hatred triggered by nothing at all.

Most American children, raised on Fig Newtons, have no concept of the pure deliciousness from fresh figs. There are no proper words that could capture their delicacy and burst of natural sugars that so satisfy. We are inundated at the moment, flooded with a bountiful burst of figs, a particular favorite of Paloma and Chuy who'll eat until they burst, knowing this is also infinitely good for them. Nando and Tabby, Mayra and Sabrina will pick and eat until dark.

I allowed the kids to turn on the pool lights and swim until nearly ten last night. Lifeguarding in the dark, listening to their happy outbursts, I had Carolina's kids with me as well and all my kids hollered with surprise as Yolie suddenly walked up there, "Mama the hot light was on," handing me four Krispy Kreme donuts allowing me to sloppily demonstrate I ain't no food purist, honey I will get down with some donuts, sinning big time against the food police, a force I've obviously joined.

Gonna go pray for redemption at church today, swear off these addictive things...until next time.

Dancing Queen

Seven of my children just crawled home from the church lock-in that included a day-glo midnight madness bowling trip. Exhausted and bleary-eyed, they resemble sleepless zombies and are teetering between sleeping open-mouthed and slack faced in front of the TV while also arguing irritably with each other. Ya know like why waste a bad mood?

Miriam is taking JoJo, Allen, Fabian and Mayra off with her today, her birth siblings that she's always truly cared about deeply. Daniel is taking Chuy, Martin and CW with him to go to his girlfriend's apartment to help paint, Monica has Tony and Lily, Carolina took Javy to help her at the flea market today, and Yolie is taking Memaw (Sabrina) leaving me nearly alone to work in the garden.

Who needs friends when you have a family this size?

Daniel had taken Javy and Fabian the other day to get all Lauren's stuff moved from Atlanta, she lives 15 minutes farther from me than Daniel does so he had the boys all day, later watching a movie and feeding them for me. They loved this attention from him.

Joe called yesterday in a truly rural way, "Mom are y'all alright?" he'd asked worriedly.

"Yeah, why?"

"I just saw police cars and fire trucks headed down the highway toward your house."

Fabian turned on the police scanner and discovered there was a false fire alarm at the high school near us so we called Joe back. PTSD is contagious, we've even infected Yolie's very well-grounded, unflappable solid husband.

Yolie informed him of my proposed beach trip this fall and Chuck's eyes grew wide as saucers, "She's coming back, isn't she?" needing reassurance that he won't be left to raise these rowdy children of mine. Today, getting wind that i wanted to go see the movie Mama Mia with Lauren, he asked Yolie, "What's wrong with your mama lately?"

Chill son, I'm OK, just stretching some very cramped muscles. Raise your hand if I just injected Dancing Queen in your head?

Gina, pictured here, let Sarah's husband, Preston, drive her Scion while Sarah researched so many cars carefully these past two weeks. Sarah is actually one of 42 children as her father has three more children also. She finally chose Honda's Element, a car that she has looked at for years, getting a deal on a 2005 yesterday. Oddly enough now, she and her three half siblings up in Virginia now all drive Elements. Hmm....

So I'm fairly free at the moment, an odd feeling, but I'm gonna haul wood chips, water the cantaloupes, and dig up the rest of the beets and carrots, garlic and potatoes, fix me a monster salad from the garden, and wear my Ipod so I can hear the 11,000 podcasts (Dave Ramsey, Joel Osteen and the Beveres) that I've not had time to do all summer.

I Don't

Besides never again cracking the phrase, "I do," with a straight face, I certainly never thought the words, "I'd like to order a Happy Meal," would come out of my clenched teeth.

"Please Mom," Carolina asked me in the emergency facility parking lot while Tommy wailed, "Go get him a Happy Meal." She was being sent to the hospital with Mauri for more tests and I was trying to help out with Tommy, so I grudgingly agreed.

"What kind of Happy Meal?" the voice in the drive-thru asked me.

There are kinds of Happy Meals? Are you kidding me? A Happy Meal consists of turds, chemicals and additives as far as I was concerned. All sorts of smart alec answers crowded my mouth, but I politely responded, "What do you mean?"

"Nuggets, hamburgers or cheeseburgers," he patiently questioned this inept customer of his, likely wondering if I was a Martian or something.

Nuggets? See I was right about the turd part.

I questioned Tommy who was way more patient with me, his ignorant Abuelita, and we finally got his order which then stunk up the van. How do people get past the stench?

By midnight we learned all was well with Mauri which was a huge relief as Tabby, CJ and Ray had immediately empathized and run high fevers. Jeepers, what inter-connectivity.

Grandma and I barrelled out the door very early this morning for an advertised yard sale that claimed to have hand tools but only displayed several pieces of junk, wasting my valuable blogging time certainly as well as the gas to get there.

VBS is now over but there's a lock-in at church tonight for elementary age kids with midnight bowling and movies. Blanca, Paloma, Jonathan, Nando and Scotty dearly want to attend while Jack remains conflicted at the thought of being gone all night without either Lily or I being there with him.

My figs are producing bountifully, there''s nothing as delectable as ripe figs straight off my over-sized bushes that resemble trees in spite of our zero rainfall, my plants are living proof of the benefits of mulch. Experts advise mulching with an inch or so, I go overboard with no ill effects. Experts advise turning one's compost piles weekly, I never get around to it. It takes mine longer to decompose but they still do so eventually.

Clean Air

Cristy's house closing has been pushed back a couple of days due to a title glitch, no biggie as it'll still happen, but it totally messed up her schedule which set her to caterwauling yesterday. I'd have snapped also with the best laid plans scenario capsizing, but Grandpa calmed her down with his real estate knowledge.

A bigger blow involves the idiocy of her birth brother, raging now against the family, society and any remnants of good judgement this close to one's 30s isn't a pretty sight. Preteen rebellion in a grown man, I could hear him hollering at her over her phone when she called me, "Get out or I'll call the police," he was threatening her.

"Go on Cristy, just go away from him," I'd advised her, barely nonplussed over the entire incident. I've been here before many heartbreaking times and I know that I know that I know that he'll come around at some point. Leave him alone right now though to confront his wicked demons. If he needs us, or wants us, he knows where we are.

Paula alluded to her own deep despair lately. I've been in her shoes also and know it is a devastating shocker and how excruciatingly painful, the physical damage that it does to a mama's heart. There are no words, this is not what we expected nor even barely prepared for its resoundingly horrific ramifications - so outside our own realm of comprehension. We've unknowingly opened a door, in the adoption of older children, into emotional squalor, physical violence, random destruction and unprecedented levels of anger, fury, confusion that shockingly suffocate us.

Paula and I talked the other day on the phone. We have to do so. Although we blog about our frustrations and we share our good times here as well, the truth is, some of it is so astoundingly bad and so deeply difficult to endure that only other moms, not necessarily of only large families, but those who've adopted older sibling groups from the system can really empathize. It is a lonely walk, a very uncharted territory that is not covered in child psychology parenting manuals.

We open some dark, fathomless doors and we unknowingly unleash horrors, dangers, shocks and stunningly difficult situations. I'll tell you right now, I am not exaggerating one dadgum bit, not a bit. If we shared everything, not many people would neither tolerate nor even like our children. Even in An Unlit Path, where this mom poured out her pain and grief, I know she withheld quite a bit. I've been in touch with her at times, I've talked on the phone to quite a few moms like me, and have been emailed by many of y'all.

Children like ours who have been denied any type of care, love, nurturing, stability, security, nor basic safety have been so deeply and irrevocably damaged that there are no apt descriptors resulting in their inner confusion, pure blind rage and nearly unhealable pain that must be worked through in order to ever make a complete sentence or a halfway decent decision in life. I remain stunned still, after all these years, at the abject seriousness of what criminal abuse and abysmal neglect has done to my children.

I told my own sons last night at the pool, "You just try and find another woman like me." The younger kids were still all at VBS and the boys and I were having a good time where they were questioning me about everything on earth including, "Why don't other mothers haunt Starbucks for the coffee grounds" or "Why do other mothers serve meat and sodas," and "Why do folks have big empty houses when they could also adopt kids?"

"Look guys, I don't really wanna brag, but you're yanking my chain," I eased on in. "Most folks don't choose to adopt. I chose all y'all. I chose this life. I want to be your mama. And I'll be danged if I'm gonna go twice round trip to take Fabian to a minimum wage job without me getting all hepped up on the thought of coffee grounds for my gardens."

They can eat meat when they're grown and get all fat, sluggish and unhealthy and then come back and complain to me about it. Duh, I've seen it over and over. Drink sodas? You'd be better off on LSD in my own overly opinionated verbiage.

They take me for granted, they expect me to tend to absolutely everything, and to make this stultifying life look easy. Because that's what I do.

Linda asked why I don't just have a birthday party knowing they'll all whack out anyway. I ought to be used to it by now. Good point however I truly don't give a rip about birthdays. I truly don't.

I am making a plan in my head, with Sarah's help, about taking a short two day trip to the coast by myself in September or October. I want to be alone, I want to stand in the ocean and to walk for miles and miles inhaling salty air to clean out the residual gunk in my soul that has been deposited by the stressfulness of the last several years that I've not even begun to talk about aloud.

I need me some clean air.

Tony had a colossal rage over nothing last night, he just snapped and was slamming my walls with his fists, banging on glass panes and looking for something, anything to break. I had to stop him from doing so and my thumb was pulled out of joint and I have a knot on my leg. Just another night, par for the course in which I stupidly tried to keep stuff safe and ended up injured yet again.

Put politely, he ain't all there. He ain't right. Yet it falls on me to teach him decent behavior when he may or may not have full capacity for ever doing so. He's helpful in public, sweet and cute, yet he's told me he couldn't help it at home when he felt a rage coming on.

Thank God for Dr. Mandy.

Bloody Foot

"Mom the pool looks like sh*t," I was informed by Daniel as he read the blog from Ft. Lewis. "Oops, sorry" when he caught himself. I cut him a little slack, I can't imagine the army guys don't cuss.

Chuy was stung. He totally looks up to Daniel and wants his approval so we got the water tested and Chuy worked hard until he got it looking way better than this picture.

Daniel and Lauren came by today on their way to Atlanta. As usual Daniel was attempting to fix destroyed stuff here and was getting ready to leave when JoJo ran into the kitchen spouting something incomprehensible about CW squirting blood and it was getting everywhere. My mind just stopped. What? Blood? CW? I ran down the hall, saw all the blood splattered everywhere, and hollered loudly for Yolie.

I am severly medically challenged, I just can't stand it, so easily grossed ,and always uncertain in first aid situations. Daniel beat Yolie down the hall, heck she had to toss her two children to Lauren first, and Daniel slung CW over his shoulders and got him to the kitchen, elevating the bloody foot.

I am useless. For so much blood though, he didn't need stitches, Daniel got him cleaned up,and patched good as new while I fluttered and wrung my hands together. Horseplaying, they'd broken a lightbulb in a lamp and CW'd stepped on it.

My purpose though in blogging this evening, besides trying to settle my very queasy stomach, was to point out that Sarah blogged.

However I'm distracted by the fact that I drug in 24 medium sized watermelons yesterday weighing in at 312 pounds. They have ALL BEEN EATEN. Every one of them. That's a watermelon apiece. I picked a bunch of beets, squash, cucumbers tomatoes, several types of peppers, blueberries and blackberries in spite of our drought, thank you wood chips for your water conserving abilities.

And Big Jose called me from El Salvador today, he's so sad about being away from his family, now realizing how American he's become, bless his heart, we so want him home.

I NEED RAIN

Four out of five of this two generational picture of kids are blood related. As Lily held Alana yesterday someone else remarked on the term 'blood relation' which totally confused JoJo who immediately whined, "well, me too!" absolutely misunderstanding the conversation or just becoming confused since I do tend to stress the 'we are family' theme constantly (while writing run-on sentences).

Whatever.

I again survived a stealth birthday, keeping the day quiet and not acknowledging it, knowing it only provokes acting out. My favorite brother in law managed to send me a card that he found that my sister had bought before she died more than a dozen years ago, bringing tear to my eyes but it was tears of happiness. Carolina can't stand me keeping quiet about my birthday (nor can Sarah or Yolie) but I've sooooooooooo learned it guarantees more peace.

Right before ten last night Carolina brought out a cake she'd somehow managed to bake while I was running errands, figuring it was bedtime after that...how much time was left for acting out? Dadgum, her plan worked. This maneuver shocked some kids into submission. "It's your birthday?" I was asked in surprise by several.

Yep, and I like it like this. I've been rounding my age up to 54 since last winter so Sarah thought I'd turned 55 already. I'm craving her creme de menthe brownies in fudge form so she's devising a new recipe that I can hog to myself. And I will.

VBS is still going on all week, my elementary kids are having a blast as they are captivated by Miss Lisa's games, activities, skits and lessons. Mayra and Sabrina are Helpers there which helps me as well, knowing if Tommy, Tabby or Ray get frantic, they are there to soothe. I mean heckfire, they are all of two miles away from here.

Just as Becky got no rain when I did, (I'm guessing you're back in Athens now?)last night Dee must have gotten between 2-4 inches while NOTHING fell here. I so look at the radar screen, anticipation bubbling within me, praying for rain like there's not tomorrow while Monica prays she won't have another snake in her double wide, last night hollering for the Bubbas, it was only a baby snake but if there's a baby, then where are the others?

Samara commented she'd already thought of me when she'd read that article yesterday about a paid gardener for busy folks...that sooooooooooo flatters me.

Oh My Goodness! Why didn't I think of this 30 years ago? I could have then done what I loved to do...

Neighbors

If I'd have known Monica was taking a picture I might have, at least, stood up straight. All three of us, Sarah, Hazel and I have that look - wary and suspicious of the confounded machine that could plunder our souls - put away that camera puh-leeze. In actuality we are looking up, not a direction we'd have faced 4'11" Monica with, us being giants at 5'6".

OK I caved, 100 degrees in the shade a man told me at the Recycling Center. I sweat like a pig, but it never bothers me. Heat is my friend even with my random accompanying hot flashes. I asked the kids, "Want the AC on?" and received a bunch of "I dunnos", "who cares?" and "it's not hot" responses, but by the time I went to cook dinner I ran around the house slamming windows, kicking out the surprised dogs and slamming doors that haven't stayed shut since January only to find out that it worked solely in the back of the house and nowhere else.

Jeepers.

We divided everyone up into three bedrooms last night, "Let's camp out inside," I tried to fool them all putting 9 guys in CW & Martin's huge bedroom.

Javy laughed, "This is the most Mexican thing I've ever done."

Fabian, quick with his wit snapped back, "Oh really? How bout the time you jumped over the border dude?" proud of his own birthplace on this side of the Rio Grande...barely in Brownsville.

My Bubbas all are getting deep voices now which I find extremely disconcerting and the chuckles that followed disintegrated into some ridiculous jokes. My bedroom is directly over theirs and the six kids with me listened to Javy and Fabian verbally spar until nearly midnight.

The wonderful news is the 30 minutes of rainfall we received. I hated having the windows shut and I kept opening one next to my bed so I could hear the blessed and rare sounds of water falling from the sky.

This whole jalapeno thing following on the footsteps over the tomato scare should likely prod more folks into planting small gardens? I know Adele did so and has lost some cucumbers to worms, I too lose stuff since I never, ever spray, preferring organic methods. I ate my own homegrown jalapenos last night, thinking I'd never so enjoy pastathis much without the burn that my beloved peppers provide.

I'm ecstatic over Yolie's house selling and the speedup on building her new house down near our mailbox. I'd have hated it if Sarah had not decided to live so close to me. Knowing us both and our inherent inability to jump in a car and go somewhere, this not being neighbors would have stunk for us. I'm getting to take Ray to VBS each night this week and it has been a blessing to me to hear his very excited chattering. A four year old out at night without parents results in very loud exuberance.

Last night as a huge storm blew up, winds whipping the trees, Ray did mention, "Maybe I shouldn't have left my mom?" It's a 2 mile trip home, down two different dirt roads, past some cows and a few houses, even so Ray was visibly relieved to see his mom Sarah waiting on the front porch with his Poppa.

Now that Monica is living in the double wide here with her family, she comes over probably a hundred times a day, "Just seeing what y'all are doing," she grins as she shuffles through, Alana on her hip, "I'm here if you need me," which I do quite often what with needing to go get tons and tons of groceries for my big eaters who are going through three gallons of milk each day.

VBS Week

Ray joined my elementary kids and three other grandchildren, Tommy, Blanca and Mauri, for 4 fun nights of Vacation Bible School being held in the red cave of a youth group room which last night resembled a TV Show with Miss Lisa staring as a mad scientist. The children were amsolutely enthralled and hanging on her every word as she gave a dry ice demonstration showing how the children should be overflowing with thanksgiving as well.

Ray was shocked to leave the church building and discover night had fallen, "It's dark outside!" he exclaimed in utter surprise with his own exclamation mark. He usually goes to bed before dusk prompting their house guest to mention to him that the sun really does go down at night. "You know that? Right Ray?"

Daniel finally got here looking bigger and older after his month at Fort Lewis. It is still so odd to me to watch my once extremely cute kindergartner grow so fast into a handsome man. It's jarring to me, maybe as much so as dark fall is to Ray.

Cristy was here eating her bucket of tomatoes rather than taking it home for salsa. Miriam had already taken a bucket to her apartment. My daughters have watched me for years gobble prodigious amounts of produce and not gain weight, following suit now in their adult years, maybe I did do something right.

Do you know how many tomatoes it'd take to equal the calories in a putrid Big Mac meal? Several very large buckets at least. It can't be done, one would be too full of tomatoes to continue.

Today is my 18th anniversary of being Cristy, Gina, Sergi and Monica's mama. My first sib group adopted from Texas, following after my daughters several years previously from Honduras, my caseworker's words, "These children are more ummm typical of a foster care adoption," choosing her words carefully after reading their case files and noting they were coming from a disruption which should have been my first clue that there would be rough waters ahead. Naive, goofy and hopeful, I blundered on in headfirst, figuring I knew how to swim...

One of my more reticent and very well-adjusted older children, once totally Spanish speaking, now having totally lost it in spite of my pushing to retain the language recently told me that it must represent some very repressed memories. "Speak English!" I was told emphatically as this one struggled to adjust to a Southern, rural lifestyle, eventually totally fitting in and becoming very popular and well-liked by all, never forgetting a Mexican heritage due to my "La raza!" efforts in maintaining the majority culture here.

I know on some level that having a white mama changes one's life, opens different doors and puts one in another mind frame, particularly in our case. My children mainly came from Texas, usually from a city, now ensconced down a dirt road in our biosphere as Sarah succinctly described my attempts at locavore living. Now that our surrounding locale is becoming very Hispanic after all these years, now that my children are older and hopefully somewhat emotionally healed, I sincerely hope that their negative past will not outweigh the beauty of who they are inside, both culturally and physically.

Two phone calls from Joey who broke a bone in his hand skateboarding. This morning I'll walk him through the orthopedic process remembering once again why I keep those bone docs on speed dial, thinking about Rachel's comment that we need a 'trusted family member to take a locksmith course.' Hmmm........that ain't all we need.

Against all odds, Daniel did run into another Army man out in the state of Washington, who went to the same high school here, but was in Monica's grade, one year before Daniel, further proof that there really is at least one Bodie there, no matter where one goes.

Dadgum Truck Keys

Because I can't trust several obvious sticky-fingered, deceitful suspects, I found it necessary to lock my pocketbook in my truck while I mowed. Now the better option would have been if one of my boys would have offered to mow for me, but CW is usually the only volunteer, Chuy was busy working on the pool, and it just isn't worth the resulting rage if I ask anyone to do anything. I often feel resigned to just chucking it all and letting them grow up like animals.

I'm fairly exhausted from pouring so much of my self into so many children, seemingly to no avail. Why bother?

Apparently my truck keys fell out of my pocket somewhere in the meadows, path, yards, trails and fenced in areas. I paced every square inch this morning for over an hour, slowly, kicking apart grass clods and could not find them. Naturally my van keys were also in my purse and we couldn't get to church.

I AGAIN called the locksmith/tow truck driver - five times in 7 days - who finally got my truck open so I could get the van keys and run to town to pick up a single bed for Miriam that I'd found for free on Craig's List, plus another person was wanting someone to pick up a dozen cinder blocks from their yards. Me! Me! Me! I silently virtually shouted, knowing I could put a front on a compost pile.

The rest of the story involves the huge level of dishonesty I deal with constantly. When it was just Sarah and I, or even when I only had my first dozen children, I could leave my pocketbook wide open with cash hanging out and it wouldn't be touched. Like The Simple Dollar guy, I had a launching pad, a key basket where I always put keys if I even bothered to take them out of the ignition. Now my laptop is cabled down and I sleep with my pocketbook that has three sets of keys in it. No wonder the word downtrodden reverberates in my pointed head all too often.

Preston came over early this morning, trying to break into my truck as did Dewayne and later Chuck. Now I gotta take the VIN number and go to the dealership on Monday. My dishonest culprits are angrily denying what I know to be true, yelling," You always blame us."

Well, duh.

On the better side of life, Jesse - one who I am super proud of - turns 26 today. Unfortunately he's way up in New York with his wife, it might as well be the moon to me.

Daniel, who again tried to bail out my butt from afar, setting me up with Verizon's roadside services that can't take effect for 24 hours, will finally be here any minute, stopping off first at Yolie's to see the babies and Chuck.

Wonderful news is that Yolie and Chuck's house has finally sold and within the next five weeks our dirt road will have more family members living on it. I can't wait.

Some of My Sons-In-Law

It just can't be easy being a son-in-law here, getting to know the other 38 siblings and me, add in the grandchildren and significant others and we're up to 70 or 80 family members.

Preston, Dewayne, Chuck and Chris are really great guys. We're blessed to have them in our lives.

Chris, Preston and Cristy shucked a ton of oysters in 95 degree heat, swigging bottled water and trying to keep the grandbabies and my kids away from the grills that were going.

We had such a wonderful low-key day. My Jonathan raged but not in front of Monica's in-laws - in our book that equals a great day.

Alana's First Birthday

Sisters now for 18 years, Monica and Sarah with Alana and Hazel.

Gina's friend, Liz, took quite a few photographs that she downloaded for me to use.

Cristy, Yolie, Gina and Monica with Monica's sister-in-law, Jen.

Sarah, Hazel and Preston


Monica's father-in-law. Big Cardia

Gina, Yolie and Cindy Mae

Monica, Dewayne and Alana



Big Mama and Hazel Bay

I Love My Truck

"Your mother-in-law doesn't really take that good care of her truck, does she?" Chuck was diplomatically asked by the mechanic he'd found for me. A shade tree mechanic charging me half of the estimate I'd originally been quoted.

Chuckling would be an understatement, I assume my son-in-law was trying to swallow his guffaws. His opinion of my car maintenance abilities rivals only my fashion styles, or the lack thereof.

"I'm moving out there where she lives next month. I'm going to see about taking care of her van, truck and bus," he reassured the guy who fixed my truck in record time and delivered it to me last night.

I immediately recognized this man, duh, I've known his mom forever and him too when he was a little boy. A bit slow with names I've become apparently.

It's looking very good for Yolie and Chuck's sale of their house, keeping them on their original schedule, an answer to our prayers.

Hitting yard sales this morning...Paloma spent about $10 for a complete back-to-school wardrobe, I bought Sarah ten hardback cookbooks for a dollar apiece and Lily got a double bed. Mayra got earrings and necklaces.

We've eaten almost all our blueberries and this really neat couple who lives at the end of the dirt road lets us pick off their 20 bushes. They'd even driven over here and delivered us a large bucket of blueberries, likely thinking it'd last us a week but I can eat that much my ownself.

And I did.

Edgar came and took Fabian to the movies last night, in the nearly eight months Fabian has been home, he's only left our house with a sibling which suits me as I'm so wary of the potential trouble his peers could get him into, or vice versa.

My brother, Jimbo, my baby brother who'll soon hit 50, has been here for a few days, going off with Sarah this morning and planning on staying for Alana's birthday party today in which Cristy will be cooking up a storm along with her husband Chris.

Miss Kim For President

My wonderful son-in-law, Preston, drove home from work in the middle of the day to use tools and get into my van, but to no avail. The newer models, and shockingly I have a 2004, are jimmy-proof even with proper break-in tools, so I ended up calling the tow truck-locksmith-jack of all trades in order to undo what my dear Jack had done by locking both sets of keys inside.

This guy however, third time he's been called out here in five days, told me, "oh yeah, Mike's a great guy, but your truck ain't coming back anytime soon."

Great.

Chuck may not be interested in running for President, so I'm now nominating Miss Kim who came through yet again on behalf of my Pepe who truly needs so much help. Naming a small town where he's going into a mental health placement I asked, "what's it near?"

"Alabama," was her reply, and she's the one who'll travel way northeast of here on Monday to pick him up only to then drive across the entire wide state for his new setting. He's considered too severe to be where he is, although his behavior is decent right now.

That means nothing to me. He can be well-behaved for long stretches but then he snaps and hurts someone. I have two x-rays bills to pay on my elbow from when he attacked me. My elbow no longer works correctly, I can't lift with that arm and the pain remains. I ain't no sissy either. It's hard to hurt me.

Miss Kim has accomplished what mental health, a judge, and countless other officials have been unable to do, which is to find help, to secure help, to find a therapeutic facility that will hopefully redirect his behaviors. If only it were that simple. Maybe it is, who knows? I pray for his emotional healing, but I'm not convinced it isn't deeper than that, more severe, the word 'bipolar' has been bandied about. Folks are reluctant to label a 13 year old, yet I feel if they are aboveboard with a diagnosis, we can get more help.

I also think that until one lives 24-7 with such bizarre dangerous behavior, one truly has no clue. The psychiatric hospital that had released him...what if they'd had to take him home and manage these disturbing behaviors, to protect their family members?

How do ya think that might have worked out for them?

Claudia's rant was right on target. Interestingly I'd awoke in the middle of the night, once again angry at the way I'd been treated due to the behaviors of my children. I've had fingers pointed at me, stupid suggestions for how to parent a mentally ill child, "Have you tried a sticker chart?"

Yeah, there's a plan. I'll do that right after I take everyone else in for medical care after the disturbed child has followed through on his family-attack plans.

Miss Kim gets it, our juvenile judge understands but I'm not totally convinced that mental health professionals truly comprehend the level of insanity that once normal parents are expected to cope with, to manage or to keep everyone safe from rampages that occur with no provocation.

If you are an adoptive parent you must go read what she wrote. My own caseworker once told me, "It isn't IF this will happen to you, but WHEN." It's so common, so heartbreakingly devastating to us, but it does happen constantly to once normal parents who only desired to help a child.

Lord knows, we're gonna pay for it.

Going Out, Walking Back Home

When Yolie's new house is completed, we'll just have to walk down this hill to visit her. CJ, 3, and Tommy who'll be 4 next month, were trotting ahead of Yolie who was carrying Mae, and Carolina, toting Estrella on her hip.

"This feels like middle school," Yolie offered, "walking down here to catch the bus, doesn't it?"

Carolina giggled...this was seven kids ago between the two of them.

When Jose ever gets back from El Salvador, he's planning on building a house up there as well. Their oldest child, Baby Yolie, is now 13 and she's the one that reminds us all how fast time flies.

I'm letting JoJo invite two friends over to swim today and my baby brother should be here soon from Florida for a few days.

Life is calm.

I did not go to Kohl's yesterday as the hours got away from us. I try not to blog what I plan to do, finding it all too often changes on a whim.

Miriam took two of her birth sibs, Mayra and Fabian, out to eat last night after church. "Why not us?" Allen hollered, referring to him and JoJo, the babies of that bunch. Like Miriam'd take those two out in public?

She'd run into a crowd of us at Kroger yesterday buying groceries, not a coincidence as she works several stores down from there, knowing she could pick through the groceries and get her some lunch. "Well I'm your kid too!" she'd pointed out in the grocery line where we had that really cute bag boy (Fabian) carefully packing up our vittles.

Oh man, it's already time to take Lily to Art Club...

ONE HOUR LATER - Unbelievable, I stopped at Sarah's to pick up the rest of the bags of clothing she'd sorted for me. I always leave my keys in the van. Duh, that's what country folk do.

Inexplicably after loading the bags, Jack locked the van up. Great, my pocketbook with both sets of keys was left in there. Yes, I leave my purse outside too, there's no money in it, no credit cards, just one squeezed out, nearly empty tube of lipstick now melting happily away in the blazing heat.

I walked home through the woods. Hmmmm, no truck, no van, and the bus is beached like a whale. My riding mower and my push mower are in the shop, swearing to return home tomorrow thankfully, but my nearly 80 year old dad is out mowing our meadow in the meantime. Guess I'll go rake some fantastically high grass clippings, nitrogen for the garden in purified organic form.

The wood chip man just dumped me a huge load of wood chips this morning, I'd gotten a ton more coffee grounds over the last several days, I can hear my gardens burping in satisfaction. Feed the soil, not the plants, and you'll have way more food than you can ever eat, I've found this to be truly so.

Our In-Laws

Ten bras later Yolie emerged triumphantly from her shopping expedition. A very grateful mom, me, scratched one more item off the back-to-school list. When one gets out of school mid-May, before the Georgia heat blanket smothers all Southerners, going back to school in early August is not an unbearable idea.

Because I am the token minority in a solidly Mexican family, blonde jokes fly with abandon around here. "What did the blonde name her pet zebra?"

Spot.

OK, y'all...I'm a bottle blonde.

A black-rooted, disgruntled mama who needs to face Kohl's today with five girls who truly do need new school shoes. I'll be the irritated mom, the one complaining about the canned air, aggravating tinny sounding music, and all the dyes and stanky, chemical smelling perfumes in the air. I hate store air and florescent lights with a passion and I'm fairly embarrassing as a shopping companion. Yeah, put those two words together and I'm the last person one'd think to invite.

Sarah's car broke down yesterday. Yep, her and me, car-less, as my truck's down in some man's barn in the southern end of the county. Thankfully so as my son-in-law, Chuck, made some phone calls and got me the best possible repair deal. My hero. Chuck for President? A younger Republican than McCain, African-American like Obama or more so even, Chuck has his finger on the pulse of this country...probably I'd be his detriment, an overly opinionated, politically incorrect mother-in-law with a big mouth and Hillbilly ideas.

Sarah's mother-in-law has come through with two tons of clothes for Tabby and Kortney to split up. Sarah has sorted everything by size for me, well aware of my impatience regarding wardrobe items and my glaring inability to match things correctly. I'm very grateful to both Edith and Sarah.

Speaking of in-laws, Yolie made Sarah's potato recipe for Chuck's parents resulting in a spectacular hit. I still haven't tried these, Sarah's now done so a dozen times as apparently they're more addicting than crack. "Crack kills!" I'm reminded time and time again as my Bubbas bathing suits slid down, pulled by gravity and the water weight when one climbs out of the pool, treating us to an undesirable view of butt cheek divides.

We've had a very silly summer, one I'm grateful to have been a part of, after years and years of stress. Fabian has taken on his alpha male role with glee and abandon, leading the way in utter goofiness, happy as a clam, a very far cry from the once violently angry thirteen year old that wanted to "F%*K this family up."

I can shake off Joey's issues as they do not directly impact me every single day, others who are rebelling are doing so in town, not in my armpit and my grandchildren are beautiful and amusing, visiting often, cheering up and entertaining my own children who still struggle with their insecurities. Hard to do when nieces and nephews look at you so adoringly.

Started this last night: I have a long counter full of tomatoes, plus Miriam just took a bucket of tomatoes, jalapenos, sweet banana peppers, oregano and one purple bell to her apartment.

Tomorrow I'll pick another ton of basil for Yolie and Sarah, and I'll dry more oregano for winter. I'm stuffed from my TEN POUND salad of chopped, raw yellow squash, purple bells, sweet bananas and tomatoes washed down with a bucketful of blueberries and three handfuls of blackberries.

Now this is living.

From this morning:

I met a lady at church, a teacher interested in foster care or adoption. Turns out Preston installed her heating and air, then she runs into his mother-in-law, me, sitting in church with a dozen or so kids who were acting halfway decently. I told her to read my blog, see if she's still interested in um...complicating her life. I kinda think, and hope, she won't be discouraged by my tales.

I'm telling it like it is.

I just heard from Joey's counselor, one at a detention center where he served time last year, that she's still reading my blog. Her words to me back then meant so much as she dealt with him there. They had guards with guns, bars on the cells, yet he was still disruptive and manipulative. I'd lived through his bipolar behaviors for so long that I was then beginning to doubt my own sanity.

He called me last night to tell me he'd lost his most recent job for not showing up to work. Duh honey, ya think? I stated in on my lecturing, but quickly caught myself, knowing I may as well bay at the moon.

"Don't worry Mom, I'll find another job."

With your work history? Felony record? No phone number? Explain to me the likelihood of all that?

Danial called late last night, he now has his Iphone back, he returns this Saturday from his Leadership Training out west. "Dern, its cold at night here," he'd returned from ten days in the field, "40 degree nights in summertime. Is it still in the hundreds there?"

I can't wait to have him back here. Jesse has finished his training also and is with his beautiful wife again. I know the military is a hard life, I know that guys. I can not begin though to express my pride in my sons.

We're seeing some pre-school meltdowns starting to flare up. Just three weeks left in an easy summer. We're still structured and getting things done but in a very relaxed atmosphere. I cook every night, but the snacking between meals has been huge and comforting. No sodas of course and here's why, but some pretty unlimited very fresh fruits and vegetables.

Here's a better article that I'd read yesterday. Mark my words, the day's gonna come when the American public will look back on this unabashed soda drinking with the same distaste we now have regarding smoking. And yes, in answer to the final question in this article, I DO drink my coffee black.

I cannot imagine how much more challenging my children would be if I let them guzzle caffeine laced, sugar drinks. Tabby is off the wall as it is, dreading moving from Pre-K to elementary school. Scotty, over-emotional on a good day, is fairly wacko at the moment, stressing internally and busting into tears if you look at him, nearly wringing his hands in anxiety.

These two, sibs of Nando and Memaw, are from my newest group, been here going on four years, yet I understand how long this adjustment takes, how every change - good or bad - sets their nerves on edge.

In July of 2004, talking with their caseworker on the phone, accepting this particular placement, choosing them over another group of five, and then immediately knowing in my heart that I was finished adding to our family, well for me it was a momentous event now worth noting.

I was certain in my heart, totally and absolutely 100% positive that I'd done what God wanted me to do. Set in cement, confirmed in my heart and soul, right answer and move on Cindy.

Yet for the last four years I'm often asked by others, "When are you adopting more children?"

"I'm done," I cheerily respond, so immensely positive of that final decision.

I'm usually met with disappointed looks, as if I've now quit on the human race or let down folks. Oh well, I do this for God, not for other's entertainment. I'm excited about helping this lady I met, should she go this route, and I'm in the midst of trying to help find families on two disruptions several states away. I'm thrilled to watch my grandchildren and enjoy their company, and I still have an enormous amount of work to do on my last 21 children still under age 18. Not that age 18 is any magic number...

Javy and Chuy went to the opthamologist yesterday, new glasses for both boys, and I've not even begun on the back-to-school supply list. Yolie's going to take my debit card and a couple of teen girls for new bra shopping, we've been ebaying new school shoes, and our clothing situation is in pretty good shape already. 22 short, fast-flying days left at home together before another school year flies into place.

There Goes My Oregano

Oregano takes a year, being a perennial, and each summer I cut it, strip the leaves from the stems, dry it at 200 degrees for a couple of hours, grind it finely, and put it in a jar to use all winter. This year Lily helped and we only got about half cut as something else demanded attention and our jar was half full...when I accidentally broke it. I nearly sobbed, it was totally my fault, I couldn't fuss at anyone for my own carelessness. Thank God, I still have some left outside to work on.

Y'all's comments after my last meltdown helped me and are appreciated so very much. Adele, I read that about Mother Theresa as well and it bothered me about her questioning her faith. I cannot imagine her life, her sacrifices and total giving over of self to others. Here I sit in my big house with electricity, computers and TVs, a pool, cars that usually work and all the material cwap I could ever want. My faith in God never, ever wavers, but my faith in my own ability to get traumatized children from Point A to Point B vacillates at times.

Lee, respite would not help me. I'd never come back if I ever got a taste of freedom. Just kidding, I do get breaks from my gardens. They soothe me immensely. Last night Allen was having a rage and I went outside to work while he hollered over nothing. He followed me and continued his screaming for another hour but I weeded, listened and he eventually calmed down.

Dee, The photograph the other day was of my parent's side of the house attached to mine. Above is a view of the side of their house also from mom's gardens.

Yondalla, I did find your words encouraging, very much so, and Mommy Nay's comment about a balm to her soul moved me deeply.

I do so want to be an encouragement to others who are parenting troubled children. I know how tough it can be, but I'm never going to try and fake anyone out. I do have down times, I do become exasperated, and I do doubt my abilities at times. Duh, I ain't superwoman. I am a singularly strong woman who's bounced back once again and will do so again and again. Thanks for letting me vent. I suppose I do so simply because I know that you all really do get it.

I read a book once where the mom had a complete physical breakdown and that bothered me greatly so I've worked hard as I can to keep my ownself as healthy as possible.

Lily's Summer Art Camp starts today, she's so excited, and I'm glad I can get her to it. She's attended the summer and winter versions for years now. My kids best not complain to me about an idle summer as I've bent over backwards getting them to all sorts of camps and functions.

Blowing Off Steam

I'm going to take an idea from my friend, Amy, another adoptive mom of a large family who's certainly been through the wringer herself and survived. She watches the bad behavior around her as if it was merely a movie and has nothing to do with her rather than stewing, as I have been doing lately, over how she's treated. I've lost that necessary detachment that ensures my survival.

My kids swam for 2 1/2 hours after supper last night and they were hilarious. I simply couldn't take my eyes off of them, which is a good thing as I'm the lifeguard, but I cracked up a hundred times laughing. I tried twice to answer calls from Sarah but the kids, as a group, immediately retreated into behavior that demanded correcting.

By nine everyone was dried off and, like a kid, I borrowed Grandma's car to go pick up Fabian from work and to buy another 8 gallons of milk plus my two of soy milk. We'd polished off four gallons in the previous 20 hours which is ridiculous as they slept through ten of those hours. 4 gallons in ten hours? A new record.

Tony was with me and was uncharacteristically embarrassed as a deputy there was talking with us. "That's a lot of milk," he'd pointed out to her as she'd noticed but not said anything. He hugged her good-bye nearly blushing with self-consciousness which was way too cute.

I got coffee grinds for Grandma's garden this time, a big ole sack and I'm in a better mood today.

I shook it off. Bad moods suck. Plugged up my ipod which is something I generally do when they are at school but yesterday my brain needed some soothing. Listening to an old version of 'Will the Circle Be Unbroken," with Johnny Cash and Roy Acuff and 'An Uncloudy Day' by Willie Nelson and Toby Keith...balanced with the Lee University Singers CD that moves me.

Only 13 kids at home for various reasons who still ate 7 pounds of whole wheat pasta, exclaiming as a group, "Lord Have mercy! YOWZA these are good jalapenos," wincing from the good pain, fresh from the garden, burning and helping me to focus again.

My van came home late last night with some tired teens, I'm waiting to hear about my truck repairs, and we're headed off to church this morning.

Kristen from South Texas sent me a tough article to read about a mom of 14 children who murdered one of them. She'd sent it several days ago and it truly reminds me why I do this, why I work so hard for some pretty ungrateful, clueless children who really do have a birthright to have a decent childhood and...duh, that's my job, to provide one for them after so many years of them going without.

What a Nut

Kind of hard to stay in a bad mood while living with goofy terrorists.

Where My Brain Goes...

Somewhere I read, possibly by C.S. Lewis, that if Christians find there is no Heaven, then they've, by default, chosen the most miserable world. Like why did they make selfless choices that would mean nothing in the end?

I'm struggling with that concept now, sometimes feeling as if I've lived a pointless existence. All that I've poured of myself sacrificially into children who don't have the ability to care. Why did I chose an impossible life? One in which I'm so resented by those I provide for?

I really need to hear from God soon.

"Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, of infinite importance. The only thing it cannot be is moderately important."
C. S. Lewis

After my wonderful starting point this week, the remainder has disintegrated into a thousand shards.

I loaned my van to the church so they could take MY teenagers to Forward '08. "Please take it," I'd stressed knowing it'd cost over $600 for them to rent one for an extended period of time. "I have my truck."

The truck broke down this morning as I went to yard sales. Dead on the side of the road, a man with a cigarette dangling precariously from his teeth pushed it out of danger for me. It was soon towed to a garage I trust.

Grandma ran an errand for me in which the folks she dealt with forgot to send what we needed. Thanks for the colossal waste of time and gas y'all.

Kroger pharmacy claims Medicaid won't pay for Risperdol, which is not true, but I get real tired of battling for everything I need.

I'm terribly ashamed of the behaviors of some of my grown kids.

I'm deeply hurt by some others that I raised better than they're acting.

I just want to be a recluse. The stringy haired woman who never goes to town, but I'd just sabotaged that by getting a really cute hair cut.

I had a one woman pity party out back last night, sitting despondently by myself at a stone table, sobbing into my blueberries that I'd gathered in my shirt, looking like a fool.

I need to shake this off, get a grip and come to terms with the fact that just because I love them, 'it doesn't mean squat to a tree'. paraphrased to take out the original cuss word. (Eskimo Blue Day - Volunteers - Jefferson Airplane)

My addled brain is listlessly bopping between psychedelic lyrics in 1969 and the words of C.S. Lewis, who passed away in 1963. I think I need to drag out my old copy of Mere Christianity and re-read it.

Now that I've suitably bummed any readers out, Sarah's post is more cheerful and entertaining.

I'm sorry to be so ill tempered this morning. It is simply so infinitely wearing down on a human being...this drip, drip, drip of issues and challenges, eventually I snap as I've really done lately. One daughter in particular, jabbing at me from afar, I just can't take it anymore so I've withdrawn into my figurative turtle shell, slamming shut my emotions - make the world go away.

Psycho Day Down South

You know you're having an idiotic day when you keep checking Claudia's trials and travails for a little relief from one's own chaos. Sorry Claudia, but I know you understand. Yep, it's official, blogs help.

I'm watching her handle Salinda from a couple thousand miles south of there while my Scotty absolutely nutted up - the worst I've ever seen in him. He tackled Chuy and sent him flying, so Fabian had to reluctantly step in and restrain him from breaking windows as he was slinging free weights and yelling he hated me.

All this because he is so over-tired from wonderful emotional week at church camp

Yes y'all, I do get very angry, very fed up with such destructively unnecessary behavior and if I employed corporate punishment - which I don't - he'd have been in big trouble. I simply attempt to emotionally withdraw from the battle, remaining calm on the outside, fed up and furious on the inside.

Are there really people who don't live like this??? I very vaguely remember my once peaceful life. It is but a distant memory and I'm hanging on to the wispy thought that maybe, someday I'll have calmness again and no one will live in my house while hating me for providing for them.

Eventually Scotty calmed down, now Tabby is sitting in timeout raging - a common reaction to a good therapy session. When stuffed down feelings are explored, it is not unusual to later result in a screaming fit over nothing. She threw her shoe at me since I wouldn't engage, just wouldn't get involved in a name-calling, yelling hissy fit over nothing. She'd slung a glass of water at Tony because he looked at her.

This is what we deal with...swiping a page from Sarah's writing style - This. Is. What. We. Deal. With.

It can be very demoralizing as a parent when we truly do pour ourselves into such troubled children only to see insane, out-of-control rages in return.

Blueberries and Testing Plans

Blueberries, a superfood, have been so heavily linked lately to good health, a must have item, and I'm just glad that I love, love, LOVE them. I have a dozen bushes which won't even fill me up, but across the way and through the woods, another family grows too many and lets us come pick. Last night at dark, I just stood in front of these, eating and smiling, alternating with our absolutely fantastic haul of blackberries this year.

I watch the rain radar obsessively, coming inside to refresh the computer screen, watching rain drench Atlanta and dissipate by the time it hits our county, over and over all summer, repetitiously denying me. My nerves literally crawl in anticipation of impending drizzle.

I need to leave here in a few minutes and go to camp to pick up Paloma, Jonathan and Scotty, Dr. Mandy coming by 10, and then the rest of the day fairly free, again with a slight chance of rain to tease me once again.

Like Claudia, I read the jail report each morning. Lately however it has been wonderfully free of my kids. It boggles my brain to think of how many hours, days, weeks, months and years that I have spent trying to teach my children about positive/negative consequences of behaviors and choices, money management and paying one's bills, values and morals only to have them chuck it all and get arrested.

Maybe eventually it does sink in. Cristy's new house is proof positive and she's worked hard to be in a position to do this. Several of my children will likely never have the wherewithal for such higher order thinking, but I sincerely hope that, at the very least, they can attain to working some kind of job and being responsible

My favorite caseworker on earth, and best friend, and I were talking about the youngest kids in my different sibling groups. Logically speaking they should, as a whole, be the easiest to raise as they've been in a loving, nurturing, stable home the longest and were thus spared many moves throughout foster care, the resulting separations from siblings, but several times it has been way the opposite. "Maybe they were literally pickled in utero," she suggested, telling me about some recent studies, as the cumulative effects of their birth parent's heavy drinking hit them harder?

I buy that theory, I really do. It makes sense and I've so often been pleasantly surprised at the older children I've adopted. Yes they've always unfortunately been forced to grow up too soon, but I've found them to be sweet and relieved to then be shut of parental duties, grateful to have a mom, and reluctant to grow up after being so deprived of their early childhood years.

I remain supremely staggered at the profound damage done to children by the folks who brought them into this world. I look at my 12 year old tiny, developmentally delayed Tony who struggles with his intellect, wanting to understand, deeply desiring to comprehend what was done to him. He realizes there are huge developmental gaps and I suppose that must bode well for him, that he is so conscientious about wanting to be better. I've SST'd him (Student Support Team) and next year, his first year in middle school, I plan to access every single service available for him as well.

Dr. Mandy provides testing, along with counseling, and I'm a fan of that as it gives me ammo, provides information that we need and helps us all better understand how to find the help that they need.

A Little Brown Dress At DQ

Even in a severe drought our weed population explodes. I've been too busy to work in any of my gardens until right before dark last night and I was left agog, wondering how weeds so flourish. I'm losing the Brussels Sprouts to insects, they're chewing the tar out of these leaves, but the tomatoes and peppers are flourishing with a foot of wood chips for mulch.

But I woke up today thinking about this very cool lady - how I so wish I could also do so with a t-shirt and some soft, non-binding pants. "I made one small, personal attempt to confront consumerism by refusing to change my dress for 365 days.

In this performance, I challenged myself to reject the economic system that pushes over-consumption, and the bill of goods that has been sold, especially to women, about what makes a person good, attractive and interesting. Clothes are a big part of this image, and the expectation in time, effort, and financial investment is immense." My mind flits from idea to idea, so taken am I with subversive yet wonderful plans

Three trips in three days, three counties away to camp and back - leaving Grandma, Grandpa, Sarah, Carolina, Cristy, Monica and Yolie babysitting in over lapping shifts the remaining children, three of which leave today for Forward '08.

The bone doc walked in the room yesterday and teasingly told my uber literal-minded rager, "You have a Dairy Queen deficiency," in reference to her bone break. Yeah, this to a nutritious minded mama who serves milk at every meal and encourages water drinking, never allowing sugar-laden, bone-dissolving sodas in her house. Maybe you can kid a normal kid, but not my illogical children. I immediately bristled knowing Paloma would later use this opportunity to scream ridiculous stuff at me

I was nearly rude in my quick attempt to shush this much older doctor who obviously didn't read nutritional studies. I'd read, decades ago, that medical doctors maybe, possibly only took one quick course on nutrition in their entire grueling study load. To have such a professional even jokily suggest such a moronic idea to Paloma irked me to no end "Yeah right, she needs stabilizers, emulsifiers, food dyes, artificial flavors, sugar and chemicals to heal," I agreed, trying to shut him up.

Jeepers buddy, why doncha just supply her with more stuff to get stuck on? She was already angry at me that she'd fallen at camp and had to lose 24 hours of her camp time. Like it was my fault? 40 miles away from her?

Ha, ha buddy, not funny Save your wit for children with better developed comprehension skills.

Mayra was with us, looking at me sideways, wondering if this meant a trip to the drive-thru.....yeah girls, when donkeys fly.

I've been trying for several years now to get milk at Publix due to their Greenwise Organic line and fairly reasonable prices, but lately with Fabian working at Kroger I'm making changes, trying to ensure that I'm pouring nutritious fare into my children who were once so chemically and/or alcoholically damaged in utero.

Yolie was telling me about this book yesterday that she'd ordered, Gina's grown a garden in pots, and Cristy closes on her new house next week and will certainly garden My years of food preaching taking hold in their lives. Sarah's an extreme version - right on target but uphill plowing into the face of convention.

Honey, it's so simple: food is fuel, let's go for the high octane versions - organic, whole foods grown as close to home as is possible, as the picture Jack took of Tony below demonstrates (as well as our group inability to use the camera properly Travis).