Mama Temple's been in her jammies for days and I know the joy of that apparel. This picture caught me on the 7th straight day of no make-up. I extended my streak for two more days before I went to town yesterday and feared I'd scare people if I didn't spruce up a bit.

We needed groceries. I bought a dozen loaves of bread and they were gone, all but two, by bedtime.

Yolie, Sarah and I went through a couple of seed catalogs. "Lemme be the one to start the seedlings. I overplant and I'll give y'all plants when they're ready," I promised as we chose orange, green and purple bell peppers before moving on to the hot pepper choices. I'd remembered finally that it was the Aconcagua peppers that Carolina had roasted and stuffed for us, extremely prolific, something to replant, we'd picked them all green, next year I'll hold off and let them turn red. I used to keep better planting notes, now I'm lucky if I can remember anything at all.

I hadn't seen CJ, Mae, Hazel, Yolie, Sarah nor Ray in several days so we had a great day yesterday with 64 degree temps that'll drop now into the 50s for the rest of the week. January usually sucks.

No rages, no meltdowns, no nothing yesterday. Can we start normal early?

Intrigued by the doctors quoted by Suzanne Somers, I'd ordered a used (of course) copy of her 400 page Breakthrough book on longevity and health, diving in last night, immediately captivated by the interviews and responses from alternative medicine doctors. I read late into the night, coming downstairs randomly to check on everyone, finding them exactly where they should be, doing precisely as I'd requested, sleeping like rocks, snoring and exhaling while my hundreds of house plants work overtime to clean the pollutants from our air.

Money Blogs

The Unclutter has some super advice for personal finance, needed now more than ever as our econmy falters.

Or how 'bout The Power of Less.

Early Sunday Morning Of Last Week in the Fog

I've rarely written an entry, in the years I've been blogging, that predicts much of a day. Generally I review previous events, while on my early morning coffee buzz, right after my quiet time with God.

Pat M, I DO have happy feet. I've been barefooting it since Friday, flips flops for the one restaurant outing. My feet are delirious.

My Seeds of Change catalog did indeed arrive, and I burrowed into it last night after first advising Cristy to order from them. I'd gone by her house to pick up Lily's Yorkie Tia. Lord Have Mercy, Cristy and Chris have made their newly purchased house look like a showplace. Cristy was not one of my kids who'd torn up my home, difficult and challenging to raise certainly, but never destructive, she's an artist and it shows in her flair for life.

Gina had texted me that her indoor forced tulip bulb had bloomed and she was so happy. Honey, I know the feeling, find joy in nurturing and creating, gardening being the most rewarding form of therapy that I've ever encountered.

Tia was overjoyed to see us, four days without rambunctious children, but Cristy had treated her like a Queen. The other two Yorkies, Pudding and Princess, had been cared for by Carolina.

Outside of a few daughters and Daniel, we'd told no one about our trip as we'd only had 24 hours to pull it together. Daniel is now in Orlando for the game. Note to self: In less than 10 years I'll be packing my bag for Orlando and the Braves Spring Training Camp.

I am rejuvenated. I know I face many more gut-wrenching challenges, but my lungs and my head are clear again. My calf muscles screamed at me this morning when I got out of bed because I'd taken the stairs at the condo most of the time. Well this just shows that I'm either getting old or definitely need more exercise besides aerobic child raising.

I do want to start taking better care of myself once again. I wanna live to enjoy the retirement from crazyland that might happen someday.

From Lisa, "Maybe posting some "normal" rules on the wall would give them a heads up."

We, the kids and I, talked about that idea. I've always written out my own personal goals, knowing they're more achievable when written and viewed constantly. That's how I'd paid down mortgages for the home additions over the years, nerdy spreadsheets that kept my eyes on the prize. The same with budgeting to the penny and kilowatt usage graphs. Call me a dork, I don't care, it allowed me to retire early.

I'd also reminded the kids that all the money we never waste on sodas or recreational shopping, freed me up from financial despair, and allowed us to keep our heads above water. I bought groceries for the condos, but we'd have had to buy them at home anyway. My parents are the same way and they raised four children who've always lived beneath their means - always a goal.

Nando nutted up a little bit, puking five time before we hit the Ga/SC state line, anxiety high as he's never vacationed, and to a former foster child packing one's bags only signals yet another move.

Tabby handled the trip extremely well, as did my very high-anxiety Scotty. Pepe was obstinate, anti-social, and difficult and even when I pointed out that a kid fresh from a lock-up ought to acknowledge, at least, that life on the outside is preferable, he replied with his very flat affect, "I really don't care," and I believe him.

Good luck with that son.

An anonymous commenter, "...and as you have pointed out many times, sure consequences don't always work with these kids, but throwing all that out the window and just stopping to hug them all time (the summary of the parenting message in the book) well, the rest of the world will consequence these kids when they grow up (jail, homelessness, etc...)"

I totally agree. Yet that still leaves me, and many of y'all, with now what do we do? And I have no answers. I have the benefit of hindsight in raising so many children and I've seen so many sucky choices that have resulted in awful consequences. An 'I told you so' that I swallow back. Then they seem not to even learn from that either.

Maybe this really isn't about me at all. Maybe I'm just to parent. Parent, the verb, being my sole purpose given to me by God, and let the chips fall where they may. I'll do my part with every fiber in my being, but I cannot control later choices made by those who've ignored my values, principles and advice.

They have to live with themselves, not me, for the rest of their lives.

Y'all remind me of that later when I'm despairing.

Y'all I Could Live Like This

The view from my window, 21 stories up, as the fog lifted and I skipped along the beach reveling in 79 degree weather - a fluke for this time of year because the average should be around 60 in South Carolina. My parents took us out to eat at a Chinese Buffet for $220 in a vain attempt to fill up my boys who can out eat truckers. Paloma had a rage going there and back that extended into the evening - as that's what kids do when they are overwhelmed by generosity.

She'd have raged in respite, she'd have raged if we'd stayed home, she's just bound and determined to rage, and to hurt others in the process. Pepe has egged her on and acted just as difficult. His older brother, Javy, his birth brother, took me aside, "Mom, I think we should send him back."

As if I had any options?

Because one's mouth heals quickly, you almost can't see where I was slugged four days ago. If we'd been at home yesterday I wouldn't have gone to church as it still looked bad. Like any other domestic violence victim, I choose to hide.

I've talked to Yolie and Sarah everyday from here, wishing they were with me rather than those who rage against me. Yolie told me my Burpee Catalog has arrived in the mail, my next year seed order has long been filled out in my head, I'm now waiting on the much slower Seeds of Change which is my much preferred choice.

I will never go this long without the beach again. I've been exaggeratedly inhaling and exhaling, trying to make sure that all my lung oxygen is replaced with salt air and cleaned out. Being such a Type A nerd, so determined to prove so much to myself, I walked up the 21 flights of 16 steps per flight, just to show myself I could. I walked, not ran, as my lungs quickly advised me to slow it down.

As we walked for miles on the beach, I'd told Mayra, "I outta have a t-shirt that says 'I'm NOT with these dorks' as they were gallumphing all around me, screaming, pushing and tackling each other. Before I could hardly finish my sentence, I got clotheslined by someone's fishing wire, that I should have seen, but was too busy apparently illustrating my own dorkiness.

This is Nando's first trip to the ocean and he's having a ball as is Tabby.
I took them to see the Pawley's Island house we used to rent before I adopted them, promising to take them also someday.

Yesterday, when it was literally hot on the beach, Grandma and Grandpa went back to their condo and fixed sandwiches for everyone to eat on the beach. Grandma had cooked the last of the 11 turkeys we'd had, this past month, been given to us, and I gotta gratefully tell Chris A and Susan S: My kids were so in hog heaven gobbling turkey sandwiches on the beach. Everything tastes better with sand in it. I ate my hot pepper cheese sandwich, watching the kids, all of us happy at one time - Y'all I could live like this.

And someday I will.

Honey, This IS Heaven - Written Two Days Ago

Thank you Lord for parents who see what's needed and who make a way to make it happen.

Nearly destroyed, possibly close to an emotional breakdown from being pushed beyond all human limits, I can take the work, the physical aspect of parenting 39 children, and I could even parent 100 children if they didn't feel the need to constantly physically and emotionally attack as they set out to mindlessly destroy that which has been good to them.

I'd sadly gotten to the point where I could hardly stop crying, my weight was falling, and although I knew I could carry on, I began to understand the allure of death. Being such a fundamentalist has its strength, as I'd never consider suicide because of its ramifications, but after the past few years, the thought of never being able to draw in any oxygen, to subsist on little sleep, and to be bombarded with hatred was absolutely crushing me. Seeing Sarah and her family mistreated, as an extension of me, seemed to be the final straw.

I am woman, hear me roar...but I've been so physically and emotionally battered for so long that I was dangerously close to a breaking point.

"I have three available condos, we'll help drive and cook, supervise and maintain, but we're very worried about you," Mom informed me, while we both watched poison ivy spread on our arms from the fence clearing and wood dirt gathering activities.

Always taught that the beach cures anything and everything, desperately needing doses of salt air, I caved. "Let's go."

We sat down the last 17 children who live with us and explained it was a one-bag, four day trip and that they were not to broadcast it anywhere as we, sadly, are kin to people who would come and steal what isn't nailed down. Like I have anything worth driving way out in the country to steal. Oh yeah, it ain't about what I have.

Despondent, bitter, and churning with fathomless resentment, I knew I needed a proactive approach, I have to get better again. I was deeply afraid that I'd already died and that this was Hell.

Mom now has my five daughters on the 18th floor in a two bedroom, sky blue condo, Dad has the four youngest boys on the 19th floor in a Sun Suite, and I have the Eight Tough Boys on the 21st floor with me in a very spacious condo with two different balconies that I probably won't jump off of.

We've left all the windows and doors open. You can hear the roar of the ocean this high up, we look down on birds that fly, and out over the lights of Myrtle Beach.

There's not too many folks here; the air is warm, the ocean is cold, but that hasn't stopped my brave children who have dashed out against the waves, squealing with unbridled delight while I watch from the shore, breathing in and out like a once-dying, crippled seagull, soaking in pure oxygen, lining my lungs with salt air, a HUGE smile on my face finally, barefeet and happy. No, I am truly giddy.

I walked six miles yesterday in the sand with 17 kids bopping around me, in and out of the water, pushing each other, laughing and not raging at all. Grandpa walked three miles, Grandma cooked a huge dinner, and we all ate in her condo.

There are five hot tubs here and I bought myself a bathing suit, since I've worn the same raggedy one for over a decade. I haven't yet been alone in the hot tub as I have shadows who trail me everywhere, sure I'm gonna slip out and go dancing, but that's my upcoming plan. The hot tub, not going out, that is.

I slept nine hours last night with the ocean roaring through my dreams and in my ears... If I have already died, Honey this is Heaven. We are over the clouds, no kidding, out on the deck, where I sit, I look down on the clouds and cannot see the earth at all.

Thank you Lord for my parents who've taught both me and my children about love, concern, empathy and deeply caring about others. Oh, duh, that's where I got my own caretaking abilities.

Continuing to Sigh

Sometimes there are no words....

I'll go on a long walk and blog later...

A Sigh Can Be So Eloquent

If I'd have adopted 38 girls like Miriam, I would have not ended up with much of an adoption story, no way y'all would have been relating to my blog, nor could I have empathized with others in the trenches. I'd have just thought it must be parenting deficits...like most people must think of me now.

Miriam has not been without her own challenges, she's just not been crazy, violent, irrational, destructive, nor vicious, and in my world, that's a massive compliment. Thank you darling. She's beautiful and she dearly loves her six younger siblings...they've never doubted that. She successfully made it through high school.

She's been far from perfect, like me, but she's self-supporting with a great UPS job, she has a nice apartment, and she pays her bills. That's all I ever wanted for my children.

Her baby brother here, JoJo, is as immature as a baby elephant, as gawky, annoying and relentless as an ape hanging from the trees trying to swipe all my bananas, but he is lovable, at least to me, between his own preposterous and incoherent rages and meltdowns. Again, I take relief in the fact that my nutting-up children are not RAD, they do have the ability to attach but in our case, attachment means relinquishment of emotional control, and they aberrantly grip their tenuous controls with wide-eyes and disjointed, foolish thoughts that constantly prevent them from demonstrating normal behavior.

"Three more days til Normal," I've been crowing. "I ain't kidding y'all," I've hissed through my swollen, busted bottom lip with a blossoming dark bruise, "we're fixing to name it, claim it and frame it. I'm about sick of all this CRAP (with two syllables)."

17 pairs of blank eyeballs stare uncomprehendingly back at me at the moment.

Deep sigh.........

66 Months

Even in the winter there's a magical quality to a dirt road, this one being the driveway that connects to another dirt road that leads to Yolie's house, farther on and around to Sarah's home.

I'm breaking a sweat trying to do my best to look at the beauty and to not concentrate on the negative that is so often dumped out upon me.

I'd told some of my kids yesterday, after a particularly benevolent way in which I've feel I've treated them, "Yeah, y'all's control issues won't let you acknowledge generosity. Easier for you to dwell on your resentment at the world."

It dawned on me then that I too have been sucked in to that mindset and I hear the slurping sound of my bones trying to extricate themselves from such nonsense.

66 long dangerous months with no ocean time? Look at it this way, 66 more months and I'll have plenty of me time, as most will then be grown and gone.

My lip is bruised on the inside, and the out, and everytime I notice it I boil with simmering indignation. He didn't mean to hit me, but he also didn't mean to put that knot on my leg, nor stomp my foot and blacken my toenail over the last month - it just comes with managing his behavior. This kid, failing his classes, is an attached child, albeit an angry and violent one.

When all this happened on Christmas Day, some kids ran to get Grandpa, Tony either called Yolie or she'd just called and he answered, but within seconds an upset and angry Chuck, in his pjs, was in the door and had several rebellious teenage boys on the back deck getting a talking to.

Deputies who later came for another incident advised me to react in ways that would be detrimental to parenting traumatized children which again I tried to explain while they looked at me no doubt thinking 'well your way ain't working, look at your lip, you're looking kinda rough.'

Sadly I'm coming to the conclusion that little works at all with such troubled kids. Maybe I should just concentrate on keeping everyone safe and not fretting about the ones who are so determined to live a life of crime. Everyone here has had equal opportunities to attend school, to be blessed, to have opportunities, but a small percentage seem absolutely hellbent on destruction.

I have less than 66 months with him, within three years Job Corps or Youth Challenge will be the only way to get him through school.

In the meantime, should I put a countdown chart on my bathroom mirror so that I don't get so upset when I look at myself?

Nah, I'll just turn my head to the right and look out the window at my Big Back Garden and smile, thinking so little time, so many plants...

Our Peculiar Blue Light Special

Yesterday was so crappy I don't even want to talk about it. I ended up with a busted lip, trying to restrain one brother from hurting another, and we concluded the evening with two deputies on an unrelated to my lip event.

I'm fed up, exhausted, and aggravated. Soooooooo irked that adoptive parents cannot access help for such troubled children. If any ONE of these kids were my only kid, I'd be just as frustrated as I am now with so many of them.

Some were awesome and helpful yesterday.

My posts may be short and cryptic as we bumble through the holidays, I'm still so determined to have a normal 2009, while I am totally disturbed by some of my older children who face severe consequences for their impulsiveness and inabilities to connect the dots.

After all was said and done last night, two squad cars in my driveway entertained the children, who were behaving, with a blue light demonstration, and promised to increase patrols, "I'm on duty until 7 in the morning Cindy, call me if you need me," he offered, having been here before, having dealt with the astonishing lack of moral fiber in my troubled children, knowing what I'm up against.

Getting Past Holidays

"So much about modern farming and gardening seemed to consist of a furious battle waged against Nature which, in my heart of hearts, I felt could only end in tears as Nature never allows us to have anything for nothing. For this reason I felt an irresistible desire to work in harmony with Nature and thereby to accept the inevitable limits to 'perfection' that such a desire would impose."

Why, on Christmas Day, would I find the words of Prince Charles to be so inspiring? Am I that oppositional? Did I catch it from my darlings?

In children with Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD), there is an ongoing pattern of uncooperative, defiant, and hostile behavior toward authority figures that seriously interferes with the youngster's day to day functioning. Symptoms of ODD may include:

frequent temper tantrums
excessive arguing with adults
active defiance and refusal to comply with adult requests and rules
deliberate attempts to annoy or upset people
blaming others for his or her mistakes or misbehavior
often being touchy or easily annoyed by others
frequent anger and resentment
mean and hateful talking when upset
seeking revenge

The symptoms are usually seen in multiple settings, but may be more noticeable at home or at school. Duh.

Nando, who is fairly normal, had a full-blown crying, door-slamming, snot-slinging fit early yesterday morning over nothing, not wanting to participate in any part of a holiday event. This is a normal reaction in the adoption of older children. Kids who've come to me so emotionally destroyed by their past memories of any holidays when folks got drunk and beat the tar out of everyone, that the mere thought of a celebration brings on fears and furies.

Thank God I do not drink, that there is zero alcohol in my house, none on my property ever. I hate alcohol like a prohibitionist, nothing good ever came from it. That's my own prim opinion and I'm welcome to it, not searching for affirmation nor agreement from anyone. My stance on this issue has greatly helped to calm frazzled nerves and injured psyches, knowing I'll never imbibe reassures my uber traumatized children.

It took three of us to get Nando up and dressed for our family Wal-Mart adventure yesterday, he finally brightened up and had a ball. Grandma cooked most of the feast last night - my sweet friend Chris had given us NINE turkeys - and a new assistant principal at the middle school surprised us by showing up with two more the other morning.

She certainly surprised JoJo, in whom she's taken a proprietary interest, making certain he's getting tutoring and extra help, working with my middle school boy's attitudes and disciplinary infractions. "Dude, how does she know where we live?' JoJo asked in wonderment, shocked to see her drive up in our driveway.

She probably just followed the noise...must be Cindy's house up ahead.

My son-in-law, Chris, brought me a case of Perrier. My favorite luxury is fizzy water, and Cristy'd made Papas a la Huancaina. Sarah used the Pioneer Woman's sweet potato recipe and these to-die-for bars while Hazel entertained the snot out of us.

Gina and Daniel, two of my older no-drama children, joined us and we had a quiet, happy night. Carolina's family's in Atlanta, Yolie's family with her in-laws, same with Monica, and I'd rented movies to allow the older children some downtime, running into a lady who hadn't seen me since, "CW was a chunky monkey hanging on your hip," she reminded me as a tall, handsome bashful CW beamed at her, standing next to me now wondering how my raggedy, unimpressive frame would've once held fat babies while running at top speed constantly.

So now, done with our toned down, quiet Christmas that helped us avoid the dreaded Holiday Hell, I read with glee this love story to a lady's cast iron skillet Oh honey, I get it.

Follow this line of relationships - my son-in-law Preston's sister Georgeanne had her niece and nephew, Ray and Hazel, over at her house making a garden stepping stone for my garden with their hand and footprints. Oh my goodness I'm beaming with delight.

A gully-washing downpour lulled me to sleep last night with thoughts of coffee grinds being washed deep into my compost pile. My default setting is one that involves constant thoughts of horticulture and soil structure. Call me weird, but this is how I think and dream, it's what makes me happy and fulfilled here within a sometimes way too challenging life with children who look at me through their wide, frightened eyes, silently calling out "Mama make me well," while they furiously tear up everything, test me beyond what is humanly possible to stand up under, and fill nearly every moment with anger and self-hatred.

But as time passes..........

Christmas Angels and Tamales

JoJo asked me, "Why do Mexicans want tamales for Christmas?" as I was then stuffing my face with a plate of tamales, wrapped in corn husks, that Carolina'd spent ALL DAY yesterday cooking from scratch. That's all I want for Christmas. Hog heaven at its best.

"Why JoJo?' I dumbly walked into his trap.

"So they'll have something to unwrap on Christmas!" he chortled and ran down the hall laughing at me for being such a sucker.

We have anonymous, extraordinarily generous Christmas Angels from New York City who sent us Wal-Mart gift cards. I loaded up 20 folks, Grandma driving her car with Grandpa and three kids, and me in the van with the rest, in order to take everyone Christmas shopping this morning at Wal-Mart.

I have NEVER, in 35 years of parenting, taken that many kids to the store, filling up five buggies as the kids sensibly chose clothes and then splurged on some fun stuff, plus we needed groceries as we've not left our property for several days.

Mayra brought her camera and took pictures, so odd was this event for us as a family, telling folks we ought to have a reality show.

I don't think so.

I'd had a HUGE crying fit yesterday, angry at everyone for their acting out. I sobbed until my eyes swole like cantaloupes, scaring Carolina who called Yolie to come check on me.

I got a grip eventually, reiterated our family NORMAL goals and then had to put out a real fire on a stove burner that smoked up the house. Cristy must have smelled the tamales from her house, 20 miles away, dropping everything and running over here to eat.

We're finishing up our Christmas celebrations with a calm day ahead tomorrow...at least that's our plans.

Serving Time It Seems

One reason I could conceivably be so happy here is because I think I live on a very beautiful piece of property. I have woods, creeks, meadows, fertile soil, gorgeous trees, privacy, seclusion and a general sense of peace and well-being not often found out in the bustling, rat race world.

That said, I also have had a series of kids who want me to be as inwardly miserable as they outwardly seem to be, and they make it their mission to spread discontent, negativity and malfeasance.

Pepe blew again last night, angry at his birth sister over nothing, he spent an hour provoking her, then he hit her, knowing I'd have to correct his behavior, giving him the ridiculous justification for then cussing me out and posturing against me as if this is a Youth Correctional Facility where apes decide who is the strongest.

I was very, very angry, but I walked away from him after making all the kids leave the family room. We have A Plan. If he blows up and attacks someone, the fastest runner, likely Mayra, will grab the gate keys and fly down the road to let the deputies in, who couldn't get here in time anyway, and the "experts" think he is OK to live within a family.

My blood pressure boils. It is patently unfair to expect this of anyone. I get sick to my stomach at the thought of four more years until he is 18. Physically sick, so I went upstairs to my bathroom and cried in frustration for a quick three minutes, got a grip, and came back downstairs with cuss words screaming in my brain where they remained unspoken.

Just as I spoke out some positive words yesterday, just as I dared to begin to believe that I could have some of the stress lessened, maybe we could start to act normal as a group, my hopes were sharply dashed by the insane requirements expected of adoptive parents. You adopted him, deal with it.

This is why I don't speak nor write about several people anymore. I don't have to deal with it when they are grown, and I absolutely refuse to allow, or to enable, grown folks to mistreat me anymore in any way, shape or form. I forgive them but I also then don't want to have anything to do with them. I've earned that right: my freedom to avoid abuse, criminal activities, hatred, anger, theft, rages and craziness.

I'm DONE. I served my time.

Have a nice life, I'll pray blessings over you.

Pulling Out

"From flagship department stores to main street shops, consumers found packed parking lots, massive markdowns and extended hours -- in some places, around-the-clock shopping -- as merchants hope to salvage one of the worst shopping seasons in decades, brought on by the recession and growing economic uncertainty."

Dismal news isn't it?

And for one brief moment, my mind fell for it as I wondered what we needed, what great deal could I seal?

Whoa wait a minute girlfriend. You're being seduced. You don't even need anything...yet things are in your mind, or at least the concept of things, and that was a greedy thought that you immediately had.

Dave Ramsey's superb book opened my eyes to the lure, the bait of greediness, and how credit is marketed deviously as a thing; a must have. Heck, people major in marketing.

I'm ever so thankful to be unmaterialistic, I thought, and that consolatiion alone has helped pull me from my doldrums. Many of y'all emailed me and voiced your alarm over the past several months as to my defeated state of mind, as I rolled around in my poor-ole-me despair, forgetting that in a mere five more years, my life will be one of leisure. Full-time gardening is leisure to me.

I reached deep inside and felt around for my gratitude attitude and I exercised it. While my circumstances haven't changed, and yesterday I momentarily felt crushing defeat over the amount of window screens that we now don't have, thank you rages, but I know this is part and parcel in the adoption of older children, and I'll continue to roll with the punches and plod forward while putting out the emotional fires that flare up constantly around here.

Brother.

Allen and JoJo are arguing and the sun isn't full up in the very cold winter sky right now. 19 degrees in Atlanta, two days ago we woke up to a balmy 62 degrees, now it's frigid but it'll warm up again this week enough for me to get back outside and smile at the crap I'm hauling to the compost heap as I trim back tons of landscape plants.

The other aspect has been my quiet time reminder, nearly a mantra, from the Bible about 'whatever you do for the least of these, you are doing unto Him.'

So this year we will have a quiet, toned down, minimal Christmas. After 21 seasons of traumatic older child adoption, I've finally learned not to overwhelm my children with beneficence, rather make it a family time of food and fellowship. They get excited enough over that, listing the dishes that they want prepared for them, and this year I'm allowing them all a huge say and a bigger participation in the gifts.

Hopefully I can blog later that it worked well for us.

Winchester In My Brain

In danger of becoming an automaton as I trudge through interminable chores, Lord knows I need something that makes me think, makes me use my brain, and I can't get A Very Small Farm outta my head. This man threshes his own homegrown wheat, he is so sustainable that he went 7 months at one time without hitting a grocery store. My hero.

He remarked that his lifestyle, that of being a small farmer, requires a massive amount of work, but that it doesn't feel like work. So many people call their yardwork leisure, as I do, so this author posits his whole life might be considered one of leisure, and I hollered out a big, "Amen" complete with exclamation marks.

As members of society we can choose to shop in stores, mindlessly unaware of where our food comes from as the answer seems to be 'boxes' or we can grow our own, work our bodies hard so that we then have no need of a gym membership. Play video games or go outside and weed? My choice is obviously to weed...and it is a choice. I've never played a video game in my life - not even Nintendo - the hand-eye coordination baffles me and the pointlessness eludes me. I'd really rather dig in the dirt, weedbucket by my side as I can then cart the weeds to the compost pile, scampering around with a grin on my face, deeply in love with my projects, happy and satisfied with where my life has brought me as I know it is all a result of a thousand choices and decisions I've made in the last 54 years. I can blame no one.

At 7:04 this morning - The Winter Solstice - time to order garden seeds for next year, within a month I can plant spinach and other greens, quickly followed by seed potatoes, others might refer to this as drudgery, as if a hillbilly yoyo like me has no clue as to how cheap the pesticide drenched taters are at Kroger, but I'm oh so excited - so spurred on by William Paul Winchester's thoughts and observations as he worked hard on his 20 acres in Oklahoma.

He claimed, as he built his own house by hand, that truly sustainable folks can figure out how to do anything. That too impresses me and makes me want this for myself. I did just put up a fence, I can learn other repair stuff too, right? I could grow up and be a carpenter if I so desire. Don't think I won't.

Always a big fan of edible landscaping techniques in small suburban yards, the challenge engrosses me even though I'm blessed with acreage - Cristy's new house has an acre, fenced in with abundant sunshine, she's been establishing a compost pile, an easy feat when your mama always kept one, it's a byproduct of her childhood with me, while Gina grew herbs, peppers and tomatoes last summer in buckets. My point is my children grew up with homegrown produce, as did I, and will likely never be satisfied with the crap in a grocery store that is highly polished, blemish-free, yet shockingly tasteless and laden with the stench of strange and very dangerous chemicals.

Don't tell me it can't be done...I've gardened organically for 36 years. I've lost some produce to bugs, but it's been less than .1%. Healthy plants, like healthy bodies, fight off disease.

Once a calculated bimbo, now a fascinating and gorgeous health radical, I listened to Suzanne Sommers last night on Larry King Live, very impressed with her theories that she's culled from doctors, scientists and nutritionists. I wanted to holler out my open bedroom window to my mama's shut window, "Turn on the TV," as my own mother shares my feelings on nutrition, indeed at nearly 80, she spent the weekend hauling wood dirt by the ton, dragging it from the woods to the garden beds with Nando happily chattering to her, preparing for her late winter planting schedule. My mother inspires me, as I hope I also inspire my children to be productive, not to aspire simply to be an inane consumer of garbage.

Winchester loves his kitchen life - loves cooking, eating, canning and all the work required to produce one's own food. I'm less happy inside the kitchen and I'm going to work on improving my attitude while stuck indoors, I'll try and convince myself that it is just an extension of my garden work. I'll re-read A Very Small Farm and soak up his thoughts, bask in his ideas that appeared when I so needed the emotional boost, here on the cusp of my least favorite time of year.

Gardens are enchanted places, there's no doubt about it, and my grandchildren are quickly learning that fresh berries and being allowed to dig in the dirt - the secret to a happy life? I certainly believe it to be true.

Cooperation of Sorts

"...This is why people who come to the country seldom leave home. In a nation where every year one-fifth of the population changes its address and twice a day everyone goes somewhere, this seems inconceivable. But it is not inconceivable if you live on a small farm, and it's not to be regretted."

The first time Sarah went away to a summer church camp, I was between marriages, dating someone that I'd been with for ten years, and I needed a break from the human race. "Don't come over," I'd told him, "I just really want to be alone a bit."

I stayed in my garden the entire week, never leaving the small three acres I then owned, eating what I wanted when I felt like it. We didn't have a TV, I read, I weeded and planted, I listened to what we then called a stereo with a turntable, and I loved it. Loved it. I loved being alone and I loved staying home. I missed Sarah of course, heck we only live about three acres apart now, all these years later, and still no part of me ever cares about going to town. I just don't go.

This author nailed it, explained my own thoughts so articulately

I don't get bored, I've never been bored, too much interests me. So much to grow, so little time...

The boys asked me today, "How would you do this if we weren't here to help?" We were clearing out a new play area for my grandbabies up by our immense sandbox that also needs refurbishing.

"Y'all," I drawled, "I'd do what I always do, I'd do it myself." Duh, what'd they think I did all those other years? And I'd do it faster and better, without all the arguing, dawdling, horseplay and goofing off.

Then I'd go over to Sarah's house, which means hardly leaving home for these dark chocolate chip shortbread cookies she blogged about today.

Run Ons

While on the phone to a guidance counselor yesterday, regarding our plans to continue Pepe's education, his baby birth brother, now 10, ran into the living room with a small grey, black and brown snake in his hand, trying to pinch its gaping mouth shut, immediately drowned out by my hollering, "Git that dang thang outta here!"

Teachers play a huge role in my children's minds. One kid recommending we save it for Ms Carr's husband, while Jack wanted me to drive it over to his teacher's house, as she keeps several snakes in their third grade classroom.

"Are y'all nuts?" Today's understatement: I don't like snakes, "Go sling that monster out in the woods."

Afraid he'd drop it and it'd slither away only to grow into some huge specimen, knowing we already have a phantom, but very real, resident black snake, seen only twice in 16 years, both times in the kitchen where it ought to be earning its keep by consuming the field mice that innocently wander into a house of traumatized children, a frazzled mom, 3 Yorkies, a 3 footed terrier, barn cats that sneak in, and assorted spiders who conceivably could eat aphids on my houseplants, but they're too healthy to be bug infested as I use well water and fish emulsion.

Queen of run-on sentences, knowing at least two former English teachers consistently read my blog, Devin and Millie, but glad they both know me in real life...where misconstrued sentences are the least of my worries, what with indoor snakes, raging children and other creative misadventures that await me each day.

Devin's Christmas card has my children fascinated. Number one that she birthed six children...check her out..."Which one's the mom?" my boys have asked.

And me? Lord I love tractors...and emotionally healthy families.

A Very Small Farm

Drinking my coffee, thoroughly enjoying this little book that says so much, I'm finding myself nodding my head and smiling at his words.

His thoughts mirror my own and he says it so much better what with his degree in Botany.

Let's Try

Our gorgeously warm temperatures will plummet nearly 20 degrees by tomorrow, more likely I'll plunge into a funk, sorta, as I'm truly energized by good weather. While sweeping the garage yesterday morning, walking out of the kitchen since JoJo wanted to throw a fit by kicking at the island, I was quickly summoned back inside by angry shouts.

Pepe had annoyed JoJo, who angrily retaliated, which threw Pepe's switch, and Javy quickly pulled them both apart.

JoJo was left with a few scratch marks on his face, and since this was about the third infraction, I thought it best to give DJJ a call. The supervisor asked us to come in later that afternoon and he gave Pepe a talking to. A good one at that.

After their altercation, JoJo howled in my lap for 30 minutes, screaming because "Edgar moved out and I miss him." OK son, that was like a year ago, but I understand your rejection and abandonment issues. That's what I was thinking, but what I said was more along the lines of folks grow up and move out eventually. Heck, Edgar was 21 before he moved out.

All these valid emotions from my kids need to be expressed, filtered and processed, so I sat with JoJo until he was calm. Pepe knew I was irked with him so he followed me outside like a puppy, waiting to see if he'd get a fussing, but what he got was a speech about not touching anyone for any reason as he violates their personal space which results in lashing out from others. His ability to endure redirection has been greatly enhanced over previous years.

I'd been suggesting to the entire family that our New Year's Resolution should be something along the lines of 'let's try and resemble a normal family,' but that was met with totally blank stares.

I stayed outside working until I was calm my ownself.

Paula's Family Needs

Please read Linda Up North's post about Paula...please continuing praying, praying and praying.

When I garden, my hands are always dirty, and there's a white sheetrock mud bucket nearby as I fill it with weeds, haul it to the compost pile, and continue forward. I don't think about it, I just do it, and I truly love, love, love it. I literally believe that a hot pepper cheese sandwich, eaten outside with my dirty hands, tastes better. Call me weird, it's a personal philosophy that does not extend to my children nor my kitchen.

Pepe had gone inside to eat while I continued outside doing ten things at once. That's what I do.

Yolie'd come over with her camera and had taken darling shots of her kids, but look which two photos I used. Pepe got to use the saw; a half-grown man with a tool, while Big Mama went at it bare-handed, dirty and happy.

He gave out, I kept going and still had to go inside later and cook dinner for a tough crowd.

The fence is done though, I used every inch of the 200' I'd purchased for less than $300 including posts. The Fence Man had quoted a $2400 price tag for the job, I'd balked, and finally have done a Mickey Mouse job of it, but I'm happy.

The kids are officially out of school now for two weeks, several crying meltdowns last night for no discernible reason. Reasons? We don't need no stinking reasons - must be our group mantra, but I can live with that. Me with a thousand projects and plans in my head, the first of which this morning includes clean bedrooms and a roaring washing machine. Warm weather through the weekend will send me shooting outside at sunup

By My Side

Not that I don't have enough to tend to constantly, but the winter solstice never passes me by without me reminding myself that each day will start to be about a minute longer, until my very favorite crescendo in June when the longest amount of daylight will occur. December 21st at 7:04 a.m. will find me grinning with delight at the thought of springtime.

I find Christmas to be tedious, I abhor the commercialism, and when the kids are grown I'll participate only minimally. I'll be greatly relieved of the stress that accompanies this event that is packaged and brought to us by the savvy advertisers of the world.

But for now it is surprisingly calm for us with the holidays looming. My children will pig out at school today, come home stoked to the gills, and raring for the two weeks they'll spend here at home. A particularly great aspect about my family is that, as a whole, all 39 of them, they have not constantly dogged me about 'take me here' or 'take me there.'

Maybe it's due to the numbers, to the fact that each day is a party, so to speak, but they've all been good, over the years, about remaining home and enjoying it. I know on some level that home represents security and stability - two aspects of childhood that they were all denied for so long - and as such, that's what we have in a copious commodity.

Our gorgeous weather this week, not even that much of a rarity as I can remember many warm spells at Christmastime that eventually degenerate into shockingly cold bursts of winter, well this tropical air has filled my oxygen deprived lungs and blissfully given me such a sense of well-being.

Pepe, who can't start school until the start of the new semester in January, has been glued to my side. I've been magnetically drawn outside by the perfect temperatures, so Pepe has followed me, working alongside the fence line for hours, always tiring before I do, as have all my kids over the years, but he's chatted and mumbled, worked and sat watching me, and has inarticulately tried to explain his violent actions as best as a troubled 14 year old can be expected to do.

My hands are cut to shreds from the rambling roses I planted that haven't been pruned back in 10 years, mimosa tress that pop up like weeds and need to come down, alongside of too much honeysuckle around the pool. If I don't get this done now, the demands of next year's garden will preclude the neglected but necessary chores, and having this much to do only energizes me.

I should finish painting the garage while it's warm but my gardens beckon oh so loudly. First today I'm headed to Jack's third grade class to watch his presentation of a powerpoint project with Pepe as my apparent bodyguard. It's not lost on me that he is who I've needed protection from at times.

And check this out:
"A University of Georgia education may be the best investment in the country, according to SmartMoney magazine."

Praying For Paula

We need strong unspecified prayers for Paula and her family today...

What's Not To Like?

Great weather this week but we all know, here in Georgia, it could then be in the 30s all next week for our highs, leaving me to wonder how any plants survive our extreme temps. But for now, waking up to 64 degrees with birds singing, makes me immediately and deeply long for springtime. A perpetual springtime would be Heaven. Maybe that's what Heaven actually is...

A good thing about living secluded, like we do, is I'm able to use an old set of bed springs as part of my Yorkie Yard enclosure, and no fine design, offended neighbor complains about me again trashing up the neighborhood.

Yesterday Pepe and I worked for a couple of hours clearing out an area, hacking away at Wisteria I'd inadvisedly planted in the wrong place 15 years ago. I worked until my fingers were bleeding from being snagged on wayward thorns from other rampant vines, later doing the dishes and feeling the hot water luxuriously burn my hands - such a great feeling actually - as I could close my eyes and pretend I'd worked outside all day in the gardens, shutting out the grey and dismal views of winter for just a minute.

"Bita!" CJ had hollered in surprise, "Where's your garden?" when he followed me out to The Big Back Garden and found it dessicated by frost; sad plants leaning on each other and finding no support.

Bita is pronounced Beet- tah, as the babies can't correctly pronounce Abuelita. Tommy hollers, "BaLita," at me while the older ones speak better of course.

Allen is rude, disrespectful and disruptive in school; a transparent cover and reflexive action regarding his cruddy grades. Genetically very much like Fabian, he is academically challenged in a huge way. IQ scores are slightly below average and his inner laziness takes over, is manifested in zero motivation. His teacher are fed up and rightly so. I happen to love him very much, so I can put up with him, but teachers can't teach a class full of great kids with one mis-wired recalcitrant holding them all back.

Therefore Allen is enrolled today in Big Mama Boot Camp, our local take on Out Of School Suspension. A kid can't get OSS for many infractions without a parent raising Cain about their child's rights. Contrarily I look at other student's rights to a decent education without negative disruptions, so I often offer BMBC as an alternative to the school having to tend to kids who won't learn. I'm fairly certain that Big Mama Boot Camp will soon need to be Big Mama Homeschooling for him.

Oh boy.

I have a 504 meeting today at the middle school, about Tony, who needs a great deal of services, and I can't/won't leave Allen and Pepe home alone, so they'll either have to attend the meeting with me, or go help Grandpa who is in the midst of flipping a house in town and could use some grunt work out of my boys. I'd rather do my own chores alone and have a few minutes of peace. Grandpa doesn't mind their inane chatter. Hearing loss can be an advantage around here.

I have one more area to clear out, and to fence in, which will serve two purposes. It'll keep the Yorkies from wandering off into the woods that surround us, and when my grandchildren go out back, they also know their boundaries. I do not allow them to be unattended of course, nor would their parents, but I also want a large, safe non-bully area. Paloma, or others, can't go out there without permission or supervision. Hey, we have a ton of other acres for them to go to.

My middle and high schoolers have a church Christmas Party tonight where fortunately there's a $5 limit on the gift exchange. For most folks...big whoop. For me, I blurted out during dinner, "Y'all that's $60. Do you know how much milk I can get for $60?"

The room was quiet, brains clicking and ticking, and finally CW asked, "Well how much is each gallon?"

"That's my point y'all," turning on my heel, I left them all hanging, the discussion then sidelined itself into an argument about last year's youth group party.

Helping Sarah yesterday by distracting Ray and Hazel while their mama Christmas shopped for them, I found $3 gifts for the party, later thrilling Mayra and Sabrina who were slightly financially afraid they'd have to miss this year's party.

Hazel, always entertained by a goofy Grandma, threw herself backwards when she realized I was getting in my truck to leave without her later. Y'all there's nothing like a grandbaby's crazy love for a Bita. Mae Mae's learned to now call me by name, and I don't care who you are, when you hear, "Bita!" being excitedly hollered at you, you just melt .

The entire Fantastic Four (Hazel, Mae, Estrella and Alana) played out in The Yorkie Yard, a large expanse of grass, toys, the sandbox and deck, all afternoon, my older kids didn't squabble, and my blood pressure remained normal.

Pepe (Jose) has gone with me to pick up the elementary kids each day and is finding his former teachers coming out to the van to hug him, even the principal has done so, this after a lot of rages at that school, a lot of folks poured themselves out for Jose. He's totally surprised by the positive attention, preening even, and I've, of course, ruined the moments by reminding him about love, forgivness, learning from mistakes, trusting and plowing forward.

Dare I dream that we've finally settled down as a family? No new adoptions in four years has helped tremendously, even though some of my kids often ask if I could adopt again, wanting more kids to hang out with on a daily basis. No way would I ever consider any more family members via adoption. No way. God is not telling me to do so, rather He's allowing me to make fun plans for the next 50 years, stuff I'm looking forward to, it's all hard work, plans and projects, but that's where I utterly thrive.

Warning: Yorkies on Guard Duty

Sarah reminded me that several years ago it was Vanessa, Mayra's birth sister, running the pictures on the blog, as it now may visually seem to be The Mayra Show. I type every word, yet often my blog has an art director and several resident critics.

I don't sit down and think about what to post, generally it just flows with nary a thought of 'JoJo sure has been talked about a lot lately' or 'Nando is the cutest seven year old boy on earth right now.' I just have my own verbal catharsis and get on with my day.

I know most of the U.S. is in a cold snap, but we are inexplicably in the 50's at night all week and it's headed to low 70s for the days with several chances of showers. I'll get an outside day today, trimming where I'd recently built a fence with my sons.

Pepe, now 14, larger than me, is home...conceivably for good. I've had to redirect his behaviors, and it is with guarded optimism and renewed hope that things can change for him. However I've been in this position several times before in my parenting career.

I'm fairly tense and on edge as the behaviors of several of my children are explosive at best. As I read this AJC story early this morning, "A federal judge on Monday ordered the state child welfare agency to improve its efforts at finding permanent homes for 500 children who have lingered for years in foster care in Fulton and DeKalb counties.

Some of these children are older teens, or those with emotional problems, who tend to be more difficult to place." An understatement.

My first thought?

That the new adoptive parents will be unable to access the help that is more readily available to children in state custody. But what about the unscathed children? And there are some...they so deserve families, as do the severely traumatized ones, but at what price, what devastating cost, to once normal folks? My friend Paula still needs our very heartfelt prayers, as do her children.

This online story was placed right next to a advertisement and picture of two beach houses that reminded me I've not seen the ocean in six long years. This from a girl who used to live within a mile of the beach, who used to spend weeks at the beach each year, but now can't run the risk of her troubled children tearing up a beach rental.

I'm at a cusp right now though, maybe only another year or so, life is settling down hopefully with answers and solutions just ahead of us. Doors will open, we'll walk through them, and beneficial options will unfold. I believe this deeply. I see great things ahead for us.

I came downstairs early this morning only to hear a warning growl from a Yorkie who stayed on guard all night. "It's me Pudding," I actually verbalized to a curious dog before remembering I don't owe this tiny thing an explanation, but I appreciate his diligence.

The little dog slept in JoJo's arms. My house was so quiet, I'd swept the main rooms after supper, picked up twenty pairs of tossed aside shoes, washed everything in the laundry room, and now need to go hang up the clean shirts before I wake up my loud, boisterous wonders.

JoJo Does Learn

We still have these cow pics from the Christmas Parade for some reason, these are from Mayra's camera, she's kind of been in charge of supervising the pictures I use lately.

I'm up typing away, knowing I need to soon wake everyone up, feed and dress them, run through my chores and head out the door to get Pepe for yet another attempt at him living within a family.

I've not either officially announced this nor made up my mind 100%, but I've lagged behind this year, not participating at all in any AAN matches, just too worried over families and the fact that we are treated so badly and blamed for our children's issues when our children were clearly adopted at an older age...it is obviously not about our parenting.

Although I used the word 'placate' in another post - my placating is more along the lines of 'beyond consequences,' as the raging child automatically gets less attention while I dote on the positive ones in the feeble hope that eventually one and one will add up even while knowing how challenging that is in a miswired mind. I've just learned though, over several decades, that I can consequence a child into adulthood and all I will then have is an 18 year old with no privileges, screaming he or she is deprived.

I've lately been seeking the middle ground.

JoJo does learn, even though his tremendous anger and violent background all too often gets in his way of any realm of logic. He wanted to act up in church yesterday, but reached within and got a grip. He had lost his computer time for an earlier screaming fit over nothing, but he worked through it with me, processing what he'd done, what he thought about what he'd done, and what he should have done instead. But not all children are capable of that type of reasoning. JoJo tossed a coffee table hours later over nothing, I didn't let myself get angry, I didn't react other than to suggest he put that table back exactly where I had it.

He ignored me and sat stomping his big foot for a few minutes. I continued with what I was doing, my life has shrunk to the four main massive rooms that contain everyone 99% of the time as my kids are so social and nosey, JoJo fixed the table back, "I'm sorry Mama," and life went on.

Tired of Placating

"With the tirades you've described when referring to your daughter Paloma, I'm interested in what you consider a "minor meltdown" to be."

When no one gets hurt by her.

She'd unreasonably decided that day that the other kids on stage were picking on her so she left. She truly believes that she's entitled to do what she wants, when she wants at whatever cost to anyone else involved. Yet she can have her sweet moments also.

In many ways we adoptive parents end up resembling victims of domestic abuse as we become afraid to rock the boat knowing that will only provoke a rage from someone who always rages when they don't get their way. So we placate, or try to reason with folks who have no reasoning abilities.

But I can't believe that's the way God wants us to live. I'm seeking out options. There's a Plan B available somewhere and I'm gonna find it.

Watch me now.

Go Figure Once Again

Unbelievably, after weeks of school non-attendance and total noncompliance around our house, after refusing a bath last night and this morning, not getting out of bed until the very last minute, raising my blood pressure so high that it takes holding ten grandchildren to even begin to bring it down, Jonathan pulled out all the stops, acted as normal as any other ten year old boy in church, and did a fantastic job in two shows today for the Christmas Musical in the sanctuary where he rarely behaves.

Shocking turnabout, but a positive one, while JoJo crazily acted like an escaped ape on too much crack, but we had a great turnout with Dewayne's family and several of my older children and their spouses.

Kortney ended up with two grandmothers, me and Georgette, a grandpa, and great grandparents all at the early service.

"Mama, wake up," Lily insisted at 4:30 this morning, not really a insane hour for me at all, but it sure is for her.

Her Yorkie, Tia, who sleeps with her and never leaves her side was frantically yapping at a barn cat, who shouldn't have been inside, but who triumphantly had a mouse trapped between its paws squeaking in terror.

"Do you want me to put the cat out or save the mouse?" I stupidly asked her, wondering why we didn't just let the animals handle it amongst themselves.

"Hmmm, I dunno," she replied. "I just thought you'd like to know what's going on."

Well, yeah, but...

No sign of the mouse this morning.

Only four days of school this week, I'm not at all ready for Chrismas, not now, not ever really as it's a tough holiday for me, balancing unrealistic commercial expectations against how I really feel. Jeepers, it's stressful, and on top of all this Pepe moves back home tomorrow after I go to Macon and get him.

So stymied am I by this entire very difficult and troubled sib group, I've been in touch now several times with a former foster mom in Texas, plus their original adoption case worker, trying to find answers, trying to meet their needs. I found out that my favorite adoption recruiter in that region, Mary Jane, there when I adopted Yolie, Daniel and Joe 18 years ago and also there when I returned in '02 for five more tough kids, she's now retired. She used to read my blog...if she still does, then please email me, I have a few questions that likely only she can answer.

Their original adoption worker is now working on keeping families together. I used to be totally opposed to this, to family reunification, after seeing how much damage had been done to so many of my children by them remaining way too long in dangerous situations. Now my gut feeling included the sad knowledge and understanding that maybe if enough services could have been provided...? What if? While many of my older children have succeeded, too many others have returned to that which they once knew...violence, unemployment, trailer parks, alcohol, criminal activities...I don't know if living with a church-going, school teacher made much difference to them at all. In a lot of ways, it's nearly destroyed me.

But I've done what I felt called to do with the particular children that I believe strongly that God clearly led me to parent. The jury's still out and I'm still plodding forward...trying to follow squarely after God in His will.

Hit By A Farm

Since my bones hurt if it's less than 50 degrees outside, today's high of 49 kept me indoors after yard sales, so I read this book. Entranced from the first page, checking out their web site, it further affirmed my interests in plants versus animals, but I eat up farm life stories.

It kinda made me think too. What if I've just had a delayed midlife crisis - too busy in my mid-forties, now with much less children at home, now with older children, I've had more time to ruminate over my challenging life choices.

Hmmmm.

At least I'm positive about what I want for the second half of my life. I want to keep my rear end planted right here where I am, tending to my gardens, and becoming as self-sufficient as possible.

I'll repair and retrofit my house to my own specifications, I'll wander over to my grown kid's houses to see my grandbabies, and I'll plant, plant, plant.

But if I keep animals...it'd have to be chickens as I do adore the ones I have. Tonight while everyone is behaving, even if they're loud, I'm fixing to delve into the next book:


Lynn sent me a link to The One Dollar Diet Project that's fascinating. So much information, so many ideas and projects, so little time...

Lauren sent me the handsome picture below as Daniel is at his friend's wedding in South Carolina. Probably one reason Yolie and I like Lauren so much is that she has no agenda, no issues. She's beautiful and intelligent, and that's such a breath of fresh air in my family's complicated lives.

Goals For 2009

Today was likely the last yard sale of the year and, nerd that I am, I've documented every last penny I've spent, bringing our yard sale total expenditures for the year to $753.30.

I've bought clothes, tools, garden pots, books, videos, bikes, games, kitchenware, scooters, and furniture including an entire antique hard maple bedroom set and a heavy wooden table with eight chairs... all for this $753.30.

Possibly I've gotten $7,000 worth of stuff for my money, maybe even more bang for my bucks.

A true accountant, like Sarah, would have divided the $753.30 into each specific area, and I think I'll do that next year. Nerd up on my own self.

Sarah just informed me that she's divided her grocery expenses into two categories, separating that which she spends locally versus not locally, but via trucked-in, middleman grocery store overhead.

One would think that with as much as I grow, we could get through the winter, but it isn't so. I drag in tons of produce that 30 people pounce upon, plus my older children take home as well. I'd need to grow about ten times as much as I do already and I just don't have time to do so...but that's another long range goal of mine.

One financial goal for me in 2009 is to reduce my quarterly trash collection fee of $121 in half as I continue to scrupulously recycle. Plastics #1 and #2 are the only recyclables for my county, but I can recycle the rest one county over which I'll gladly do.

This means that close to 30 of us, counting Carolina's family, Monica's family, Grandma and Grandpa, will all recycle, reduce and reuse and therefore only fill one garbage can each week. Knowing that Sarah's family and Yolie's family all haul off their recycling so warms my heart. I'm not kidding either. This makes me truly happy.

Layers

I do have dazzlingly beautiful children and I use the term 'children' loosely. I'll refer to a grown man as 'chile' if need be, just a colloquialism of where I've lived all my life - never north of the Mason-Dixon line.

This little darling, JoJo, is highly emotional, and I spent much of yesterday evening redirecting his behaviors, finally grunting, "OK, y'all this is ridiculous. I'm giving Jonathan and Paloma the gold stars tonight," as they'd been perfectly well-behaved ever since school had let out.

We have no gold stars other than the positive affirmations I try and use as often as possible.

This morning I'm taking Tabby, Nando, Jack, Scotty and Jonathan along with two grandchildren to their dress rehearsal for tomorrow's church musical and during that span of time, Paloma, Lily, Sabrina, Mayra, Tony and I will hit the three yard sales that are advertised, and one grocery store, while Grandpa babysits my middle school sons who won't take their eyes off of the computers.

A babysitter for kids age 13-15?

Yep.

Remember I live on a different planet in which I have to constantly verbally defend myself. I'd trust most of these boys to behave, I really would, but Grandpa is an extra layer of protection and supervision. Supervision being the key word, plus Carolina is here with Monica and Dewayne out in the doublewide.

A former preacher turned real estate broker, Grandpa has some stories to tell, and the boys do listen...even if their eyes won't leave the computer screens.

I'm dismayed at the very disrespectful attitudes that my middle schoolers have picked up lately to the point of being blatantly rude to their teachers. In my world, maybe that's minor, maybe I should just be happy that they aren't fist-fighting there, but I want so much more for their futures.

I'd talked to a more calmed down JoJo last night, "Look, son every time you get your behavior corrected, you become absolutely unhinged. If you can't control your temper, your blazing anger's gonna get you locked up as an adult."

He knows I don't want to see that outcome, he knows my 'make mama proud' mantra, yet he really does lose his grip so easily and needs to be talked back into reality so calmly. Another reason why adoptive parents shouldn't spank children who were once abused. It'd serve no purpose other than to further fuel an out-of-control fire.

Truthfully though...hugging a raging child further inflames them. Kids with control issues need to initiate the hugs. I've found that simply sitting and waiting it out while they scream, blubber, and randomly accuse me of everything under the sun, which raises my blood pressure certainly as I wasn't even born during the time frames involved - Stalin, Mussolini and Hitler weren't my fault, but that's never the point. Maybe they're watching too much of The History Channel?

Paloma will never allow herself to be hugged until the next day or so after a rage. Her heart is very hardened and her grip on reality is super-tenuous, whereas JoJo melts easily. I wish each child had come with a detailed instruction manual. It's taken me years and years, with the help of therapists, programs and many resources, to comprehend and navigate the many diverse layers of malfunction, dysfunction and traumas that have been heaped upon my children.

Yes, eventually I learn how to handle, how to maneuver us all safely through the explosions, but society will never take the time, nor have the love I've had for my children. Society will lock up explosive children in a heartbeat once they're out in the real world. Society will wonder about MY parenting abilities, will wonder why I didn't teach them better, not ever realizing nor caring that I was given rather disturbed children in the first place.

I'll end this post with my friend's comment - a dear friend needing respite for her children so that she can deal with chemotherapy.

"You're going to love this one. Remember a week ago when I told you about my child that My friend took home with her after my chemo? Said child then stole about $600 worth of electronics from her.

So, yesterday at the therapist office, this "little" suare into the world of bigger time crime was discussed. Know what child said? Here goes, "Well, I didn't know it was worth $600. I though they only cost about $200."

Therapist replied,"So you're telling me that you wouldn't have stolen it if you had known it was worth $600. But it would have been okay at $200?"

Child's reply, "Well yes, well, it would have been okay at $600 if I hadn't gotten caught."

Have you ever seen a therapist sputter and choke on their glass of water? Its not a sight for the faint at heart."

That's priceless.

This is what we live with every day.

Our worlds are so different from normal...I wish society didn't expect normal outcomes when we've been given so little time with such severely traumatized children who look so normal. Such great looking children...

Daisy Girl Scouts

Like our family needed another activity... but in my quest to help individualize my children and help them discover both what they like, and that which they may possess an aptitude in, now Daisy Girl Scouts have inducted Tabby and my granddaughter (AKA her best friend and niece), Kortney.

Both girls are loving this and have an ornament swap to attend this weekend after they go to their dress rehearsal for the church Christmas musical.

Busy kids are happy kids and I need to always balance that with not over-scheduling anyone.

We've made it through Jonathan and Paloma's fifth grade Christmas Musicals, two performances with only one slight meltdown by Paloma.

Off the subject...or is it? Dee sent me this article that I truly advise parents to read who've adopted emotionally distrubed children. On the one hand it is disheatening, on the other hand I'm hoping it opens the eyes of understanding.

I sleep with one eye open, just as hyper vigilant as my children. Around 10:30, as I was reading, I heard a commotion downstairs, and it was again, Allen and JoJo, absolutely and blindingly furious with each other, threatening death and dismemberment. Their older birth sister had gotten there before me and was standing between them, knowing full well their tempers, aggression issues and violent background.

On the other hand, we both know of their deep attachment to us, and to each other, plus their enormous capabililites for love. I tried to send an angry Allen to go to Martin's room to cool off ,but we were past the point of reasoning. My mind raced to the kitchen, relieved that the knives were in the dishwasher - not that it was a possibility, but I remember a case in our church nearly 40 years ago involving two brothers in which one killed the other. I still recall my dad telling me about it the next morning.

Allen eventually cried which is always a good thing. If my children will release their frustrations appropriately, it is much easier to then reason with them.

JoJo just kept pounding on the wall and screaming.

I walked off and sat on the stairs, praying about what to do when I heard gut-wrenching sobs coming from JoJo.

"I just want to be normal," he blubbered, and then after Mayra had joined us again he wailed, "I don't deserve to be cared about. Mama, I'm soooooo sorry," which brought me to tears.

We don't usually have very quick resolutions.

Maybe I was just over-tired, but we both sat there on the bed sobbing, with me holding him and reassuring this sad child about how much I truly love him.

And I really, really do. He, Allen and Mayra are precious, if aggravating.

Our economy is tanking in a big way and some of my grown children who've done well now need prayer, as do many of my readers who've written to me.

My prayer is that through all the ordeals that so many of you have read along here with us, that you would see how strong my faith is, that has sustained me through dangerous and rocky times.

A surprising phone call yesterday afternoon from New York City that blessed me. We do have Angels that have helped us along the way, preferring to remain anonymous, even from us, sending very generous Christmas cards for many years now...ever since Lily was born. These Angels are very practical, which I appreciate and deeply need.

Their representative told me that they all read my blog which absolutely staggered me, but I'm glad to hear it as I am who I say I am. They'd once sent a beautiful woman down here to check us out, and she's remained on my prayer list ever since.

And we received nearly two inches of rain this week. "Mama is the drought over?" Scotty asked me.

I wish. But we still need two feet more of rain to replenish us.

And allow me to mention that we all need the reign of God in our lives...or at least I know that I do.

The Knowing Is What Keeps Me Going

I've had three surprisingly good things happen to me today...now there's a good feeling.

I'm walking around reminding myself of these sweet surprises as pressing issues seemingly want to squash me like a bug.

But for reasons totally unknown to me, even after all these years, knowing that I've been called, been chosen to parent some very tough and troubled children...the knowing is what keeps me going.

When Time Allows

When all is said and done, I still have reams and reams of material in my head for blogging, but I gotta say that much of it gets pushed aside by some very spectacular comments I receive from you all. Later today, when I get a minute, I plan to visit yesterday's comments regarding CPS.

But for the moment, my time constraints indicate that I only have a few minutes before waking up the kids and today's shaping up to be as crazy as last night's schedule with a dance recital and church musical practices, plus the kids who stayed after school for extra help, and piano lessons along with supper for a full house.

Someone else commenetd "As an outsider, I cannot help but think that, at least for the ones that read your blog, the lack of anonymity may have a positive affect on their behavior. You are so good at "protecting" the abusive, disrespective kids, but then I see how certain kids are always named, even when they do "bad" things.Just a thought -- stop protecting the lying, stealing, lazy, crime-loving kids. You write the truth about so many of your kids, yet you protect the criminals (no slander/defamation claim..you can call me on that!) It seems to me you have a bond with them, even if it is tenuous, and they wouldn't want to disappoint you.

When I started this blog I probably should have used pseudonyms, I had no clue that my readership would be anyone other than me putting down my thoughts about the adoption of older children.

I am terribly ashamed of the criminal behaviors of some of my children, I find it personally painful as I know how much work and love I poured into my family. For them to then chose a life of crime, or even an early adulthood of breaking the law, truly upsets me...a personal reflection back onto our family even though free will is involved. Intellectually I get it, but my heart, soul and guts continue to ache for the wayward ones. I grieve for their poor choices.

I have one sib group that has 75% bombed out of normal society. If I name them, I'd get angry calls from the 25% that's done well. So my blog has become lately more about the issues and less about each particular child.

The issues seem global and so many of you all can relate whereas naming the kids has resulted in superb prayer coverings from many of you, a side benefit that is enormous. Linda B and Nancy in Iowa have really stood in the gap for us as have so many other readers.

I've had two recent disturbing phone calls from grown kids who are truly ill-equipped to stand alone, yet their disruptive and incredibly dangerous behaviors make it an imnpossibility for them to even visit my home, much less live within the confines of a family. Both have been jailed on several occassions, one most recently because the police took in a drunken, suicide threat making adult who attacked nearby people. Those folks called 911.

Nearly the only sentence I can stand on here would be - I've definitely spent decades seeking mental health treatment for my children. I advised this one, "You have to get counseling. You have no choice."

"For what?" I was asked.

Oh darling, take your pick. Suicide? Alcohol? Aggression? Violence?

I explained how to pay for it, as sliding scales are available, and where to go for help, but this particular kid rarely takes my advice. Thankfully I still receive phone calls.

Javy, wearing a top hat, is in a high school dance recital up the highway at the civic center where two of my children told me, "Your friend Tina's son is here too."

"Where's Tina?" I asked. No response. Tina, where are you? I'll be there tonight at 7 again. Last night I was fairly shocked at the suggestive nature of some of the dances I saw onstage at a school production. Am I this prudish? Would you want your daughter jutting her pelvis like that for all to see? I didn't have a daughter dancing, but I had a son watching those movements...that too bothers me.

But my fifth graders, Jonathan and Paloma, have made it all this week and they have a musical today at 9:30 that I'll get to right after Martin's 8:15 orthodontist appointment. All the while thoughts churn through my head that I want to blog. Several insightful emails lately and tons of comments that I want to respond to when time allows...

Straight From Claudia's Mouth To My Blog

Claudia, this is excellent and I'm giving you the credit for writing it and hoping I can get it out there as well. Here's The Problem:

...The problem is well meaning people who do not understand the system but think that they know what is going on in our homes and without confronting us, call and report us so that we can "get some help" not realizing what this might mean to us or to our already traumatized children.

The problem is people making decisions about how we should parent our children without hearing our story or living our lives and making comments or criticizing judgmentally.

The problem is group full of social workers who have been trained to examine the family system and look for ways to make parents the reason for our children's behaviors and then, when we dare to disagree, label us as combative, uncooperative and defensive.

The problem is a system that will not provide the services necessary for severely disturbed children (how many of us have gotten a call saying, "we can't control him in a residential setting, you have to take him home!)
Go read all that Claudia wrote here

And now...how can we solve these problems?