Different

JoJo's been wonderful for three straight days, he's hardly said a cross word to his bonded like super glue brother, Allen. Dare I hope? Allen went through a rough teenage boy hormonal spell, but settled down within months, could JoJo possibly do the same?

Tony's stepping up to the plate in a negative manner. I need to turn him around, if possible, as he has the genetic imprint of an older brother, and I see the same alarmingly disruptive behaviors where they seemingly thrive on negative attention getting behaviors, being totally clueless that they will not win friends nor influence folks this way at all. Tony, however, can turn on a dime, and be the sweetest child ever.

Martin, a brother between the two (Tony and Joey) is clearly different than both. As my children grow and mature, paternity becomes evident and different. Fathered by different men, the mom's imprint is clear, behaviors can be similar, yet the experiences of children before foster care and before adoption shaped them in so many ways.

CW, Tony and Allen all stayed after school for tutoring, Sabrina and Chuy for soccer practice, Yolie here in time to babysit so I could run to our very conveniently located middle school and pick them all up. I'd already cooked supper, done the laundry, cleaned the house and hauled off the trash, feeling my oats once again, high on life, and glad to be smiling and happy at my lot in life.

The logistics, the challenges of raising so many children with all the physical work involved is usually something that I thrive off of, but last year with all the blows I'd absorbed, I was down for the count there for awhile. It feels so good to feel healthy again.

I have seed flats everywhere, dragging them in and out of the unheated greenhouse, chasing the sun to the back deck, and protecting them from the elements when necessary. I fell asleep last night, calculating dumb stuff in my head, wondering how many quarts of this and that are necessary for our family, thinking through the upcoming soccer season, and giggling at the obsessive number of times yesterday I'd checked the AJC web page, hoping for a confirmation from Ken Griffey, Jr. The Braves need the excitement that he'll provide this season.

I long for the days that'll someday stretch out before me, full of the promise of gardening and listening to baseball games, sweating in the sun, and having fresh produce constantly. No part of me envies folks their ability to go out to eat in restaurants whenever they want to do so. Suspicious of the way food is handled, purchased or grown, positive that olive oil is not used, food as an environmental nightmare such as the hamburger/hummer analogy, I'd just as soon be as responsible as I can for what I eat.

I'm counting my blessings, grateful that I live where I do, with the capacity to grow a ton of food, knowing that I alone can eat that much, heck plant eaters have big appetites, glad that Yolie's down the hill and Sarah's across the way, close by. We'll get rain today on my snow peas, radishes and lettuce that I've planted and I'm gonna run boring errands that I can't postpone any longer.