Thursday, April 23, 2009
Oh My Goodness
Another phone call in the middle of the night, this time it is paramedics calling to tell me there's nothing wrong with my son who'd called them, as a taxi service apparently, wanting to go to the hospital.
"Put him on the phone," I'd struggled up from a very deep, exhausted sleep, "Boy, this sounds like anxiety, someone who doesn't want to go to jail."
"They said it might be stress," he lamely answered.
"Stress? You sleep all the time, all the time, and then sit around and shoot the bull with other unemployed, gang-glorifying fools. What stress?"
"Put the EMT man back on the phone," out of patience, needing sleep, I'm not going to argue at four in the morning.
Dude, what do you think caller ID is for?
I called the EMS man only to hear, "Ma'am, he's totally fine. We advised him to go to Urgent Care in the morning if he wants."
I know he's fine, that's why I didn't go out at 2 in the morning yesterday for nothing.
If you can't do the time, son don't do the crime.
That thug lifestyle is appealing when you think you can badger your mama into buying baggy pants and glittery, slouchy hats. Bug me all you want, I'm not buying that crap. Grow UP.
Won't this be a fun court date this morning? Me, putting on my monkey suit when I'd rather be digging in the dirt, to hear the judge tell him the same thing I've told him for years and years, both of us apparently baying at the moon.
The school had called me yesterday, telling me that Paloma was barfing during the CRCT tests and needed to come home. Yes, I totally understand the annoying and disruptive nature of a puker, especially a willful one, so I obediently went to get her, knowing she'd be totally fine once she'd succeeded in getting her way, and that's what happened.
I'd read this in a local paper this morning, "Officers arrested an 8-year-old student Tuesday afternoon after she fought with a female teacher.
The girl repeatedly struck the teacher in front of her first-grade classmates, then "wildly" waved a large stick outside the classroom, according to police.
The principal and two male teachers restrained the girl until officers arrived, police said. The girl was charged with battery, disruption of school functions and disorderly conduct and released into her mother's custody, police said."
And this, "Officers arrested a 62-year-old homeless man Tuesday afternoon for slashing another man's face, police said.
He admitted that he hit the victim during an argument. The officer searched him and found a knife.
The victim said there was no argument and that he was attacked without provocation."
Two separate disturbed people, ages 8 and 62. Do folks never learn?
Yolie and I talked about how hard it is to raise kids when their early behaviors are fairly indicative of future paths they might take. Pastor Mark reiterated that salvation is, of course, our ultimate goal in life, maybe that's all I was called to do. To bang my head against a brick wall, teaching right from wrong, no matter what.
Then there is free will and the children may choose which way to go. It's on them then. Those who still want my advice, or me in their lives, can choose to do so. Others may reject me, betray my values, be passive-aggressively hateful, or whatever.
I'll just go dig in the dirt happily minding my own business. That's what locked gates are for.
My son Scotty, pictured here, was described by his former caseworkers as a handful, a challenged child with anger issues, but so far, he's been only fairly disobedient. Usually a pretty good kid, with Memaw as an older sister breathing down his neck.
She'd written a sweet note to me on Facebook, thanking me for the best years of her life, living here down this dirt road. My last adoption of those four children, has been played out against a backdrop of some very mentally ill children and Sabrina has watched me carefully throughout a very tough four years here. She's college material, a wonderful athlete, and an overall great kid with the dumb teenage issues like a messy room and crushes on boys. Oh barf.
Scotty too has turned out to be a fine soccer player, a very decent student, a high-anxiety kid who needs constant reassurance plus he's very lovable.
And I finally heard from the residential situation. The one in charge, out on medical leave, no one knows where our application packets are. Are you kidding me? Do I need to go to Atlanta and dig through some desks?
Oh. My. Goodness.