This Ain't Right Y'all

If I blurted out one-tenth of the unadulterated Hell I deal with, if folks had a clue...

A deputy had to see me home yesterday evening, came on up to the house, checking over the premises, reassuring me that they'd keep a watch over us, breaking down my gate with his CrownVic if I so much as called for help.

After I spent $519, with no sales tax, on shoes for everyone at Rack Room, kids actually thanked me aloud, I mouthed off my dumb shopping stress to my sweet Pastor Terry who had totally glazed over eyes, resulting from his past two hours spent with the most annoying rat on earth (Chuckie Cheese). But a happy minute I spent with Jessi, his daughter, and her darling kids. I need more time like that...with normal folks who I go way back with, those who knew me BEFORE all this.

Got a little more done on my to do list before all Hell unexpectedly broke loose.

I'd talked late the other night with Amanda, another adoptive mom under hellacious stress, every single one of us function automatically under conditions that'd kill a horse. I read this today when researching what I should do to combat stress. Thank God I garden.

I'm aware of the stress load Cindy Adams has labored under for many years, I often think about another friend, Pam, in Florida who's recently passed on, and the husband, Larry, of another friend parenting a large family, who also died.

I think about Merilee, Robin in Arkansas, Gloria, Paula, Sharon, Theresa...too many to mention here, all ladies I've grown to know and adore as we hunker down in these horrific trenches, banged up, stomped on, stolen from, daily lied to and about. Kids always mad at us for anything and everything. No wonder I'm becoming a hermit. I dream about a big high wall around my property with alligators in a moat.

It was either a comment or an email, but another mother wondered aloud how, without our support system we now have on the internet, she could have survived her recent difficult family vacation. Blaming herself for her kids' ingratitude had she not known it wasn't about her anyway. Our upside down world. Blamed for being sacrificial, despised on a good day, simply hated on the rest. My blood pressure pounding in my ears.

I think back over the years, how on fire we all once were, working so hard, as back then we were virtually undamaged, and now I find myself, the strongest lady I know, totally emotionally battered. I've now been labeled by law enforcement a 'victim of domestic violence,' I've been thrown around, knocked down, and bruised by angry, raging kids.

This ain't right, y'all.

I wrote this post last night, thought maybe I wouldn't publish, see if I could calm down, but I didn't. Fought nightmares and stress even in my melatonin aided sleep.

Needing to demonstrate to other parents that it isn't always peaches and cream, keeping it real, stressing, caterwauling and moving on...

Supplies and Shoes

The good news here is that I do not have any more kindergartners and no third graders for a year. I'm not appalled by the supply list, after 25 years in the school system, I know that this is just a fraction of what the kids need, and I hate for the expenses to fall on the teachers as I know that they often step in.

I'm just a little paralyzed by my own inaction, despising shopping over just about all activities.

Dr. Mandy is here now with the kids, so I'll wait until early afternoon and brave the crowds, hoping to knock it all out before dark: sixteen new pairs of shoes, ALL school supplies, and more groceries. Piece of cake after I consolidate all the different grade level lists.

I can do this.

Living Life Well

Still using beach pictures, remembering the peace and the beauty that I find there, maybe it's the pounding of the waves, watching the waters recede and crash in again, the predictability of it soothes me. Long barefeet walks, especially in low tide, inhaling the salty air, while my spirit soars.

Some six years ago I realized I was responsible for the safety of 17 kids under age 11 at Pawley's Island. Even a well trained lifeguard might be stymied at that thought, with rip currents and crazy behaviors, as strong as I might be, I was cowed at the consideration of possible events.

Nowadays other stuff scares me, but the 17 of them are now 15 and under, strong swimmers, and way more adjusted. In years past, when life had calmed down, another sibling group would be adopted by me, and the mere fact of it would stir up old emotional wounds, and set us off into rough instability for another year or so. By not adopting anymore, theoretically one might assume life would be calmer. Overall I'd have to say it is so.

I had to reluctantly tell Daniel goodbye last night, as he leaves for a Georgia Army National Guard commitment for a few weeks, until UGA starts back up mid-August. Even though he's nearly 24 years old, he still looks exactly like he did when I met him long ago on his sixth birthday, although he's much larger now. I cannot even begin to allow myself to consider the emotions I'll feel upon his college graduation in December. Then he has several years, six I believe, to serve in the Army, sending shivers of apprehension down my spine.

I should start the shoe shopping today, a tax-free start of the weekend, and I'll have to force myself to do so, to go to town this afternoon when the dyes in the stores, the rampant commercialism, and the peer pressure felt by my children will stifle even me.

I'd cut Tabby's hair, saving $16, and Sabrina cut Paloma's hair, layering it after asking permission, and doing a wonderful job. Paloma was happy, and I had another imaginary windfall in my pocket. JoJo and Allen are my shaggy hold-outs, it's a control issue, one in which they both stubbornly hide themselves.

Late last night, talking to my friend Amanda on the phone, as she'd just been with Cindy Adams, I'd no sooner updated Yolie when I heard the 10:30 p.m. meltdown between my two predictable combatants, furious again with each other, over nothing, Mayra screaming for me to come settle it, me hollering for Javy, as I thundered down my stairs.

20 minutes of negotiations got us nowhere.

Neither would man up.

Finally JoJo's clonedine kicked in, Martin stayed in the room to ensure there'd be no retaliation, and I retreated back to my upstairs rain forest, soothed by the thousand plants, watering them, and beseeching God's will to be done for Cindy Adams, praying for her family, and checking my silenced phone periodically for updates. Fighting tears, emailing Sharon for verbal comfort, Linda B as a prayer warrior; stressing, fretting, fighting tears, and questioning God.

Yolie'd babysat so I could attend a funeral yesterday afternoon. "I'll be back in an hour," I'd tossed over my shoulder, as our church is hardly one minute from our house, and I knew Yolie had Daniel and Lauren going to her house later for supper.

Can a funeral be awesome? This one for Miss Jeanette resembled a revival service. Two hours later, when I arrived back home and described all the music to Yolie, I was not only comforted by the service, but fired up, if that's possible. Miss Jeanette had battled health problems for years, her husband and family, though devastated and grief stricken at losing her, were also celebrating a life very well-lived.

Cindy Adams

From what little I've gathered this evening, my dear friend, Cindy Adams, is in deep need of prayer tonight.

I come to you all with this request knowing what strong prayer warriors have joined me here before together in prayer.

I'm lifting her, and her beautiful family, up in prayer tonight.

Family Meetings

Hearing a ruckus in the family room, I'm in the next open adjoining room, the kitchen, and by the time I'd flown the short 30 feet or so, to investigate the commotion, Allen and JoJo were already exchanging blows. Javy separated them, Allen cooled off, but JoJo ratcheted up his negative behaviors the entire rest of the evening, screaming at me that he didn't care if he had to go get locked up someday, it'd be better than living with my stupid 'no fighting' rules. "No fair!" he screamed over and over again.

How does one reason with that?

Hours later, when he'd calmed down, heck it was almost 11 at night, I made him repeat slowly what I'd said about his consequences, how the police would be forced to treat a common criminal who assaults people, and how his life might negatively turn out if he doesn't soon learn the errors of his way.

He was confused. I lost him when I used logic.

"Huh?" he stared at me, as I futilely tried to explain that there is never a rational reason for attacking someone at the computer.

"Self defense," he hollered, having heard it somewhere, but literally unable to define it.

Hitting someone in the back of their head while they're playing a computer game is definitely not self-defense. There's no defense for annoying assaultive behaviors, for picking on people, for having violent reflexes.

JoJo has lived here for nine years and still does not reason well.

His birth sister, Mayra, provoked me yesterday. Genetically incapable of initiating activity. No kidding. Not a crime, but a flawed personality trait that will likely result in sequential job losses. Sitting and staring uncomprehendingly, never understanding social cues or the concept of offering help to others.

Fed up, I called a family meeting where we all sit in the family room and listen to me caterwaul over my frustrations. Yep, it's all about me. I repeat rules that are not being followed, list chores that are not being accomplished, and suggest better ways of functioning in polite society. Met with blank stares, bad attitudes and sullen expressions, you'd think I'd learn.

Simple stuff like do NOT eat anywhere but in the kitchen, gone are the days of snacking in front of the TV as the 16 kids still at home are pigs overall. I'm sick of tripping over discarded shoes, tired of having to gather laundry from each bedroom and irked to be the one constantly working while the rest use their undeserved, unearned free time to provoke fights and disagreements.

This was our fourth family meeting in hardly a two week period, but any adoptive mom knows that kids act out severely around vacations, holidays, upcoming events like school starting, full moons, any whichaway the breeze might blow, and sidelong glances at anyone for any reason.

Tax free weekend coming up on the day my retirement check hits the bank and I've budgeted for new school shoes for everyone, like we always do, yet everyone has nonstop peppered me with questions about it, as if I might suddenly stop providing, much as everyone else in their pasts had done. Like I don't have about a 55 year history of responsibility and stability.

Oh brother.

Not all of my tomato plants have died, I'm obviously not gonna use a fungicide to combat the blight, I'll organically work my way through or suffer the losses. I'd rather lose than eat chemicals, glad I've already frozen a goodly amount of tomatoes, and eaten much of the potatoes. Ya win some, ya lose some.

Critters ate my soybeans, left only the lonely stems.

Oh well.

Moving on, bounding through life, dealing with this and that, just like everyone else does, being advised to tell a magistrate judge about some gun threats from a jailbird who's recently been released, my to do list sounds odd, but it still needs doing.

Tomato Blight

"A highly contagious fungus that destroys tomato plants has quickly spread to nearly every state in the Northeast and the mid-Atlantic, and the weather over the next week may determine whether the outbreak abates or whether tomato crops are ruined, according to federal and state agriculture officials."

I'm using this picture from the New York Times, I hope crediting it's source is helping me avoid a copyright violation? The entire article is here.

My tomatoes turned ripe before blighting, and I originally thought it was blossom end rot, as I've never before experienced this blight situation. Not in the past 36 years of gradening.

Dang it has decimated the 200 plants I planted, at least 60% are now gone.

I planted all my plants from seed, but I'd ordered seed potatoes only to learn, "There are two strains of late blight — tomato and potato — but the illness can jump from one species to the other. It is highly contagious: A single open lesion on a plant can produce hundreds of thousands of infectious spores."

And from another newspaper, "Mountain tomato growers are on high alert after an outbreak of late blight occurred in the Northeast and Georgia."

This sucks.

Obviously Worth It?

Climbing up the down staircase as usual, remembering the first time my brother and I saw an escalator as children, how much fun we had running up the wrong one, but it's kinda been the story of my entire backwards life. I didn't tan myself at the beach, I get more than enough sun from working outside all the time, reading this article this morning was yet another big ole dumb duh. Truthfully though...what's in sunscreen and how can lathering chemicals on your skin be good for you?

Simplifying seems to be the only way to go. Uncluttering is my goal.

I understand that 600 parents calling the elementary school, to find out which classes their children will be in, would shut down the phone system and not allow the office staff to get anything done at all, but for kids like mine, to know this information in advance, would go a very long way towards easing up their visibly mounting anxieties.

Tabby's eyes are getting wider by the minute, Nando is antsy and irritable, Allen is nearly clinically depressed over the thought of having to function in a school setting, where everything seems to be so effortless for the majority of students. Last night, bugging me about getting on the computer, I used that opportunity for a nagging moment.

"Do you wanna be able to grow up and afford your own laptop? One where you don't have to wait in line for a turn?"

"Yes ma'am!" was his obvious answer.

"Then you have to go to school and get an education so as to be able to afford one."

A simple answer that absolutely baffles his mind. The bottom line is to be found within his deeply held belief, bolstered by multiple moves and continuous breaks from caretakers in his early years, his mind and his emotions so damaged by the painfulness and the constant, unrelenting early trauma. This is what takes so long to overcome. After so many years of parenting hurt children, I'm beginning to wonder if it can ever be overcome at all, as I watch so many of my older children constantly flounder.

I think back to my own early 20s when I was very similar to the Adoption Counselor. Hey, it was the 60s. But I, too, firmly held to my dreams and goals, in spite of all those around me who bought into some very nebulous ideals and hippie concepts. I always knew who I was and where I was going. I never drifted. I had a plan.

I still do.

Self-medicating never appealed to me, being out-of-control was not an option for me. I never wanted to be controlled by alcohol and its negative consequences, nor drugs. I made some dumb choices, of course, a lot of them, but I learned from them all. I still make mistakes, but I still learn.

I never, ever was unemployed. As non-materialistic as I am, I still liked to have money to pay the bills. Nowadays I'm appalled at the greediness, the name brand label obsession amongst folks who can barely read and write.

But then there's the answer. They need the labels to provide self-esteem, as they are unable to dig down deep within themselves and feel good about their own self-worth. This is where I need to concentrate my efforts, redouble my attempts at helping my children comprehend their own intrinsic value. It's easy to do with the four kids I've raised since birth, as they weren't ripped around, jolted, abused nor neglected. The damage done to my other children is staggering and very difficult to overcome.

As I see them grow older though, I do still have hope, knowing that maturity may bring some wisdom and confidence to them. There are periods in their lives, in their young adult wild times, when they truly do seem unreachable, and I can only pray for their safety and their ability to even physically survive at all. I have to walk the very thin line, not ever enabling, not bossing, no "I told you so", hopefully waiting it out, praying they'll see the error of their ways, and begin to self-correct someday. I have to cling to hope.

Mayra and Sabrina, predictably sullen, are obsessed with dumb teenage shows like ICarly and Hannah Montana as if these are role models with their sassy know-it-all, non bill-paying attitudes. Do you girls really think this is representative of real life?

Why can I not get it across to them both that the ability to add and subtract is crucial to money management? Mayra literally sneers at my uncoolness, sighing with exaggerated boredom. Wow girl, tell me how you think that attitude's gonna work for you?

In contrast, Lily (pictured above) who's been here since birth and is emotionally solid, secure and stable, asks very interesting questions of me like, "How was the speed of light first measured?" Like I have a clue? Very unconcerned and uninvolved in teen angst, Lily loves her Yorkie Tia, her family, and her place in life. So refreshing to me.

I have one sibling group who overall could have been simply labeled 'incredibly mean, lazy and oppositional' as every single one of them have been entrenched in these behaviors. I've poured myself into them, into programs and resources, into teaching and emotionally supporting them all, but it's been so incredibly uphill and seemingly useless...to no avail. Violent and stubborn, academically challenged, and opposed to logic, no matter the natural consequences.

My posts are getting longer and denser, more often at times, as I grapple with issues and challenges, while pouring some of it out here in my writings, the futility of trying to instill any middle class values seems so often to be less likely than successfully nailing jello to walls. For me to be a repository of misdirected hatred and aggression is too wearying to even contemplate this morning. I need more coffee.

So much to do, so little of it ever appreciated, such an uphill climb against negative prevailing winds, that I must literally make myself focus on those kids who desire my attention, certainly not the majority, but obviously worth it. Right?

Illegal Food

"The children have a hard time finding suitable mates, since they find it unthinkable to give up the hardscrabble independence they've carved." From the Little Homestead in the City web page, the words of the children, now in their 30s, resonate with me as well.

I'd never, ever give up my rural existence, nor my gardens, nor my beliefs, nor my family, nor my stubbornness, nor my dreams, goals and plans for anything. This is so who I am. I prefer hardscrabble to a life of ease. I know I could run to town easily for a delicious salad, but I'd so much rather grow my own. I know it doesn't have to be this hard, I just deeply prefer it.

I was reading the new issue of The Mother Earth News, an article about the author of Everything I Want To Do Is Illegal, wishing both Sarah and I had already read this book. The guy's a genius, fighting the food police over his right to sell what he's grown, or the meat he's raised, without government interference. Odd that raw milk is considered dangerous, yet sodas are not. Huh?

I'm a vegetarian only because I feel there's so many fruits, grains and vegetables versus so little time. I'd be a meat eater if I raised my own beef. But nothing about that appeals to me.

Maybe I've eaten too many fresh figs today, Lord Have Mercy, sometimes I literally stuff myself, so happy am I to have such an abundance of wonderfully fresh, sweet fruit, who wouldn't then overeat?

Maybe I'll get around to making fig preserves, but like the authors of The Little Homestead in the City, when asked how do they find enough time each day, they answered, "We can't and we don't." I'd wager neither they, nor I, ever get bored nor find ourselves at a loss for something to do. I'm so far behind as to be the butt of any nearby joke.

We've been happily drowning in multi-colored bell peppers, the kids eat them like candy, carrying them outside, gnawing away and spitting out the seeds that invariably get caught in their teeth. Grape and cherry tomatoes also are delicacies.

I'd rather enjoy them now than stress over canning when I hardly even have time to weed, what with the demands of my children who are starting to act hinkey about the start of a new school year.

Allen questioning me, "Do warm farts smell worse than cold ones?" as if I knew? All boy farts smell bad, fig farts might be especially putrid and tart. And boys seem to feel the need to label or identify the source of each poot, "Oops, sorry mom, it was the barley," as if I couldn't tell.

What's Wrong With Us?

I don't know why my brain functions as it does, but it does. I fret over water thrown in the trashcan at fast food restaurants, in the form of discarded ice cubes, then hermetically sealed up to be thrown away in the landfill, lost forever to society. The same goes for half filled water bottles tossed as if there were not a world wide water shortage.

I don't even go to fast food restaurants, preferring the slow food movement.

Why don't restaurants compost their food waste? Think of all the food forever lost and the starving kids everywhere. Don't tell me it doesn't happen in the U.S. when so many of us parent children who now have food hoarding issues due to very severe lack in their pasts.

Topsoil disappearing at alarming rates and we Americans don't automatically compost?

What's wrong with us?

I truly and deeply believe we'll have to answer to God someday about all we've done in harming His earth. I know I'll have to explain my broken plates. Oops, sorry about that.

I was astonished, at the beach, that the Surgeon General's warning on cigarettes from 1964, has still not been heeded, especially among the mullet heads I saw. Smoking cigarettes on the beach? Blasphemous. Dangling from their mouth, getting in my kid's nasal passages, prompting shocked complaints to me as if I were the mama of all?

Call me judgemental and reactionary, but I truly believe there'll come a time when sodas are looked upon the same way as cigarettes, as adult onset diabetes is exploding amongst our population. I'm also very aware of the lobbying industry that'll attempt to counteract the very obvious, simple facts.

"The United States ranks first among countries in soft drink consumption. The per-capita consumption of soft drinks is in excess of 150 quarts per year, or about three quarts per week."

"Soft drink consumption in children poses a significant risk factor for impaired calcification of growing bones."

And what about the money involved? Aren't we in a recession? Who can afford this wastefulness? Not me. Three quarts a week? Makes me wanna puke at the thought.

Am I just eccentric? Too much time on my hands? Too logical?

How did our society swamp itself into deeply believing that every drink one takes should be a chemical laden morass of sugar that profit mongering, conscience-less corporations push upon unknowing consumers? How dang nasty is that?

Am I way too opinionated?

Maybe so.

Last night at dinner I faced Jack in his mask. He ate like this, cracking me up. Paloma had taken scraps of fabric and spent the entire day dressing kids up. Mayra's Facebook status read, "I'm watching my brothers in dresses dancing to Hannah Montana songs." A good thing about school starting will be the silence that will ensue.

The kids played soccer until dark, full of imaginations, short on conventional toys, and having a mama rail against much of society's pitfalls all contribute to a love of the outdoors and creativity springing up within them all.

After football practice, CW and Chuy both cooked, from scratch, their favorite pasta dishes with fresh tomatoes and basil, sea salt and olive oil - this after red beans, corn and brown rice for dinner. Maybe they were worn out from the haircuts, as we'd descended upon SuperCuts, Javy, Dubs, Martin and Chuy, for their back-to-school hairdo marathon it seemed, as my own eyes glazed over in pure T boredom. Long gone are the glorious days of backyard buzz cuts since my teens are so vain.

I ran to Starbucks, hauling home a ton of grinds as folks in Georgia seemingly abandon their gardens in the dead heat of summer, sadly leaving little competition for the grinds.

Sabrina and Tabby go back to the dentist today, as we attempt to undo the early childhood dental neglect they'd both suffered. My parents had modeled to me the necessity of twice yearly dental visits, something I want to impose upon my children as well.

Onions can be fall planted in Georgia and I believe I grew the best ever this year. Feed the soil with compost, leaf mulch, wood chips and manure and one's plants will thrive. It's that kind of simplicity within the food web that sucks me in excitedly, giving great purpose to my existence, filling me with anticipatory joy. So maybe I am only simple-minded, but it's with a purpose and an end result. I always feared growing up to be bitter and unfulfilled, bored and lost. So far it's only bitterness that I fight, and that's in regards to issues that my children just can't help reacting to, thus constantly affecting me as well.

I want everything to make sense to me. I want to harvest and contain sparse rainfall, depend upon the sun for my power needs, eat what I produce, reduce, reuse, recycle, rethink, I want to use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.

I want to be held accountable for everything I do or say, I want to strive forward, make progress, educate my children, and learn more my ownself every single day of the year. I want to set more goals and reach them all.

I want to change things. I want to help folks. I want to be self-sufficient and responsible. I want to pre-cycle - not even buy stuff in the first place. I drink three or four quarts of water every single day, not in plastic bottles but out of our well in glass jars. Hard on our dishes, I rinse out jelly jars and we drink from them, recycling later those that don't break.

I want to think hard about every item I put in my buggy at Kroger...

It's this kind of stuff that makes me happy and satisfied, when my life makes sense, when I'm not contributing to the downfall of society, but instead participating in the circle of life.

Weird or not, it's what moves me.

The Freedom Gardens inspire me constantly - what can be done on a small plot is amazing to me.

Capturing The Moment Perfectly

Hazel captures my overall attitude perfectly in this picture.

I'd told someone yesterday that blogging helps me release my stress and my anger. Any single one of my children may, or may not, be putting me through the hoops at times, usually it's a staggering combo, and rarely do I emerge unscathed. By the time I crawl upstairs at night, I'm always way too tired to even think anymore, I flip channels or watch shows I may have DVRd at some point, read books, always hoping and praying for sleep to anesthetize me.

Walking on the beach, slogging through the water at the ocean's edge, deeply inhaling, but still thinking, thinking, thinking, mainly about the upcoming school year and several challenges within my family, wishing for a reprieve at times, for a moment of non-dumping on me, for my children to make good choices and independent decisions that will lead to success - I depend on prayers, sidesteps and dodges as I retreat to my gardens, it's exhausting at times.

The last night at the beach, it was dark outside, but I was sitting on the balcony, listening to the ocean and eating chunky peanut butter straight from the jar.

"Mom, I read that depressed people eat peanut butter on a spoon right out of the jar," Tony fretted.

"I'm using a fork, I'm not depressed," I reassured him, illogically.

I'm not depressed at all. I'm just tired of all this never ending work, the pounding stress, and the criminal behaviors I see. Y'all it's just easier to act right.

We have major orthodontic work to be done this week on Martin and CW, haircuts before school starts, supplies to be purchased, tomatoes to be put up for winter, I need to start planning fall plantings, to attend several appointments, to do major paperwork, and I'm getting the overwhelming urge to repaint around here, hoping to lift my spirits by home improvements. I have several window panes to replace and a mountain of laundry.

I'm happy as a clam that the Abilify is making an improvement in Jonathan. He loudly blurted out on the beach, "Mom, aren't I acting better now on Abilify?" making several surrounding folks glance up warily. Paloma also maintained decently all week, That's major for us. I complimented both of them for their contribution to our family vacation in the form of good behavior.

Javy and Chuy, their older birth brothers, are both on edge regarding the upcoming school year and instead of simply discussing their feelings, they've been irritable and disruptive, causing all sorts of unnecessary problems.

JoJo spent the last 36 hours at the beach acting up and acting out. He stormed off after Allen wouldn't join him in any mayhem. "Let him go," I told the other boys, figuring JoJo would just walk until he calmed down. Several hours later though we went out to find him, close to midnight, and he was asleep in the stairwell of the 25 floor condo.

Chuck later told me I should've put an empty coffee mug in JoJo's limp hand, accepting donations.

In sharp contrast, Jack who is very, very attached, is loudly bemoaning the end of his summer, home where he's happy, dreading the regime of school. "But you know I'll do good there," he promised me last night. I do know that, I know he'll be glad to see his friends again and that he'll do very well in school, and I'm glad I have that positive input there from him.

Very impatient people like me, unable to stand in line and wait for an elevator, would bound up the 15 flights of stairs to our suite of rooms. Physical activity releases my pent up aggravation very well. I never did that though with Hazel on my hip, rather I was hunting a wheelbarrow in my mind. Sarah also was as chunky as Hazel as a child, now very thin, especially after her surgery. I probably weigh ten pounds more than she does, maybe now a hundred pounds more, as I stuffed myself on vacation.

I'd meant to speak up about the movie, The Orphan, as I'd been horrified when I saw the previews, thinking adoption agencies ought to file a class action lawsuit. The Adoption Counselor wisely gave her thoughts here, to which I agree 100%.

Hell To Pay

A very long ride home today, the kids acting up terribly, making me pay for taking them on vacation. You'd think I'd learn after all these years, but I dumbly keep on trying.

Poor Yolie and Chuck, guarding my gate, making certain it was always locked, as we'd been made aware that someone was getting out of jail who's stolen from me right often, another cruddy detail, while I also had learned of yet another one jailed while I was gone. I can check the jail records from anywhere, duh.

Double whammy on Yolie who got socked in the stomach by a birth family situation resurfacing with zero warning today, a bittersweet moment that included her usual gut-wrenching fear interlaced with delight in the next generation who wasn't even born way back then in another state, another lifetime actually, and it's a never ending spiraling roller coaster with conflicting emotions and difficult decisions. Both Chuck and I saying the same thing, "We support whatever you choose," while flinching inwardly, worrying, remembering so much collateral damage that has been done to her.

A very strong woman, although only 4'11", Yolie, who can get cut off at her knees by the long arm of the birth mother reaching out through several generations and various relatives. It never goes away. But should it? Should the next generation be deprived of an amazing aunt like Yolie? Of course not. But at what price to Yolie? Still? She sat here this afternoon stunned like the shattered, injured child she once was many, many years ago.

Another sib group of mine has a delightful, gorgeous sister, and her child, back in Texas. Was all this fair to her? She didn't get to grow up with her siblings, shouldn't the cousins now know each other? This sister came to Georgia and charmed everyone a couple of years ago, yet the inner pain amongst the five of them will never go away, the losses have been astronomical.

My kids amped up the van ride home today terribly, finally I pulled into a truck stop and walked around back of it only to burst into bitter tears of frustration. I'm danged if I do, derned if I don't. For a split second I thought, 'This probably isn't a safe place to be standing and crying,' but then my mind went bonkers and I talked back to my ownself. A 'who cares?' moment. Go ahead, someone dare hit me over the head with a tire iron, it'd just jam your arms up to your shoulders. I was terribly angry and totally fed up. The jailbirds had me dreading my own return to Georgia.

I went to find a restroom, my nose red, and my eyes swollen, "Oh Honey!" a sweet old lady cooed to me, "You having a long travel day?"

I snickered and blubbered, "Yeah, that's it," wiping my eyes and noticing I'd not brushed my hair at all, dern I looked rough. But hey, trying being me.

My ungrateful, unappreciative kids took one look at my sad face and shut the cwap up for the next two hours home. I was calling Cristy who'd taken care of Tia for us, stopping to buy milk for my mean children, and finally dragging my elderly body back home where the other dogs, Amelia, Lizzie, Ty, Babe, Pooky, Rosey, Pudding, and a very thrilled Princess, who'd been babysat by Carolina's family, were falling all over themselves with giddy anticipation. Yes, I do have that many dogs.

I need for someone to be glad to see me.

Upon my return home I found out that Chuck had been busting his butt at the pool, checking on the dogs and the chickens, getting my mail and guarding my gate, making sure it was kept locked as I was calling and worrying them both about it, deeply afraid that my last two TV sets would get gone or something, then I'd never know who The Bachelorette chose, knowing the potential was there for major damage within my house.

Lord do I miss the Atlantic Ocean....

Ocean Bliss

I'd set several goals for myself as I turned 55, becoming a senior citizen and happily so. I was very determined to reach this milestone at the ocean, and with my parent's help, we made it happen. With Sarah's help I was eating creme de menthe brownies and hot boiled peanuts, and for the first several days, until JoJo nutted up in public, every one of my children with me acted pretty darn good.

I'm much healthier than I was just seven months ago when we were last here, thanks to an osteopathic physician who's determined to revive this stressed-out persona of mine. 125 pounds now, using bioidentical hormone replacement therapy, more heavy-duty, pharmaceutical-grade, nutritional supplements than ever before and tons of garden produce coursing through me has helped my mind to heal as well. I have quite a few thoughts bubbling in my mind to mull through later. As usual Pat's comments echoing in my head. Just five short years ago, I'd have poo-pooed any connection between mind and body stress, ignorantly not knowing what I was soon to encounter.

All of my children are good, strong swimmers, plus there were lifeguards here, freeing up my 24-7 exhaustive vigilance, allowing me quite a few very long beach walks, my favorite activity.

I don't sit and think, "Wow, look at me, breathing in and out like this," unless I'm at the seashore, where I work diligently to release all my pent up bad air, replacing it with clean salty, rejuvenating oxygen. I literally planned the next several decades in my mind, quite a bit freed up than I've been for the past many many years...and loving it.

Usually I cook, in very sharp contrast to folks who vacation and eat out. I'd brought my large bowls, mongo pans, and other implements, yet only cooked once. In rebellion, I just advised everyone to make sandwiches or eat cereal all week, much to their surprise and delight as I shed our rigid dinnertime rules. By the end of the week though they're craving real food.

I left everything back home in Yolie and Chuck's very capable hands, knowing drama would ensue and indeed it did, passive-aggressive crud, blatant in-your-face rule-breaking from some who I expect more out of, sadly laying the stress in Yolie's lap, as she's seemingly an extension of me.

I spoke on the phone to CJ and Mae, missing them so much, Sarah was here with me, ostensibly to finish recovering from her surgery, so I did have Hazel and Ray to enjoy their delight in the beach.

I can never announce, "I'm leaving" on any type of trip as that'd be sure to spark an uproar from those back home. Now that my trip is over, returning to real life, I can share our experiences which were overall very positive. More on JoJo's nutup later.

I cannot begin to describe the joy I find seaside. Tony snapped this of me, wistfully gazing at the beach on our last evening here. I'll likely never get the knots out of my hair.

That's How I'm Made

Thinking about the cyclical nature of rages and outbursts - no wonder many of us adoptive and foster parents have become so traumatized - as we rarely see it coming. Even in the good times, due to inner feelings of listlessness and zero self esteem, there are surprising explosions. Birthday parties, holidays and vacations are nearly violently predictable, but even some mornings before school, before I've even had more than a few cups of coffee, I've seen detonations. That's how Pepe eventually left our shocked house for his current placement, slugging Chuy brutally before seven in the morning unexpectedly last year.

Now that Paloma has been so decent for so long, I'm nearly flinching at every door slam and raised voice, as I'm dreading, yet sadly expecting, another blowout.

"What's wrong with you? Mad at someone?" I'd asked her yesterday, seeing her puffy lips all blown out and her brow furrowed angrily.

"No ma'am," she reassured me, buying me another few hours of hopeful calm. Turns out she even had PMS, but managed her own mood swings with her medications that also inevitably calm the bipolar outbursts.

And folks wonder why I don't gain weight? Jeepers, live on the razor's edge for decades, constantly refereeing and breaking up fights, dealing with severe issues and sweating the major stuff. There's no way I won't immediately burn up every morsel that goes into my big mouth. I shovel in fuel constantly, but it's usually all high octane, premium farm produce or pure protein. I drink water all day which easily helps me bear the heat.

I'm having a tough time picturing what my life will look like when things calm down. I keep planning things, yet readjusting my own expectations.

My Tony, usually a royal pain in everyone's rear ends, has been shockingly helpful and easy going all week long, yet I find myself wincing and dreading his next rage. For a developmentally delayed young man, a head and a half shorter than his peers, he can do major destruction when inexplicably pissed off over nothing.

We're hardly ten days from the start of school, usually enough to amp up severe anxiety, but now after so many years, there's a bit of anticipation, more so than the usual dread. Only Allen is hating the thought of so many hours in school each day.

Scotty and Nando, pictured here with their beloved Memaw (AKA Sabrina), three of the four in my last sibling group, fairly easy kids to raise overall, although Sabrina has struggled this past year with honesty and other values I hold dear, she's still managed to keep very good grades and some peace within our home.

Pastor Bronson has planned a Six Flags trip in August for the youth group which will be good, and the kids are excited over this. Me too, as I don't have to go. I find amusement parks to be glitteringly artificial entertainment that can't hold a candle to garden work. Is that weird of me? That's how I'm made.

Busted Walls

This picture does not do the damage enough justice. A camera phone only captures a limited area and most of Jonathan's wall looks like this. To be fair, Scotty has also contributed his own share of angry kicks and vicious punches. The faint white spots were earlier repairs. Nowadays, too overwhelmed by the level of destruction, I've quit repairing. What's the point?

This is what the adoption of older children looks like all too often. However, I also understand their personal levels of anger. For the more normal children, of which I'm parenting a majority of, I'm slowly helping them, through counseling, to let it go eventually.

I'd cleaned the room up that day. Jonathan will sit and seethe, glare and cuss, provoke others, and hurt younger children if I force him to do a chore. Obviously I'm aware that he is getting his negative behaviors rewarded, in that he is not learning any consequences, but until you've personally dealt, for a very long time, with diagnosed mental illnesses, it is impossible to fathom how one child can so disrupt absolutely everything.

It's cyclical, up and down, coming in waves, always unexpected, and then there are brief periods of calm. I'm merely enduring his childhood. His future will suck and there's little anyone can do for him. He's had a psychiatrist and a psychologist at his disposal, he's had school resources and DJJ involved. He chooses, in his own twisted mind, a refusal to comply with all directives, even those issued by a judge.

Now at age 11, he is fairly manageable as I have Javy's muscles to help, but as he grows older and more dangerous, I shudder to consider what we may be facing.

That said, it's possible that, like his birth sister Paloma, a combo of meds may eventually work, or at least help to some degree. That's certainly my prayer and, duh of course, I believe in the healing of one's mind and emotions.

Right now, today, he is behaving decently, but I never trust his moods, as they'll change in a New York minute, thus contributing to my own jumpiness and whiplash of feelings.

I'd read Pat's comment late last night and chewed on it for quite some time. I'm a little behind on answering comments and emails, but to you adoptive parents...I am very grateful for both, as your thoughts and experiences speak deeply to me while I struggle also, grappling for answers and solutions.

For everyone else, your comments, emails and prayers are such a blessing to me. Especially the prayer covering that we need like others need oxygen.

It's What I Do

A therapeutic foster mom had called me from Atlanta, a beautiful, lilting accent, I could listen to her for hours, as she detailed her frustrations over a child who told her, "I really can't stop myself from stealing."

Her pilfering behaviors illustrate this aspect on a daily basis.

Nearly 18, under psychiatric care for years and years to no avail, nothing works, if anything the thief has become much more sophisticated in her ability to steal, breaking into locked areas, opening pocketbooks, and stealing stuff she can't even use.

Both of us agreeing that this kid will eventually be way safer in jail, than out on the streets where her unbridled larceny is going to piss someone off royally, as she has an amazing ability to steal the single most important possession a person might treasure.

"I just don't believe in unconditional love," this woman told me, nearly in tears.

Although the phrasing there was odder than my own thoughts, to not believe in something rather than not accepting it as a fact, whatever, I share her confusion on the issue.

I can love the thief, but not the acts of thievery, but to constantly be the victim of that, as I have been for many years, well I understand this lady's feelings. It is very hard to love folks that act out so negatively, so constantly.

There are several grown children in our family that may never come onto our property again. Ever. Two of them for acts way more severe than theft, one who is criminally disruptive, and two who steal everything, no matter if it'll serve them any purpose or not, they simply steal. Relieving their inner anxiety in negative, anti-social manners. No, No, No, they've been redirected, they've received years of counseling, medications and therapy...for nothing.

I'm hoping, out of my remaining 16 children here at home, that they'll learn from the mistakes of older children, the criminal bent, if you will, so blatantly obvious. I'm praying they'll learn from the lessons of others, and although I'm cautiously optimistic, I'm still frustrated by hard-headedness and an absolute inability to work through these issues.

Jonathan, now on Abilify, is having a decent week, but you'd be shocked to see the damages to his bedroom walls, they're nearly unsalvagable.

"What's it gonna cost you?" I can still hear my old pastor, the one who walked me into my very strong Christian faith, and built it up three times a week at services for many years, I still download his sermons, and now, nearly 30 years later, comprehend so much more than, of course, I was capable of doing then in my late 20s.

No one promised me a rose garden here. So, of course, hard-headed and energetic, I made one for my ownself, a rose garden that is, and I'll continue being the mama here, working hard on the next school year for my children, knowing it won't be easy, but it's what I do.

And I'm right happy about it all, even in spite of the Hell it's been at times, it's what I do.

Somehow though, I do want to slip away and watch this with Sarah, plus make time for a fall soccer season, fall gardening, and CW and Chuy's football games.

Simplicity and Calm

Just two weeks from today and I'll be getting everyone out the door for school.

Not one part of me thinks that's a bad idea.

Although we've had a pretty darn good summer, my children in particular, need the structure that school provides for them. They nearly all like school, Allen does not choose education over anything, and even Jack, my super-attached kid would prefer to be homeschooled, just to be with mama, but I don't have it in me to do a good job.

I simply have too much work to do to devote hours to a fourth grade core curriculum. He has a great time at school anyway, it's just giving up his summertime fun that concerns him.

I had emailed the Dervaes Family in Pasadena, my heroes, asking permission to use their emblems on my blog regarding their Freedom Gardens, the 100 foot diet one they'd already encouraged folks to use. Changing the world, one backyard at a time - another goal of mine also.

I alone ate 14 bell peppers yesterday. No telling how many the children ate as well. Not as abnormally large as the tasteless store-bought blocks of chemical crud, smaller and much tastier, free of chemically induced largeness. I chopped them up with tomatoes (who needs lettuce?) and sunflower seeds plus wheat germ, eating two large salads yesterday, happy as a clam. My tomatoes are astonishingly wonderful. So easy to make this ole bat happy, ain't it?

Kids acting right helps, lemme tell you.

I truly adore the deputies in our small county, but I don't need the adrenaline crush of having to call them to referee or to protect us. I need simplicity and calm, and thankfully that's what I've been getting lately. Lord knows I could get used to this. Me, living in a war zone, hoping to bump it up into a DMZ at least.

From My Mouth To God's Ears

What if my life becomes so calm that there's nothing left to blog? What if all my posts contained no emotional nor mental anguish? Have I become so accustomed to PTSD living that I'd be surprised at non inner chaos and no turmoil?

Wouldn't I dearly love to discover the answer to that?

Dreaming about my own future, I only think in terms of peace and calm. Of a lifetime spent gardening, harvesting, canning and freezing, of resurfacing walls and repainting, of remodeling my house, and of adding even more houseplants and garden beds. Of waking up each day excited about my own self-sufficiency and living off the grid plans. Of horticultural endeavors, beach trips and public garden viewings around the world. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Joy and happiness. Sweet grandchildren and their ballgames to attend...the next 50 years of my life with much less stress and demands on my emotions.

Grandma, strong and healthy at 79, slept outside in her screened in porch the other night, ostensibly to enjoy our cool snap, but likely the real truth involved her ongoing battle in her garden areas with squirrels that have rudely stripped corn kernels neatly from each ear of corn. Grandpa'd invited a wildlife biologist over yesterday, and with Javy's help, they'd set humane traps in which they were advised to release any captured squirrels some five miles from here. This I gotta see. Don't we have enough goofiness to go around without adding this to the mix?

The squirrels ate my swiss chard down to the ground, I'm aggravated as well, but time constraints keep me busy dealing with other issues, squirrel trapping wasn't first on my to do list. Grandpa threatened to shoot 'em. Ok, boy, have at it, but there are no guns allowed on my property. Use a pea shooter, that should keep you busy for quite some time.

A screened in porch is also on my list of wants someday. Can't have one now, as the roughhousing around here would jeopardize it's structural integrity. But hey, I'm patient, I'll wait.

Miss Becky came by, while Sarah was here, and I was at Dr C's office getting Abilify for Jonathan who obediently attended his session for once. Unloading some of the most gorgeous dishes I'd ever seen, definitely not on my throw and break list, some items are sacrosanct and untouchable, and some beautiful clothes as well. There's something very satisfying, deep within me, to see and to own items that we did not have to purchase. Things that others pass on to us are deeply appreciated. Indeed these were so beautiful, that we oohed and ahhed them, perched safely on the dining room table for most of the afternoon, nearly on display before disbursement to safe shelves. Thank you Becky. Every single item was more than necessary and will be used over and over again.

Miss Cissy'd immediately sent me a plumber the other day, this kind of backup is unbelievably necessary and appreciated.

Dr. Mandy will come today to our house for much needed counseling. Again I'm struck by the positive resources in place for my children. Thankfully they look forward to Mandy, never dreading the talk therapy, as she skillfully uses games and drawings, distractions and lures even, to allow them to open up to her in ways they'd never do with parents. Suits me y'all, a backup, a layer of inner security, a balm for their souls...a very needed addition to their emotional recovery.

However Jonathan, with me at Kroger while I filled his new prescriptions, demonstrated his ongoing need for chemical behavior restraints, disruptive and rude, something told me to check his pockets, and bingo there before we left the store, likely captured on videotape, was me in my raggedy Maestro Limpio t-shirt, pulling a pack of gum he was trying to steal, from his pockets. "Nice try," I hissed, later making him serve a time-out at home, today I'll remind him of what he's done when he asks to go with me to the grocery store. Heck no, I don't forget.

I can't even drag in enough grocery staples to keep us going lately. Milk and bread is devoured instantly, several gallons a day, and my kids are growing right before my eyes. CW alone ate several heaping plates of whole wheat pasta last night, adorned with piles of garden produce, olive oil, sea salt, and grated hot pepper cheese. "Boy, where are you putting all that?" I'd asked in surprise. He's thin as a rake, a coat hanger in clothes, as he has literally shot up in front of my eyes, now taller than I am, and way thinner, no matter how much he eats which is a considerable amount. He munches on bell peppers all day like other folks might eat Fritos. Blocky, thick-walled, multi-colored enticingly sweet peppers from Seeds of Change, that are remarkable, we're hauling them in each day, happy and satisfied with the pepper production.

I'm very happy with this lull in the action, with no fighting, no huge issues, nothing major going on at the moment. Most of the kids are happy about school starting in two weeks, we have several fun things scheduled, and nothing really to dread at the moment.

From my mouth to God's ears....

A Cold Front in July?

A cold front hitting Georgia in late July is highly unusual, we've had record lows tied, and it was only 80 degrees yesterday, allowing me to work outside all afternoon long, never even breaking a sweat after having to re-adjust from a frigid cold sanctuary back into the afternoon heat. I'm utterly convinced that the South's over-dependency on AC is ruining everyone's ability to survive outside at all in the heat, folks stay indoors, utterly reliant on artificial comfort, unable to even function any more when breaking a sweat. Call me old-fashioned honey, but I don't think folks can even have any fun without sweating.

Gardening would continue to be a delightful endeavor in an 80 degree, no humidity environment, rather than our usual 90 something degrees with 100% humidity often making it uber-swelteringly, blast-furnace unbearable to normal human beings...but I'm slowly learning I'm off the charts in contrast to so-called normal folks. I've learned to live with it, feeling like a freak sometimes, but probably happier overall than other frustrated and unchallenged women...or am I simply rationalizing an odd existence? I wish my mind would leave me alone sometimes.

I'd been finding more spring onions under Moon & Stars watermelon vines, debating if I should plant a total other crop, likely we have time to start from seed, and harvest all the more. This is the time of year when the heat, the bugs, snakes, and other critters usually make people abandon gardens in the South and retreat to their TVs in their air-conditioned, dark womb-like environments that would smother me within seconds. Outside all alone hollering to no one in particular, "Hey, y'all! We can harvest a couple more tons ya know." Good thing my mind is so active, it needs someone to listen to it, and that's what I'm there for.


Swimming, as usual, until dark, I'd gotten a pogo stick at a yard sale for a buck, Jack's becoming super good at balancing himself, able to hop for 300 plus times in one fell swoop, I'd remarked my usual grammatically incorrect phrasing, "I ain't fixing to have to drag anyone to St Mary's," as that's my usual ER of choice, but it turned out that a pointy elbow became a dangerous weapon instead. "Jump in the garage," I'd stressed, as the constant pounding in the kitchen was nerve-wracking.


A football in the pool, large rowdy boys, plus Paloma and Mayra, two mean girls, yelling and splashing, having a wonderful time, until CW very accidentally slammed Mayra's throat with his sharp elbow joint. She went down crying, which is unusual in and of itself, Motrin didn't do the trick, Yolie googled "elbow in throat" as we were debating a ER trip.

"DUH! Let's call Georgeanne," I finally suggested, as Preston's sister is a nurse.

After a look-over by an RN, we were satisfied she'd survive, armed with the knowledge then to apply heat, knowing she's gonna be sore, and very likely bruised this morning, another crisis averted.

I threw another gallon bag of tomatoes into the freezer out in the garage, cleaned up the kitchen where the boys had acted as if they'd never had supper two hours previously, glanced at the calendar, wondering if the last 17 days before school resumes, will my kitchen just cave in upon itself from overuse?

August will be as hot as Hell, that's not cussing, honestly it IS that hot in Georgia, and my kids will be glad for the AC school environment, while I'll rejoice in being alone, out in the gardens that still look good thanks to a heavy mulch and a 12 months of the year contemplation plus action equals results mentality that is deeply inbred in me.

Tabby was outside with me, collecting seeds from the four o'clocks that I'd cut back hard, desiring to move all flowers to the front and out of The Big Back garden. Likely the only six year old in her class who even knows how to do this, it's simple if someone shows a kid. Ms Carr once remarked that my kids are learning all sorts of outside talents that other children in subdivisons will never be exposed to, valuable homestead life experiences. Her thought has stayed with me as I ponder what all to teach them while they still live at home. I've been concentrating hard on the 'if you break a law, you'll go to jail' refrain, knowing how my children do not understand the law of natural consequences, budgeting is another massive mind-block arena for them...so much to learn, so little time.

She and Nando burrow everywhere, searching out the last of the blackberries, feeding me like I'm their pet goat or something.

Abe Lincoln stated, "that the greatest art of the future would be making the most of a small plot of land." Anyone here remember the astonishing popularity of the Foxfire books from north Georgia? These arts, these skills need to be not lost upon our next generation.

Walls need repainting, furniture needs repairing, I need the rejuvenation that being alone allows me, our schedule is slammed for the next two and a half weeks, I can do this with my eyes closed and still come out ahead.

Sarah and I'd been discussing a vegan diet, kind of hard to put into place since we both adore cheeses of all kinds, but breakfast for both of us are always vegan thanks to soy milk preferences, and we're checking out some options. Especially for me, at my age, to still be this annoyingly hyper and energetic, the fuel I put into my body is nearly all plant-based, as I'm stonily convinced that animal products weigh one down too heavily. We're both such nerds, Sarah and I, books on nutrition are high on our lists of enjoyable reads, and a fall crop of greens, onions, and other cole crops is a must.

I Wanna Be the First

Jesse's birthday isn't until tomorrow, but his mama here wants to be the first to yell "Happy Birthday!" across the thousand miles that separate us as he serves our country for seven years now.

He came here to me in 1995 as a very shy 12 year old, who then had to live side by side with Big Joe and Sergi, his best buddies. He used to lean on my shoulder in church back when he was the same height as me, before he shot up to his adult 6'4".

He used to carry CW around as a baby, smiling his very shy smile, hardly giving me any trouble at all as a teenager, easy going in school as well. A great son, a wonderful big brother, and a superb uncle. Grandma and Grandpa are crazy about him also.

He's been married to beautiful Lena for almost five years now. He's the doting father to his sweet son, Isaiah, and I'm soooo proud to be his mother.

I really love this man, yet hardly ever get to see him anymore, as the Navy's fairly demanding, sending him to Iraq twice. He was in Iraq the day Isaiah was born, seeing him for the first time, right off the plane, as a newborn. The picture below nearly brought me to tears.

Thank God now for shore duty. Jesse, you are a blessed man.

Feeling So Blessed Today

Why is this woman smiling today? Twice? Nope three times, but still with that kinda suspicious look in her eyes as in 'Why's that camera there?'

Because I'm healthy, spiritually sound, emotionally strong, facing the second half of my life with anticipation and excitement, knowing I've done all I can do for my family, so much of it is on them now, setting new goals for myself, making plans, enjoying some emotional space, and a little taste of freedom.

I'm secure and entrenched here where I live, in love with my family and my gardens, and grateful for all my grandchildren. Nothing like eating a couple dozen purple beauty bell peppers a day to make one grin with joy. Reckon I ought to start freezing them so as not to feel obligated to eat four dozen a day?

I only have my last 16 children living here at home with me, piece of cake after what all I've endured, they all dress themselves, bathe themselves, we have no new children to be adopted, we have a good number of resources, and, lo and behold, something positive bloomed in Jonathan today and...drum roll...we ALL made it to church and to Sunday School.

Not a Mysterious Woman

There's almost no way not to know that Ryan Secrest is making 45 million dollars for hosting American Idol over a three year time period. It's all over every news page I turn to when I'm reading my early morning updates. I'm literally green with jealousy, I'll admit it. Irked that in our society it's even possible to be paid so outrageously, when our teachers, nurses, social workers and police, just to name a few professions, are so grossly underpaid.

I've never watched that show, so I don't even know what Ryan Secrest does there, I'm not that far under a rock though that I don't know about Simon Cowell and others.

I think about parents who thanklessly provide foster care, where their hearts are yanked out and stomped upon on a regular basis. They're not paid at all, there's only enough funding provided to cover food and clothing and a few other basics. It's nearly volunteering up for emotional abuse, plus others will look askance at your dumb ole big heart and tell you, "I sure couldn't do that," as if there's something wrong with you for being able to do so. You'll be treated as a pariah, as if your motives are suspect for caring at all.

Living like I've done for so many years has skewed any sense of logic I might once have relied upon, nowadays flying by the seat of my pants, still searching for answers, still mouthing off and being silly, still struggling...if you'd have told me in my 20s that I'd be no closer to any answers in my 50s...I'd have been dismally buffaloed at the thought of my own continued ignorance.

I've received a lot of recent comments and copious emails thanking me for my transparency, the fact that I pour it all out here is maybe helping others to cope as well. I'm not a mysterious woman at all, it's very easy to know exactly how I feel, as I hold very little within me, preferring not to suffer from any ulcers, I slam around or holler at times, burst into tears of frustration, or stomp around mowing, hoeing, digging or working, never not speaking, or anything else so ridiculous or unproductive.

The anxiety preceding the start of a dreaded new school year is beginning to set in, even though there are still 17 summer days of laziness left to enjoy. Tabby blurted out her nervousness to Dr. Mandy, Scotty's amped up his own level of apprehension and tension, while even Jack, here since birth and very attached, displays some contagious version of disquietude. Martin and Sabrina will start high school with misgivings and unease, while Javy and Mayra's tenth grade year includes obvious dread at the knowledge that it all keeps getting academically harder.

Living with children who do not have the ability, nor the deep trust, to confide all this, leaves me pondering their motives, and their feelings, that are not necessarily discussed openly and with any visible or positive results, but more so are acted out viciously and violently at times, leaving me to again read between the blurred lines of odd behaviors. Trying to figure it all out, after all these years, is often a simple exercise in abject futility.

Sometimes I can take it, can handle all that is thrown at me with aplomb, but occasionally I resent it and seethe internally, working past my own irritability at the inabilities surrounding me, hard labor helping me to cope, expending my own bottled up energy and frustrations, and continuing on forward each day. Hey, somebody's gotta do it...why not me? But I can't lie to anyone and say it isn't a long row to hoe.

I'm so not having time to can my tomatoes, what was I thinking? I'm pigging out as fast as I can, sharing tons, and freezing the rest to deal with later. I'll make sauces when it's too cold to go outside and play.

Sarah advised me to email on my gmail, copies of documents to backup, knowing my own computer is wanting to crash...why did I not think of that? Is my poor brain fried beyond repair? Will I ever recover? Is there any beach on earth long enough for me to stomp it all out on? Someday...my wrinkled up ole self is gonna wander off...

My best friend, Emily, came over last night to swim with her kids and grandkids, Yolie and her kids, plus Carolina and hers as well, Cristy and her husband, Chris, all joined us, our big ole pool seemingly shrinking before our eyes, crowded with children who all got along all evening, only Paloma a little disjointed and edgy, but manageable. Emily's grandson pictured below, so chubby and cute, too adorable even for words, looking exactly like his mama, Mary.

Makes Me Wanna Holler

Paying a quarter for a stainless steel-lined coffee mug thrills me to pieces, as I know, even at Wal-Mart, they can run about twelve dadgum bucks. I'd run outta here early this morning, and gotten Lily and Paloma some very nice back-to-school clothes, as well as Polo shirts for my sons. One dollar apiece for expensive shirts that retail for $75.

I've replaced the dishes I've broken, plus bought new cups that've been lost and destroyed in various moments within our overly rambunctious household. For my own reading enjoyment, I spent a quarter on this and I'm as pleased as punch.

Call me a snob, but I will absolutely not drink out of plastic, especially not a hot beverage like coffee in a plastic encased mug, nor do I shop at yard sales in middle class neighborhoods. No kidding, I aim for the high-end, big bucks mega homes where I can buy high quality things we need for pennies on the dollar.

I'd run into one of Jesse's old teachers who'd asked about him, and I was able to brag about Jesse and his beautiful family, his son pictured here, my newest grandson, Isaiah.

My day yesterday disintegrated into several necessary appointments and meetings. For a retired person, I seem to be attending a great deal of child-related mandated meetings, often frustrating, rarely fruitful, necessary, yet usually unproductive, and for a high-strung, over-scheduled Type A female like me, I fret and fidget, wiggle and squirm, do money figures in my mind, plan other stuff, and act as if I'm paying attention, when I'm really just going through the motions, tuning in when needed.

We never got to swimming yesterday, until nearly dark, due to a very welcome, but short, downpour, that merely refreshed the dirt rather than saturating it. Yolie'd come out in the storm to bring me a delicious stuffed pepper dish she'd concocted from peppers, tomatoes, onions and squash out of my garden that is still producing in spite of a serious rainfall deficit.

I'd been standing at the stove for a hour, spinning around to thrillingly watch the rain from a large window, happy and frying up burritos for the kids, running out of beans by the time I'd gotten to my own dinner. I was thinking I'd just eat another large garden salad when Yolie showed up and fixed that particular dilemma, bringing me so much, I'd had to share with Mayra to get it all eaten.

Since I'm in a time of little to no stress, my appetite is astonishing, and anything not nailed down has been consumed by me. Paloma and Blanca picked me a very large bowl of wild blackberries right before dark last night, harvested from the edge of the woods, up past the second meadow, now too overgrown to be labled as such. I went to sleep blissfully, on my back, too full to sleep on my stomach.

We're in a cool snap, at least for Georgia, and I plan to go dig the garlic today, still eating a ton of delicious potatoes. Honey, they are to die for, freshly dug, unbelievably delicious in comparison to store-bought, bland, over-sprayed chunks of tasteless starch balls that modern consumers gorge themselves with, unaware that there's an original Plan B...grow one's own for Pete's sake.

Sarah's improving day by day, stronger by the minute, her three small incisions healing nicely, but still unable to pick up her large and gorgeously demanding toddler, Hazel.

Last night I'd stormed upstairs in response to difficult teenagers, afraid of what I might blurt out if my unbridled mouth got to going off. I walked around watering houseplants, in my room, that never argue and only continue to present me with therapeutic joy, thriving and even blossoming at times, happy for the attention, soothing my mangled soul that still is blown away, at times, by not only a complete lack of gratitude, but also due to the oddly continuous attempts to push away the only adult who's ever remained by their side.

It makes me wanna holler.

Watch Out World

So no kidding, I get a babysitter with a Master's Degree in Social Work (Yolie), tend to my morning dentist appointments for Tabby and Sabrina, and Dr. Mandy's visit with two of my kids here, make all sorts of arrangements, just so I can go to Atlanta and participate in counseling with an amazingly unattached RAD kid, who couldn't care less about my presence in her life. I'm no more valuable than a cockroach to her. She sat there and texted the entire time, obviously irked that I was there, and no part of me feels as if I haven't tried hard enough for 11 years. I've learned to not take it personally.

But having to leave all the other kids, still at home, who are very attached and emotionally over-dependent on me, seems quite unfair.

I've learned to jump through the hoops, participate in what is requested of me, knowing if I don't, someone will write 'cold, uncooperative mother' on their form, without any clue as to how much work and emotions I one-sidely have poured into someone, before it finally became blindingly evident that we needed outside help.

Needing help though puts one in the unenviable position of being treated as a failure by folks who'd never attempt to live like this. I've met incredibly understanding professionals over the years, and I really like the one in Atlanta we're dealing with now, but sitting in an office for an hour is in no way indicative of the life we live with traumatized and/or otherwise labeled children.

Dr. Mandy, who comes to our house and listens to many different versions of events by several of my children, is intuitive, brilliant and understanding, able to easily discern the truth and to put her finger on the tender, sometimes diseased, areas that need addressing.

One therapist once suggested that I try and live in the reality of a very violent and disturbed child, where there were no truths, the facts totally non-existent, and aspiring to be a rich rap star was an admirable and achievable option, even though said child had no musical gifts, nor any ability to not attack others. How am I gonna try that? Sometimes it takes all I have to not mouth off. Deep sighs, emitting total exasperation, is all I've got left.

Two kids went with me for the ride, 14 remained at home. After supper we all went up to the pool for an even rowdier than usual time, as the stress of behaving all day nearly did some of them in big time. The need to let off steam, and incredible frustration, was as needed by me as much as all the others.

Mayra, JoJo and Allen went into hair-pulling mode, Pepe called me while I was up there, yelling over the background racket, agreeing he sure could use a dose of Midol, as his previous week in his facility did nothing to endear him to anyone.

Javy tried to reason with him. Mr Four Time Runaway/I Need My Mommy (I'm So Conflicted I Need A T-Shirt Saying So)...all these labels fit him snugly, and he laughs them off, able to see the dichotomy in his actions, glad that I can emotionally handle it, constantly forgiving and starting over again with him.

Boy do you think I need your devotion to make me whole?

I know who I am, I'm happy where I'm at, and my personhood is not defined by those around me whatsoever.

Today is nearly as demanding in terms of three different meetings regarding my children and their many needs. I'll run outside and pick a ton to eat, weeding in short bursts of free time, watering, and wishing I had time to mow the Fruit Orchard. Ate my first fig of the season last night, Heaven on earth.

The woman who made the biggest horticultural impact upon my life, Dottie, found me last night on Facebook FINALLY. Teaching me a love of gardening that's been within me since I was pregnant (and married to JB) with Sarah at age 18, a friend since tenth grade, nowadays I realize and treasure those connections so much more, even though I've been unable to go anywhere, nor see anyone, for so many years due to the incredible demands here at home...my time is coming...watch out world.

End of VBS

A long, wide slip 'n slide last night was easily the high point of VBS, I'd caught a group right here on camera with three of my grandchildren in it, Ray, CJ and Tommy. Inside the building, a large room of elementary aged children were singing and dancing along with flashing lights and loud music, to a song about, "When I'm down, He lifts me up," and having such a grand ole time. Miss Lisa puts on a fantastically exciting production for Children's Church and my kids have had a blast. I remind myself to be grateful for the many opportunities and superb examples that we have for our family, especially through our church.

I was glancing through the new issue of Horticulture Magazine, knowing I'll have more time in the winter to read every word, and wondering to myself why I didn't major in it when I had the chance to do so many, many years ago. For that matter why didn't social work occur to me, as I contemplated majoring in the French language, enthralled with the verb tenses, like the nerd I truly am, albeit with a loose command of the English language, since all Southerners are captivated and controlled by double negatives and the fact that the word 'ain't' is the only acceptable action descriptive at times.

Did it not then occur to me to work with 39 cultivars of any particular plant type? What made me think I could make a difference in 39 lives? Did I get dropped on my head in church as a child? Yolie swears someone must have clobbered me in a mall, or something, so deep is my aversion to a shopping conglomeration...yet there was no such thing as a mall when I was a kid, thank goodness.

Nobody had any discretionary spending money back then, aka unsecured, nebulous credit. No cash? No shopping. It was simple.

I'd likely have struggled academically within a science major. I can propagate plants, but would've been baffled by the depth and breadth of other classes. This article got me to thinking though. There's an admirable goal. I could've done that.

I have a ridiculous amount of houseplants in my house, very common varieties, nothing breathtaking, save for their number, which is shocking I suppose. I've been asked, "WHO waters all these?" as if I wouldn't be the one. Every single one, of the hundreds of plant pots, have all come from yard sales, not from me lurking in a home decor store. Watering plants calms me, my own inner hyperactive beast that wants out, becomes soothed by the monotony and the sight of water being absorbed by properly constructed soil molecules. It all makes sense to me, in sharp contrast to the craziness surrounding me at times.

My last 16 children, living here at home, are already outnumbered by the number of grandchildren, which now stands at 19. I like it. Within less than five years, I'll have a very small number of children still living with me, and that's something to look forward to as well, since I enjoy my older children's intelligence and company so much. Well, usually.

I'd received an email regarding schooling for Jonathan next year. A far as I'm concerned he should be retained in the grade in which he refused to attend more than half of a school year. Period. Logic at work. Yet that school, the elementary school, is wanting to consider social promotion, as who needs a large, threatening, disturbed child in the fifth grade?

I get it, I understand their reasoning, which they did not state to me like I put it here, that's my own inference. But I know, in Jonathan's twisted thinking, he will feel rewarded for non-attendance. In the grand scheme of things, he'll probably refuse either grade anyway, just as he's refused to participate in church attendance this summer. And consequences have no effect on him at all, his disturbances run much deeper than that.

After a good visit with Pepe (Jose), Jonathan's older brother, Pepe has now melted down within his placement, refusing to comply, and becoming fixated on different aspects that cannot be reasoned with at all. No logic permeates his skull, no verbal intervention makes sense to him.

The other three sibs in this uber-troubled group, Chuy, Javy and Paloma, continue to struggle forward each day, experiencing good days and bad, Chuy being the most normal of the bunch by far. I'm praying that football and soccer, as well as his high intelligence, will serve to keep him from deviousness, or the normal impatience that may tempt him to do wrong at any point. Javy has had a very tough year, abandoned by Fabian (in his own mind), and struggling with several issues yet trying hard to keep his head above water.

Paloma continues to astonish me with her remarkable turnaround.

I continue to be rewarded by food production and plants that make me smile.

Sometimes the kids outdo the plants in every aspect possible.