For the last day of November, we're facing a threat of bad weather, both literally and figuratively. A fifteen year old had one of his legendary meltdowns that occurs about once every couple of months, he's lallygagging still in bed, I fear his school attendance today is iffy. I'd spent two solid hours last night pacifying him, his two birth sibs hovering and offering suggestions.

I'd promised my 21 year old emotionally challenged daughter that I'd meet her in Atlanta today. Her issues, potential explosiveness, and inappropriate behaviors make it difficult, unacceptable even for her to visit here as the last several times, it's been too much drama for my younger children. Her friends are scary, lemme tell ya.

When I called her yesterday to confirm, I again was met with the recording that indicates a number doesn't have any minutes. Deep sigh. I'm not driving to Atlanta just to search the streets for her whereabouts, usually in a fairly marginal part of the city. Eventually she called me to settle our plans.

Attending Sabrina's Fall Cheerleading Banquet last night, a pot luck, which is generally a favorite of mine versus the green beans, mashed flaky instant taters and a piece of unidentifiable meat dinners, I nearly swooned with joy as I discovered a pineapple dish that uses cheese and butter, a dish my late Aunt Doris used to make. I made a general pig of myself.

I'd brought a mac and cheese, always figuring at least this vegetarian would be able to eat something uncontaminated by dead animals, yet when I came up upon it, the entire mongo dish was empty. Yep, folks, y'all ate it all, chowing down on whole wheat noodles - the way God intended us to eat pasta - good, wasn't it? I'd gone easy on the peppers, Americanizing it, when I deeply prefer my food to have a kick.

Preston's surgery is now scheduled for Friday of this week, Grandma will babysit Ray and Hazel so that I can go with them, hoping and praying for a quick fix and good news. The unknowns of this make me a hair uneasy, but after what all he survived last week, this ought to be a piece of cake.

And my soon to be 54 year old favorite BIL, Kevin, holding his own out there, playing football with my sons on a full-to-bursting Thanksgiving belly, Chuck discussing strategy, and, at least, it was a very warm afternoon.

I was raised to over-achieve and to excel in school and I passed that on to Sarah who's doing the same with her children. I was thrilled as well when many of my older children tried hard and thrived also. I have a surprising number of college graduates, this I need to remind myself of as much as possible.

Then, kaboom, and I heard this echoed from many other adoptive mothers at the time, maybe right after the onslaught of crack cocaine that also put many kids into foster care, much as meth is doing nowadays, children's mental health diagnoses exploded, behavior disorders became the more serious conduct disorder designations, and difficulties abounded.

"Conduct disorder" refers to a group of behavioral and emotional problems in youngsters. Children and adolescents with this disorder have great difficulty following rules and behaving in a socially acceptable way. They are often viewed by other children, adults and social agencies as "bad" or delinquent, rather than mentally ill. Many factors may contribute to a child developing conduct disorder, including brain damage, child abuse, genetic vulnerability, school failure, and traumatic life experiences.

Welcome to my world.

But hey, someone's gotta be da mama.

This slide began around here in the mid-1990s and I've watched my children either do fairly well, or seriously fall into the criminal element, never ever able to comprehend that it is their own behaviors. Who doesn't understand this one concept - if you don't work, you won't have any money?

That I'm in a fairly good place right now made it all the more evident that I'm a little deluded. Just because we're not having to call the deputies doesn't mean we're Harvard bound.

My nieces, sweet, beautiful, loving, attached and super-intelligent young ladies always accidentally remind me of the contrast. One will graduate from William & Mary and likely head to grad school, another already has a degree from William and Mary, the third is at Notre Dame, and the fourth is still in high school, but clearly college-bound..

I'm extremely proud to the bursting point of them, but it does show me how isolated and insulated I am from any faction of the real world, most folks don't live like this, but I do, and it has changed me. Just ask my brothers who've known me for more than 50 years. Oh wait - just ask Sarah. Even my older kids, most of who've known me for 20 years, can attest to this aspect.

I really miss my family, and I'm so incredibly glad that Grandma lives here, happy also for her as she's got Jack to dote upon, she has her two Bridge groups, a church, and friends down here.

She'd mentioned to my brothers, "Raymond really didn't have that much stuff," which is true. Grandpa left a small closet of suits and ties, everything else was the household stuff owned by both he and Grandma. He hated shopping, had no use for stuff, preferred to read or to travel. After his death, we're basically left with little to discard. He loved spending time with family, he loved nothing more.

His presence and influence over us all though is deeply missed.

That's what should've, and did, count for everything in his life.

A friend of mine talked about missing the kids who all return to school today. I get it. I miss most of mine, yet the disruptive ones, most notably, Jonathan, JoJo and Tony, and the problems they routinely cause, make me glad school's in session. That's unfair to my other children.

Oh well.

They'll be out in three weeks, and we have major plans that even I'm excited about, in spite of how difficult it'll be to pull it off successfully, what with those that'd sabotage everything, just because they can.

I have a pile of procrastinated paperwork to tend to, a kitchen that's been in hard, pounding overdrive for the past ten days, sagging and bedraggled from intense and constant demands, I'll do laundry and sweep, vacuum and dance around with my Ipod, waiting to hear from Sarah about Preston's impending surgery schedule.

And I'll look, filled with hope and happiness, towards my grandchildren who will be college bound before we know it. Time flies, and that's so not a duh to me.

Nature CD White Noise

I have missed more Sundays this fall than I've missed in the last decade. Out the door before sunrise, gulping coffee, leaving Mayra and Grandma with the sleeping ones, I took the older boys, plus Sabrina, Nando and Jack to the stadium for the recycling initiative, bagging empty bottles and cans, a chore I don't mind at all, for two reasons.

Good for the environment and my adoption agency gets paid for this one deal. A win-win situation for me in my knotty headed mind.

I'd worn my long johns under sweats, temps in the 30s, but it really wasn't bad at all as the work warmed us up quickly, but we returned home too late for church. It isn't quick to shower this many people. My shoes smell like Southern Comfort from the stadium.

I stopped to treat the kids to biscuits and Chuy remarked on "a buncha Mexicans smelling like alcohol, hope we don't see anyone we know."

I"m Puerto Rican," Emily's son, Keith, had stressed,"when I tld him I'd put a picture a of this random white guy on my blog this morning.

I have a gentle rain, nature sound CD in my Ipod as I sit in the midst of six kids playing UNO and three watching a TV movie, the rest of them chattering and trashing the kitchen, gotta balance my checkbook, plan for December which always stresses me out with Christmas pressure. I'm decidedly NOT a Holiday person, when they're grown you'll find me walking some beach happily.

The Simple Dollar is always worth reading, he reviews books I'd love to read and this quote today is resonating within me.

Dining out might seem like a normal routine for some, but if you add up the costs of it over a long period, it adds up to a lot of money. If you eat out twice a week for $30 when you could eat at home for $5, guess how much that adds up to over ten years? $26,000.

When the kids are grown you won't find me eating out necessarily, though I'm tired of cooking after all these years, I can still fix exactly what I prefer so easily...and stay in my pjs.

I moped around yesterday, missing all my family that'd all left by noontime. Going up to my room, continuing with my minimalism, with decluttering, I recycled every single paperback book on the shelves, hauled off older hardbacks, trimmed plants, repotted several pothos, and patted myself on the back over my own progress that is making me feel so much better around here.

Keeping an eye on Preston, fretting a little, still worried, he ran a temperature last night, and tomorrow he'll find out when he'll face surgery.

OK, I've put off the paperwork long enough, got to work on the budget, and file, or destroy, papers. I used to keep my old Franklin Planner calendar sheets, but why? Everything's on my phone now, who needs it? I even tossed some photos of folks no longer in my life, long ago men, who cares? Scenic pictures of places that might not even exist anymore? How does it matter to me? It doesn't, that's why God made trash cans.

And my brother Gary, here with his youngest daughter, Caroline, had spent the other evening explaining a real estate venture that made too much sense to me. More of a potential opportunity for Sarah and Preston, totally fascinating, and I wanna read up on it today as well.

A Normalness I Crave

Because Sarah and Preston are an older, established and super intelligent couple, the way that last week unfolded, leaving Preston fighting for his life, sent severe shock waves through all of my other children.

Just as one had once said, "Oh! I bet you're very happy now," when Sarah was expecting Ray, even though I already had eight grandchildren, as if this birth grandchild would be crowned King, to now be faced with potentially losing a birth in-law, uh-oh, Mom will be shattered.

That I'm still fighting this misperception amongst my own children surprises me.

As a whole, the rest of my kids were simply stunned about Preston. He just seemed invincible, a rock solid example of a man. To have had him so physically weakened, and teetering on the verge of death, shook us all to the core.

My favorite picture of him has always been one that's somewhere here on my blog, where he's holding a snake he'd just caught, looking like someone out of the 1930s.

That our family is so large just increases our likelihood of difficulties and challenges, but also of happiness, pure bliss and successes.

In crisis I tend to emotionally shut down, slammed is a better word, wide-eyed usually with fear, shock or what on earth are we gonna do thoughts, dealing with my suppressed emotions much later when the trauma has passed. I swear, I'm aging rapidly in response.

Too rattled to eat much on Thanksgiving, I did tank up tremendously on left-overs yesterday, much as a camel might do, storing up fat reserves for when I'll later need them.

My brothers, my wonderful sister-in-law, and my favorite brother-in-law are leaving today, my four nieces and I hugging each other tightly, knowing it'll be a long time before I can see any of them again.

They're all beautiful and successful, motivated and smart, navigating their bright futures with so many exciting open doors in front of them, so many wonderful chances ahead to choose from, making me all the more aware of the challenges my own children face simply because they were not nurtured, nor taken care of, in their early childhood before foster care and adoption.

It seems so staggeringly unfair, but then often I think about the blows folks absorb and continue forward, sustained, healed, and heading towards remarkable successes. Resilency gives me hope.

The older I get, the less I know...the more baffling life seems to me.

Due to a night game tonight of UGA and Georgia Tech, the recycling initiative isn't until the crack of dawn tomorrow when it'll be 32 degrees. "We gotta get up at 6?" my kids have questioned me, not irritated, but rather a bit excited, as this turns our usual church attendance schedule topsy turvy.

Sometimes we can rush through the stadium, working steadily, and get it done in an hour, making our usual early service possible, maybe we'll attend late service, maybe miss it all? I dunno yet, but it's terribly important to me that I teach my kids to serve others, to give back, as I feel we've all been given so much. In this case it's the adoption agency in which I feel a massive debt is owed by us to them.

I know I'll drag butt all day, missing my brothers and their families. It's been very nice here for a few days, a normalness that I often lack and generally crave.

Thanksgivingness

We had just under 50 folks for Thanksgiving dinner yesterday, but the guest of honor was Preston, who rallied enough to come over and say the blessing.

Odd that we'd been dreading Grandpa's absence for Thanksgiving manifested by many of my kids peppering me with one particular question, "Who was gonna say the blessing now with Grandpa gone?"

Really y'all, that's your focus?

We'd, all the older people, just naturally asssumed it'd be Preston as the elder one now, but after the week he'd had, an understatement at best, it'd seemed quite unlikely.

I teared up, coming so close to losing him, the fact that he limped over to give the Thanksgiving prayer seemed like a miracle alone.

Sarah fixed him a plate and they had to leave immediately, this being Sarah's favorite holiday, conflicted between not getting to spend time with her cousins versus Preston's health issues, downer might be the only word usable, but I feel guilty even using it, in light of the fact that simply put, he survived.

We had tons of food, maybe subconsciously overdoing it since we knew Sarah wouldn't be overseeing the process, again it was weird without her doing so. Indeed, Yolie's Tahoe was loaded for bear, Grandma'd cooked a massive amount, and none of my dishes are ever small servings.

All the guys went out for football in the meadow after eating, it was very warm weather, and Vanessa'd tried to come surprise me from Alabama, but her car over-heated, calling me sounding all forlorn, me remembering all the times she'd flat out rejected me, funny how things change, and now I truly do miss her. Her original sib group of seven minus her pictured here.
A sib group once presented to me as fairly good kids...Lord Have Mercy, were they a challenging group, or what? Five out of seven have been on probation at various times. Now they range from age 13-23, left to right would be Allen 15, Miriam, 21, Mayra 17, JoJo 13, Edgar 23, and Fabian 18.

I missed Jesse, Lena and Isaiah spectacularly.

I was just so focused on Preston's survival though that I thought this had been the best Thanksgiving ever, until surprisingly much later, verified by a flurry of phone calls, several folks out of 50, had come down with a weird stomach ailment.

There was no rhyme nor reason, and it passed quickly, but one of my brothers had to tend to a very sick daughter who had a stomach infection, an ongoing several week issue that resulted in an ER trip last night.

Jack clearly missed Grandpa immensely yesterday, hyped up and bordering on irritating behaviors, the grief counselor is scheduled to get with us next week.

He accidentally broke a platter, while Tony, on purpose, provoking everyone the entire day, threatening to run away, eventually broke the pretty bowl that had held the mashed potatoes...minimalism is a cinch around here.

Happy Thanksgiving

Preston is home from the hospital and we are overjoyed. Now that's what I call Thanksgiving.

Gotta go cook, I deeply appreciate everyone's prayers for my son-in-law. He'll have surgery next week.

I hope everyone enjoys their families today, God sure put mine into perspective for me lately.

Day Four

Hard up for entertainment? Well, duh. The girls were fascinated with CW spackling a hole in the floor before the mopping event.

Waking up to Day Four of Preston's hospital ordeal, Hazel is not sleeping her usual 12 hour span, the kids have done great here, not melting down, just running, playing and having fun with Tabby and Nando, CJ and Mae, but not exactly sleeping on their usual schedules. Fortunately the kids are attached to Grandma and I, used to being here, but usually, almost always, they're here with Sarah.

One niece is flying in to the Atlanta airport, from Notre Dame where she's a sophomore, we have a shuttle that comes to within three miles of my house, I texted her the instructions yesterday, the rest of our extended family will all be arriving today.

Cooking a mongo food feast is truly no big deal for either me or Grandma, Yolie or Sarah, and between the four of us we usually have a ton of food to enjoy. Sarah's impending absence is deeply felt however, as normally I'd have consulted her some two hundred times by now about menu planning and groceries. My dear friend, Chris, had delivered four turkeys here already, so the ovens will be chugging along all day.

I did not make it over to the hospital yesterday, and today's not looking much better, there's a chance he'll get to come home tomorrow. Preston and Sarah live through the woods behind Yolie and Chuck's house, our dirt road branches off to another, the proximity helps us all tend to each other, and I'm so incredibly grateful that they're close by. I've had 37 years of being close to Sarah, going on 20 years now with Yolie.

Jonathan's Pathways therapist has been here all week, once more today. She's young and very pretty, another case of a good cop/bad cop relationship here where I'm the heavy. She was explaining a new therapeutic approach to me yesterday, me eagerly listening, "Honey, you know I'll try anything," and I'll write more about it as I learn more.

Asked on a comment yesterday about driving lessons for my children, how do I do this? - it's not easy and I don't enjoy it - driving either a 15 passenger van, or my stick shift truck with a learner, is not a fun thing, but necessary.

I know that I have some weird ideas, I was explaining to Martin and Chuy yesterday that I don't trust men who dump sugar in their coffee (it's a striking commonality amongst prisoners, or so said a study I'd once read - how they heap countless spoons of sugar into their coffee) and I think it's even weirder, and so unmanly, if a man can't drive a stick shift.

So last night, as we drove our trash bags to the trash can up by the mailbox, I explained the dynamics involved as they watched me closely, Chuy immediately able to spit back the theories to me regarding the clutch, brake and gas pedals. He's a very smart guy, I expect him to learn it as easily as did Daniel.

Georgia now requires those with permits to wait a year and a day before getting their real driver's license and I'm even stricter. "Child, there's no hurry," I explained to my impatient son, "You'll be driving the rest of your entire life."


I'm glad to know that tonight my brothers and brother-in-law will be here. We're all extraordinarily close and I'm so deeply glad for that. Grandma and Grandpa have always been our emotional glue, and the loss of Grandpa is noticeable, yet we're so incredibly grateful that we didn't lose Preston to sepsis, that the dynamics over our grief at losing Grandpa has changed.

I'm still slap staggered over the two documented instances where Preston's blood pressure crashed totally, barely supporting life, thank God, I keep saying that we didn't maintain our very usual 'tough it up' manner, Preston most of all. We came so very, very close Sunday afternoon to losing him, and then again Sunday night in the ER.

I'm very shaken from all this, I can't begin to imagine how Sarah feels, she's borne the brunt of everything, sleeping at the hospital, hardly eating for four days, very, very quiet, which makes me fret all the more for her, knowing she's sweating this ordeal intensely, hating to watch Preston suffer, missing her children who she's never apart from at all. Yes, the sepsis is gone, but we still have another unknown issue to pray through.

Hardly a month ago the two of them were happily celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary, then boom, first Grandpa, and KAPOWIE, now Preston.

Her beautiful friends, Jess and Beth, showing up at the hospital late that first night, Jess bringing her daddy, Pastor Terry, who's meant the world to us for years and years. Both girls grew up in the church youth group with Sarah, now all three of them are approaching 40, and friends for life, that's what a good church home can do for you.

And I'm just walking around my house thanking God over and over and over again.

Out of ICU

As if we didn't have enough going on, three of my teenagers successfully earned their learner's permits today, after the five dentist appointments and Jack getting glasses. Chuy is one of the few kids who I've allowed to get theirs at 15, preferring to wait until more maturity kicks in, heck Martin's almost 17 now, pictured here with Sabrina and Chuy.

Preston is out of ICU, in a regular hospital room, still in pain from having a catheter jammed through his abdomen, and the sepsis is gone.

We may never know what caused it, or we might, tests are still being run, and he should come home later in the week, only to still have to face surgery next week.

Knowing he's out of the woods now has had me fighting the tears I'd held back while he struggled. During intense stress I seem to shut down and function like an automaton, I'm still concerned about the stress on Sarah, this has been scary and rough.

Again I'm so grateful for the massive amount of prayers being sent their way.

This truly scared the pea turkey outta me.

A Very Thankful Thanksgiving Coming Up

Honestly we have no clue as to what brought this on with Preston. Our Thanksgiving week weather has been so incredibly warm and beautiful that I'd asked God on Sunday how He thought anyone could get any housework done when it was 70 degrees outside?

I'd been pulling out my nemesis quack grass from a front bed by the ugly greenhouse side before Sarah's initial call to me about coming to get the kids so she could take Preston to the ER.

Not being able to get him up, we'd called 911. An ambulance with two men arrived and then two other vehicles of First Responders. It didn't occur to either of us to be worried much when one First Responder left his car here so that he could drive the ambulance and keep the other two men working on Preston in the back.

We didn't know his blood pressure plunged, putting him very near death. We just didn't know.

We didn't know that Preston was so disoriented that he misspelled his own four letter last name, giving it another syllable plus many other letters, nor did any single one of us have a clue what was lurking in his body, some unspecified bacteria wreaking havoc.

They worked on him for seven hours in the ER, now it's been a day and a half of ICU.

Ray and Hazel are here with Grandma and I. Yolie has, as always, been a phenomenal babysitter for the rest of my kids, succinctly stating, "If it were me, I know I'd want my mama with me," regarding Sarah's emotional load now this week at the hospital.

It is scary, but at least now, we believe we're seeing improvements, slight though it may be.

We're relegated to the ICU Family Waiting Room, although I did get to visit with Preston briefly yesterday, surprisingly running into CW, Lily and Jack's other Grandmother and family there also. A 33 year old cousin with a heart attack? How can that be? Someone who has had a tough enough life to have been featured on a national news story at one point in her life, now this?

Her nine year old daughter was wide-eyed and listening to stories there in the waiting room, this side of the family needs major prayers as well. Elsa getting a stint? At 33? I was just buffaloed at the concept.

Am I now at the age where everything is predicated upon the joy of good health? Well, yeah.

Sunday morning, bopping out of the house happily, on my way to church, Sarah and I'd skipped Sunday School to run to Kripsy Kreme, which not incidentally had the Hot Light blasting. It was her birthday, and we knew we wouldn't have time to celebrate it until after Thanksgiving.

We didn't know that within hours we'd have to call 911 about Preston.

Coming home later around midnight, I'd been shocked and upset, saddened over the level of suffering I'd seen in Preston, paying to get out of the hospital parking lot, apparently not realizing I'd dropped my debit card while locking the front gate in the full moon brilliance of a warm night.

I don't lose debit cards, but I did so.

Jack found it the next day, after I'd cancelled it, riding his bike up the road to get the mail.

Yolie'd needed to take it with her to do my grocery shopping for the holidays, now there's a dear daughter who'd brave Wal-Mart crowds to shop for mama, so I'd had to call the bank, make Plan B, and tend to other seemingly lackluster errands, as Sarah texted me details about Preston's pending surgery, my inner alarm rising, they ended up sticking a catheter through his abdomen wall, numbing it locally, I nearly barfed in response to what he must've endured.

Out of town company coming tomorrow, Thank God. I need to see my brothers and nieces, my sister-in-law and favorite brother-in-law, while also constantly praying for the health of his own father who's battling what Grandpa dealt with, the Pulmonary Fibrosis.

Thanksgiving has always been Sarah's favorite holiday, she'd plan the menu, make delicious food alongside Grandma, Yolie and I...this year Sarah's really gonna be thankful as Preston continue to pull through, but it appears she'll spend it at the Hospital, as did I that time in 1973 when I'd birthed her during an early fourth Thursday Thanksgiving, that then helped beautifully, as I was in my second year of college and needed the long weekend to pop out a baby and return to classes that following Monday.

I sure didn't picture us, 37 years later, both living down the same dirt road, me with 38 other children, her in the hospital with her husband battling for his life.

Now I gotta bolt out the door for five dentists appointments early this morning. Didn't plan that very well, now did I?

I cannot BEGIN to thank everyone enough for the prayers. We're constantly asked what we need and, honey, we need prayers. That's it. We need healing for Preston and we're starting to see progress.

Still In ICU

Several of y'all have shared similar experiences - all that turned out well - and I appreciated hearing them, as this is our first experience with this sepsis.

Preston is still in ICU, he's weak, his fever has broken, his blood pressure is slightly improved, but he's not stable enough yet for surgery, and the source of the infection is not known.

I'm cautiously optimistic however.

The doctors labeled him a 6 or a 7, on a scale of one to ten, regarding the seriousness of this sepsis.

It all came on so quickly, literally he'd have passed away had Sarah not been there with him yesterday afternoon, I'm stunned at the whole thing. It's been a scary 24 hours.

Urgent Prayer Request

Sarah's husband, Preston, is in the local hospital's Intensive Care Unit fighting sepsis, we do not know where the bacteria originated.

I'm literally begging for a massive prayer covering for his healing.

This all blew up late yesterday evening, we'd had to call an ambulance, the ER immediately got a great deal of antibiotics in his system. He has dangerously low blood pressure.

He went from perfectly healthy to being totally hooked up with tubes and wires within a span of hours.

Honestly, right now, we do not need anything but prayer. Thank y'all so much.

Dang Shin Bone

My plants, my gardens, and any horticultural pursuit is considered my therapy. This works for me. I propagated new plants yesterday, took a wheelbarrow load of spent pepper plants to the compost pile, and I happily trimmed and pruned the indoor house plants, between taking every single book off the living room shelves, and evaluating its usefulness in this millennium. I mean, really? Do I need so many paperbacks from the 70s? I don't think so.

Who doesn't see the symbolic pruning of my life lately, as I take stock of myself, my family, and my future?

My biggest happiness though came from not even unlocking the gates yesterday, not having to crank a vehicle, nor going anywhere. Reclusiveness makes me happy, yet it's not exactly a solitary endeavor, in that it was Grandma, me and 14 kids all home together.

Today Sarah turns 37, good gracious, have we been through some stuff in these almost four decades, or what?

This isn't exactly the idea I'd then had back then, however I'm pleased as punch that she lives within walking distance of my home. Happy Birthday Beautiful! Yep, it calls for an exclamation mark, this isn't excessive mushiness. I'm a very blessed woman.

Lily's therapy is drawing, she too enjoys isolation, quietness, sitting with the three Yorkies in her room, lost in her artwork, bringing it out to show me, knowing I'll always be super impressed. I truly am. I'm absolutely untalented and uncoordinated, yet I'm in awe of those who can sing, create, and excel.

Gimme a patch of dirt...

And a spading fork and a hand rake, I'm good to go.

I've got to help Jack find his way back, his bliss, and his joy again, as he's clearly in the anger stage of grieving.

I suppose I'm to the acceptance level, although I ponder, in my hyperactive pea brain, constantly the emotional difficulty of having a person simply disappear from life. I think back to my niece, Lauren, losing her mom at age 7. How does one function after that?

Like Grandma, I stay busy to cope. She'd gone down our long drive, clipping errant limbs and branches that reach out to scratch and protest visitors, cutting her 80 year old fingers to shreds, but she couldn't be deterred.

She's happy that my brothers will be here soon, her four other grandchildren are on their way, we'll eat the entire week. This was always Grandpa's favorite holiday, and there's still an element of disbelief that he won't be here with us.

I'm debating getting an xray of my shin. Built like an orangutan, I can circle my ankle with the long fingers on one hand, not so on the swollen one. It looks like a piano leg. I'd fell out of a weed bucket comically, stomping on the stupid quack grass a week ago, the kids suppressing laughter at the sight, and an egg sized lump swole up faster than my big mouth could get a holler out of, thus attempting to end my sentence with a preposition.

A week later, it's swollen, bruised and painful, but my sky-high insurance deductible and my serious case of white coat fever syndrome are conspiring to keep me down and dealing with it.

Likely a hairline fracture? The docs wouldn't be able to do anything about it, other than tell me to stay off it. Yeah, dudes, get real.

Even if all my kids were grown, I'd be too busy to stay off of it.

Duh.

But maybe then I could soak in my imaginary hot tub?

It's still dark outside, I'm hoping when the rest of the kid get up, we can get to church without the drama that's slain us for the last two months on Sunday mornings.

Meeting Our Needs

I am often asked by single people interested in adoption what they should do in preparing their finances, or even in just managing them.

Gail Vaz-Oxlade has a TV show, Til Debt Do Us Part (love it), that I watch, but I also read her blog. Indeed, I read a ton of personal finance blogs, but simply to answer the question, I'll quote her and what she does:

•I still track my expenses every day and live on a budget.
•I don’t carry any debt.
•I save.
•I have enough insurance to take care of the kids if the caca hits the fan.

It's a simple process to write it all down each day, I use an Excel Spreadsheet that I specifically micro designed for our own personal household, and I use Quicken and online bill pay.

Who wants to have to tend to all that? Well, duh, I do. I wanna be in control, I wanna know where our money has gone, and what I can do to improve our finances.

I don't find it tedious, but rather exhilarating.

I subscribe to a few eccentric ideas, this I know. I love the Buy Nothing Campaign, I thrill to the Spend Nothing Weekends, Minimalism attracts me excitedly, and if this makes me a geek, then so what?

I have to figure out how to pay for braces, weddings, and college.

And Honey, poor Martin. I'd taken him in with CW as he'd complained about his retainer not fitting properly. As CW had his braces removed, before I'd even finished my dumb monthly installments, they slapped 'em back in Martin's mouth, much to his astonishment.

He's so sweetly unflappable, he took it in stride. I know I'm blessed to be his mother, he'll be 17 this winter, he's been my son for nearly 15 years, such a great kid, in severe contrast to his very, very troubled birth siblings.

I took Chuy and Mayra out for their Birthday Shopping Event, I bought Sabrina this shirt for $1.99 at Rugged Wearhouse, finding the same shirt minutes later at Rue 21 for $9.99, hollering, "Highway Robbery!" out loud,

Are you kidding me? Who pays $9.99 for a t-shirt? Probably my first wedding band didn't cost that much back in 1972.

"This is why you shouldn't go in stores," Chuy mentioned the obvious.

I would've bought me something if I'd seen anything that caught my fancy, but I didn't. "Who wears this crap?" I mused aloud, again to the embarrassment of my self-conscious teenagers, me staring longingly at Barnes & Noble, across the parking lot, but knowing that wasn't in my budget either.

Sweet, gorgeous Miss Cissy is downsizing, shutting down offices and she brought us three computers plus school supplies yesterday. We certainly needed more computers with the 15 of us living here, yet dadgum if I'd have gone and bought new ones, it wasn't in our budget. I'm paying off the new bathroom floors and have a long list of deferred maintenance projects. I was super excited yesterday over these surprise gifts.

Another dear friend, a good-looking comma counter, had matched me up with a church in another county that brought us Thanksgiving groceries yesterday, a ton of them, which leads me to prayer. I do constantly pray for our needs.

Our needs are always met. Our icebox is slap full, so's the pantry.

Just because I think I need an outdoor stone hot tub with a reflecting pool and fire pit doesn't mean God thinks I need it. Therefore I don't have one...yet. When the kids are grown, that's what I mean about feathering my own nest. Y'all best call first before you come visit me. I might be snoring in my hot tub.

But for now I have mouths to feed.

Miss Kimberly called with food left from a school function, a former soccer coach sent me three bags of incredibly nice clothes that fit Jack and Nando perfectly, and I know if I went to yard sales today, I'd find stuff we've been needing or wanting. Truth is, I don't feel like we really need anything at the moment, I feel our needs are met, and I want to spend today cleaning our house in preparation of the Thanksgiving week and all the company that's coming.

Hey wait, I need a house keeper.

Big laugh, snicker, snort...like they wouldn't run in fright over what I encounter here.

We're having a spate of bed wetting, but I understand that it comes from grief and fear lately, Grandpa left them, in their minds, they don't quite have the level of inner emotional control they'd previously been able to access, this will get better, this I know, but in the meantime, I'm camped out in the laundry room, washing sheets and hanging out blankets and comforters, thinking about where I'd put this hot tub that's surely in my future.

This picture is a casualty of Tony's rage, the plant pot was broken when Allen was being silly, snippets of life with traumatized children.

Changing My Will Until They Turn 40

"Well," the estate planning attorney told me, "I'll give you an example. I have a client with two brilliant birth children who are both in prestigious colleges, but terrible with money, so their father made the will read that they'd receive no money before their 40th birthday."

I'd told him why I wanted to change my will, fear for my future, as unreasonable kids would then try and knock me off, one's in prison for threats, for the $3 that might be in it for them.

"Take 'em all off," the attorney advised, "you can easily add them back on later, it's as simple as an email."

Done.

I had a very good time on Chuy's 15th birthday yesterday, today is Mayra's 17th, so we made it a small party, in which they were both so silly and cheerful, I wasn't sure I had my usual standoffish son and attitude-ridden daughter with me.

I'd earlier taken Jonathan to the DJJ office where he hugely nutted up, much to my surprise really, because usually their recalcitrant behavior is saved for the confines of my home, only letting the authorities see an irked mom versus a calm kid.

Miss Kim threatened to drag him into court that day for a detainment hearing, I panicked inwardly, thinking, "Uh-oh, it's Chuy's birthday, can't ruin that, as Jonathan is his birth sibling," and I dangled that bait in front of a crying, very large 12 year old who, fortunately, bit.

Miss Kim gets it, she truly does, advising me to talk to Pathways about the next step. Respite maybe, possibly an OTP adventure in his future.

Yolie'd come by later, breaking a long streak, pretty much since Grandpa's death, when I've been abnormally reclusive, only spending time once with Daniel, and once with a friend, unwilling to face much of the world. I've even not been hanging with Sarah, as we've all struggled to get back into our usual routines, but now without Grandpa, and after an intensive two week period then of 24-7 coverage.

Alyssa, Big Joe's six year old, was here being silly, and truly, it was medicine for my soul.

Before bed however, Tony provoked the tenth person this week to rage. A younger Scotty pummeling Tony, who's nearly 15 now, and, surprisingly, it was Jonathan trying to pull them apart as I called for Martin and Chuy to hold them separate from each other. Although Scotty threw the first punch, I truly understand the provocation presented by Tony.

Yes, I've sat Tony down, time and time again, explaining how someday Big Mama won't be around to protect him, someone out in the real world might explode with deadly force, if he doesn't learn to rid himself of this affliction, this need to spur others into a blinding rage. Usually, most of us are able to walk away, or cool off quickly, because we're so dang used to this difficult behavior.

"Be sure you let your children know about this stipulation in your will, "the attorney advised me, surely shaking his head in bewilderment that I'd be facing such a ridiculous threat. I have no money, I spent it all on these same children who'd want to now bump me off.

Seriously?

This is how they roll?

I sit here in my torn up house shoes, wearing my $1.49 sweatshirt and $1 sweat pants, trying to make this month's budget last until the end of the month, and I face this absurd threat?

Anyone wonder why I sweat through my deodorant each day?

Jeepers.

Duh.

There are simply no words...

Not true, I do have voluminous words, nineteen commas, rambling thoughts, and silent exclamation marks each day, as I regurgitate my thoughts here.

Then I flush, and get on with my chores and plans.

That's The Plan (Implied Exclamation Mark)

Most of my friends, over the last 30 or so years, are social workers, teachers and pastors, and, they, of course, help to keep me accountable for absolutely everything, they're also the folks I go running to for advice, commiseration and discussions.

They're also an intelligent, smart Alec bunch.

One pointed out yesterday that barely crossing the county line does not exactly impress folks about me having to go to town.

Honey, going off this dirt road of mine, for any reason, is akin to having to go to town.

I did cross that county line yesterday, all the way over to Alexander's school, for his adorable Thanksgiving celebration, and a pot luck lunch where the majority of the parents are Hispanic and the food subsequently, was phenomenal.

Back home, wiggling outta my monkey suit, which is any item of clothing that is not my pjs, I debated on housework or garden chores. A big, "Duh," erupted from deep within my soul, I bolted outside to feed the hens and to weed out an area I'd harvested peppers from all summer. Gathering another mongo bowl of bell peppers, here after the first frost, some plants were unscathed, I pulled the jalapenos up by their still very viable roots, peppers scattering everywhere, but I have so many ready for winter use that I could afford to be careless with the rest of them.

Listening to two Dave Ramsey podcasts and two David Cooper sermons, I was more than ready for my two sixth graders to return home from their trip. Miss Judy had already called my cell to tell me they'd behaved perfectly, making me fairly sure that then one, or both of them, would oppositionally make someone pay for their good time.

Indeed Jonathan walked in the door and harangued me for three and a half hours, unreasonable, irrational, and angry to the bone, over nothing. He refused to go to Wednesday night church and refused his meds, a clear violation of his DJJ probation, yet if I whined to them about every violation, nearly one a day I'd estimate, I'd spend all my time on the phone. As it is, I plan to explain an overall lack of compliance on his part to them.

This morning he has his monthly check-in with DJJ, plus Tabby, Nando and Jack have their dentist appointments. Chuy's 15 today, so I'll do something with him, checking him out of school early, at this age he wants clothes and cool stuff. He wants to choose it, knowing a 56 year old woman only thinks spading forks are cool.

I'd received my 2011 Seeds of Change catalog yesterday, making me ecstatic with possibilities, telling Grandma I'd pretty much sworn off the mainstream favorites, Burpee and Park, one because it was from Pennsylvania, too far north, but mainly both because I prefer organic seeds, heirlooms and non-GMOs. My other source will be the one from Virginia, Southern Exposure Seed Exchange, plus continuing to save my own.

Is winter over yet? I'm already oh so bored with this halfway chilly weather.

The Adoption Counselor downsized in a big way yesterday, musing over the changes and what they mean to her. I totally understand and I know I feel the same way also. What we do is a major part of who we are.

I'm an adoptive mother of a large family and someday I won't be. All these resources and all my energies have been poured into this for 25 super intensive years. I'd once thought that I'd do this until I was very elderly, finding myself very surprised six years ago when I felt God telling me that I'd done enough, feeling guilty inwardly over not doing more.

I've since come to terms with that thought, any residual guilt I might later feel can be resolved by sending money to an orphanage somewhere, there's no part of me left that would be emotionally strong enough to deal with any more negativity, violence, danger, or crazy behaviors.

I'm emotionally wiped out, thinking I'd like to spend the next 50 years feathering my own nest, growing my own food, and spending time only with those grown children who'd show decency towards me, and, Honey, that's the plan.

Someone just called my cell, making sure that wasn't the Bodie van they'd just seen by the side of the highway, fearing we'd had a breakdown. My fear? My van had been stolen, fortunately that wasn't the case, but I do deeply appreciate the small town thoughfulness.

Such a contrast to that which I live with each day, here within my own home where I provide everything to those who simply can't, won't or don't show any semblance of appreciation, gratitude, or acknowledgement in any form.

Thoughtfulness? Here? Get real.

A Boring Slug

I'm a boring slug, plodding through my day with a droopy, draggy attitude.

Today CW and Martin both have orthodontist appointments at 8 a.m., I'm gonna run to town and see my grandson, Alexander, in his kindergarten Thanksgiving play, and then meet with an attorney over my own will, which is ridiculous, as there'll be so little left.

Y'all wanna knock me off for three bucks?

It's the thought that counts, right? As I try and protect myself, from future attacks?

Ridiculous and annoying.

Then back home to cook supper, sweep the kitchen, and do the laundry.

This may be boring, but being without drama truly does appeal to me.

Scotty and Jonathan return today from their three day sixth grade camping adventure. It's been very quiet without them.

Jack accompanied Grandma last night to a meeting, acting like the man of the house for her. He's a very sweet kid, loving, obedient, yet so emotionally lost without Grandpa.

How do folks get through the stages of grief without a rock solid faith in God and the hereafter?

I surprised the rest of the kids with banana smoothies before bed, adding in chocolate whey protein and skim milk, they all slurped loudly with gratitude.

See, bo-ring.

I'm so exciting, I substituted rice milk in mine.

Yet I deeply prefer endless chores over dumb drama, routine over outbursts, and early bedtimes over nut-ups. Blasting The Martins CD in my Ipod, I'd bought it for fifty cents at a yard sale, I danced through yesterday's chores before they came home from school.

Everyone's just kinda emotionally whacked out, and slowly dealing with the loss of Grandpa quietly, figuring out that Mama's still here, not going anywhere, but soldiering on, 'cause that's what I do.

Contrarily watching hours of mindless HGTV, late into the night, appreciating my quiet house. It may be a beat-up, damaged house, but quiet I sure can do... appreciatively.

My Dumb Kitchen

I'm sad because Jack's sad. I just wish I could take away his pain, his abject grief over losing Grandpa, his best buddy, and also a parental figure for him. He's pictured here with CJ, watching Toy Story 3 on a dreary afternoon.

Every day after school, after first checking in with me, Jack would beeline over to Grandpa's room and happily hang out with him, telling him about his day and just talking. Every day for nearly ten years. They were crazy about each other and Jack's now very bereft.

His behavior exploded last night unacceptably and I had to consequence him, had to do so, although I hated having to punish a child for being so sad that they acted out. However Jack does understand consequences, he's nurtured and grounded, smart and loving, but so deep in his grief.

I miss Grandpa too, but I'm more than capable of handling it.

I'm gratified and satisfied that I had a father for 56 years, that's it. I miss him, but I have work to do. Grandma's the same way. Fortunately for us all, we have no regrets. There were no words left unspoken.

Both of us are now very determined to see Jack through to the other side of grief, to the acceptance level at some point, without rushing him, nor misunderstanding the depths.

It's as if my entire family is emotionally exhausted, slap wiped out, my house is quiet and dark early, everyone in their rooms snoring by nine o'clock.

Again my cell phone is acting up, I'm getting messages when there's no record of a call, a text message last night from a foreign country. Really? I'd not heard his call, my son-in-law Jose talking about Grandpa's death.

I'm bummed 'cause Jesse isn't coming for Thanksgiving. I understand, I know it's a loooooooooong way and he can't take any more time off from work, but he's grown into such an outstanding son, someone whose company I truly enjoy, not seeing him, his adorable son and his wife, Lena, just adds to my grumpiness this morning.

Today is his birth sister's 21st birthday and I've been trying to reach Alex for several days. This is unusual, as generally she calls me a lot.

It's high time I need to re-create my dumb ole kitchen again. I'd taken everything I own out to the front porch a couple of months ago, bringing in only what I've needed and used on a daily basis, time to cull, to own less, to have less demands of maintaining stuff that I do not ever use. Pointlessness annoys me.

I've linked Annie Leonard's short video about stuff before, I think about it often, she's so on the money, this is worth your time to watch. America, we've been chumped, duped into thinking we suck.

I think I'll plug myself into my Ipod, listen to something that'll jack up my very blah self this morning. This is ridiculous, and I'm absolutely boring myself with my attitude and very draggy butt today.

Get a grip, girl.

Property Taxes

"Ok, then," Martin pronounced, after I'd explained what property taxes do,"don't pay 'em, then they won't let us go to school."

Yeah, son, that's how that works.

My six high-schoolers had dentist appointments first thing this morning, and I ran to the courthouse to pay the taxes, due today, keeping my interest in my account until the last minute, but likely spending more in gas driving there, than what little percentage interest is paying nowadays.

Nando's been complaining about his eye hurting, I can't see anything in it, but I made him an appointment with the pediatrician this afternoon. Again, he's not a complainer either, so I'm gonna check this out.

Jack had had a pretty serious meltdown yesterday, manifested in difficult behavior, unusual rudeness, truly just an expression of his grief over losing Grandpa. Grandma's stepped up her attention towards Jack, they've always been very close anyway, and now Jack's more than a little frightened of losing her as well, seeking reassurances constantly from me that Grandma's strong and healthy.

"You don't look 56," he'll often say to me, a little uneasy too over my age, 56 might as well be 106 to a ten year old, an 'I know you're really my Grandma-Mama, please tell me you're healthy too,' moment.

Fortunately for him, Grandma and I are both very, very strong, healthy, driven, determined and hard-headed.

Jack'd just as soon be home schooled, never leave the property, he's busy as a bee around here, disinterested in life off the farm, so to speak. If I knew I had the time to do a great job, he'd surely be a home school candidate, but the demands from my other children, the many appointments, meetings, even court dates, all conspire to keep me hopping as it is each day.

Tony's nutting up somewhat, standing in the laundry room purposefully irritating and provoking others to anger, he made us 20 minutes late to church yesterday, I was so furious I was nearly cussing. He'd accidentally punched me. He knows he's pushing everyone's buttons, knows he has some very serious emotional issues, but simply can not comprehend that this behavior, this maladaptation, will cause him some very, very serious problems when he's grown and out from under my protection.

He's got to get a grip or his adult life will be challenging.

Chuy'd come up behind Tony, bent on protecting me from someone a head shorter but 20 pounds heavier.

"I got this," I'd reassured Chuy, who was truly just trying to keep a straight face as it was cartoonish.

I wasn't a particularly happy camper by the time I'd arrived at church, lemme tell ya. But coming home to an avocado, pepper jack cheese, tomato and hummus sandwich can ease just about anything.

Staying Home For Fun

,

Having read Claudia and Kari's blogs yesterday, about their snowfall, I came to a conclusion that I'm strong and energetic, not necessarily due to either diet nor genetics, but maybe simply because my parents had the good sense to be Southerners. If I'd awakened to a November snowfall, I'm absolutely certain I'd have dove back into bed screaming in utter and abject frustration. I'm not built for cold weather

Our searingly hot summers allow for very decent autumn weather, around 70 yesterday, which led me to sweat like a billy goat, while digging the last of the sweet potatoes. Lily and the Yorkies kept me company, while Martin rallied the ten other boys for some crazy game involving a football, the meadow, and the trampoline.

Tabby scampered through the garden paths, exclaiming over the lack of November strawberries, well, duh, child.

Call me slow...but I just deduced that Grandpa's death, and the misbehavior of some of my children, is definitely linked.

Anger turned inward, gestures demonstrated outwardly toward me, the deep fear of losing someone, validated to them in his death, it's only been a couple of weeks now, no wonder we're struggling around here.

I slap refused to be budged yesterday, having gone out at midnight the night before to pick up Sabrina after the out of town football game, we had a house full of groceries, I had laundry out the wazoo to do, and a very deep desire to not crank the van for any reason.

"Lemme stay home," I implored to the children, getting no argument from anyone, other than Miss Sociable Sabrina, who all of a sudden wanted to attend a party.

"I don't think so," I'd automatically responded. She's 15 years old, plenty of time to mature first, lighten up child. Learn to enjoy your own company, to entertain yourself. Depending on others for that singular function can't be good, right?

A phone call from the facility where my extremely out-of-control, their words, teenager had to again be physically restrained. They're required to notify the parents, but they get little argument in response from me, I'm apologetic, if anything, that they have to resort to that, but I truly comprehend the depths and fury of her rages.

Honey, that's why she's there. We've been in their shoes, we've been the recipients of her injury-making storms. This is yet another indicator of her screamingly obvious need for this residential psychiatric placement.

At the moment, I feel no little sense of deep relief to not be the one trying to contain this irrational behavior, while also grappling to keep us all safe. Honestly, and I've said this for years and years, someday I hope we will all look back at these times, and learn from them, that no adoptive parent will ever have to be at the mercy of such unmitigated firestorms of explosive and dangerous behaviors.

In stark and absolute contrast, Grandma'd taken Jack to a Cub Scouts Badge thing, running her errands as well. I'm so incredibly glad that she lives here, that she sure as heck won't be lonely and isn't now looking, in this sour economy, to sell her house in Virginia, but rather is very settled here, entrenched in her own activities and various social groups.

"Since Raymond died," she began a sentence yesterday, the words striking me hard, we've basically used euphemisms indicating Grandpa left us, the words seemingly less harsh? I dunno.

I'm aghast at the busy week ahead of me, many birthdays, many appointments and crushing demands upon my time, when, in reality, I prefer free time and happily drifting out around here, tending to my massive chore list, and all the other stuff I wanna do here on our property.

Going to town is so terribly aggravating for me, all I desire is out here within our lush acreage.

I sat on my tired butt last night, watching a rerun of The Blue Collar Comedy Tour and laughing so dang hard I thought I'd pee myself. Call me classy, whatever, no one needed a laugh more'n me that moment. Allow me the luxury of guffawing at such silliness. Larry the Cable Guy telling fart jokes had me chortling, happy tears of laughter running down my face, clear indications of my maturity level, yeah I know.

A Changed Will

Football cheer leading ended last night with a thud and a loss over in the Atlanta area for Sabrina, more importantly for Mayra's boyfriend, Dillan, there in his senior year.

We could go to yard sales this chilly morning, but I'm not in the mood. Who wants to bring in more stuff to get broken, or for me to pick up. Maybe the consequence of no one ever helping me with the housework will be a staying home time because I have too much to do. Maybe with a little help around here, we'd get a chance to go somewhere?

There'll be no connect on this issue. I may as well suck it up and get it done.

Johnathan's already been ugly this morning, he gets to go on the school trip, so he's melting down to contrarily make me pay for his privilege that he truly didn't earn, nor deserve.

I'm disengaged, ignoring the impending ruckus, because if I feed into it, express any opinion whatsoever, he'll up the ante because he cares about nothing, no possible consequence, nothing. This is how a twelve year old is on probation for the second time in his life, it does not bode well for his future which brings me to yet another thought.

I'd once done a will, dividing what very little I have 39 ways.

Events have conspired to make me rethink this, in that one who's in prison had told some others that if I were gone, he'd have money, dumbly believing I have any money in the first place, not comprehending that everything I have has already gone to feed, clothe and house my family.

All he thinks is that I'm standing in the way of him having cash. Dude, get a job.

Grandma pointed out that a will would be stuck in probate as folks tried to locate those who were lost to the streets, those with emotional and mental disabilities that have made family get togethers unsafe if they were invited.

So I've had to specifically remove folks.

Sad, isn' it?

It is what it is.

There are those that'll never not take the easy way out, that are cold-hearted, manipulative, criminal and even almost sociopathic in their rages that still simmer. There are those so consumed by hatred, or those that just take from folks, those that break laws and those who've seriously damaged us.

Sarah's even advised me to just give what's left to charity, disallowing herself any inheritance, knowing there'd be heck to pay anyway, which saddens me also.

We're not even talking about much money which makes the entire saga even more disheartening. Likely, by the time I live a long life, there'll be zero money anyway. Zero, y'all.

That there's so much evil in the world presses down hard on my soul, making me wanna blast praise music louder to cleanse my own resentful thoughts at times.

I know I only know my own world, yet I've heard from so many of you, your own surprise at how my life reflects your own trying and weird ordeals.

But...we just gotta get up each day, show up, do our job, and look for the joy that's still in there also somewhere.

My two darlings in this picture. Daniel and Sabrina, do make me smile.

And in the few minutes it took me to type this, Jonathan has calmed down.

Deep sigh.

I have chores to do, the laundry won't get itself done.

More Progress, Right?

What? Seriously? The entire week of Thanksgiving is a holiday? How did I not know that?

"No school?" I'd hollered incredulously at Sabrina, thinking for sure she was chumping me with that big ole pretty grin on her face.

We're starting our twice-a-year dentist marathon, 14 kids with appointments, 5 birthdays coming up, Mayra will be 17, Sarah will be 37, Tabby 8, Alex turns 21 and Chuy will be 15, so that means I'll take them out individually and treat 'em great.

Looking at next week's schedule, my grandson Alexander has a kindergarten school play, and our middle school is very graciously allowing Jonathan to attend the field trip which will be a Monday-Wednesday adventure.

There's a burrow in the middle of my sweet potato bed, a deeply dug ditch of sorts, I googled the coyotes habits and don't think they're the culprit, this is in a fenced area and my dadgum taters are missing there.

I've dug about half of what's left, baking some last night, I prefer them with butter and sea salt, not the syrupy marshmallow concoctions one sees on a Thanksgiving buffet. The ones I'd grown were heavenly.

As usual, Daniel provided a very prideful moment yesterday at a Veteran's Day program, where we'd sat between a deputy and an investigator, both veterans, a place I always feel safe, still emotionally jittery from many years of stress.

"Thank you LT," the invesitagor held out his hand to Daniel, while I, for once, refrained from pointing out, "See I do have some great sons too," knowing he'd investigated some disturbed ones years ago.

Daniel also has a plum job opportunity beginning in January that I'm super excited about for him. And to think of the fit I'd once thrown when he joined the military? I'd never have thought he would've been this happy doing this, but he truly has found his place in the world.

I'm, of course, spectacularly proud of him, proud too of Jesse, 28, and Sergi, 29, for their time serving our country.

I'm happy with our warm weather, with my time alone all day to get it all done, with the positive steps my children are making, with maturity I can only hope for more progress, right?

I Could Live Happily Ever After Just Eating Taters

Two hours to myself, zipping outside to dig in the sweet potato bed, knowing I'd not followed directions very well. I'd already grown white potatoes in this bed, not planted the sweet potatoes until after harvesting the others, the soil might even have been too unnecessarily rich, yet I dug a ton, only got half of it done, as I became distracted, as always, finding bell peppers still growing after our first frost.

How cool is that?

Miss Minimalist

Oh, she sooo says it best in her civil disobedience towards consumerism.

Pobrecita Sarah

Sarah's often pointed out that it feels as if she's raised me twice, what with Hazel being subborn, opinionated and ornery at times.

I still resort to this particular tactic to express myself, so I'm not certain what Sarah is bellyaching about today.

Is this not a normal response to frustration?

Veterans Day - Thank You Sergi, Jesse and Daniel

Gonna fight this cold weather slump, that generally reminds me outdoors isn't as much fun, fortunately here in Georgia we do have long spells of beautiful weather.

I have new potatoes and sweet potatoes to finish digging, but Chuy's doctor yesterday sent us over to the hospital for x-rays to eliminate a problem, or the question of that being a problem, our quick errand took much of the day, but I think this one who'd never admit it, pictured above wearing a tie, did enjoy his mama time, even under these circumstances.

Today is Tabby's second grade parent breakfast, and later Daniel's taking me to a school where there's a Veteran's Day assembly he's been invited to attend. No, I will not wear pjs there.

"Mom, you butt dialed me and it left a two minute long message," he told me.

Which reminded me that Chuy had farted when we were in the examination room and told me he was gonna tell the doctor I did it. "Really? When the cloud's on your side of the room?" I questioned him, full up on interrogation techniques from the forensic science shows I like to watch.

Nando's not feeling great, I know the immune systems take a beating during grief, but lately everyone's been waking up complaining...like that's the issue.

Grandpa's Memorial Service had three social workers there, thankfully for me, four when I count Yolie, as I knew if we had any issues spring up, I had help. Emily especially, and I was remembering a wedding in which she kept an eye over the one who's now in prison.

Yolie's BFF, Audrey was there, as was my very longtime friend, Janet, who's now retired from DFACS. We were spirited twenty somethings when we'd met long ago, now both of us banged up and retired, again I'll tell you younger moms that it's so true 'bout time flying, even though you think all old people say that. Well, yeah, but for an obvious reason, in that's it's true.

I also need to thank Sarah's dad for being here with us the entire time.

I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving, to see my brothers and favorite brother-in-law again, my nieces will be here also, a no pressure event in which we eat, eat and eat, versus the commercial intensities and dumb demands piled upon us all by Christmas, but this year the kids and I have planned an alternate event that they're all excited about, as am I, because I do know, at one point, I'll be standing in salt water in my bare feet with a goofy grin on my face, if only briefly.

In my little emotional slump, I've ben watching HGTV on demand, wondering how all those young couples can afford granite counters, watching the pretty pictures while my mind wanders, unable to find any shows that really hold my attention much, comprehending that it's just a slump, I'll blast out of it soon enough.

Why Do People Have To Die?

"No, you're not,"CW automatically barked in response to me bolting out the door at ten last night over a coyote.

"Yeah, I am," I insisted, fortunately remembering to turn off the security alarms first.

CW, Martin and Chuy reluctantly followed me outside to protect my hens, Chuy ridiculously grabbing a screwdriver for protection.

We could hear it baying and yipping in the distance, moving behind the back wooded area, an eerie sound. I googled it later, making sure it was a coyote, even though both Marcela and Chuck have seen it in person this past year.

But what am I gonna do? Drag in all the hens? Sleep in the coop?

Between their secure coop and the moat, I think we'll be OK, but it is an unnerving sound to hear a coyote.

Jack and Nando'd told me that they'd heard it nearly every night recently, because our odd, rambunctious dog, Shatter, sleeps in their room, and jumps up barking at the sound, running in circles on Jack's bed which is near the window.

Yes, we're all jumpier than usual, we recognize that, but Lily and I'd walked with the Yorkies down to lock the gate in the dark last night, and Pudding had unexpectedly refused to go, he who loves a long walk or a truck ride. Lily ended up carrying Tia, while Shatter shot everywhere and we could hear the coyote in the distance.

My friend Pat had sent Why Do People Die by Cynthia MacGregor, and I'd read it aloud to Nando and Jack during their after school reading time, substituting Grandpa's name in the place of the fictional uncle. Well-written, it made me cry, which then took Jack down of course.

Thank you dear Pat, it did help. I'll reread it to them again.

I'd driven beautiful back roads 100 miles south yesterday, listening to Dave Ramsey all day, having a particularly decent visit with Paloma, I do like her therapist a lot, and Paloma's emerging bond with me is quite surprising.

"She speaks so positively of you all the time, well you and the dogs," the therapist has always told me, which is surprising when I review in my mind the many clashes we've had, as I've attempted to help her understand how the real world works.

Laden with mental health diagnoses, I was told she'll likely always need psychotropic medications, to which I blurted, "Well, duh," plus I'd had to tell Paloma about our dog, Pookie's, recent death. She cried of course.

When the therapist left us alone to visit, Paloma regaled me with tales of how bad all the other residents are, how good she feels in comparison, even though she's been unable to get her own performance levels above base.

She'd spoken about how I never rejected hugs, never didn't act as if I didn't love her, my love was obvious even to her, even though I was clearly frustrated at times. It's true, if I can pat my own self on the back, even after being called a fu%&ing old b$#ch, I'd still give and receive hugs, because I always knew it wasn't about me anyway. I'd be mad as a hornet, but could still differentiate enough to act appropriately, because, really, I'm not old.

I'm taking Chuy back to have his ankle checked, it's not improving, he's not a complainer, so I do take note and plan accordingly.

It's gonna be a warm, beautiful day and I have a ton of taters to dig, all of my fall and winter garden chores to do, but overall getting to stay home today after a quick doc-in-the box meeting, soothes my soul.

I feel so behind in everything, as if I lost the entire month of October, I've undertaken so many home improvement projects lately, been so very energetic, yet I look around at everything I still wanna do, and am glad for the many years ahead of me that I'll surely need before I can even halfway get it all done.

And is it me? Or does this picture of Sarah resemble a Kennedyesque photo?

Getting The Kids Through It All

One of Grandma's friends gave us a CD of pictures taken at Grandpa's Memorial Service. My cousin, Debbie and I, another fifty something years of knowing each other, and Mom's pastor had prayed outside with the family before the service.

Obviously my posts are written, and filtered, through a mind that's dealing with grief and loss, or maybe more so, in helping others to come to terms with it, most especially my children.

My mother grew up in a family of eight, married Grandpa, moved here ten years ago, and has never lived alone. Her house is attached to mine, so she's not alone now technically.

She's feeling vulnerable though, out of sorts, not fearful, but for the first time in her 80 years, becoming concerned about locking up at night.

"OK," I started in my usual insensitive manner, "So when Dad was here, you thought all 115 pounds of him could protect you?"

Obviously we both know that's not the issue.

She'd taken Jack to his Cub Scouts meeting last night, the two of them chowing down on a three layer bean dip before bed while watching Dancing With The Stars up in her kitchen, laughing and having a good ole time.

Yet Jack's clearly struggling, breaking down in tears, verbalizing his feelings of loss, which is a good sign.

I'd gone to court yesterday, praying under my breath the entire time that I wouldn't be so angry, so ultimately hurt over the failures involved. I know I didn't fail to parent, but, at the moment, it does feel like a failure in those that failed to respond to parenting, even though intellectually I totally know why.

It's just so sad, and only one kid in this sibling group of five has any potential, right now, for success, IF he can get a handle upon his own deep anger.

The Tuesday night before he slipped totally into his non-responsive condition, Grandpa had whispered to each of my children, good-byes and indications of his pride and hopes in them. Of course, everyone was convulsed in sobs, none of us stopped crying the entire evening.

The next morning we had a brief moment with Grandpa, he met a new nurse, then he slipped away into unconsciousness, yet lingered five more days.

That time was stressful, of course, as we all dealt with the impending loss, but rather than a sudden departure, I'm very, very grateful we had the two weeks after his heart attack.

Our collective grief now is very low key, there's no overt demonstrations of it.

Our dog Pookie dying made it OK, in my children's minds, to cry again. My friend, Pat, sent us some books, that nearly brought me to tears at the gesture, that I'll write more about later.

This morning I'm facing a drive, a counseling session with Paloma who remains at base level at her facility, acting out, raging and demonstrating non-compliance, yet now very loving and emotionally needy to me, her previous target.

Grandma wants the security alarm on, the gate locked, and wants to know where I am, which I understand and am happy to comply. She's gone back to her Bridge Games, church functions and routines, which is fine.

We just seem to kinda be on emotionally shaky ground at the moment.

But again, that's a big ole Duh.

GoodBye To The Past

I do keep people in my life, Alison sang at Grandpa's Memorial Service, 55 years of knowing her. Tracy, one of my longest running mentors, is pictured here with Chuck.

When I'd first returned to church in the early 1980s, after years of rebellion and PK backsliding, Tracy and his wife, Lisa, were amongst the first folks I grew close to, nearly 30 years later, they mean more to me now than ever.

I'm changing.

A lot.

I see the next fifty years of my life opening up beautifully before me, it's nearly as if I've been doing time, so closed off from the outside world I've been, so many demands here upon me, but all due to my own crystal clear choices.

Next year nine of my children will be in high school, leaving three in middle, and two in elementary school. It's all getting so much easier for me now.

In a normal family, we could've driven off to church yesterday and left a 13 year old kid home alone, but not in my family. My gut wouldn't let me do it. JoJo's anger was too close to the surface to be left unsupervised.

We missed church and I was aggravated, knowing I need church.

I have a pile of David Cooper sermons to listen to on my Ipod, as I work from within my own ragged emotions.

This blog spoke to me today deeply, How to Destroy Your Past Lives (starting over), letting go of the past. I don't collect souvenirs, I do hang on to friends, I have destroyed old unpublished work, my past will not define me at all.

I'm moving forward, excited about the future, but like many people, a tad uncertain, fretting about the mere existence even of society and the economy, but slooooooooooowly learning, even after all these years, that it's truly in God's Hands.

What more could I want?