
On the last day of school, our wonderful bus driver drives his route backwards, not in reverse exactly, but the route itself. My kids were late coming home as I'd forgotten his way of celebrating, but they were giggling.
Jonathan nutted up terribly, reminding me of a status I'd seen on Facebook, "I feel like a mood ring on a bipolar person's finger." I absolutely fell out laughing.
Because I'd corrected him for lying about opening the new box of hair clippers, he started banging around in the pantry, throwing cereal boxes, kicking stuff, and darkly referring to me as a Bit*h. Dude, you think that's never been tossed at me? When I disengaged, not taking his bait, he slammed out of the house to run away.
Yolie was then with me in the kitchen, having witnessed this spectacle, me warning Jonathan quietly that he'd get a DJJ sanction, three sanctions and it's an automatic lock-up for 7 days in Juvie. "I don't care," he roared at me. "Send me away, anyplace is better than here."
I called DJJ to report this after, I dunno, three or so verbal warnings.
He eventually returned home, I generally don't fetch runaways, not wanting to feed into their chaotic drama, usually they return home, desperately seeking an audience and a reaction.
It's boringly predictable, I maintain a calm facade, although inwardly I get angry at the verbal abuse hurled towards me, maybe not angry but aggravated certainly, adoptive parents initially feel, "I didn't sign up for this, if he/she can't/won't respect me, then I don't think I should adopt them."
A common reaction or response, I'm sure I felt the same way back then, but I was committed. I know I often mention my caseworker, Emily, but truly I'd not have made it through without her encouragement, counsel and insight. She'd take my thousands of phone calls, straighten out my thoughts and fears, and send me on my merry way, literally translating these bizarre behaviors into words I could kinda sorta grasp.
I've often repeated back to her what she's told me over the years, buddy you best believe I had me a learning spirit going on.
Still do. I absorb everything told to me by therapists, psychologists and psychiatrists. This is a heck of an upside down world in which I live and I need all the help that's available out there.
We have something like 80 days of summer break from school ahead of us, me battling dry conditions in my gardens, Sarah saw a coyote in broad daylight, Chuy and I saw a small fox, harmless snakes abound, but its the rabbits, deer, and squirrels doing the most damage to our crops.
Jonathan's nut-up ceased, he followed me around obsessing and fixating like he often does, a 160 pound shadow that mutters and snarls, but apparently inwardly abashed, he brought me a couple of buckets of wood chips as a present, much as a cat dumps dead mice on the doorstep, I thanked him, and we moved on towards the night of endless laundry duties for me.
I rewarded myself with a large plate of just picked Swiss Chard, just harvested onions and garlic, chopped and steamed, smothered with pepper jack cheese, balsamic vinegar, and Fire Hot Pepper Sauce.

4 comments:
Cindy, I think you and Sarah ought to write a gardening/cook book. How to grow these veggies (I don't even know exactly what swiss chard is), how to tell if they're ripe and how to prepare them into something that tastes good.
You must include your fire hot pepper sauce recipe.
Please!
I read this aloud to Sarah. Neither of us feel like sitting still to write much when we could be cooking or gradening. Swiss Chard reminds me of spinach that's been buttered, so rich and delicious, so simple to grow, it nearly grows year around down here. Lily knows how to save the seeds too.
Be careful with that coyote-seeing it in daylight could mean it is rabid.
Rabid? oh my goodness, that'd be awful
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