Friday, May 04, 2012
Trucks and Motorcycles
"Lemme get a picture for my blog," I hollered, after hugging her, always glad to see another Mama like me.
But I couldn't stay to chat, a Dr C appointment, plus our weekly Dr. Mandy time on my calendar.
I don't necessarily discuss my grown kids issues or challenges here without either being vague or flat out disguising their details. They're out in The Real World nowadays with my nagging voice echoing in their ears, they can choose what to do, and they know they must live with the natural consequences of every single decision they make.
Believe it or not, I've seen a slow trickle of steady improvement over the decades from the majority.
Life is hard - period. So much can go wrong, so many challenges face us all no matter how conscientious we think we are, the thorny branches of life still whack us in the face as we navigate through the pitfalls and circuitous routes we choose each day.
Finally I heard from a grown daughter. Her cell phone had been busted, she'd been working through some stuff. I was a bit concerned because she does check in often, or at least regularly. Saddled with a schizophrenic diagnosis, life is phenomenally more difficult for her, yet I've been pretty impressed more times than not, as she goes through her 20s. She has turned out way better than statistics would've predicted.
I'd halfway planned to drive to Atlanta this morning and search her out, more than a little worried, knowing the area she's usually frequenting. I'm glad I don't have to fruitlessly do so, my day is piling up with demands already. Those sketchy parts of town don't appeal to me at all.
I sat in Dr. Mandy's waiting room, waiting for a son to finish his session, "I really need to come more often," he later told me. "She's really good at what she does."
And if I told y'all which son it was, his positive insight would be even more impressive considering the source. This guy is severely Oppositionally Defiant Disordered.
"On a therapeutic level, this is really big," she'd told me, in reference to Chuy's amazing insight last week. "But, as you know, there's always an emotional backlash coming from vulnerable children who've exposed themselves like this. We can only hope that his very high intelligence will circumvent an explosion of sorts."
I discussed this with him in our pantry last night. He's pretty aware overall, but he's still just a teenager with all the baggage that comes from being one.
Dee's working on getting him published on another adoption site, with his permission, of course.
But as I sat there waiting, a commiserating email from another Mom that I adore, regarding the unbloggable stuff. It is certainly staggering for us all, often shocking, and coming out of nowhere, taking us out at the knees. Hard to see stuff like this coming at us sometimes, leaving us stunned, bewildered, sometimes severely depressed, usually an agonizing situation that we wanna fix, but literally can't.
"Why does so much uber-stressful stuff get dumped on me?" I ignorantly asked Dr. Mandy, who again quietly explained to me that in choosing to be involved maternally with this many kids, it obviously ups the opportunities for unimaginable challenges. Never sarcastic with me, always understanding, I can't begin to stress how important it is for us trauma mamas to have someone like her professionally in our lives.
"That you've tried so hard and for so long, given opportunities to so many kids who'll only throw it back in your face, at least you've given them these chances for a decent life. That's all you can do."
I lose the forests for the trees at time, desperately needing her clarity. Thank God I found a therapist like her. It was Tina, pictured above, who'd originally sent me to Dr G, who'd hired Dr Mandy way back then as a psychometrist. I'm telling you, it's been a very long and stable period of therapy for my children.
The next email coming over my phone was from a TLC producer who does the Sister Wives thing looking for large adoptive families to participate in a reality series, telling me he'd be sensitive.
Again, it's a no thank you. I'm again flattered, but no amount of money could compensate for turning an already difficult family into drama monkeys on a TV show. I'd love me some more money, but God has not given me a release in my spirit to either participate, nor to put ads on my blog, nor a pay pal button. Because honestly, wouldn't that go against my minimalist philosophy? God meets all our needs. Don't I need to continue demonstrating that for my children?
JoJo, of all teens, yesterday spouted, "Thank you for teaching us about money management. I'm a need to know that when I get an apartment with Hudson and Allen."
This was in relation to something he'd learned in school yesterday and I was then driving Sabrina to her second call back interview in a fast food place on the Atlanta Highway. I'm not gonna enforce tithing as a principle, knowing it'd be yet another battleground, yet I won't teach money management to them without it. It'd got to be their choice in order for it to work in their lives. I will highly encourage the practice.
I can teach and they can choose.
"Guess we're not the only destructive vandals," one of my sons comforted me.
Look at the side of my van. Think I have some teenage drivers? Not Lily though, she was just keeping my seat warm for me. Her birth father came by yesterday, bringing CW an electric guitar, I'm sure today he's trying to overcome his shock over how much they've grown up.