It's Not Us That Are Unable

I know that I have a guaranteed readership of for sure, 1-3, people.  I know for a fact that Sarah, Grandma and Yolie read what I write, but even if they didn't, I'd still write, because I write.

I like to write, if my readership goes down when there's little drama, that doesn't affect my will, nor my inner need to write each day.  I never read how-to books about blogging, or how to attract advertisers, because that's not why I write.  If I wanna go off on a tangent about poor eating habits, dumb debt (not that there's any other kind of debt), or some weirdo who inspires me by living cash-less or trash-less then there I go.

My posts are chapter length, this I know.

I want to walk away from the computer each day satisfied, knowing I then have my own head screwed on a bit tighter, and if I've bored others, well then that's just who I am, a person not full of social graces anyway.

I accept, no I embrace, the knowledge that I'm socially clumsy, often inept, but outright and overall right happy as a vegetarian, politically conservative, hairy legged, Bible-thumping, hillbilly conservationist, farmer-hermit.

All this because I happened today upon a woman determined to be plastic free someday, not an easy task. I find her struggle to be immensely fascinating.

Five years later, she’s largely succeeded: her annual plastic consumption has dropped from four pounds a month to two pounds a year. In comparison, most of us throw away 7-10 pounds of plastic a month…

Even in a drought my peppers thrive, the plants are leaning over under the weight of tons of peppers, as believe it or not, it rained too hard yesterday for me to go pick 'em all.  Yay!

Again with onions and garlic, I fried up about 20 large blocky, colorful bell peppers left over from the previous day's harvest, in a large cast iron skillet with olive oil, dumping it out upon whole wheat pasta with my homegrown basil and oregano, not a morsel left over to eat today.

"Dang, that was good, Mom!" echoing around the kitchen from hungry kids after school, as we rushed to get to the soccer fields, only to discover all events cancelled by the rain I'd been praying for every day.

In the foster care system my children had all been exposed to Chef Boy-R-Do Do canned fake noodle slime items.  That's what they'd known about pasta.  It still blows me away that they'll tell me they loved it.  We were never allowed, much less served, that crap as kids.Twinkies weren't in our home, nor sweet drinks, nor a host of other non-food bull-crap, rip-off-the-consumer garbage.  Thank you, Martha Ellen Bodie for that.

I suppose the fact that my children will eat and enjoy a higher quality food item nowadays should be enough for me, that they revert back to Ramen noodles upon leaving home grosses me out, but I know that I taught them differently.  That's all I can do.  I cringe sometimes at what I see them feeding their own children.  A mom, or a dad, should strive to do better for their children.

Claudia wrote of her hurt feelings again after learning that the most likely van thief was one of her own children.  She (and I) take these events personally because it does hurt.  It's crushingly painful. It's the ones we are trying to help lashing out at us, or, at best, still in their to be expected survival mode, and they just don't understand why we are then so sad about it.  We don't understand how they can continue to rip off people.  There's a chasm between us, the parents and the kids, regarding normal and acceptable behaviors.

It stresses us all out, on both sides of the issue.  We'd hope to work on character development and morals, as it turns out it is our own character that gets worked on, if we can rise above the bitterness and resentment, the hurt feelings and the anger, then we will have improved upon ourselves, right?  It turns out, it is about us after all.  We are all we have left...if there's anything left of us after all this drama, danger, violence, and mayhem.

And the fight we have within our own selves is long and challenging.  Thank you God for keeping me from shattering into cut shreds of bile.  I still do know how to laugh and to smile.

The stress drove me to mouth the word 'A-hole' to my former caseworker the other day, trying to adequately express my frustration at a negative behavior.  Wow, Cindy, and you claim to not cuss.

My severely developmentally delayed son just verbally antagonized the H E Double Hockey Sticks out of another younger, yet larger and stronger, son.  He does this ALL the time, it's the behavior most often addressed in therapy, and it's a severely negative behavior he's demonstrated since the day he moved in nearly 14 years ago.  

I have to follow behind and smooth the waters, walk the other then pissed off kids away, because the antagonizer continually, meanly, and predictably amps his verbal garbage up, reaching into the smelly depths of ugliness to bring up and taunt his adversary with the lowest blows possible, making others literally seethe with hatred.

I know how they feel, he does it to me also.  I have to grit my teeth and demonstrate to the others that it is possible, and definitely desirable, to walk away without retaliating. That's what grown ups do.

Dr. Mandy, his teachers, the school administrators, Dr C, and myself have all explained to him over and over again that someday someone will likely punch him out in response, and Mommy won't be there to protect him.  I have no explanation as to why on earth anyone wants to be that hated by others, unless it stems from a very deep-seated, self-loathing, neurological mis-wiring.

He's barely a year from age 18, he tells me when he's in the depths of his cyclothymic disorder that he hates me, the one who's always fed, nurtured, and protected him, the one whose personal space is invaded by him 99% of the time, that absolutely he's one million percent unable to extrapolate what these behaviors will do to him if he doesn't grow out of them.

Kids then scream in fury, "I hate him so bad!"  

He doesn't comprehend, likely doesn't have the ability to comprehend, that never ever has anyone here screamed, "I hate Martin!" or "I hate CW!" Neither Martin nor CW ever antagonize anyone.  Duh.

This isn't rocket science.  If you make people hate you on purpose, how can anyone protect you from the eventual consequences?  

How can I not be getting that one very simple point across to him?  How can Dr. Mandy not do so?  Nor the teachers?

Oh wait.  I get it.  It's not all of us that are unable, it's on him.

Lord, please grant me the ever-loving patience to continue each day, and I thank You in advance for this clearly God-given ability and inner peace.  Thank You that I can be happy in spite of it all.