Scored! Oh yeah

"How much do you want for that whole pile of stones?" I asked a lady at a yard sale, the clothes collection boring me, my eyes caught on the seductive pile of rocks.

"Oh Honey," she stressed, "All I want for them is for someone dumb enough to haul 'em all off for me."

"For free?" I nearly screeched.  "I'm dumb enough!"

Oh my goodness.  I nearly had a purple spotted cow on the spot.  I need to finish laying my faux stone courtyard where I can watch Chicken TV each evening, my version of relaxing without any alcoholic beverages which I don't drink. Instead I guzzle well water out of a mason jar, or more often I just drink straight from the garden hose, classy I ain't.

Long, long ago Sergi, Big Joe and Jesse drug a heavy stone picnic table back there, now I need it moved about 40 feet onto the new courtyard area. Bet they're all three glad they don't live here to move that thing again.

I also have a dream percolating in my knotty head to build a hot tub out of stone for me at some point.  Not these stones though, I know when I'm ready to do this, the stones I need will appear.  I believe in abundance, not scarcity.

I've always wanted a patio area under the scuppernong arbor Daniel built for me many years ago, and I've wanted a stone path between The Big Back Garden and The Upper Gardens.  I was so happy I nearly became light-headed with utter giddiness.

My garden shed has a dirt floor, I've wanted to put stone in it for 20 years.  Then there's the old barn that needs work.

We've already driven back over there this morning and dragged home a truckload so far - my winter projects spinning through my mind now that I don't have constant court dates, DJJ appointments, Pathways, Advantage, rages, and all the other time consumers that at the time felt so draining and often almost pointless as so little progress was being made.

The One Who Must Control Everything was tackled down to the ground in her first week of schooling there in residential, screaming at the teachers, demonstrating not much progress still.  My heart pounded as I listened to her brother's version of it, I've been through so many episodes like that with no back-up and a need to keep my younger kids out of harm, that even hearing about it stresses me out mighily.

Now that Dr. Mandy isn't having to deal with constant crisis situations amongst my children, it doesn't mean we're now less in need of therapy.  Quite the contrary, now that she's established many, many years of consistency and garnered absolute trust from my children, well now the real work can begin, as they all so look forward to their time with her.

For example:  JoJo's complete and utter lack of focus.  Every single day he asks me, "Where are the pencils?"

The pencils have been in the same small drawer in the kitchen for 20 years.  I remind him every day for the 12 years he's lived here and before he can turn around and reach in the drawer, he's forgotten where they are.  Or if he gets one out, he leaves it on the counter, it never gets to his book bag unless I put it there, but then it becomes a weapon on the school bus and the teachers complain that he never brings a pencil.

Well no kidding?

He walked in yesterday, kicked off his shoes in the hallway, and tossed his socks into the kitchen trash.

"What the heck?" I asked him.

"Huh?" he looked at me blankly.

"Where are your socks?" I questioned.

"I threw 'em in the laundry room," he looked at me like I must've become nuts momentarily.

I walked over to the trashcan, pulled 'em out and showed them to him.

"Oh," he responded quizzically, "Did I do that?"

This is progress, years ago he'd have screamed that he didn't do that, that I ALWAYS blame him...even though I'd seen him do it and he knew I'd seen him do it.  That wasn't his point.

This is what progress looks like in an oppositional defiant disordered kid.

So here we are living beneath the poverty level with Medicaid providing expensive, high-quality therapy, we're eating food grown by me that we couldn't ever afford to pay the premium costs it would bring on the open market for organic heirloom local produce, wearing name brand clothes bought second hand for mere pennies on the dollar, and playing rec league soccer every night of the week and on Saturdays.

Not a bad life at all.

"Girl don't you remember me?' I asked a young grandma yesterday when I dropped Allen off to hang out with her son.

Recognition bloomed on her face as soon as she heard my big mouth, she'd been one of my students from 1988-1992 at a school I fondly refer to as Crackhead High.  I loved my years there and I'm constantly running into those kids that are now grandparents themselves, this lady barely 40, but, hey, I was a grandma by 42 my own self, plus I'd made my own mom be one too at the same age when I birthed Sarah at barely 19 years old, after 18 short months of a marriage that was already driving me nutso.  It was me, not him.  I was too young and restless, too antsy.

I hooked Grandma up with Power Reads, Inspired Reads, and Pixel of Ink Reads - free ebooks that I download and read.  An aside: - Emily B- google these for your Nook, you get an email each day from each one, sometimes up to 15 free books a day and you can send them to your phone, your computer or your reader.

It was easy to make Yolie happy today for a buck.

Another buck will occupy me, then Daniel.  Check it out here. Then we can pass it on to Preston making it a 33 and 1/3 cents apiece for complete enjoyment, right?  Then we can all spout baseball statistics to each other some more. That's how my mind works.

And my Daniel is flying in to the Republican National Convention with his boss and some higher ups right before a Hurricane is threatening.  Oh my.  He's a month from 27, he's super competent, overly capable,  a brilliant young man who doesn't need an ole bat fretting over him.