I'm this close to completely stopping my early morning reading of current events, the stress that springs up in response is super negatively affecting me. I already have enough heart pounding, pulse storming, lung smashing moments as it is.
"When do you wanna try yoga again?" Sarah asked me, ready to author a sequence that works perfectly with lower back pain, extreme tension, and enormous stress.
Good golly, I have to carve out a moment, one is not readily available on the horizon.
I'd taken Sabrina to a college visit yesterday and had been blindsided and majorly astonished at her reaction. I encourage honesty and the expressing of one's emotions, but I didn't see this coming. "Well think about it for a day or two," I advised, "Then you can make a final decision." She's 18 days from turning 18, and usually is pretty responsible, the weight of her three younger birth siblings always looking up to her, shapes a lot within her as well. They didn't call her Memaw for nothing.
She's been very transparent lately, about her fear at going out into the world after only 8 years of being parented here by me. I get it, Honey, I really do.
"We'll call you in 5-7 days," CW was told after a job interview at Kroger 10 loooong days ago.
"Guess you should've worn a tie like I advised," I told him.
"Yeah, probably so," he responded, thinking ahead to the next time.
And dog if they didn't call him on the tenth day, "You've got the job, come in tomorrow and let's do the paperwork."
He's on Cloud Nine. A friend, Kim, had just sent me a job vacancy notice, five minutes before that call, so we're passing it on to Martin.
And for the first time in his life, Allen's grades are good enough for school sports, so he's been attending soccer try-outs instead of rec league where he's had enormous fun and great success for more'n a dozen years.
Man oh Man, has it been a week, or what?
I'm knee-walking from stress and exhaustion, facing not one, but three different upheavals and conflicts - this from someone who's completely repelled by all vestiges of confrontation, preferring - no craving peace.
Right now half of my kids are right at That Age. At 17 in Georgia, you can go to big jail, not juvie if you get into trouble, and some get way too big for their britches. I'm tightrope walking, trying to teach them personal responsibility, balancing a checkbook after they get a job, car buying, finishing school properly, and many other nominal activities that regular families can discuss at dinner without an outbreak of emotional trauma.
Sweet Michael's very darling mother Brenda bought me an amazing crock pot, something I've never owned and having been searching for at yard sales, but I've been passing up the smaller models I've seen as there's so many of us to feed every night. I'm so excited over it.
Tabby's Science Fair project is completed, tonight we'll finish helping Nando. Bottom line? I don't think either of them learned anything but the stress involved with this due date. That's long been my feelings, or my objections with such mandatory learning events, but that's only based on my own peculiar method of learning. I can read a book and get tested and spit out the info. Period. That's how I learn, and I've had to learn to wrap my mind around my various kid's wildly varying abilities and proclivities so that I can properly guide them.
I personally never liked group projects at school, too nerdy to trust others to carry their weight. But also I'm teaching my kids to jump through the hoops, do what the teacher requires. My cyclothymic disordered son is recently exhibiting the same behaviors at school that he displays here - provoking others to extreme anger by being disruptive and mumbling very, very wildly inappropriate and ugly comments. He's earned ISS for several days, one more infraction will result in Saturday School, two APs and a teacher have called me, yet my son blames all of them for over-reacting.
No. I take their side, as I can perfectly visualize everything they've been telling me. It's exactly what I've faced for nigh on 15 years with him.
But the up side is that his behavior will swing back on the pendulum, and he'll act perfectly fine for months at a time.
My Scotty is becoming a GIANT, according to his little birth brother, Nando. "Dang! Like running into the side of a barn," Nando exclaimed, careening down the hall, crashing into Scotty.
Flipping channels, coming across Big Rich Atlanta, or something like that, a single mom with one grown daughter. This mom has a make-up artist, a stylist, a bodyguard, an assistant, plus a personal chef. Really? Folks live like that? I watched the entire show in shock. Folks act like that? Dress like that? Look like that? Not in my world just 50 miles east of Atlanta. We just bumble through life out here.
And a big shout out to Reggie Dabbs for taking the time to call an emotionally whacked-out kid of mine this past week. It meant the universe, leaving a sweet message of love, prophecy, and concern. Another shout-out to our pastors and those who work with the youth group, supporting me emotionally as well. You know who you are. I've been reeling from the blows for years, getting back up, knocked down, picked up, over and over and over. The concussions are becoming problematic and cumulative. I'm againg rapidly, deep lines and dark circles under my eyes.
Oh well, neither the kids nor the gardens care how I look.