Monday, March 10, 2014
Aerial Poison Ivy Hairy Vines: An Analogy of My Life
Six solid beautiful hours weeding yesterday in the very warm sunshine, kids tend to upturn a bucket, sitting and talking with me as I work. Weeding is personal, I do it all because the kids don't know what's a weed or a perennial. The Bubbas hauled me some wood chips, Jojo dug up several invasive stumps for me, I hollered, "You go, son! My Stump Warrior," as he giggled because JoJo truly giggles, and I got the lettuce and chard planted.
Global warming has contributed to the huge poison ivy explosion and I have an area that's gonna take me a very long time to eradicate by hand, without herbicides that I've never ever used, nor will I put poison on my land. I delicately picked at it for several hours yesterday, making such little progress.
I'd read a recent article about king snakes on the decline and copperheads on the rise in Georgia Oh boy.
Dee wrote a lovely post that showed in my Bloglovin feeder this morning about how time changes us, makes us reassess what is important in our lives, kind of what was on my mind all day yesterday.
I've gotten to where I blog each morning, then go do stuff, way less time than ever on the Internet, that which once kept me so connected in my isolation has now felt a bit burdensome, as I watch some of my kids abuse social media, adding to my stress because I know this kind of stuff follows them, and might likely affect employment or a host of other issues.
I don't have email notifications on my phone, nor Facebook, I'm often walking off nowadays without the phone, leaving it in the garden shed as I work, it's just too stressful I'd listened to a message yesterday on a Sunday, supposedly from someone who used me as a reference for a security clearance, but this person said that initial person's phone was disconnected.
I didn't return the call, smells like a polecat to me. Probably a bill collector, and I do tattletale on my grown kids if a bill collector calls me, I'll give out the delinquent non-bill payer's cell number. Don't involve me if you want me to help you avoid paying that which you owe.
Years ago, like 30 years ago, a colleague had separated from her husband, and in the faculty lounge there was a barrage of supposedly supportive comments to her like, "Oh good, Sweetheart! I never liked his sorry self anyway." I'd said nothing at the time, only because I didn't know the man, but for once I'd fortuitously kept my big mouth shut.
They reconciled within a month and she then felt very alienated from her peers, now knowing they disliked her spouse, something that had long gone unmentioned.
It taught me an important lesson.
You can't un-tell something.
If, in anger, one expresses crap about another human being, folks remember the crap. You can't then later say something like, "He doesn't really smoke weed, I was just saying that because I was mad at him." Uh, he's still a stoner.
This relates to a situation with one of my teens right now, a mixed up, emotionally challenged one at that. Another teen in a relationship that I am wary of, in that the mom is heavily involved in promoting a relationship that I feel is being pushed too hard. I don't believe moms should be over-involved in these teen things. Teen angst, teen drama played out all over Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, etc., oh my darling kids please think first.
One former teen of mine, now in their 30s, had told us at supper once about the mom of a friend, flirting with the daughter's boyfriend. Eeuuww, that's just gross, even if harmless, hormonally driven teenage boys might find it emotionally confusing. Let's keep proper boundaries.
Yolie suggested I just back off, take a completely hands off approach to these always thorny relationships, I have enough to do as it is, my kids don't always choose very well, or if they do, then they self-sabotage, detonate, or cause problems - I don't need all these transitory excess people in my space. I feel My Personal Space has been severely over violated over the years. I need My Space, thus my gardens serve me well, as does my front gate.
I agree with Yolie, and I should've realized this long ago, having watched so many teens make so many bad choices even while in heavy-duty therapy. But again, I thank God for therapeutic resources.
Not as any comparison, but as a point of reference maybe, I read sadly of Adam Lanza's father's grief and extreme emotional torment over his son being the murderer of kids and teachers, saying the unspeakable, in that he wished his son had never been born. I read his words in shock, his son was mentally ill, and while I do know firsthand what a burden that can be to parents, these are still our children. I hope I don't sound as if I'm judging the dad, because I'm not, to a tiny degree I comprehend a little of his agony. I'd hate to comprehend any more of what he has endured. Honestly I don't know how he's emotionally survived at all.
I've often wondered about the pointlessness of working so hard for so little reward in sight, but I haven't yet read the end of this book regarding my family. The only reward I want is for my kids to live fulfilled, honest and decent lives. I do not comprehend many of the 'whys' that have been involved, even the initial why did my kids have to suffer before they came to me, or why are there mental illnesses or a criminal predisposition via genetics? Why are some resilient and have a deeply nourished conscience, while others, well only one, seems so sociopathic?
Why? Why? Why?
I weed and think, wash dishes and ponder, do laundry and sweep, while wondering about the unknown and the unfathomable. I cook, clean, and pick up that which has been strowed everywhere, fixing the physical damage and destruction to my property, wondering how on Earth some of my grown kids can successfully maneuver in life?
I'm aware, due to bill collectors, of some of mine owing a great deal of back rent money. Does anyone really think I didn't teach about money management of all things? Yet when they come to us parents during their adoption, as justifiably angry teens, when we were not their parents until they were teenagers, we just didn't have enough time with them, plus we were helping them deal with all their other hugely significant issues involving therapy and school resources.
I hear this same anguish in all y'all's emails too. I wish I had some answers.
We've all seen the brain scans regarding what trauma does to the brain, we know how deeply our children were damaged, now as most of mine are almost grown, I wonder what my own brain scan might now look like, after all this unrelenting trauma dumped upon me both primarily and secondarily?
Conclusions: Evidence from neuroimaging studies has suggested areas of the brain that may be damaged by psychological trauma. The clinical implications of these neuroimaging findings need to be investigated further because they challenge traditional therapeutic approaches.
That's not very encouraging is it? Sorry 'bout that, hitting us all upside our heads with facts.
Yes, I signed up for it all, campaigned for that which I knew God wanted me to do with my life. Yolie was sitting with me last night as I again cried a bucketload of tears of grief over a kid making terrible choices, Yolie supportively reminding me of that which I'd spent years teaching her, plus all she learned in her Master's degree Social Work classes and, most importantly, life experiences.
I remain answer-less.