Friday, March 07, 2014

Early Morning Ditch Yank

CW in shorts, Chuck in pjs, Martin observing, because Tony, barefooting it, accidentally put my van in a ditch this morning, helpfully unlocking the gate for me so I wouldn't have to stand in the drizzle and do it, but I ended up walking up there anyway to see what was taking him so long.  He'd forgotten his phone - yep the phone I pay the big bucks for so that I can always be in touch.

My own truck is unconscious in the front meadow, emptied of manure, but I need CW to pop the clutch and follow me to Mike's shop to make sure I get there and bring my sorry butt back home, the sorry butt that at age 60 can only afford a now 15 year old truck.  But, oh Honey, I do love this truck of mine, I really, really do.

"Mom," Tabby'd hollered "I hear sirens."  Hard to hear any through the woods, all of my dogs were perking their ears up quizzically.

I turned on the Iphone app scanner which now only does the Fire & Rescue frequency, but I heard there was a bad wreck right up on the paved road. Tabby swore she heard a first responder say, "I'm passing Cindy Bodie's road," but I was sitting right there and I didn't hear it, I think she imagined it.  Dubs is taking a paramedic course right now and later told us, "They don't say names over the air, Tabby's hallucinating."  Well, that mean assessment is a little strong for a future EMT man.

Trauma makes my heart slam, I ran downstairs because CW wasn't answering his phone, thankfully his car was here, he and the Bubbas were filming a 'Survivor' video for church youth group, Grandma's car was here, so I texted Allen, who was at a friend's house, at the exact same time Yolie was texting me to make sure all my kids were home.  That's what trauma looks like.  We immediately nut up as a group.

And yesterday?  Even weirder.

One who was just diagnosed with OCD, amongst other diagnoses, yes plural, had been picking at their lip, it swole up like a tumor, immediately looked infected, we went to the doctor, and were given super highly milligrammed antibiotics, the nurse practitioner telling me, "I'll call you in the morning, if there's no improvement, we might need an IV antibiotic."  Me trying not to barf in a trashcan, I can't stand gross medical stuff.

Medical bills mounting.  I need CW to get certified asap, we need a medically qualified first responder like most folks need a toilet.  Super vital, I'd say.  My brother, Jimbo, once told me, as I searched for a new used van ten years ago, "You need to just buy an ambulance instead."

But I'm taking this one back in to the pediatric office for a professional assessment, going into the weekend, i'd rather be sure it's all good.

And weirdly everyone's cell phone except mine quit telling time in the middle of the night.  "Why are you waking me up at 1:54 in the morning?" Allen asked me in fright at 6:30.  Trauma again, I'd only wake them in the middle of the night for an emergency in which I needed their help.

My kids have always made fun of my obsession with baseball and cop shows, but over the years I've come to love therapy shows, even if they involve celebrities, reality stars, and drama.  With a DVR I can fast forward all the provocative acting out that's designed to amp ratings, and only listen to that which the therapist says in Celebrity Rehab, Intervention, Hoarders, or other shows.

I even watch Couples Therapy - something I'll never need, since no one wants my 39 issues in their lives - their loss - but I sit in shock listening, that these couples are even together at all strains credibility.

I got to thinking, the world need a therapy channel.  Seriously, I believe this.  There's not a human on earth, including a therapist, who doesn't need outside counsel, advice or wisdom.  Add in motivational speakers, schedule some Dave Ramsey, Suze Orman, Dr. Joy Brown, Dr Phil, and many others, and I believe it'd be a hit.

The older I get, the more I realize the less I know.  There's so much available and needed information in this world to help us all, and we need to avail ourselves of it.

Y'all's emails often blow me away, or texts from folks I know who read my blog.  I'm always surprised at their struggles, wrongly thinking I'm the only one fighting uphill battles.  Really, Cindy?  Don't get off the farm much?

Recently a reader described an issue within her family involving a 'Rescue Mom,' which is usually a random stranger your children might manipulatively befriend as an escape possibility - pumping the potential Rescue Mom's head full of lies about you, the real mom, the one who has been there through thick and thin, the one who has absorbed all the lashing out, fed, clothed and sheltered the one who clearly still needs all the therapy that you, the real mom, are still providing.

Yep, it's happened here, and it's a common refrain I hear from y'all too.  You likely won't even see it coming. I never did, or rather nowadays I'm starting to be more aware of potential participants.  As if my problematic ones wanna groom possibilites just in case Mama takes away their phone for blatant infractions of rules designed to protect them from themselves or others.

Eventually the kid will show their true colors with the newly beleaguered Rescue Mama, she will call you in tears, apologizing that she ever believed such crap, "Now I understand," you'll often hear, but the damage was done, the kid was enabled to not accept the consequences you'd properly doled out, such as simple restrictions, then it'll fall upon the nice police person to have to show them the world's consequences via handcuffs, three hots and a cot.

I hate it when that happens, but even with all this available therapy, it seems to be a common denominator in the world of The Adoption of Older Children, not in all of them, but in a fairly high percentage.

My sweetheart below, unnamed, wanting it to be so here in her mid-20s, is in frequent contact with me, something that seemed very remote at one time, no Rescue Mama Drama involved in this case, but a host of other issues, this pretty one punched out three cops before her 17th year ended, now she trying her best to help me tend to a situation with her birth brother in Atlanta, and her diligence impresses me.

I end my calls to my kids with, "I love you," and with this many kids, it's an almost automatic response, so much so, I'm afraid I'll end all calls as such, but hey the world needs more love, right?

Verizon and Charter will unlikely hear me express love though, usually my blood pressure is so high after a call to them, I generally have ask Daniel or someone to make the call, or go online, and fix the situation for me to save me from stroking out.

Already ended my self-imposed Facebook non-attendance because I figured I could find out something about that accident last night, but I didn't.  Nosey much?  Yes, this is a tiny county, and I know two tons of folks around here.

I allowed Martin, 20, and Sabrina, 19, to quit this new job already.  By allowed I mean, I support their mutual decisions as they were lied to, or technically misled.  I had straight up asked, "Is this door to door selling?"  Sabrina said the lady promised her that it wasn't, but not only it is as such, but they have to call friends and family to find their own folks to go try and sell a $2,000 vacuum to in the midst of a recession.

It's not their style, not their passion, not a good fit, let's keep on looking kids for a better job situation.

Jack's been struggling this week, Grandpa, his best buddy would've been 84 yesterday, all of us still missing him a bunch.  Such a great man who truly left his mark on his family.