Happiness Is Mine Y'all

One thing I’ve always possessed, even under very voluntary poverty stricken situations, has been a case of usually incurable optimism, or a driving determination, or boundless enthusiasm, something that’s been glaringly gone bye-bye lately. Or has it been? I gotta wonder aloud to myself, because in spite of circumstantial evidence, my head is still above water. While others flounder, lash out, carry on and melt down, I still function even when my right arm, my own personal central processing unit, my laptop is in ICU in critical condition.

I’m not gonna do any New Year’s Eve Resolutions, I simply wanna continue as I’m doing, I won’t stay up late, nor ponder tomorrow’s new decade’s beginnings. I’ll marvel at the onion seeds I planted a month ago, growing my own sets for Spring, and I’ll giddily notice that my own house looks better than ever, if only because I do all the work. Well hey, if that’s what it takes, then by golly, that’s what I’ll do. It’s my dern house, my security, it’s where I’ll always live.

I’m mindful that CW, Lily, Jack, Sabrina, Martin and Chuy, in particular, are sweet, loving and kinda helpful. Even Allen, handsome but academically limited, is usually a great teenager to live with each day. Maybe book learning ain’t all it’s cracked up to be? I knew, during soccer championships, that he’d pull through, that they’d win, because his single minded focus was on kicking that ball into the goal.

I always have an intriguing stack of books, bought used for a buck at yard sales and at Goodwill, that I plow through in my moments of quietude. Last night I picked up, Choosing Happiness, by Alexandra Stoddard, and I realized I’d lately missed the ferryboat to Joy Island. I bought me a ticket, will force myself to be mindful of every moment. I’ll joyfully notice my many amaryllis and the way my bright yellow kitchen turns into a peachy pink colored hallway, when the sun hits it just so, it takes my breath away.

No one has everything. No one doesn’t have sorrow or regrets, everyone has a path to walk, dark at times, hopeless even, but girlfriend, the sun comes up each day and I’m healthy as a horse. I love, love, love where I live, and no one is more fired up about the future than I. Even in the moment, the right now, I have a ton to be thankful about every second.

I can train my always roaring mind to not be defined by sometimes miserable circumstances, brought upon me by dumbo choices others have made. I am only personally responsible for my own choices, I will not own the blame that has no basis, when others point fingers at me when they ignorantly and against any and all reasonable advice, go against laws of gravity or physics. Duh.

I won’t just cope, I will grow in grace and will struggle to find compassion when objectively it sucks. I wanna be healthy and happy, and I’m gonna be so. I will let in the sunshine even when others drag around their personal clouds of cwap. Even when they take a dump on me. If I run out of toilet paper, I have sacks of leaves...have at it young'uns.

I’ll realize that simple, everyday activities bring me happiness. Good gracious woman, you’ve had 55 years of learning and knowing this, get a grip.

Abraham Maslow, all education majors study his brilliance, I remember my Ed psych classes in the 70s at ODU, claims, “The ability to be in the present moment is a major component of mental wellness.

Present moments are all I have and I’ve let the mental disabilities of others steal my joy.

I know that I carry on and complain like a baby because others don’t understand when my kids act out in public. Well, silly girl, maybe I haven’t understood either. Get over yourself. Keep moving on. Do NOT own their blame, you weren’t even there when all this happened to them before you adopted them.

Be very glad, very grateful that you had, and still have, wonderful parents, keep moving on emotionally, do not allow others to destroy you too.

Choose happiness….

And no, I'm not secretly at the beach. I'm home where we have no internet except about 3 hours a day, where folks want to tear up the house and steal my joy...whatever.

Chunkily Wonderful Soup

As emotionally fussy as I was yesterday, I’m not really in that much of a bad mood. More resigned to my life, knowing there are glaring behavior defects that I’ll never be able to change in children, watching one shuffle around yesterday with blank, lifeless eyes, shrouded in a dirty blanket he so prefers, sadly it’s now easy for me to understand from where the homeless evolve.

I mean, really, does anyone think he’ll ever hold down a job? Not break laws? Function on a minimal level?

Any yo yo like me, worth half a grain of salt, ought to be able to step back from time to time and clearly remember Jesus exhorts us to die to self. To not be self-absorbed, not out to acquire it all, to think of others without wondering what’s in it for us. As hard headed and determined as I am, as driven from within, it’s classically obvious to any bystander that it took 39 children to make me even begin to comprehend this command from God’s Word.

I bellyached to Sarah, really irritable over my laptop that I, of course, never remember to back-up. Even when I do remember, the jump drive disappears. A collusion here designed to make me lose my mind. No matter what precautions I take, master manipulators are always a step ahead of me.

Another reason why I tend to so many houseplants and so much acreage, it just makes sense to me, and it’s an arena in which the children do not tread, as it just looks like way too much work for them.

In many ways, it may appear as if I’ve simply given up. Following up on positive redirection for Paloma has never accomplished anything. It only infuriates her and frustrates me, as I never have any recourse that works. I just end up with mass destruction, broken windows, and police visits if I try and force any reasonable issue.

OK child, you win. Happy now? I tread very lightly around her, simply doing my time, knowing logic will not penetrate her cloud of irrationality. Just won’t work.

Her IFI therapist comes today, I’ll continue to seek out resources, but I know those same resources will not be here during times of danger. That thought alone inhibits my choices.

Overall, I can be very happy all alone, my own company is noisy enough, what with my mind racing, my good and fun dreams exploding from within, and my future plans and goals exciting me immensely. Gary, Jim and I share these traits, nearly hermit-like, all three of us, able to go for very long stretches of time without seeking anyone out, happy with our books, our pursuits, and our thoughts.

Good thing too, as my family serves as a laser shield, fending off normal folks, repelling decency it seems at times.

My runaway from the other week has been a little remorseful, knowing she’d inadvertently caused an unnecessary uproar, but she’s still, at the core, rather mean and lazy, never lifting a finger to help, her room is a mess, even though I’m the one who gathers her garbage and vacuums constantly as if it were aerobic therapy. I’m not going to be able to ever inject a work hard mentality in her, it only irritates me to continue fussing about it, I’d just rather do the dishes, clean her room, and keep my own blood pressure to a minimum. Whatever.

I’m intending to answer emails and comments, but lately my internet is so dang sporadic, I have no laptop, and I’d disconnected any alerts from my Blackberry, so I don’t hear texts, emails nor Facebook notifications, preferring to check eventually, at my own leisure as all too often the texts are unreasonable demands from older children who’d rather not have any face to face contact, but still feel emboldened enough, no entitled for some reason, to keep pushing me over the edge after never having listened to any decency lectures I’d delivered for decades.

Good to hear from Jesse today though.

Because he’d grown so tall so fast, I’d taken Jojo shopping yesterday, charging as it’s the end of the month and I am broke. Because no good deed ever goes unpunished, he had a meltdown this morning, screaming at me that he’d rather live anywhere but here, that I always call him ‘stupid’ when I don’t call anyone a name unless it is darling, sweetie or the occasional ‘fruit pie’ designation. They can look me in the eye and lie through their teeth when it isn’t about me at all. Angry as hell that his birth mom doesn’t care, why not lash out at the one who does?

And then folks wonder why I prefer ALONE as a state of being, so tired of the irrational demands placed upon me 24-7.

Sweet Sarah came to babysit so I could take a load of young'uns with me to a shop that just might be able to perform a miracle on my laptop, here's hoping of course. Bringing me some Portuguese Kale and Potato Soup that I'd initially been unexcited about, so changing my mind with the first delicious bite. Yep, thick enough to bite, that's my kind of soup.

A Dead Hard Drive Again

Always melancholy after my family leaves, my brother’s family left very early this morning for their ten hour return trip to Virginia. I feel bereft, abandoned, left here on a sinking ship, watching the greedy, conniving, surviving rats scurry around.

Bart briefly mentioned his annoyance at being unable to find a stapler, or something, the other day. It’s a feeling that nearly decimates folks like us, knowing that whatever we have will be destroyed, while kids look at us with flat eyes, daring us to do something about it. Like what are our options? The word none comes to mind.

Today is Paloma’s 13th birthday and I dread it, knowing how she’ll insist on controlling everyone’s mood, emotions and actions today. She did her level best several times while my brothers were here to disallow me from spending time with them, that cloud of potential danger simmering if I dared to turn my back on her for a split second.

Sometimes I feel as if I’m only barely enduring these next four or five years, at some point, like others before her, eventually she’ll be on her own without Mama’s stupid rules that she so despises, the simple ones like reciprocity, or being kind to others. My bitter experiences have taught me that she’ll then constantly call me, try and control me from afar, as if I'm a puppet, and continue to batter and bully her way through life.

All this available therapy and resources, seemingly to no avail. Wrap-around services that do not protect us from her irrational thoughts and ideas, the pointlessness suffocating me sometimes.

I’ve spent most of my days recently cooking, cleaning, cooking, cleaning, laundry and vacuuming, knowing I’ll need to start over immediately, no point in putting up the shop vac, just repeat and re-repeat.

I hate it that Gary and Jim are gone, just hate it.

Gary’s daughter, Katie Bay, got the first B in her entire life in a freshman physics class at Notre Dame. A product of private Catholic schools, she’s worked her butt off for a lifetime of straight As. Her two sisters are the same, one graduating from William & Mary soon. This is how our parents raised us as well. Jim, Gary, Ellen and I were all taught to work hard for good grades, to earn money, and to strive forward – hard work will be rewarded – and that’s obviously the source of my frustration this morning.

My very hard work here feels so unrewarded. I flew high after Daniel’s successes and I always will do so. Sarah and Yolie also do so well in life, others have college degrees also or else work very hard for their families like my Jesse. I have to keep looking at them to feel the least bit rewarded about my parenting skills. Knowing everyone was raised in the same house with the same mom, me parenting the same way with ten thousand resources does not equal the same results, lemme tell you.

It’s so disheartening to have Pepe calling me constantly, blaming everyone for his fourth assault charge, or knowing I’m forever estranged from some grown kids due to uncrossable lines. Forgiving, but moving on, for our family’s safety.

Who lives like this?

The more I give to some folks, the more they lash out. When I stop giving for fear of enabling them, they amp up their attacks.

Paloma and Tony fought with each other yesterday, somehow knocking my laptop on the floor, it won’t come on today, they’ve each blamed the other when I saw them both fighting with my own two stressed-out eyes. Best Buy later told me the hard drive was killed. Cwap.

Paloma screams cuss words, smacks others, stalks around with her wild, dangerous eyes flaring, everyone scatters and if we do not allow her to have her way, there’ll be broken windows and false accusations, lies and vitriol, damages and violence.

My brothers are gone this morning, my sense of normalcy evaporating with their departure. I turn back to face those that’d punish me for having loving brothers that’ll drive hundreds of miles to spend time with me, laughing and cutting up, after more than 50 years of knowing each other. My disturbed children simply cannot fathom emotional closeness and will try and make me pay for having any joy in my life, their resentment seething right on the surface.

Some of my children were charming and delightful however, I need to keep my eyes on them. Big Joe and Fabian kept coming over, as did Daniel who gave my neices a wonderful tour of the UGA campus yesterday. Always charming and dependable, always such a man, someone I totally respect and enjoy spending time with as much as I can.

Drinking Coffee

Maybe I’m just old and slow, easy to please, or merely thrilled with the little stuff, but there’s hardly anything I enjoy more than sitting up before the sun rises, drinking coffee with my brothers and my parents. A throwback to easier times possibly, we used to always spend two weeks each year at Nags Head in a large beach house, all of our families together. It kinda fizzled after Ellen died and my family grew so large, we’d built the pool in 2000, but Gary just asked me if I could try again soon with the family beach vacations. Lord knows, I’d love to do so.

Gary, Jimbo and I are about as bottom of the barrel as it comes, all of us driving old used cars, wearing whatever we can find for dirt cheap prices, but certainly owning real estate. The true measure maybe of our own self-worth, in that which makes us happy, to be our own bosses, not being slaves to the debt-owners, but rather subsisting happily.

My parents taught us this and we obviously all bought into it.

I have had most of my grown kids in and out all week, today so as well, not much to blog, as thankfully it’s been happy times.

I’ gonna venture out for church today. Having been housebound and not noticing it, other than the clamor of the children, it’s high time to go to town, or at least my version of a social life, 2 miles away, down two dirt roads and through cotton fields isn’t exactly going to town, but it’s way good enough for me.

Jimbo, my brother, and I wondered aloud yesterday, “Does everyone cross a bridge and automatically look down to check to see how fast the water is flowing?” Knowing that it visually indicates our latest level of precipitation? Or are most folks nonplussed over the whole phenomenon? A who gives a whit?

We didn’t bother to ask our other brother, Gary, when he arrived last night. We know he’s totally obsessed with water levels and wind speeds.

My niece, Katie Bay, is a freshman now at Notre Dame, on the Dean’s List, and I peppered her with questions about a Virginia girl like herself living in such frigid cold. She’s loving it, very happy there and my other beautiful niece, Kelly, will graduate from William and Mary in May. My first adoption in Honduras coincided with my sister-in-law, Mary’s pregnancy with Kelly.

Marcela, then seven, but now 28, is coming today with her daughter to visit with the cousins. My third niece, Caroline, has now started high school.

Gina, 31, and Cristy, 32, ate supper with Jimbo and us last night. Daniel, Big Joe, Sarah and Sergi will visit today. Vanessa had called me from Tennessee, while Pepe had called me from YDC, rudely hanging up on me because I have company and he was angry. Alex now calls me almost every day to check in, she who was so furious with me/herself/life for so many years

It’s odd for me to have family members who look like me, imagine how much so for my children? I’ve morphed from a sister/daughter/cousin/aunt into a Mama who’s so constantly in demand that my other familial roles have been put aside too often. I am, of course, glad that my parents live here as I try and cling to some prior evidence of having existed.

Excitedly putting together my seed list for 2010, slowly eliminating what I need to order as I learn to successfully save my own seeds. Last night I realized I’d never grown kohlrabi, horseradish, Jerusalem artichokes nor parsnips. So many horticultural endeavors, so little time. That thought excites me also.

I am fixing to plant another 60 asparagus roots, one can never have enough. Planning and configuring the pounds I need with this many folks is always hit or miss, I almost always mis-calculate to our detriment. An uh-oh we’re out of Fire Hot Pepper Sauce and it’s only March moment.

My brother, Gary, is now the only sibling who still lives way up north in Hampton, Virginia where we all attended high school hundreds of years ago. He has a dock in his back yard, I’ve not been to his house in seven years, we talked ‘bout how when I’m freed up, in not too many more year, how I’m gonna sit on my butt and eat Oyster Rockefeller on the dock, waiting for old friends to pass by in their boats.

Gary is as obsessed with his boats as I am with my gardens, both of us glued to The Weather Channel, that’s how days are planned and mapped out.

Last night I was so simply happy to be with my brothers, my nieces and Mary, and my parents, every one of my kids acting right at the same time, in my mind’s eye I can see me having a future again.

A Challenging Battle

When I look backwards and kick myself, it is usually due to an immature decision I’d once made, almost always it involves me not buying a piece of land I’d initially checked out. I was deathly afraid, for some wiggle worm reason, of being tied down, smothered, buried alive…whatever you want to call it, but in my mind’s eye I look in my rear view mental mirror, and see all the mortgages I could’ve long ago paid off. The profit I could’ve been living off of would’ve been impressive.

But I’d have felt empty inside, right? Money versus humans? Did it have to be either or? See what I mean about my inward screaming mentality? My brain never leaves me alone, always it’s worrying me about something or another.

I’m hard on myself, not so on the kids. But I do look with pride at those offspring who’ve been financially conservative and wise. On Daniel’s Commissioning Day I’d threatened to show everyone my stretch marks, indicating it was my genes alone that had created this wunderkind. Daniel had cringed at the thought, knowing I was ballsy enough to do it, if so encouraged. He also knows how to handle me, to not allow me to embarrass him.

In 1998, The Wealthy Barber was a great read that I clumsily missed. A $14 paperback price kept me from it, as I almost always choose to wait until something is used. Heck, there were still plenty of books then from the 80s I’d not read, staying a decade behind has saved me thousands of dollars I’m sure.

I’m reading it now, having found it at my senior citizen’s day at Goodwill. After Christmas, when folks have to find room for their new stuff, Goodwill’s inventory swells in response, blessing folks like me who are fine with waiting. Guess where I’ll be on Tuesday? Actually, no I won’t, as my retirement check won’t yet be in the bank. First Tuesday in January, when the kids are back in school, will find me perusing every single title on the shelves of Goodwill.

I’ve always hoped to teach, either by example or osmosis, this one aspect of financial good sense. I know Sarah absorbed it long ago, neither Yolie nor Daniel are swayed by the gimmes, Gina’s eyes danced with anticipation yesterday at the thrill one gets from planting a sprouted clove of garlic, it’s these simple things that thrill.

Y’all’s emails and comments show me some folks are listening here as well.

In the early 80s there was a piece of land, 25 acres and a cottage, very isolated. Another 36 acres backed up to a National Forest, and I also remember 25 acres on a river. All would’ve made great home sites, but I’d finally reluctantly chosen a smaller plot of only 3 acres, wanting Sarah, then in third grade, to be in this county and that was all I could then reasonably afford.

That’s the point, I suppose, buying only what one could afford. It has sure paid off for me in that I could later carefully raise 39 children, so poor we fall under the federal poverty level, but a use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without, mantra has carried us through.

I like a challenge, though not necessarily the mental health ones I’ve been so buffaloed by each day. Those frustrate the fool outta me.

Watching God lead us to where we are now, looking back I now understand and am very happy, we’ll (Sarah and I) always live close to each other, likely forever, as we both love the land we’re now on. Were it not for the trees and Yolie’s house, I could nearly see the lights on over at Sarah’s property.

When I’d bought those three acres long ago, I also didn’t know God was fixing to open a really big door for us both, the one we walked through in 1982 to a church that changed our lives, only to be followed by a fairly impressive number of children.

This child of the Vietnam Era, hating the government’s policies in Southeast Asia, honey no way could you have convinced me that decades later I’d be pleased as punch and prouder than pie over my military sons. Or that I’d be in church every time the doors opened? Me? The one with the big mouth, too much pride over nothing, and such a sassy attitude? The raging independence?

So, slowly learning to never say never, but to realize that I truly do need my massive dependence on a Holy Spirit, that many do not believe in, leads me to the conclusion that my next 50 years will be a whole lotta fun also. I’m curious and interested in so many aspects of life, opening doors and walking through them, learning and doing, which sends sparks of joy throughout me, igniting my life that has sometimes stagnated here with the incredibly ridiculous odds I’m playing against (making me end a sentence with a preposition), but other than Millie and Devin noticing, they know me well enough to realize my enthusiasm causes run-on sentences and massive grammatical errors everywhere, but I’m like that in real life also…exuberant, annoying and full of myself, making everyone wonder why, when there doesn’t seem to be much to be so ridiculously thrilled about each day.

Amie’d asked me if I could choose just one gardening book, which I can’t do as I love ‘em all, but maybe just one on a need to know basis would be a Rodale’s Encyclopedia of Organic Gardening. and I’d have to say the best financial book would be either any single one of Dave Ramsey’s books, or my all-time favorite, The Millionaire Next Door, now kind of old and found in thrift stores and at yard sales.

I could go to the mall, buy some high-end clothes, get myself all done up in heels and designer apparel, and look fabulous (maybe), but I’d have to charge it and go get a new career to support such a losing proposition. I’d be inwardly miserable.

Why not scurry around town, scrounging, living as if I’m poverty-stricken, which I am to some point, but not being tied to a job is tremendously appealing and freeing. I’m paying a price for this freedom, or am I? My nerdy color-coded charts and goals, budgets and scenarios, spreadsheets, Quicken, and Hugh’s Financial Pages have all helped tremendously.

Honey, I choose freedom, even if I do appear to be terribly poor by most people’s standards. I ain’t got no standards.

If you all could see Sarah, dressed to the nines at church it would seem, but she probably has less than $2 in every outfit, including shoes. Being tall and beautiful anyway, the clothes are merely a compliment. Yolie will proudly describe every outfit on herself and her children as ‘from a bag,’ ‘passed down’ or ‘yard sale’ and her family looks wonderfully prosperous. Both Sarah and Yolie have built houses, turning dimes into dollar appearances, y’all it can be done.

Good Enough For Me

I eat a pretty darn healthy array of foods. All the plants, nuts, seeds and whole grains I can see, and I find it delicious, I'm too full to want to eat a dead animal. Now after stuffing oneself over the holidays, we'll see Jenny Craig ads when, in reality, this is all one needs to do.

Dr. Mark Hyman states, in another article, "The average American today eats 150-180 pounds of sugar per year. That's over half a pound of sugar a day! And I'm not eating that much, so that means some of you are eating a lot more!"

He goes on to explain that we chubby Americans eat less than 8 grams of fiber a day, compared to 100 grams of the Paleolithic times. Not me folks, my oatmeal concoction each morning involves oats, walnuts, sesame seeds, wheat bran, flax seeds, coconut, and either raisins or cranberries.

It takes a ton of energy to run this family, but where I fall terribly short is in my inability to not slough off the crap as well as I should. I stew, I fret, pace and carry on, when I'd be oh so much better off just shaking it off. I need to learn to calm my roaring mind. It like never shuts UP. That's not healthy at all.

Folks who dump on me are fine afterwards, as if the cathartic release cured them, but I'm left with their toxic bile. Sarah's gotten very faithful with yoga, I'm starting as well.

Today was fairly low key, right calm, little stress at all, very good food, and then Daniel and Gina took CW, Martin, Chuy and Sabrina to see Avatar in 3D. No part of me was interested, but I'd sure like to escape my life and watch It's Complicated if only for the upscale Santa Barbara scenery and the fact that it's a comedy.

But for tonight, the house is clean, Christmas is over, I'm caught up on laundry, some sense of accomplishment, and I'm healthy. Good enough for me.

Hey, I Break The Plates Around Here

Moving on, maybe December 25th, in the afternoon, is my new favorite day of the year, in that it offers a great deal of leeway until this time next year.

I, of course, beat myself up for my whiny attitude when I’d read this story about Chance Veazey. I remember reading in the Daily Snooze when it had happened, an unidentified UGA male on a Moped, my heart had skipped a beat knowing that’s how Daniel also got around town.

To later learn that this was another really great kid who’d played serious high school baseball made it all the more heart-breaking. To never walk again? After knowing he likely could’ve made it in the big leagues? The unfairness of life rankles me every day.

Maybe I should work harder on counting my many blessings. Maybe? Get real woman, you’re very blessed.

Overall my kids have behaved decently. We got it all done, finished with everything, but the big meal, by bedtime on Christmas Eve. I’d allowed ‘help choose your own presents’ freedom, and that’d worked well last year, provoking everyone to ask for it again this year.

The big boys had a blast playing with the younger kids’ toys, they’d have never asked for such uncoolness on their own, but they’d felt the freedom to be happily immature last night. They were making short videos for Face Book but their own silliness outweighed their ability to share this goofiness online.

“Why are we always on the verge of an ER trip?” I’d asked in exasperation, as everything is a potential weapon or maybe just all the testosterone dare devil factor is multiplied by the simplicity of being the mama of 21 sons?

JoJo accidentally broke a plate, looking at me with his large, gorgeous brown eyes, “How’d that happen?” he asked in absolute surprise, totally unaware of his gangling body movements.

“Dang, son,” I’d insensitively responded. “Now what am I gonna hurl at the (metal) sink next time I’m irked?”

The Shop Vac has earned its keep certainly.

Pooling designated Christmas money, we’d also gotten a new CPU unit, something they’ll use constantly, eliminating another computer time argument around here.

There’s no surprise beach trip planned this year. The economy has tanked for everyone, I’m simply very happy to have an almost paid for roof over my head and the endless possibilities of a new gardening season just around the corner.

And Christmas was survived.

The System Is Broken and I'M a Broken Record. Different Day, Same Song.

At a White Elephant Christmas Party the other night, Daniel’s friend chumped the entire room with a rare Dalmatian mouse in a cute little cage. Daniel ended up with the bewildered rodent only to later have the gift giver confess to using a Sharpie to get the clever spotted effect.

Knowing my Bubbas would love another pet, in a house where we have to set mouse traps, Daniel generously gave the cute stinking thing to us. My third trip over to his house in the last week. Always worth it for me, just for the bear hug I receive from a strong, successful son. Thank you Lord.

We already have a hamster named Pablo, who distinctly did not want to share his palatial cage, and five very small, but curious, house dogs who were quite interested in swapping spit with this new creature, who’d spent a good part of yesterday crawling all over JoJo. A monkey with a house pet? JoJo bounds and swings everywhere, the mouse hanging on with sharp claws for dear life.

Nary a snap out of anyone yesterday, two days before Christmas. Everyone ate all day long, as if they subconsciously needed a refill, a tanking up process for the long cold month of January that is coming up.

Another day of kids and grandkids running everywhere, Hazel eventually so exhausted, especially from the trampoline, she’d rested her head on my shoulder, catnapping for the nine seconds it took to get on and jump some more.

It’s not so much procrastination, as it is pure dread, in that only now on Christmas Eve will I venture out and tend to what we need for our very toned-down Christmas celebration. Everyone is going with me, the only day of the year that I even try and take all the children out. We all know what we need to do, plans and lists are made, goals will be achieved, and within less than one more day, that tree will be down and outta here, and I will have survived another decade of Holiday Hell.

I got up at four this morning as Amelia, the three legged terrier, was inexplicably barking. Within 30 minutes, most everyone else is up too, as I type these words that won’t get published until later in the morning. For nearly a month now our Charter internet non-service has been slow to come on each day, as if the cold has affected even the wires.

The kids are excited over our big Christmas shopping expedition, that I wish I could be medicated for, as I despise the entire ordeal. I have Christmas Angels, way up in New York City, who’ve made this as painless as possible, better than medication, as they’ve nearly eliminated my onerous burden. I could not do this without them.

Just as folks claim reality is for those who can’t handle drugs, so too do I believe shopping is for those who can’t farm nor garden. I’d rather lick the store floors clean than even glance at the gaudy merchandise, this entire expedition has me gagging already.

Then I’ll cook, cook and cook some more.

Ya know, someone has to be the mom of severely disturbed children, and obviously it’s me. We didn’t even try to get to the candle light service at church. The thought of flames, incendiary devices scared me off that venture.

The majority of my children are loving and delightful, but are so overshadowed by the shocking outbursts of those that cannot be reasoned with at all, even after years and years of therapy, one simply cannot fix broken brain synapses nor mental illnesses.

I’m resigned to my lot, but I can also see the light down at the end of this dark tunnel.

In contrast, my cell phone borrowing incident of yesterday involved one kid with a conscience, who cried in shame after confessing. He got computer restrictions, which he followed to the T, knowing I imposed this punishment because I care deeply about his future. He gets it. He will succeed in life. He even cleaned the big boy’s bathroom for me.

Several of you had contacted me about this story. I’d only read bits and pieces, but it had, of course, irked the tar snot out of me. This mother is obviously broken-hearted at her only apparent attempt at parenting, fingers pointed at her, yet through her words I could see her violent son perfectly, as I’ve lived with every behavior and diagnosis that she described. My words were coming out of her mouth, “We need help for him,” y’all’s words too, I know. Is there a celebratory t-shirt somewhere for those who don’t get murdered? An “I rode the Express Bus to Biploar Hell as a Tourist, and all I got was this Stupid nT-shirt!” I’d wear it proudly.

For Christmas, 4 out of 39 children are behind bars. Yes, I have college graduates and homeowners also, way more successes than criminals, but the depth of the criminal acts are frightening. Once freed? They’ll find more victims, as they are violent and predatory, yet innocent little dumb bunnies like me were expected to live with them?

Merry Christmas y’all, the system sucks.

A Dalmatian Mouse - Story To Come

There’ve been decent moments this week of course, somewhat overshadowed by the viciously outrageous actions of others, that were unnecessary and overtly hateful. The ironic aspect is that I totally avoid those folks, the drama was dragged into my life when the runaway, frustrated with her own self, decided to seek out those she knew could, and would, escalate any situation.

Miriam surprised me yesterday with a few sweet texts, telling me that NOW she gets it, after struggling on her own for several years, testing out all my stupid and square adult theories. Fighting against logic, decency, even the law of gravity, it would seem, resulting in some spectacular falls, and hopefully she’ll turn it all around. She’s done so a little bit, but has quite a way to go.

Cristy’d made me some lineament with beeswax, comfrey and lavender, soothing my raggedy, desiccated hands that’d had the distinct pleasure of weeding yesterday. On my knees facing a garden bed, smiling with joy, but cringing inwardly, knowing someone’s gonna soon try and rob me of happiness, as it seemingly offends them. Go figure folks.

Nearly 60 degrees is such a balm to my soul, today promises another delightful weather experience, allowing me to work on more garden beds for spring, reading seed catalogs at night, most recent arrivals have included Jungs, and R.H. Shumway that has pencil drawings, but both are from Wisconsin, full of cold-hardy tips, eliminating potential orders from me. Seeds of Change and Seed Savers remain my favorites.

Hazel and Ray, Mae and CJ, have been here every day, laughing and playing. Hazel’s the youngest and is stretching her wings of independence, tagging along on my outdoor chores, like Mae, she is obsessed with my hens, spent most of the day jumping on the trampoline, but engaged in several skirmishes with Shadow, the very rambunctious terrier/alleged poodle mix, over several important sticks outside that Hazel had initially appropriated. Shadow simply didn’t think so.

I breathe in and out deeply, sidestepping Jonathan’s knock-over furniture rage last night when I made him share computer time. Share? An unreasonable concept to him, thus justifying his anger in his own, dark, twisted thinking. Fortunately it blew over right fast, as I ignore it, wincing as he kicked the heck out of his bedroom door in his ridiculous fury.

Experience has taught me, in spite of a decade or so of therapy, he’ll likely be kicking the snot out of a jail cell one day.

My sweet friend, Pat, a co-commiserator in what all y’all are also dealing with, had found me an antique set of Audels Gardeners and Growers Guide, volumes 1-4, from 1928, in a thrift store. Oh my goodness! It’s gorgeous and makes for fascinating reading. I started them on the Winter Solstice Day, the one that always gives me a great deal of hope in that there goes the shortest day of the year. Bring on Spring.

Any decent gardener would’ve already put her amaryllis bulbs into dormancy, and back out by now, with a forced bloom, but my demanding time schedule drains my short term memory by a few months, thus delaying bloom until January…but that’s when I’m really strangled by winter’s cold, and am in deep need of a few blooms.

But yesterday? I watered the greenhouse, gathered more basil seeds, listened to Hazel try and crow in my arms, like my big ole rooster. Later CJ made art projects in Lily’s room while I vacuumed around kids and Yorkies.

Both of my brothers are coming right after Christmas, an added benefit of Grandma and Grandpa living with us, the draw is doubled. Big Joe, Jesse, Daniel, and Sergi have years of beach memories with my brothers, and I wish I could have ‘em all here at the same time, but Jesse’s still out in Texas.

Gary and Jim make me laugh like no others, irreverent, caustic and hilarious, I just can’t wait to see them both, Gary’s family will be here also.

I would've published sooner but I discovered one of my kid's line cell phones had been stolen, resulting in calls to Verizon, a family meeting that went nowhere so I walked off crying.

Eventually a culprit came forward and confessed, which is surprising enough in this house.

Daniel also just called me with a ridiculously hilarious story that I'll share next time, but at least he left me snorting with laughter.

Grandpa's Blog Post

After having given Emily the back story today, as I often confide in her, needing an expert opinion, needing a fresh take on what I'm facing, the blog by Grandpa here's gonna make perfect sense to her. I've edited and edited, taken out about 75% to make it fit here, and removed names.

This man, my dad, has watched with astonishment, and sometimes horror, at the way I've been treated, he's had a front row seat now for nine years, and many, many phone calls between here and Virginia before they'd moved back down here.

Grandpa says: (in a letter he's not gonna send as it'll do no good)

What you must realize is that Cindy adopted you, and 37 other children, with the prayer, faith and belief that each would grow up, mature & receive an education, become a productive member of society as well as a Christian who is a “doer” and not a “talker”. This was her calling from God, and she never doubted His guidance.

Cindy made reference in her blog a few days ago that “Her parents taught her that the people you help the most, will often be the ones who hurt you the most.” This does not apply to everyone; but it does apply every time to the person, who does all the talking, yet never, never follows-up with action.

Now, just a few words concerning the runaway you harbored. She had not been receiving passing grades in school. She does not study. She refuses to help with work around the house, like cleaning her bathroom, bedroom, refusing to help in the kitchen, etc., numerous and serious issues which must be addressed, and if they are not addressed by Cindy, then, who else will do this? Who else will teach? She has to learn. Life demands that she learn.

If she does not turn around, she will fail. She will be a drop-out. She will end up in life as a loser, a failure, unable to reach maturity or to take responsibility for her actions.

She completely refused to help in anyway. She could not have picked a worse time to have a rage absolutely over nothing, as every adult here has been preparing for Christmas, UGA Graduation, Commissioning Service for Danny, etc. so she ran away.

Now, I ask, where is she going to go if she runs away? No one is going to permanently take care of her. No one, that is, but Cindy.

Do you believe that you two have the funds with which to take care of an illegal runaway? Are you going to provide the food? Pay for her clothes? Pay for her school expenses? Pay for her medical and therapy bills? Take her to the Doctor? Take her to the Dentist? Pay for her Insurance? Pay for any and all unexpected problems that always come up?

You should have recognized this run away for what it was...an immature, teenager with a few emotional issues, not as serious as some of the children, but, nevertheless, you should have put her into your car and returned her home immediately, letting her know that she cannot run away from LIFE.

Had she run to Sarah’s house or Yolie’s house, or to any other house in the entire neighborhood, like the homes of her girlfriends, every single parent, without exception, would have quickly recognized the real issues, returning her immediately to her home.

Frankly, I believe that she chose your home because deep down inside she recognized the truth of the above paragraph. In other words, she had to choose someone just like herself, immature.

If she refused to return home, then any responsible adult/parent would have called the Sheriff, telling him what had happened, and the Sheriff would have picked her up and returned her home where she belongs, at least until she is 18 years of age.

The greatest expression of love that you could have provided for her was to tell her immediately to get into your car and to drive her home.

THE WORST THING, AND, PERHAPS, THE MOST DESTRUCTIVE THING, YOU COULD HAVE DONE WAS TO SUPPORT HER IMMATURE BEHAVIOR AND ACTIONS.

You calling the Sheriff on Cindy was inconceivable to both your grandma and me; unbelievable that anyone could be so blind. Your reaction was not the action of a loving, caring, mature or responsible adult. It was emotionally destructive to the runaway, not to Cindy or your grandparents. You fired a gun, and you wounded her as well as yourself. The teenager needs “tough love”, and if she does not receive it now, she will live in a state of hell and despair most, if not, all of her adult life.

Now, I am assuming that you will react to this letter with an adult attitude of humility and reconciliation. In fact, I am taking a leap of faith, trusting that you will recognize the correct thing to do. BUT…….

You must apologize to Cindy. (The only mother who has cared for you in your entire life), a real, sincere, heartfelt apology, recognizing that you made a serious mistake, damaging both to the runaway’s future, as well as to your future: Then, if not, I have made a mistake in believing in you as a whole person.

I also think that you need to apologize to the runaway. Of course, she will not understand this now; but, if you do not really apologize to her, telling her why you did not act in her best interest, then, I can surely tell you, at the same time, you will be damaging your life, eventually your marriage as well as the lives of your two wonderful little children that you are now privileged to be their mother. You will not be able to administer tough love when needed in the lives of your own daughters.

You see, you have to be a real mother to your own children, teaching them to take full responsibility for their own lives, living each and every day doing their homework, helping with chores in their home, following the directions you give, as well as the example, of both of their parents. Without fulfilling this hard, difficult task of parenting, then your own children will not be able to grow-up; thus ending up in life, totally unequipped, leading to a life of failure and endless suffering: running away to nothingness! Yes, there is a real possibility that one or both of your girls will attempt one or two runaways during their passage from being a teenager to being an adult, but, if you act now, then you will be able to help in the future, and your daughters will benefit, in spite of their immature behavior at the time of a runaway.

I recognize that what I am saying may sound hard, difficult or even unbelievable to you.

If so, then I would suggest that you present this entire case, as truthfully as you can, to a Christian Psychologist or a Psychiatrist or an Educated Clergyman who not only has seven year college/seminary degrees, but also has an additional degree in Pastoral Counseling.

There are also many, many books on Parents and Tough Love that you may find on Amazon or in the Public Library or a College Library.

Tough Love is not easy, but it is also certainly required of all parents, especially parents of teenagers. I offer these thoughts, hopeful that you will recognized the accuracy as well as the love that I offer.

Sincerely,


Grandpa.

Merry Christmas on Some Planet

I still plan to post's Dad's blog, I've been whittling it down, but he just told me originally he'd written nine pages. He's pretty fed up with the way grown folks treat me after they've milked me for all I can possibly give out.

"You've just been too generous," Grandma mentioned.

"They've come to expect it as their entitlement," another adult told me.

A devotee of tough love, I've been very careful, I thought, but I will no longer give the large cash amounts at Christmas and at birthdays for grown children, the economy has crippled me as well, the ungrateful, inhumane, back-stabbing has practically annihilated me.

Indeed I've had two grown kids ask me for advances on their birthday gifts and Christmas, months in advance. Are you kidding me?

If you're a man reading this, turn away right now, as I'm gonna gross you out.

Because my girls, several of them, will not clean, they'll just sit and stare at me, they'll threaten to call DFACS and say I'm treating them like slaves if I make them clean their room. Honey, they just won't do it.

It's not worth the broken windows, the threats, me having to follow through on restrictions, when they'll just run away and lie about me, so I clean it up. Today I cleaned used menstrual pads that they threw unwrapped next to the trashcans and all the tampon wrappers strewn around their master bathroom suite. I picked up the ear wax coated Q-tips and the makeup covered tissues, the snot encrusted Kleenex, the candy wrappers they stuffed under their beds, and the spoons and bowls they snuck down the hall. After the equivalent of a large 39 gallon trash bag was full, I then picked up their dirty clothes, the nasty, dirty underwear that they crammed under their beds, their turned inside out filthy jeans, and all the shirts, towels and socks flung everywhere.

It would not get done otherwise.

They won't tuck the shower curtain liner inside the tub, because they know it infuriates me if they don't. A big screw you moment again. There's a big rotten hole there that Miss Cissy is going to get fixed for me. A friend of Sarah's had replaced the floor some ten years ago, now it needs it again. I'd put new paint and new carpeting in that master suite several years ago, however the walls and rug now are totally dilapidated.

NOTHING I do helps or matters to them. NOTHING.

I'd just scrubbed down their room before Miss Cissy came over last week, as she was sending a construction supervisor to take notes on what we needed. I would have been mortified for Cissy to see it as it was, they refused to clean, totally refused, so I had to do it. I HAD to do it if I wanted it clean.

I do this every week actually, and if I did not do it, their rooms would look exactly like what you see on Hoarders. It IS that frightening.

I have no choice. I've already had reports made on me this week by the runaway who has a TV in her room, maid service (me), no chores, a swimming pool, computer access, unlimited food in the form of home-cooked meals, a mansion-sized home, no bills, and, thank God, therapy here at home, as I truly want mandated reporters in my home. I have nothing to hide.

I am an emotional and physical hostage. Derned if I do and derned if I don't.

If they don't get their way ALL THE TIME, they'll lie about me, I feel my reputation has been ruined in our community, as well-meaning, bleeding heart others often believe the lies, as they're very well told lies. I walk around hardly ever smiling because I know the truth. The truth of their futures since they will not listen to reason, as they dismiss academics and they scorn simplistic Mama morals such as no stealing or no lying.

I cook, I do the dishes, the pots and the pans, and the laundry and the vacuuming. You cannot MAKE people act human.

CW, Lily, Sabrina, Jack, Nando, Martin, Chuy, Allen, Scotty and JoJo have been right helpful lately, assisting me in some chores, even Paloma has been on a fairly decent roll lately, basking in the positive reinforcement that only sometimes works.

JoJo's dressed in his pjs and boots, dancing at Blockbuster yesterday where I'd taken him as a reward for cleaning his room. My first time out of the house in 72 hours. Yeah, I'm keeping track. Grandma again playing Rummicubes at home with the other kids.

I've raised some very marvelous children with great consciences and incredible inner strength and character. They worked with me on everything.

And the rest????

Isaiah's Million Dollar Smile Soothes His Abuelita's Ragged Soul

The Adoption Counselor again captured my own stressed-out feelings in her post about the ones we lose. I've lost several.

I have been fuming for many days over an incident. Outside of Yolie and Sarah, Grandma and Pa, I'd only told one other person (who'd prefer not to be called out) on the phone, it had involved the police.

I was very busy tending to a billion other things, but I'd been so angered on one particular night that I'd awoken the next day with bruises on my palm and wrist from me banging on stuff outside in abject fury, disgust and near hatred.

Hatred is a terribly destructive emotion, better for me to totally not give a spit. I've had nothing but cuss words coming to my mind, thus proving my inner rage which does not benefit me in any way. I've spilled this out to Paloma's excellant IFI therapist, she'd also validated me expressing anger without hurting anyone. Heck, Yolie's an LMSW...she's my usual confidant, as is Emily who outranks everyone.

Grandpa also was bumfuzzled over all this. Tired, as a parent, of seeing his only surviving daughter constantly wounded, emotionally and sometimes physically. It's been a Hellish nine years for elderly parents to witness firsthand. Anyone remember last year's Christmas Eve when I'd had my lip busted open by a rager? I thought Grandpa was gonna lose his religion that afternoon.

My dad wrote a very long letter to the one who'd been disrespectful, hateful and passive-aggressive for several years, asking me to read it and see if I thought it'd do any good.

It did do good. It did me good, in that Grandpa clearly expressed how I felt, he totally understood, incredible empathy versus the professionals that all of us sometimes deal with, who "side" with the troubled one, as if we were the problem. Just the other day, in Atlanta, I was questioned, while the troubled one remained mute. Look y'all, I wasn't the kid who smeared human feces everywhere as a parting shot.

"Do you think it'll help them understand?" Grandpa'd asked me in frustration.

"Nope," I responded, from experience.

"Dad, it just doesn't matter to me anymore. I'm simply glad that you understand, that's what matters to me. I think it really boils down to IQ," which makes me sound like Hitler, but intelligence is a common denominator in those that excel.

A Bodie trait involves our need to vent, we don't hold it in, we don't invite ulcers, we let it out safely, and move on. Grandpa vented, he feels better, and I do too, time to move on unhindered emotionally.

I think I'll publish his letter here after removing the identifying names, I think it'll speak to you all, and address the Hell you, other adoptive parents, also endure as targets of mis-directed anger. Grandpa wrote four pages, I'll condense it. I have his permission to do so. He reads my blog everyday, he reads all y'all's comments, every single one, he understands. Heck, he lives here...duh.

I deeply appreciate his educated validation of pure and simple logic.

I'm including a picture of Isaiah, my grandbaby y'all had prayed for when he was having seizures. Thank God it wasn't a tumor or a life-threatening problem, but rather was diagnosed as epilepsy. Jesse and Lena were given a great deal of comfort and peace, both by your prayers and by their pediatrician's calm encouragement. Isaiah will be fine and, Lord knows, he's about as cute as is possible. It looks like I'll get them all here on a visit by mid-January.

Grandpa, son of a career Navy man, has been particularly impressed by my military sons, Daniel, Jesse and Sergi. Especially with me as their mom, I'm from the Vietnam Era when everything was questioned, particularly the legality of a war that had not actually been declared.

War Zones & A Sermon

A good friend of ours, Pastor Mark, used to be the Children's Church Pastor, now a UMC pastor who sent me his sermon intro this morning. Good thing too, as Mayra has successfully prevented us all from attending church today, in spite of even Miriam stepping up to the plate to help, to explain to her, from experience, it is a very tough world out there...

Mark writes: (Yolie get a kleenex)

As I continued to ponder the sermon for today, I thought a lot about the state of constant warfare and turmoil all over the world. As I read from the pages of the Athens Banner Herald just yesterday, I noted that Defense Secretary Robert Gates was in Athens to speak at UGA’s Winter Graduation. I found interesting what Gates had to say about the current state of war in the world:

The closest Gates came to addressing the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan was at a ceremony for eight Army and Air Force ROTC graduates later Friday at the UGA Chapel. He briefly mentioned that the United States has been at war for nearly a decade, the longest time in the nation's history with an all-volunteer military.

"These are not easy or safe times, and very shortly you may be sent into harm's way," he said. "Your leadership will be tested." (Banner Herald)

Gates also commissioned as a second Lieutenant a young man I’ve watched grow up. Daniel Bodie is an exceptional young man who was adopted by a single mother and raised in a Godly home. I watched the video on Facebook where she and her daughter proudly pinned his officer’s bars on his shoulders.

I couldn’t be more proud of the career he is about to embark upon, I thank God for our strong military and for the job that they do to protect us. But I also am troubled by what my young friend Daniel Bodie may see in the next few months as he deploys and leads a group of men into the carnage of war.

Get a grip, Big Mama. Big Sigh. Sergi and Jesse have also been in the Navy, been in Iraq, left me with the feeling my head and heart would explode.

You know I wanna make a correlation between our home and a war zone, but I don't dare, don't want to trivialize what's up ahead for anyone.

Interestingly, Daniel's first salute? A tradition involving a special military person was a 36 year old former student of mine from Hartwell. I hadn't seen him in 25 years. Carmen, recognize the man?

Now I need to go get all 15 kids out of their church clothes, all of us dressed up for nothing, including me.

Happy Stinking Holidays

I was able to upload the short video of me, on Facebook, walking on the stage and pinning Daniel's bars with Yolie...and not sticking Daniel, tripping over my own big feet, or otherwise messing up, even though I was conscious of the media present there, and the fact that any one of my children some 12 rows back might explode over nothing, thinking I was far enough away.

I couldn't get it to load here though, friend me on FB if you'd like to see it.

I'll probably just keep using pictures of Daniel's good times to keep me in a great mood? I've watched the video a hundred times. Daniel, you are THE man! Thank you for giving my life some meaning. This is all the reward that I want and that I need. I need for YOU to succeed for YOU.

I was totally emotionally and physically whooped yesterday after an entire week of court dates in several counties, trips and visits to Atlanta and the mountains, a police interaction that had buffaloed me, and whatever else had so negatively demanded my time and attention.

I needed to stay home yesterday. Even my bones ached, plus I'd had a major hissy fit a few days ago, when I'd been again unjustly accused of utter crap, and I'd hit several inanimate objects hard enough to bruise my hand. I do not know what folks think I should do, when so angered by people who should be totally OUT of my life. The good news is, I never hit people. I stomp, yell in my head, dig, jump on the trampoline, somehow use physical activity to release my own fury at the hatred they think I should absorb for them.

It boils down to folks unhappy with their lot in life that they earned via poor choices. Rather than make a turnaround, they prefer to hurt folks, blame everyone and be hateful.

I greatly prefer to be left alone.

I have nothing to say, no interest in drama.

Go away please and stay away.

Tony provoked JoJo badly yesterday, Tony came squalling to me, lying about everyone, and I just stared, as I'd been down this long pointless road before, and not getting engaged in pointless furies is my goal. Mayra's PMS is massively severe, she's always been a bit of a mean girl, usually all I hear is, "I love you motherbear," this past week is, "I hate you," and pretty much the horse you rode in on.

What did I do? I wanna holler, but know she has no answer.

OK, hate me.

You have my permission to do so.

Does that help you?

Whatever.

I'm very, very tired of drama, rage and bullspit. I often feel as if I'm just doing my time, thinking how her sibs (who wouldn't listen to any logical reasoning) turned out, where's the hope?

Paloma wrote on Facebook last week, "I hate the woman I call mom. I hate her."

OK, don't call me mom then. I've never forced that issue.

Who cares? And then eventually they cannot MAKE me care, it's just beaten outta me. Happy Stinking Holidays.

She'd written that last week, since I'd never responded with any emotion about it, and she'd gotten over her PMS, she'd since calmed down and been delightful. WhatEVER. I'd been too busy to deal with it. Bottom line is I don't care if you hate me. Apathy is my best friend.

Here's the deal. I forgive and I move on, if my emotions are eventually murdered past redemption, then what're ya gonna do?

How will that behavior help you out in the world?

Rebel against me all you want.

One of the Proudest Days of My Life

Ten thousand folks heard the Secretary of Defense, Robert M Gates, tell that he'd be commissioning 8 Army and Air Force people later that afternoon. My eyes welled with tears at the thought. My Daniel who has literally been a perfect son, was to be one of them. He was later quoted in today's newspaper.

The thought ran through my head, if someone had of taken Sarah from me as a child, she'd have obviously hated the next person in line to be mom...duh Cindy...which explains much of the anger and hatred I receive from many of my children. That said, I comprehend it in younger kids, but the grown ones? Move on y'all.



All of yesterday, my ability to attend to where I needed to be, both at the UGA Graduation and the Commissioning Ceremony, was made possible by Sarah and Chuck. Grandpa helped with the ties and tie tacks, Preston later helped get the 80 year old grandparents to the Commissioning Ceremony in a cold, driving rain.

A Navy van whisked us from the Coliseum to the UGA Chapel, I was secure and comfortable with the wonderfully dependable folks I'd left at home. Preston's mother, Edith, had Paloma, which was a massive load off of my mind, knowing that the Secret Service, the media, and the bomb-sniffing dog might not have deterred her from acting out.

Secretary of Defense, Dr. Robert M Gates, administering the oath.



I'd have to write a book to detail how far Yolie and Daniel have come from their birth situation. However, I truly believe both would've made it in life, with or without me due to their inner drive and determination. I am, of course, glad and supremely grateful to have been their mom, to have been along on this fantastic ride, and I look forward to the rest of our lives.

Robert Gates, Yolie, Daniel, me and his Army officer

Ray Ray was on Preston's shoulders at this point, watching with awe that they got to use a sword to cut the cake. I'm sure the pressure will now be on Sarah to do the same?

Between the bomb-sniffing dog and the fact that Daniel and them'd cut the cake with a sword, my young sons were very impressed. Robert Gates is the one who'd impressed this ole hillbilly, telling jokes, shaking my son's hand, giving him the commemorative coins favored by the military.

We all went back to Daniel's house in town for a get-together, Chuck again being the one to go get the food, bring me Paloma and Tabby, he'd driven my children in the van, as I'd driven his truck earlier with Yolie. Obviously Sarah and Chuck would've preferred to be at the UGA Commencement rather than baby-sitting the potentially explosive children I call family, and I'm in such massive debt to them both, as I'd not have been able to see Daniel graduate from UGA without their help.

Now Sarah and I, Chuck, Yolie, Cristy, Gina, Marcela and Daniel are all proud UGA grads, two other daughters, Saray and Deysi, chose other colleges (Sacrilegious to the Bulldawg Nation), but colleges nonetheless.

And I'm the mom of an officer.

A Long Day of Stuff

I'm giggling as an administrator at school had told one of my sons, who was demonstrating some very lazy tendencies, "You'll never be the man your mama is."

Ya gotta be tough son, able to withstand onslaughts of crap from all directions. Folks who resent you for their own inner issues, or their own personal failures, who'd use and abuse you, indeed Yolie came over late last night to coach me through my anger at it all.

Interesting side note: Yolie's very high intelligence combined with her social work experience and her ability to cut through the crap, get to the point, here's what's really happening, plus Sarah's brilliance added to 36 years of knowing me, Daniel's equally as smart and supportive - sometimes it takes all three of them to guide me through the morass of pathetic or ignorant actions by others. Sometimes I'm very overwhelmed by hatefulness from others. It all boils down to eventually you just cannot make me care anymore by your actions.

My own parents taught me a long, long time ago that the more you help folks, the more they'll resent you for it, leaving me often angry and immensely tired of the entire world.

I then have to think about Jesse's eight hard years in the Navy, or Gina's long commute each day to her college-educated career, or any other of my kids who just gets up and does what they're supposed to do every day...maybe there's hope for some others?

I now have 14 kids ages 11-16, I'll have a bunch growing up at one time, freeing me up. I will have done everything possible, then it's on them, but I'm well aware they'll still wanna resent me simply for doing what their birth mother could not, would not do for them. By default, I suck in their eyes.

A kid is turning 18 very soon, has used me as an emotional punching bag for years, everything's my fault, she's been in a wonderful therapeutic respite situation and has the same issues she had here, I've been in tons of meetings where she's not been punished for her many thefts. A state worker remarked, "If this was any one of Miss Bodie's other kids, they'd have been before a judge by now." But I'm being set free. Steal all you want, do not call me collect from jail. It's a very hard world out there. Good luck chick.

Hate me all you want, you have my permission. I've learned not to allow them to manipulate me so much, they're very good at it. My bleeding heart keeps pouring out, but to no avail.

I really don't know how much Hell folks expect me to take. I'm done, I'm out, please leave me alone.

My 20 year old pictured here was absolutely delightful when I'd gone to her home, living in SE Atlanta in a decent environment, doing better than I expected after a very tough ten years. I'm really proud of her and she knows it, she was tearing up at my words of pride, crying in the restaurant, happy to hear me praise her...but she's earned it. She's doing way better than some of my grown kids who had more to start with.

I had a super time with Daniel, as I always do, my pride knows no bounds, and it now looks like tomorrow will be eased somewhat by Preston's incredibly sweet mom, Edith, babysitting Hazel, Paloma and Tabby.

But of course we had a major PMS incident last night where I finally asked Mayra to leave the kitchen as she was screaming at everyone, particularly at JoJo and Allen, she was horrible to Sabrina and Paloma and she refused to walk away from us, I didn't want her "help" as everyone else was angry with her, so she ran away. I finished cooking and doing the dishes.

I KNEW someone would try and spoil it for Daniel, pure T jealousy. And Holiday hell plus PMS?

She's back and apologetic, but she way crossed a line last night, breaking a great deal of trust, this right after I'd told her to be the one in charge of the extra cell phone at the ceremonies, "See, I trust you," I'd dumbly said, not knowing her PMS would be so severe. Not knowing that later that evening I'd throw a large hissy fit over the abject hatefulness of others. Thank God for Yolie who helps me to see the underlying truths.

Unbelievable.

When trust is broken...

My compassion fatigue is immense.

Thorny Grown Kids Too

Having just received Dee's family Christmas photo card, I then almost immediately read The Adoption Counselor's Russian orphan story and thought of Dee's darling kids. Likely those too, Michael and Alesia, are the only two Russian children I even "know." Kids all over the world suffer unbelievably. Dee's kids have no clue how blessed they were to escape the likely outcome of their early beginnings.

If I huddle on a tiny stool in the narrow hallway that leads to Grandpa's side of the house, I can pick up his At & T connection, as my Charter Communication's signal is non-existent once again, frustrating me terribly.

"You look pathetic," Grandma told me, "Sitting there hunched over on that little stool," as if I had another option.

Ten of my kids had a blast at last night's Youth Group party at church. I downplay Christmas so much, hoping to quell potential holiday disturbances. "Wonder if my birth mom even thinks about me, even at Christmas?" I've been asked over the years, but usually not until they were much older and out on their own.

Most of 'em just act out at the very painful thought.

Heck, here I am at 55 with my mama and my dad living in the same house with me, albeit an attached situation, but I'm very blessed nevertheless, both of my brothers and my brother-in-law coming here at some point over the holidays. Now there's the part I like, getting to hang with them. Gary and Jim, my brothers, are equally as lackluster as am I over Christmas frou frou.

I really do spend a great deal of time warning my children about behavioral consequences in life, explaining the laws of our land and proper behavior, all the time wondering if that just sets them up to rebel against me. Conversely if I were a drunken slattern, would they rebel and be strait-laced? Is there no easy answer?

I tossed and turned thinking about the two boy wonders locked up, one of them calling me to express his outrage over being locked up for not doing anything at all, this after four assault and simple battery charges, "Promise me you won't let them get Paloma in trouble," he yelled at me.

THEM get her in trouble? There's no comprehension that one's behaviors get oneself into trouble. I can't promise him that Paloma won't get up today and rage, there's no rhyme or reason, no trigger, no understanding of natural consequences when they simply believe folks are out to get them, that laws are arbitrary, and adults are moronic idiots who enforce or even follow stupid laws.

This is what I deal with. Emailing Chris, the facility director, giving him what Pepe'd told me happened, versus the reality. Pepe's version didn't make any sense. "Well that's interesting," he began, "Here's what really happened."

Fabian also had once spent some time in this detention facility. He was then very angry and violent, criminally prone to lie, fight and steal, but not psychotic at all. There's the difference. Fabian'd recently told me, "If you say my thug sons, folks automatically think of me and Joe," when I'd told him I rarely used his name in my blogs. Wonder if this'll do?

At this moment, Fabian seems to have learned to connect the nebulous dots, seems to have finally worked through some arrests and legal issues, served some time in the county jail, and now, as far as I know, is probation free. Still chooses to be chronically unemployed, affects a dangerous air about him, but is behaving decently overall.

When I do not hear from my kids for awhile, I begin to fret somewhat. Both Miriam and Vanessa have been emotionally hanging back, as has Edgar, which is unusual, and sometimes is cause for alarm. I just dunno at the moment. Shame also keeps them away, but truth be told, I'm simply glad that they have that one particular emotion that designates a working conscience.

Pepe is nearly sociopathic in his lack of remorse and 'take no prisoners' attitude as he fights to get what he thinks is his due. It's truly frightening to me. Dropping the F Bomb on me in conversation yesterday, angry at the world that he feels just doesn't understand him at all. Well, heck, he got that part right.

Alex, never easy to deal with, saddled with severe mental diagnoses, calls me often and I'm glad of that as we'd had a contentious, tumultuous relationship for years. Yesterday she'd asked, "When can you come to see me?" as her choice of marginal friends makes it unsafe for her to get a ride to our home from Atlanta.

"I'll come in the morning," I answered, knowing that even if I do, which I am planning on, her life might change, she might be unreachable or unavailable, full of excuses and regrets later, but it won't be for a lack of trying on my part.

Her older brother, Jesse, a handsome Navy man, the largest Hispanic guy I know in that he's 6'4" and muscular, been to Iraq twice, faced down many versions of Hell in his life, sides with me nowadays regarding the choices made by Alex. He and Big Joe had been to her neighborhood once last summer, bringing back some negative reports.

But the bottom line is we care for her, even if she will not listen to reason from any of us.

Snaggletooth

I've not spoken about it, as it's a pending court case, an older kid locked up for a serious offense, yet I got word today that Pepe will also be detained in a lock-up for the next month, until both he and his birth sister have a court date. One of them just called me, outraged at the laws he's expected to obey in life. Telling me what he'd not gotten caught doing. Like I won't pass this info along to the proper authorities? It all makes me very sad, they should've made better choices, but they just couldn't do so, they're just not wired correctly. I blame those who drank and consumed a major amount of drugs while pregnant.

Chuy will clearly be the last man standing in this original sib group, we have no real way of determining paternity of some of my children, Chuy's much darker and way smarter, zero physical resemblance to any one of the other four. He sticks with Martin, who also feels his own sib group bombed, CW being their leader, their model of normal in a house full of issues and challenges.

Snaggletooth somehow had a rope in her mouth that Nando wanted and yanked, taking out a baby tooth tonight before dinner. Guess you might as well gum your food child.

A trip to Atlanta that might just send me over the edge tomorrow...if Christmas doesn't do it first, but the sweet, wonderful ladies at Georgia Power loaded my truck down today with Christmas gifts for the children, plus I scored 15 sacks of leaves...from Ms Carr's neighborhood, honey it pays to check the leaf and limb pick-up schedule. Plus she'd told me recently she'd gotten 64 sacks, impressing me mightily. (Didn't have time to stop at your house, my short leash was yanking me hard.)

Memaw exempted her exams, Mayra and Martin came home early as well, fun kids to be with all afternoon.

My hens got the rest of the garden veggies that'd frozen last week, I weeded for a bit this morning, and cooked everyone's favorite black bean and garlic rice combo on browned, fried corn tortillas, slapped with sour cream and grated cheese, fire hot pepper sauce and sea salt.

Overall a very decent day.

I'm trying to beat feet to Atlanta in order to eat breakfast with Alex, my 20 year old, and then get to a meeting in Lawrenceville with Teresa who'll be 18 in two weeks, jet to Daniel's house to go to the rehearsal for his commissioning ceremony which will be on the following day, right after his UGA graduation, trying hard to get home before the school bus. Is it even possible to cram all that in? Sure it is. My kids'll be so hyped up on candy and sweets from their school Christmas parties that they'll be kinda difficult to manage.

Oh well, it's what I do.

I'm Gonna Lose My MIND

I surely don’t know the entire story, but I’d read in the paper, early this morning, about a 14 year old boy who’d smashed a vase and brandished a knife, threatening an adult in front of small children, so he was hauled off to a youth detention center.

I’m so irked, because I’ve been in that victim’s shoes several times, but have had the aggressor left here with me and my children.

Yesterday, called to court at 1 pm, left to cool my heels with an agitated Pepe for 3 hours and 15 very long minutes, I thought I’d lose my mind. He was arguing with the officials from his placement, escalating himself to the point I began looking around for an armed police officer, very glad I had two large men with me from Pepe’s facility.

Pepe wanted to plead, “Not guilty,” as he never thinks he’s done anything wrong, “Everyone needs a smash down,” he informed me, “That’s how I demand respect.”

The facility has a videotape of him jumping on a counselor’s back, pushing the director, and other disruptive behaviors. Therefore I informed Pepe that I absolutely couldn’t support his decision to ever lie in court.

The Public Defender informed me though, as the parent, I had to support his right to argue and deny.

“I can’t believe you call yourself a mother,” Pepe angrily snarled at me, yet was sweeter than honey later in that very long afternoon time period.

He was more bizarre than I’ve seen in some time.

“RAD, I think,” Chris, the Director, informed me.

The counselor’d told me Pepe often refers to me as The Crazy Bitch.

I was up in Dahlonega, a picturesque mountain town, all decorated for Christmas, and I thought longingly about much happier times when I’d been up there. Sarah’d turned four one year, and my parents had driven down from Virginia for a very nice time during her birthday weekend that year in Dahlonega, and I’d spent many years with one man who loved that town, often wanting to go up there on weekends to eat at nice restaurants, a mountain ride in his Caddy convertible back in the 70s when I was right carefree. Yeah, I miss um… freedom and fun.

Fortunately Grandma was at home babysitting for me, but I knew an afternoon of me not being there when the kids got off the bus would result in Hell to pay later, as they do not like their applecart flipped over in any manner.

Sabrina’s Dance Recital was at 6, I didn’t get home until 6:15, picked up a couple of kids, barked orders, Grandma had a plate ready for me, and we got into the place free as we were so late, yet we didn’t miss any of Sabrina’s five dance numbers.

When I returned home at 8, I’d been gone for 12 solid hours, in dress clothes, and I was frustrated. I listened to the kids unwind and express their abandonment issues when they’d found me not home after school. That occurs about once a year maybe, as I always carefully plan everything with that three o’clock deadline in mind.

Paloma had wanted to fight some boy at school and had missed her bus, calling me as I waited outside the courtroom, thank GOD Sarah stepped up to the plate and went to pick her up, dragging two bewildered children of hers with her.

By ten, everyone was trying to settle down when JoJo caught sight of a very cute little field mouse and had a resultant cow, enlisting Bubba help for another hour until they’d caught it. I would’ve been way less amused had not this mouse’s sibling come scampering past my bare foot as I hollered at everyone, “Get your butts in bed!”

“No, never mind” I’d changed my mind, “Git this ‘un too,” and I clambered upstairs to find my comfy PJs that I’d dearly missed all day, thinking about Pepe who’d gone up against this man, Chris, who was built like a linebacker.

“He might’ve pushed me,” I was reassured, “But he didn’t move me. Hey, we have a staff of 40 large, strong adults.”

Well Pepe’s slung me across rooms before, he truly believes he has a right to use force when denied what he wants such as a fight, an extra cookie, or the chance to explain his convoluted thinking at the top of his angry lungs.

“Oh Dear Lord in Heaven,” I prayed silently, “Please open all the doors we need.”

I spent my very early morning hour at Angie’s place, with she and Stacia, no more black roots, at least my hair looked good, counteracting my high level of frustration, I could only hope.

Grandma ran out to get the bag of candy Tabby needed for her class today, only to have Paloma steal it and eat it this morning. I'm gonna lose my mind.

Today’s schedule is only slightly better, for sure I’ll be home by 3, but the demands on my time have been staggering this Yuletide Season, that I am never sorry to see end.

Charter Cable is OUT again, I'm using Grandpa's AT & T.

Bring on 2010, puh-leeze.

Don't Hate Me 'Cause You Ain't Me

Honestly I saw that on someone's t-shirt and cracked up. I don't think I could pull it off though, not a lot of folks envy an old woman with 39 children.

This is another hit-the-ground running days, don't wanna blog until I know the outcome, yet another difficult aspect of it all.

Spent some garden time alone which is always rejuvenating, planting the garlic for next year, spreading coffee grounds, pulling up frost-murdered pepper plants, and still weeding as the quack grass never goes dormant, slows down some, but the rhizomes are active as heck.

Thought about Sharon's mushroom undertaking all day yesterday.

Paloma had yet another screamer fit, telling me she didn't give a F bomb about something at the top of her lungs, Chuy got up from his chair to back me up, yet I told him to continue on with what he was doing. After all this Hell do you really think I'll come unscrambled over a cuss word? Cussing is the least of her problems.

I just ignored her, it's pointless to redirect her behavior, she only escalates. Not engaging is my only choice. Eventually she just went to bed, pissed that no one would fight with her.

Chuy set the mouse traps, we caught yet another disoriented field mouse in the kitchen, as Stupid Progress has uprooted too much wildlife habitat, but I was very heartened this morning to read about some dark-skies advocates working in the next county.

Plant growth is affected by artificial light, folks can't sleep nor see the stars, and energy is wasted when outdoor lights are unnecessarily on too much.

So today I gotta get 15 kids out the door to school, phone calls from my truck regarding other kids, two have court dates in two different counties, I'll be at the out-of-town county courthouse after I get my hair done (or did as we say down here), Grandma will be with the kids when they get off the bus today, as I'll likely still be driving back, navigating downhill from the north Georgia mountains, and Sabrina's Dance class show is tonight where I'd asked for a group rate as the tickets are $5 each.

They gave me a deal - all 16 of us for $50.

Does anyone really think I have $50 extra at Christmas? Or that I'd spend $50 for a one hour event?

"I don't wanna go to a stupid dance show," several of my sons whined, leaving Grandma and Grandpa to babysit as the only option, after I somehow pull together supper for 16 out of my hat, after being gone all day when it's a warm day that usually would easily lure me to work outside.

I get my hair did every three months whether I need to color my black (or grey) roots or not. A standing appointment with Angie.

Don't hate me 'cause you ain't me.

As Are Others

I walk around muttering, "there oughta be a law," regarding various outrages I see each day, while Sarah thinks Big Government is in our business too much already, reminding me of the small business owner's massive inequities in the overall system.

She makes unarguable points, and maybe the massive mororn mentality weighs me down, but shouldn't fast food restaurants be forced by law to recycle and compost? My little piddly efforts here within my family are erased on a daily basis by just one hungry customer at a Mickey Ds.

There's one next to Starbucks, with a drive through line snaking around the building, and I always glower and wonder where are their coffee grounds? Does McDs still use those Styrofoam boxes to hold their sandwiches? Do folks comprehend the complete lack of nutrition therein? Do they care?

But what if? What if restaurants were made to sort their trash, what if municipalities had a separate garbage pickup for food, and dumped it all in a compost pile and just walked away? Within a year of doing nothing, they could sell the resulting brown gold compost for a minimal fee, and we'd have a win-win situation. What dumb goober thinks it's a good idea to continue as we've been doing?

When I first graduated from college, a hundred years ago, I despaired over our earth functioning for another week, much less the thirty something years that have quickly passed so detrimentally when one considers the environment or society's issues.

Guzzling coffee, hunting for good news, I happened upon this article about frugality being back in vogue. Good to know. Last night I'd giggled like a child over Dee's trunk monkey collage. I'm so easily entertained, amused by silliness.

We've had a remarkably easy weekend, hardly any stress or bickering for once. This week ahead will be stressful for me with some massive stuff to accomplish, Christmas looming, there's just no other word for it, and my responsibilities seemingly multiply.

So why do I blog? To have a silent witness to our trials and travails? For the company and camaraderie I've found in all y'all? 'Cause I like to vent? To keep a record of our family's comings and goings? A mood barometer?

Nah. Or maybe yeah to all of the above.

Blogging helps me cope and comprehend. My blogs are unplanned diatribes at times, notes for a future book I hope Sarah will edit, as I sure don't want to revisit anything.

I have unpublished posts as well. Those I wrote while in a white hot fury, or deep in the doldrums, those that had nothing to do with adoption, but everything to do with my life that day, and some that were written simply because I write.

If I had the time to be an author, I'd write chapters each day, some of my more lengthy posts may appear as such, and oh well, that's what I do.

Now, after 8 sporadic, if at all, internet service loss days, I'm trying to catch up with everything, but duty calls in the form of my junk I gotta get done today.

I can be so very self absorbed, blame it on the kids, but I know there's a world of pain out there, and lately several of you all have shared with me the hurts and monstrous inequities of this day and age. I blithely quip that all I ever want for Christmas, or a birthday, or any holiday event is world peace, and truly that's what I hope and pray for all of us. This earth can be a tough place in which to survive, our journeys fraught with hellacious circumstances and events. I have to constantly remind myself of the Big Picture and to strive as carefully as is possible.

Today's economy, health issues, society's woes, heartbreaks, disappointments and practical mayhem surround us at every turn, and I truly pray that we can all view ourselves as children of God, that we can lean on Him, and become Blessed once again. I ask specifically for this, as I'm thinking of several friends of mine this morning who are encountering difficulties that'd deck a mule.

Miss Cissy really spoke to me the other day, her insight is fascinating, amazing and brilliant, just the words I needed to hear about being a child of God. Mayra'd been home that day, had overheard Cissy's fervent praying, and had been stricken truly, writing me a long note about her feelings, how she and the other children's expectation of me are heavy-duty and somewhat insensitive. Well, duh. But I'm the adult, allegedly, and while it's OK for me to be a brat at times, a human being, it truly behooves me to get a grip and keep striding forward.

Everyone has tough times, everyone. I need to be the leader my children so need, to model how to cope and to deal, how to keep going, how to think about others, and keep on keeping on.

There's several women who are heavy on my heart right now, y'all know who you are, and I'm positive you have the ability to lean and to draw from God, but please know I'm praying you through as well...as are others.