Looking In from the Inside

Today I would like to shout it from the housetop, that I am so very grateful for the gift of friendship.  I am grateful for intimacy with a small handful of women that share life with me.  If all I had were F*ceB**k friends, I'd be in big trouble.  This is not a rant against the big FB.  Some of my dearest friends and I communicate almost exclusively through FB.  

FB is not a new concept.  Being that I am old, I do actually remember life before social networking.  I actually remember life before we all had computers in our homes.  Back in those days we talked about how everyone watched too much TV, and spent too much time talking on the phone.  Whatever happened to sitting down and playing a game...or talking to people face to face?

But back to the FB thing.  The part that isn't new, is the superficiality of so many relationships.  We might spend lots of time with a person, because we work with them or go to school with them.  We might feel like we really know them and are woven into each others' lives.  Then we change jobs or schools, and we never hear from them anymore, and we wonder about this.  

Sometimes we have friends that share some common ground with us.  Maybe we enjoy the same activities, or our kids are the same age and play together.  Then things shift, the commonality disappears, and so do our friends.

All the while we watch.  We see how people live.  We observe their relationships.  We know what kinds of stuff they have, what they do for fun, what they do for work.  We mentally construct cardboard people, living in cardboard houses, living cardboard lives, and we prop them up all over our brains.  These are our friends.

Now we do it electronically.  We watch people live their lives on the internet.  We see their funny conversations with their friends.  We look at the pictures.  We read the status updates.  Then we prop up these virtual people all over our brains.

I don't know about you, but I am not naturally a contented person.  I would often look at these images that I had constructed inside my own head, and I would be convinced that other people had it easier than I did.  I would somehow suspect that other people had more of everything, and that it came to them without the struggle that I experienced.  I believed that other people had more of everything, and that their holidays were more shiny, and their food tasted better than mine.

And as long as my relationships were superficial, I could believe this, and nurse my resentment.  Of course it all blew apart the minute I began to be intimate with anyone.  The minute I began to shred my cardboard cutout, and replace it with a flesh and blood person, was the minute I knew that they struggled just as hard as I did.

Then our family changed, and I did it all over again.  I felt isolated and alone.  I looked at the way "normal people" lived, and I longed for the days when I was "normal" too.  I resented other people because they didn't struggle with the things I did, and they didn't even know it.  They didn't know how good they had it.  I railed against God, and wondered why I had to work so hard, when other people had it so easy.

As long as I saw myself as isolated, alone, misunderstood...I felt justified in my bitterness.  Then I got me a new batch of friends.  We got down to the business of being intimate with one another, and guess what?  My life isn't so abnormal after all.  There they were.  Beautiful, smart, articulate women.  They all have lovely family photos, and more visible success than you could shake a stick at.  Looking in from the outside, I'm sure I would resent them all.  But looking in from the inside, I knew they were all fighting the same fight, nursing the same wounds, crying the same tears.  Also they're funny.  Really, really funny.

So when I am really struggling, when I feel like I can't take anymore, when I want to lay down and give up, I can remind myself of the truth.  That I am in very, very good company.  It changes everything.

The View Inside My Head

I have some advice.  When you download a free sample of a book onto your Kindle, and the sample messes with your head, you should definitely buy the full book.  So you can have your head messed with quite thoroughly.  And while you're at it, make sure you purchase the list of books the author mentions messed with their head before they wrote the book.

So I've been doing a lot of reading lately, and mostly it's making me feel edgier and more irritable.  I've felt this way for awhile, but I've had a hard time putting my finger on the cause of it.  Reading these books seems to be giving me some clarity.  Not making me feel better.

I've come to the conclusion that I have structured my life in a way that says, "Sure God.  I'm all in."  But I haven't managed to structure my heart to match.  Consequently I have a lot of tension, internally.  It tends to come out externally, and it's often not pretty.

I've further come to the conclusion that I do not need to change a ton of externals in my life.  I need to have an internal overhaul.  I'm not really sure what that looks like.  I'm not totally sure how that's done.  Organizing and changing externals has always been my strong suit.  Give me a closet that needs cleaning, or a budget that needs overhauling, and I'm off and running.  Give me a heart to change, and I'm a very slow mover.

Emotions are a biggie.  There's a lot of stuff in my life right now, that feels horrible.  Not that the life itself is horrible, or even that the emotions aren't reasonable, authentic, appropriate.  But my solution for a very long time, is to ignore the "big feelings" (as we like to say) and just get on with the work at hand.

And sometimes this works very well.  The work at hand kind of drags the emotions along like an unwilling child, and gets them to where they need to be.  Sometimes this is exactly what we need to do.

But I am utterly exhausted from dragging my unwilling self around.  My unwilling self is like a miserable toddler dangling limply from the end of my arm, and I, the Mom, suddenly realize this child needs sleep, or food, or eye contact.  I realize that the child is not just being fractious, getting in the way of my work.  The child is actually only trying to communicate their need the only way they know how.

So how does one deal with emotions that just won't be pacified?  How does one figure out what they are trying to say when they have no words?  Why are they here all of a sudden, and what am I to do with them?  Are they useful, truthful....traitorous?  I eye them suspiciously, sure they're up to no good.  Quite honestly, I don't trust them.  They've lied to me before.  They've led me down the garden path  a time or two.

But then again, they are part of our human experience, and not necessarily good or evil.  Nearly everything we experience has some bit of emotion clinging to it, from the moment we rise from our bed in the morning, to the moment we fall back into it at night.  Honestly I have emotions about my bed.  Is it wrong to feel affectionate toward a certain pair of Laura Ashley flannel sheets?

Are you waiting for me to wrap this up with some sort of conclusion that makes sense?  Something that says, "I've wrestled with this and gotten to the other side.  Now I would like to share my new found wisdom."  I'm so sorry that you have hung on so nicely, to simply find out that I am still paddling in the same circle.  Really.  The only good advice I have is in the first paragraph of this post.  But I'll be happy to give you a reading list if you're feeling bored with your life right now. 

Lenten Update and the Perils of Red Suburbans

I'm back again, reporting on my Lenten media fast.  Not so much reporting on the mechanics of the thing, but just on how I've been feeling, and the things I think about.  Mostly I've been feeling like crap.  I'm irritable, and resentful, and horribly ungrateful.  I know my life is full of glorious things.  Instead I choose to focus on the things that irritate me.  I irritate myself.  

I'm tired all the time.  Yes, I'm physically tired, and there are perfectly reasonable reasons for that.  But I'm emotionally and spiritually tired as well.  Like a cranky overtired child, I'm writhing around fretfully, doing nothing to fix it.  I doubt I can fix it.

I have created small pockets of silence in my life with this media fast.  God whispers into those silences.  I don't always like what is being said.

I want change, but I don't want to have to do anything that will change me.  I want to lose weight, but I don't want to exercise or change any of my eating habits.  OK.  I don't technically need to lose weight.  It's an illustration.

I need a jumpstart.  I'm like my old tired Suburban standing in the driveway.  It's trying to start.  It's braying like a donkey, but in the end it just gives up.  Outside intervention is needed.  Careful coaxing will not cause the huge diesel engine to roar to life with a puff of noxious smoke.

God whispers that He is willing to jumpstart me, but unless I then drive straight to the service station for some much needed upkeep, as soon as I park, I will be dead again.  I don't want to drive to the service station.  That mechanic hates me.  He will look under the hood and find a whole host of expensive repairs that needed attention months ago.  He'll look at me with those eyes that say, "You really don't understand cars, do you?  You are killing this car."

And I really do love my Suburban.  I don't want to abuse it.  It's cavernous, and red, and loud.  It hauls my whole family, and a month's worth of groceries, and an occasional goat.

I really do love my life.  It's huge, and messy, and fun.  It holds everything I ever dreamed of having and more.  But I am killing it sometimes, by the things I do, and the things I leave undone.  It could use a jumpstart, a tuneup, some serious service.  But I get up every day, turn the key, and hope for the best.

New Year Resolutions

Yup, I've got 'em. I don't usually, but something came over me this year. Mainly I am trying to be good to myself. We canceled cable, and beloved bought me a Kindle for Christmas. This is helping me accomplish two of my goals, which are to spend less time melting my brain watching TV, and replace that activity with more reading. The second prong of that resolution is to get more sleep, which is also accomplished by turning off the TV and reading, which promptly puts me to sleep. I need a tether so I don't drop my Kindle.

Another two prong resolution is to get moving more, and eat less crap. This is a bit more tricky, as I HATE to exercise, and I do love me some crap-food, especially after 10 PM. I decided I would try and be moving enough to run/walk the 5K we are planning in Orlando. I've been out running/walking five times since I began. I am aiming for three times a week, and I'm on track with that. I have learned a few things along the way:

• ALWAYS use the bathroom before leaving to run.
• Wear warm clothing when running in sub-zero wind chills.
• Allot an hour or so to thaw out various body parts when returning. Eyeballs and butt come to mind.
• Do NOT shovel the entire driveway before running, and expect to run for more than a few staggering feet.
• Did I mention, ALWAYS use the bathroom before heading out to run?

OK. So I think I am a pathetic athlete when it comes to the running portion of my exercise routine, but truthfully I can kick butt on the power walking, uphill hiking, and enduring the frigid wind. And my running is getting a little better. I go a little further, with less desperation. And if nothing else, I reassure myself that Orlando will be warm and flat, so I should be able to fly...right?

A Place of Your Own

It's hard to decide where to begin, when you feel as though everything needs to be done, but a beginning must be made. I can't really remember where I began, but I am certain it is not where I am sending you first. That is because I can learn from my mistakes. I strongly suggest you begin in your own bedroom. This may seem crazy when the rest of the house feels like it's in shambles, but trust me. You need a quiet place, away from the clutter and noise. You cannot easily gather your strength each day, if your own space makes you cringe. I am sending you to your own bedroom (and bath and closet) because this is where I should have begun my journey.

I would suggest a day just for stripping the room down and deep cleaning. Consider paint, curtains, and bedding later. A clean room is instantly more lovely, and you will have time and peace to ponder making changes or purchases over time. Take separate days for the closet and bath. But keep forging on. As you strip the room down, area by area, pluck out everything that does not belong in your room, and put it outside the door. Set up bins or boxes if need be. Let me suggest a few items that do not belong in your room. Outgrown children's clothing does not belong in your room. The ironing or mending pile does not belong in your room. Children's school work has got to go. Piles of miscellaneous junk definitely do not belong. Last year's taxes and Christmas ornaments from a year and a half ago? Come on! Be ruthless, and don't worry about the growing pile outside the door. As Scarlett O'Hara says, you can worry about that another day. I have rules for my room, and perhaps some of them may work for you. Here's a listie!

1. Every morning I make my bed. I do it for me, and no one else. It instantly makes my room look neater.
2. I always fold/hang my laundry neatly in the closet. I never leave laundry piled or laying about my room. Ever. Actually, I pile all my clean laundry in the middle of the living room, because it inspires me to fold it and put it away. When I carry the piles into the bedroom, I place them on the (made) bed, because I cannot go to bed without putting them away.
3. I do not allow anything related to the children to migrate into my bedroom. In fact, I don't allow the children to migrate into my bedroom. They may knock at the door, and only step inside if invited.
4. We don't generally eat in the bedroom, though we do occasionally snack. All garbage and dishes are cleaned up promptly in the morning when I make the bed.
5. All clutter is picked up and put away each morning, the shade is pulled up to let in the sun (or not), and the rug is gone over with the sweeper.
6. Nothing distracting is allowed in my room. Nothing stress inducing is allowed in my room. Nothing messy is allowed in my room. Nothing stinky is allowed in my room. No half done projects or "To Do" piles are allowed in my room.

I think you get the idea. And yes, I do allow my husband in the room, though he has been known to be messy, and even stinky on occasion. But not in our room. You see, back in the old days, I used to allow my bedroom to be a dumping ground from elsewhere in the house. If I didn't know where to put it, it went in my room. If I couldn't get around to it, it went in my room. If I hated it, but felt too guilty to pitch it...into my room. When I cleaned up the house, my room was the last room on the list, and I hardly ever got there. I had pregnant dust bunnies. I never got around to making my bed. I hated my room.

Then I read something somewhere, about how your bedroom should be a restful oasis. The author even advocated that there should be no photographs or book shelves to intrude. Just clean, comfortable, spaces. I tried the no photo/book thing for awhile, and decided a few small photos and piles of books did not detract from my restful state...so I put them back. But I learned my lesson about the distracting, stress and guilt inducing clutter. And about putting my room first. Amazingly enough, when I made time to clean up my own space, I was more inclined to keep after the other spaces. But above all else, if the other spaces (or people) got overwhelming, I always had a refuge to retreat into.

To be honest, I could cheerfully make my room with nothing more than a mattress on the floor, and piles of books, but over time I have collected bits and pieces that make me happy. We sleep on my great-grand's antique bed, and I lay there and wonder who may have been born or died in it. There's an antique shelf that came from a barn we once owned. Most of the furnishings have been collected over the years, from consignment shops and yard sales. The accessories are gifts. I made curtains, and covers, and pillow cases. The books just find me. I say all of this because you need not break the bank "decorating". Cleanliness and order add grace and beauty to any space. Take time to actually live in it, and decide what you would really like to have, and then wait for it to come to you. When you know what will be just right, you will come across it and know. Don't worry if you have to wait some time. It will be worth it.

One final note. Always look on your closet and bathroom as extensions of your bedroom. Keep them with the same care and attention as your sleeping space. My closet has a place for everything, and so I always put it back in its place, and I never lose anything in there, though it is a cramped, wretched little space. I rarely leave my bathroom without picking up any misplaced item and putting it away. Consequently, it never takes more than a moment to make it perfect. I scrub the whole thing down only weekly, with little touch ups as needed, and it never gets too horrible. But the cupboard is always tidy, the trash emptied each day, and everything is in its place. Lest you are picturing a luxurious master bath, let me say no. Picture a postage stamp, that I share with Beloved Husband, Hippie Boy, and Baby Boy. Make no mistake, I am not whining about my small bedroom, smaller bathroom, or teeny closet. I have come to love them, as I have worked hard to make them work for me. It takes time, thought, and work...and it is so worth it.

Coming to Peace...

I am slowly coming to peace with some choices we have had to make. From my viewpoint, we were presented with several options, none of which I liked. The only option I did actually like, is not an option. No go, off the table. Nothing I can do will make it an option at this point. So I sat down with my other options, and weighed out the pros and cons of each. The problem is, that most of the options I felt I could live with, had huge cons for myself and beloved husband. Probably the kind of cons that would have us checking into a double occupancy rubber room. The options that "worked" in any way for us and the family as a whole, seemed to not work for one of our especially challenging children. I have been circling, and researching, and filling out forms, and scratching my head. I have had endless emails and phone calls. Every night I have gone to bed discouraged and restless, but each morning I have awoken full of resolve to make the right choice, regardless of the cost.

The funny thing is this. Every time I would get going in a track, and would be getting excited about the possibilities, something would come to light regarding this challenging child. Something that would stop me in my tracks, and make me question the track I was currently on. Again and again it has happened, to the point that I am able to predict that if I get an energizing phone call or email, I will also get news of some wonky behavior within the hour. It might be new wonky behavior, or just old stuff coming to light. But invariably, the new awareness always seems to put the current proposed course of action in serious question.

The other morning we were dealing with wonky, and it just came over me, that we should not change anything at all. That we were to just stay the current course, even though it has all the earmarks of failure. That's the thing...no matter what we try, once the novelty has been wrung out of it, it always begins to look like failure. And like any parent, adoptive or otherwise, I start to put things under the microscope and look for alternatives. What am I doing wrong? What do I need to change? How can I rally the resources to make the needed change?

The other day I was visiting with a missionary friend, who is currently contemplating change, and had been really unsettled about what course she should take. She was so afraid that she would go her own way, and miss God's will, that she was actually propelling herself toward that which was hardest, and even most distasteful to her, in fear of shirking the difficult call. In a time of intense prayer, a friend told her they felt impressed by God to ask her, "What do you want to do?" This was so shocking to her system, that her reaction was actually physical.

I felt, the other morning, in the midst of chaos, that same impression. "What do you want to do?" I realized I didn't want to do anything at all. I wanted to stay the course we had begun, in spite of the fact that on many levels it appears to have failed. I realized that I was willing to make a change, even a change that would cost me dearly, but that my willingness was not confirmation that change should occur. I also realized that every bit of what appeared to be failure, had nothing to do with me or my choices. It had nothing to do with me shirking hard work, or my willingness to love or serve my daughter, or the rest of my family.

Most, if not all, of the failure results from my daughter's inability to make good choices for herself. It isn't even for me to try and sort out how much blame should sit on her shoulders, or how much of it she is led to by her traumatic history. I just know it doesn't rest on my shoulders. Not that I don't feel the weight of it. I do. And I am willing to continue helping to carry that weight, as any mother, adoptive or otherwise, would.

And anyhow, I'm getting used to this looking like failure gig. I realize that what looks like success in so many young people is just smoke and mirrors, and what looks like failure is often the building blocks for something real and good. I'm willing to bet on that, even though at times it's hard to believe in.

What I Hate About "Fundraising"

I detest typical fundraising efforts. I hate to send my children out to peddle stuff. My least favorite type of fundraiser goes something like this:

• My child is sent home with a catalog and order form for some overpriced luxury item like candles or candy.
• They are expected to make the rounds of our closest family, friends, and neighbors to sell their wares.
• They are expected to collect money by a prescribed date, and turn it in with properly filled out forms.
• They then receive a small portion of the sales towards their "fund".

This is how it really goes:

• I have to nag my children to go peddle their wares, because they feel uncomfortable doing it, and because they have other far more interesting things to do with their time.
• I have to keep track of order forms and money, because, HELLO, these are children here. As a rule, when people fork over money, they don't expect it to end up in the black hole of my son's bedroom.
• We rapidly run out of customers because:

1. We live in the boonies.
2. We don't live near extended family.
3. We have several children in the family competing for the same customer base.
4. We associate with people who don't have a lot of extra money, and aren't interested in spending it on overpriced trinkets.

I think these fundraisers are evil because they put pressure on kids and families to do something that makes them fundamentally uncomfortable. Furthermore, they don't encourage kids to actually work toward their goal, because really all they do is make the request and collect the cash. Mom usually does all the real work of managing the project and distributing the goods. Plus, most of the time, the smallest part of the profit goes to your cause. All along the way, others are getting their piece of the pie.

The only type of fundraising I actually approve, is when a kid works hard to provide a service or product that people actually want. It should be presented in a manner that puts no pressure on the potential customer. I like bake sales and car washes, because all the profits go to the cause, and no one feels strong armed into pulling over and submitting to having their car washed. Generally the same is true of bake sales, as the goods are fairly priced, and you are free to walk on past, if the sight of fudge brownies doesn't compromise you.

Lots of folks have the cockles of their hearts warmed at the sight of hard working young people, willing to give their time and energy to a cause or goal. Those folks often generously say, "Keep the change," or drop cash into a donation bucket, even if they don't have a car to wash or want a sweet. But no one put pressure on them to do it. They didn't feel taken advantage of, when their $20 box of caramels arrived, and they realized it fit on the palm of their hand. Sure looked bigger in the catalog.

I also admire people who train to do something HARD, like run a marathon, or jump on a pogo stick 10,000 times, to raise money for worthy causes. Really, they are just straight up asking you to give. They're saying, "This is important enough to me, that I'm willing to do something potentially painful to make it happen. Will you help me?" And I can respect that, because I can say yes or no as I'm able, and anyone who is strong enough to run a marathon, can deal with me saying no. But those candle and candy companies bank on the notion that cute little kids, with sad puppy dog eyes, are impossible to say no to, and that's just slippery in my opinion. Not admirable in the least.

I'm undecided about dinners. I think if you provide a nice meal, maybe some quality entertainment, and a presentation of the goal, it can be quite good. But I've been to a few sad pasta dinners and chicken barbecues, where I felt the value was just not there, and I didn't really care if the cause was worthy. People who fork over the cash for benefit dinners are honored guests. I think they should be treated as such, even if the fare is simple.

I realize I've used words like HATE, DETEST, and EVIL in this post. Clearly I feel strongly about this matter. I suppose that qualifies this as a rant. My son will be so proud. He loves a good rant.

Caution...whining ahead!

Yup. I just got back from a week of vacation, and I'm already whining. Hard to believe isn't it? Oh, I'm not whining about vacation. Vacation was divine. It's been more than eighteen years since beloved husband and I have done such a rash thing as leave the old homestead for an entire week, without our entourage. I think we need to do it again much sooner than eighteen years in the future. But...it took me the better part of four days to simply unwind enough to relax and enjoy myself. Not that I wasn't having fun, but creeping, gnawing dread had taken hold of me prior to departure, and it would not let go. The phone calls home didn't help either. The children did a good job trying to convince me to relax and not worry, but I knew there were problems. I had enough quick access to email to know. So just when I had begun to relax, and purpose to not worry and overdiscuss my problem child (or two)...poof, vacation was over. It was time to pack up our honeymoon cottage (new tent) and fly home. I needed another week. Now I'm home digging out from under the Mount Everest of laundry, restocking empty shelves, coaxing my shy cat to love me again. I'm dealing with clingy children, lazy children, naughty children. The aftermath of one child is particularly spectacular. I'm tired, and my sinuses hurt from flying, and I have a mild stomach bug...which might be related to the sinus pressure/headache, or might just be a stomach bug. It's keeping me awake at night, which makes me feel more tired, and more impatient. It makes me want another vacation.

On the one hand, I wonder why I would want to put myself through this, all for the sake of some peaceful time with my good husband. I haven't even whined about what a horrible time we had trying to get ready to go. That week was so challenging I entertained thoughts of canceling. If it would not have cost me cold hard cash to do so, I don't doubt I would have. But then I was there, and it was too far to run back home. I had to stay. Now I'm back, and I have to dig my way back out of this hole. I think I spent the first half of the week resenting the week before, and the last bit resenting what I knew awaited me when I returned. The perfect solution is a two week vacation. I figure I would get at least one full week of pure bliss. Or maybe I would have stretched out my worrying and bitterness. It's hard to say. I think it could have gone either way.

So I leave you with a picture of us looking relaxed and happy, celebrating 23 years. Note to self: don't wait until 41rst anniversary to do it all again, though by then all the children should be out of the house and we might be able to unwind a little faster.

My Lardlump Tookus

To whom it may concern, my tookus (thanks Queen B) is still laying around because my back is not cooperating with getting back to business as usual. I was gradually up and about for about ten days, but everything began going south, so my doctor restricted me again. Grrr! I plan to have a remarkable recovery in the next week, since we have dance recital, and family coming to visit, and then all the B's coming. I'm definitely not taking all of that laying down!

Out of Order...or something like that.

Okay. I'm going to warn you, this is going to be a whining blog. The non-whining, bummer free portion of this tale may crop up later on my other blog, but this post is going to have the full sized portion of bummer. Over a month ago, actually the day before Easter, I pulled something in my lower back. I wasn't doing anything ridiculous...really, and I resent you for being skeptical. I was in fact being slightly lazy. I had decided to get out some bins of summer clothing for the children, and said bins were stored behind another row of bins. So instead of moving the first row, I tried to reach over it and extract some rather bulky containers. To make matters worse, it was a tight space, and I had turned my hips sideways while trying to lift up and over. Dumb move. My hip started burning and paining me almost right away. I thought I was being good. I even skipped Easter services and rested up the next day. By Monday it was sore, but I was able to push through the pain and get on with things...until I repopped it out by mid afternoon. Repeat on Tuesday. But after three days or so, I just laid off the lifting and it seemed to get better. So much better that I forgot about the whole annoying episode.

Forgot, that is, until the night before Mother's day. Do you notice a pattern with holidays that fall on Sunday? I was merrily cleaning my bathroom when I bent ever so slightly to reach for a sponge, and I felt my entire lower back shift in a kind of unhealthy, sickening way. Not that it hurt, but somehow I instinctively knew I would not be going to church in the morning. What I did not know, was that I would not being going anywhere but the doctor's office for the better part of two weeks. It seems I had managed to give myself a nice variety pack of lower back trouble, and the pain would take me down quite handily for some time.

And lest you think this post is just about my bum back, oh no! The moral to this story goes much deeper than "lift with your knees". This is a situation we high energy, super organized, "bite off more than we can chew" adoptive Moms must be confronted with. Ask yourself, what will you do when (not if) you are laid flat by whatever it is that you did not see coming? How will you care for your special needs child/children? How will you provide the level of supervision necessary to be sure everyone is safe and cared for?

Let me answer for you. You won't. If you have to call for help to simply get up off the toilet, then you cannot do it. You must have help, and you must be willing to take it. I am incredibly blessed in that my wonderful husband works a minute away, can run home as needed, and can take the children to work with him, where they are fed and kept busy. I have two teen children who are sweet and reliable, who became my hands and feet. My husband can cook. In addition, my husband's employer is gracious in allowing him to take time to drive me to the doctor, and keep the children. Radiating out from my dear husband and children, are a circle of family and friends who are concerned and lifting me up in prayer.

This is all good stuff...great stuff in fact. But the harsh reality is that many adoptive families are not in this boat. The harsh reality is that even my darling girls would not hesitate to use this moment of weakness to take a dive into the deep end once more. A moment of weakness or inattention on my part usually signals at least one of them to engage in some unhealthy, unsafe, outrageous behavior. They don't have you play role play games at adoption preparation classes, but shall we?

Here's the scenario: You are down flat with a debilitating illness or injury. Forget getting up. You can't. Your older adopted child is prone to injuring the family pets, or playing with matches, or sexually aggressing towards a sibling. Take your pick. How will you care for that child, and keep everyone safe? Is it your FASD child's fault that you cannot provide line of sight supervision? It is your healthy child's responsibility to manage the unhealthy one? How will you clean up the mess when you begin to feel better? Can you?

We need to think about these things, because we are not invincible, but often we think we are. And as all of us in these trenches know, we can become terribly isolated, so that when we are in need, we find that we have nowhere to turn. This is why we keep putting ourselves out there, wearing our crazy lives on our sleeves, always trying to speak the truth. I admit, I hate being truthful at this point. I am darned tired of the truth, and would love to hide behind a little picturesque illusion for awhile. But picturesque illusion does not serve when we are truly in need, and no one even understands the need. I don't have to destroy anybody's dignity either. I can say, "I need you to watch this child. Don't let them out of your sight or hearing. They are darling, but dangerously impulsive. And check the bathroom when they're done." When they ask, just let them know how hazardous bathrooms can be....toilets to stuff, meds, toiletries, razors. Sometimes the temptation is just overwhelming.

The good news is, I'm feeling better. It goes far too slowly for me, but I have ample time to ponder the lessons to be learned. And the children are being stretched and growing too. They are learning that they can survive without Mom's watchful eye on them every minute of every hour; without testing every boundary just to see if Mom will rein them back in. Maybe.

Dog Tired

OK. I hear you all...all three of you loyal readers...heckling me for a new installment. I know I am horribly remiss in my blogging duties, but I am just so darned busy, and tired too. Actually, busy all day, and too tired to blog at night. Here's the short list:

• We are back in the swing of our full homeschool course load for five children. Three have been delightful, one was unsure what side of the fence she wanted to be on (but I learned her), and one resists me every step of the way...every minute of the day. Pretty predictable, and tipped in the direction of success if it doesn't kill me.
• We are still swimming in therapists, pretty much every day. They come and marvel at my dining table school room, and make remarks like "Wow! I never learned that in school!" and "I don't know how you do it, I think I'm getting overstimulated." They are sweet, and supportive, and oh so accommodating...but I'm not sure that they make any difference at all. Boo wants them all to go away so she can feel normal.
• We have a new baby in the house. She's a nearly grown miniature poodle named Lucy. I think I'm in love. The kiddos definitely are, and Baby Boy is in heaven with his new charge. We found her after a long week of searching the shelters, and she was well worth all the driving and searching. Petting her lowers my blood pressure.
• We are back in the swing of dance classes, three nights a week. It's way too much driving, way too much money, way too much fun...but heck, this is how you get to be parents of the year, right?
• Libby-Longstocking is like to kill me with her moving/house renovation project. What a considerate girl to find her dear old Mama things to do with all her spare time. If it weren't for her I might be hanging out in bars.

So that's the brief overview...but it doesn't begin to cover it really. I'm tired, and worn down. My eyes hurt, and my scalp feels tired. I crave peace and quiet, and time to myself. I long for days where I don't have to go anywhere, and no one comes here...but they don't exist. Really, I can't find one on the calendar in days past or to come. I don't know how to say no to anybody, because I really do want to give everyone everything. Saying no has never been my strong suit...holding my head in my hands and threatening to check myself into a mental hospital? Well that I do quite well. Screaming like a shrew and quitting my job? I'm pretty decent at that too.

But it's OK, lest any of you, my three loyal readers should worry. I am convinced I am on the edge of something. Maybe a breakthrough, or maybe a breakdown, but I feel as though I am balancing gracefully on the edge of a precipice. Sometimes I feel as though life is so precarious, that I don't know what to do. Then a short while later, the driving need to "hammer things down" comes over me, and I begin to hammer like crazy. I feel as though the knowledge of what is to come, or what we must do...will come to me soon, and I need to be ready. That whatever is to come, will only become harder and harder as time goes on.

I realize it sounds as though I am mostly groaning and holding my head, dreading the future. Admittedly, sometimes I do, but that's not really what it's all about. It's about having a vision, and realizing at a point, that you have two choices. You can abandon the vision and make things easier, or you can continue and make things harder. I find myself looking at others, seeing how as we age, we often slow down, take things easier, have more for ourselves. At a time in life, where I see my contemporaries following this track, I find myself bracing to pick up the pace, put my shoulder to the wheel, knowing there will be less left over for me than there ever was before.

Isn't it a bit perverse to get excited about such things?

Blech....

I am warning all of you that this is going to be a whiny post. I'm sooooooo tired, and irritable. Starting on Tuesday night, I went to bed, albeit a little late. I woke up in less than an hour, sick to my stomach, with nasty stomach cramps. I wrestled with this unpleasant state of affairs until nearly daylight, when I dozed off for a couple of inadequate hours. Repeat this Wednesday night. And Thursday, Friday, Saturday. I'm really tired. Like "not responsible for my actions tired". Probably shouldn't operate heavy machinery either. No, I'm not pregnant, don't even say it out loud! So I am staying upright and awake tonight until I fall over.

Caulk and Paint

Queen B and I have been busily sweating away with paintbrush in hand all week. Of course she is at her house many miles away, and I am at mine, but still I can feel the kinship and smell the fumes. Paint and caulk are wonderful things in my book. You can fix a multitude of messes with them, and old tired rooms can be bright, and new and clean smelling again. It's just the darned contrast that's the problem. You paint one thing, and it just seems to highlight how shabby another has been getting. So you paint that thing too. While painting, you note some minor repairs that need to be done, and you caulk up the gaps and seams. Next thing you know, you're five miles away from the first thing you painted and probably into it for a hundred gallons of paint. Why, oh why can't it just STAY a simple two day job?

The Next Survivor Series

My sister emailed this to me and it gave me a chuckle. Maybe it will tickle your funny bone too.

• Six married men will be dropped on an island with one car and 3 kids each for six weeks.
• Each kid will play two sports and either take music or dance classes.
• There is no fast food.
• Each man must take care of his 3 kids; keep his assigned house clean, correct all homework, and complete science projects, cook, do laundry, and pay a list of 'pretend' bills with not enough money.
  
• In addition, each man will have to budget in money for groceries each week.
• Each man must remember the birthdays of all their friends and relatives, and send cards out on time.
• Each man must also take each child to a doctor's appointment, a dentist appointment and a haircut appointment.
• He must make one unscheduled and inconvenient visit per child to the Urgent Care.
• He must also mak e cookies or cupcakes for a social function.
• Each man will be responsible for decorating his own assigned house, planting flowers outside and keeping it presentable at all times.
• The men will only have access to television when the kids are asleep and all chores are done.
• The men must shave their legs, wear makeup daily, adorn himself with jewelry, wear <>uncomfortable yet stylish shoes, keep fingernails polished and eyebrows groomed.
• During one of the six weeks, the men will have to endure severe abdominal cramps, back aches, and have extreme, unexplained mood swings but never once complain or slow down from other duties.
• They must attend weekly school meetings, church, and find time at least once to spend the afternoon at the park or a s similar setting.
• They will need to read a book each night and in the morning, feed them, dress them, brush their teeth and comb their hair by 7:00 am.
• A test will be given at the end of the six weeks, and each father will be required to know all of the following information: each child's birthday, height, weight, shoe size, clothes size and doctor's name. Also the child's weight at birth, length, time of birth, and length of labor, each child's favorite color, middle name, favorite snack, favorite song, favorite drink, favorite toy, biggest fear and what they want to be when they grow up.
• The kids vote them off the island based on performance. The last man wins only if...he still has enough energy to be intimate with his spouse at a moment's notice.
• If the last man does win, he can play the game over and over and over again for the next 18-25 years eventually earning the right To be called Mother!

***I actually think my dear hubby would win, and I'd be voted off if I was a competitor. But plenty of my friends and acquaintances try to win this rat race!

Gross, gross, gross

Alright, I have to say it. My house is disgusting. It's the end of February, and we're alternately under ice, or snow, or mud. The beautiful 235 acres of camp that we live on, just isn't cooperating. Instead we find ourselves cooped up in way too few square feet, trying not to eat one another alive. It is cabin fever at its best. My house is pooey. Is that even a word? I am just dealing with too much poo.

Every day we go out a couple of times a day, and collect the frozen goat buckets. We drag them indoors and thaw them in a bathtub or sink, and refill them with warm water. What do they leave behind? Goat poo...which also comes in on Baby Boy's boots. Along with copious amounts of hay and dirt. Darcy the old lady goat wears a lovely purple coat, which gets ripe with poo. When we get a couple of warm days, I peel the thing off her, soak it in a bucket of soapy water, rinse well, and hang on the clothes line to destink a bit. Only then can I wash it in the washer, without filling the house with the smell of poo.

Then there's the dog. Technically she keeps all her poo outside, and for that I am grateful. She does however, hate the cold and snow. In order to avoid having to trek far out into it, she does her pooing on the walk or driveway. In really bad weather she has been known to poo directly on the deck outside the door. Fortunately she is small, and so is her poo, so it freezes into hard little piles very quickly.

For more pooing pleasure we have the cats. Four of them, all living exclusively in this little house, and doing an excellent job keeping their poo inside their litter boxes. But not necessarily covering it up. That would not allow for the stench to be distributed quickly enough. On a regular basis one of my children can be heard shouting, "Titus laid an egg!" Immediately following is the pounding of feet as we all scramble to dispose of the "egg" and deodorize the vicinity.

And finally there is the human poo. I won't go into great detail, but simply say that a stomach virus has afflicted us these past several days. The washer and dryer are working overtime, and I go about in long yellow gloves, soaking things, scrubbing things, spraying things. It's not pretty.

And so I say again, my house is disgusting. I just cannot seem to keep up with the volume of contamination and smell which has invaded. If only it was warm and sunny, I could open things up and air it out. I could hang loads of laundry out, to be sanitized by the sun and wind. I could send fractious children out to play. But alas, we are still in the deep freeze. Will poo free sunny days ever return?