Sorry I haven't been around as much as I'd planned when this year started. I've spent the last couple of weeks scrambling to get MG ready to go back into the NGYC Program. We took her to West Texas on Saturday.
Strange how I was so anxious for her to be gone and now that she's not here I spent a good deal of my day thinking about her and wondering if she's OK.
That's what we moms do, isn't it. This moving them toward the edge of the nest is challenging.
Right now I'm tired physically, mentally, and emotionally. But at the same time I'm amazing exhilarated with the thought of the steps I can take to improve myself while she is off improving herself. The next 6 months should be interesting. I'm glad I have y'all along for the ride.
The drive out to West Texas was pretty uneventful. We won't go into the drama at the hotel. Suffice it to say that nobody got much sleep.
The NGYCP-Texas Youth Challenge facility is a school turned TYC turned military-style youth rescue compound. Amazingly, I didn't get any pictues of it! DUH! I'll be sure to do better in January when we drop her off for the start of the program. I did get some of the scenery along the way, though. It's really a whole bunch of nothing but scrub brush and distant hills with roads cut through it all -- including the hills! LOL!
After the orientation session we dropped My Girl off in San Antonio. She was very obviously glad go see me go, but what bothers me more is that I was glad to be gone. And what hurts my heart the most is that despite my best efforts I don't know how to reach her. I don't know how to help her grow out of the childish, imature, grossly age-inappropriate behaviors that will be so life limiting for her.
I guess I could just quit trying. I guess I could let her continue on the path she's chosen and assume that eventually she will grow out of it. But that would require that she find somewhere else to live because I can't watch her do it to herself. Oh, wait. That's what she's done. So why am I agonizing over it? One good reason: I'm afraid of losing her. I'm afraid of failing her. I'm afraid of pushing her too far away and of holding her too close.
My fears don't really matter much, though, because no matter what I do she pushes me away. No matter how hard I try, what test I pass, what hurdles I jump, there are more trials, more tests, more reminders that I'm not her real mother; that her real family are the people who refused to give her a home and unconditional love and support when she needed it most. Then my hurt turns to resentment which turns to sniping. It's a vicious cycle that is slowly killing our relationship. So, now I have no choice but to walk away for a while. Maybe the separation will do us both good. I'm not going far. She can get to me when she's ready. I'm going to leave it up to her to decide how long or, like Martina McBride sings so beautifully, How Far...
My Girl has been accepted back into the National Guard Youth Challenge Program. We will be leaving tomorrow to take her to West Texas for orientation. Then we will be dropping her off in San Antonio to stay with her other family until January when the program officially starts.
She and I have somehow lost our ability to be in the room without sniping - or worse - over the last couple of months. We are both to blame, we both hate it, yet neither of us has a clue where to start to fix it. The best solution for now is for her to be elsewhere.
While I won't miss the daily cat fights, I will miss the beautiful heart that shines through now and then. I will miss the rare moments of light-hearted companionship. Even few and far between is better than nothing at all.
Truth be told, right now I feel pretty much like a failure in the Mom department. Why can't I just ignore her continual passive-aggressiveness? Why can't I find a way to teach her how to stop it?
I know that this is just part of the process she needs to go through to get to where she needs to be in life. I just wish it didn't hurt so much -- this struggle to accept that things didn't turn out the way I thought they would when we adopted her.
One day, with the grace of God, she will be grown and independent, and we will be able to look back and laugh. For now,
Peace, Blessings, and Pass the tissue box, please.
Wow! I cannot believe that it has already been five years since we stood in front of the judge and vowed to become a family. I'm still not sure you really wanted to make it legal. You had such hopes of somehow being able to live with your little brother. (I'm sorry we couldn't make that happen for you. At least we've been able to maintain contact and see him a few times a year.) I'm so glad you you didn't back out at the last minute; that somewhere deep inside you knew that in this family you would finally have a forever home.
What a rocky road we've had. You came to us so hurt by the life you'd already led. You were one angry, bitter, and often mean and cruel little girl who had built tall and thick walls around her heart to avoid being hurt anymore; who used emotions like a poisonous snake uses venom to paralyze anyone who dares get too close. But there were tiny slivers of cracks through which your true self shone so brightly that it was almost blinding. In those moments, when you let down your guard, Daddy and I saw a beautiful, loving, delightful spirit that we knew we had to free.
Now here we are, 6-1/2 years into our relationship, on the 5th anniversary of the day we finalized your adoption. It hasn't been easy, kiddo. There have been times when we wanted to turn tail and run for the nearest exit. But then we'd notice something miraculous: The cracks in the wall had widened a little more. With each catastrophic event came new insights. With each major blow-up came more cracks. With each heart-breaking, gut-wrenching setback came a few more steps toward you finding yourself.
Today, I can honestly say that there are more holes than wall. More and more the true heart of the little girl I fell in love with shines through.
My sweet little Girl, I want you to know that we have never stopped believing in you. No matter how hard things got, your dad and I have never (for more than a minute or two) been willing to give up on you. And we never will. And, until you can start believing in yourself enough to stand on your own, we will believe enough for you and be there to help you stand. Together, we will tear down the rest of the bricks and free that beautiful, loving heart for good and ever.
Please remember, honey, that you will not always be 17, with 17-year-old angst, hormonal upheavals, and fluctuating brain function . One day you will be a woman with an open and secure heart. And though I will ALWAYS be your mother, I will not always have to mother you. I look forward to the day when my daughter becomes a woman whom I will be honored to count among my best friends.
I love you, you sweet, ornery, uplifting, disheartening, insightful, stubborn, delightful pain in the butt. Thank you for being mine.
Contagious Neck Rash Identified by Dumbbutt Teenagers Department (DTD)
(Illustration only - not an actual picture of this particular outbreak)
Houston, Texas (September 9, 2008) - Damama T, Zookeeper and Warden President and Founder of the DTD, today issued a health alert to the parents of all teens. The DTD has uncovered a potential health threat to teens as evidenced by a recent and unexplained outbreak of Purple Neck Rash syndrome in the home offices of the DTD. The malady seems to primarily effect females between the ages of 17 and 18 and usually appears after bouts of exertion such as going out on a date. While males may also be effected, the DTD has not yet seen any first-hand cases.
In an effort to stem the spread of this unsightly and often painful disease, Damama T has issued official warnings to the male most recently in contact with the DTD's resident disease carrier citing the need to refrain from applying any oral pressure to the effected area thus causing further spread of the rash. Doing so could potentially result in the parent's need to take whatever steps are necessary to contain this outbreak, up to and including indefinite quarantine of the afflicted teen.
Any parent observing Purple Neck Rash syndrome should use extreme caution when examining the discoloration as the teen carrier may exhibit signs of excessive agitation. Continued attempts at examination may incite the patient to bellow that the examiner is "out of your flipping mind and too stupid to know what you are looking at! IT IS JUST A RASH!" Additionally, upon learning that the DTD intends to notify the boyfriend other potential victims of the appearance of the rash, the teen may lose total control and resolve into a fit of the hysterical screaming mimis. Parents should not take this behavior personally as it is a normal part of the progression of the disease.
The discoloration will resolve on its own within one to two weeks, usually leaving no permanent scarring, but this does not mean that the patient has acquired an immunity to the disease. Reappearance of PNR is not uncommon as teens tend to regularly cross-contaminate each other. However, with any luck the fear of future extended quarantines may provide enough behavior modification to reduce the number of outbreaks.
For additional information on why teens do what they do, the DTD highly recommends that parents read: Teenage Brain Development. This scientific article has played a huge role in the reduction in the number of murderous thoughts experienced by the staff of the DTD. Hopefully it will help others, too. (For real.. no joke. Go read it!)
Adolescence is perhaps nature's way of preparing parents to welcome the empty nest.~Karen Savage and Patricia Adams, The Good Stepmother
They seem to have developed pills to modify just about every nuance of the human condition. Too angry? Too sad? Too happy? Gotcha covered. Tired? Hyper? Apathetic? Piece of cake! Anxious? Confused? Fearful? Easy peasy! Have a pain in your head? Your back? Your foot? Your pinkie? Take two and call me in the morning. But what about that most dread malady: PAIN IN THE BUTT PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVELYDEFIANTTEENAGER.
Come on, you recognize this. It's typically characterized by the repeated phrase, "Yes, Ma'am." followed by the total disregarding of whatever the request happens to be. Conversations with afflicted teens go something like this:
Mom - Girl, please remember to turn off your lights, TV, radio, fans, and lamps (all of which are on virtually all. the. time. if she's in the room)when you leave the house.
Girl - "Yes, Ma'am."
Mom - Please don't leave your dishes on whatever surface you are nearest when you finish eating. (Think couch, almost finished cereal, and two dogs. Not a pleasant thing to awaken to in the morning.)
Girl - "Yes, Ma'am."
Mom - Please ...
Girl - "Yes, Ma'am."
..."Yes, Ma'am."
..."Yes, Ma'am."
Does this sound familiar to you? On the surface they sound like the kindest, sweetest, most compliant and cooperative creatures ever to walk God's green earth. Upon closer inspection, though, every day you find the lights still on, the dishes still wherever, the clothes still on the bathroom floor, the whatever still being done or not done day after day after day after FRIGGIN DAY!!! And all of it accompanied by a sweet, polite, smiling, "Yes, Ma'am." I, personally, am to the point that if I hear that syrupy sing-song "Yes, Ma'am." one more time, SOMEBODY'S HAIR IS COMING OUT!What does it take to get them to put feet on that damnable response??
One would think that pharmaceutical companies would have JUMPED on this by now! After all, it is an ailment that, in one of its many and varied forms, effects every parent on the planet. It even has its own definition in the Medline Plus Medical Encyclopedia. Go ahead. Click over there and read it. I'll wait.....
.....
So what'd ya think? Did you notice that line about "A person with this disorder may appear to comply with another's wishes and may even demonstrate enthusiasm for them. However, the requested action is either performed too late to be helpful, performed in a way that is useless, or is otherwise sabotaged(why didn't they add IGNORED here???)to express anger that cannot be expressed verbally."? Sounds familiar, huh!?!?
And anger that cannot be expressed verbally? Really? I'd actually rather be told that she didn't want to do whatever, and why, so that we could discuss possible alternate solutions before I have threatened to take her phone away for noncompliance. I'm not TOTALLY unreasonable. There have been a few times that I've been convinced to change my mind. Maybe then there wouldn't be any anger that needed expressing!?!?!?!
Did you notice the "Treatment" section? Therapy. Yep, it says, "Counseling may be of value in helping the person identify and change the behavior." May be of value?? MAY???MAY???? Try, NOT!! Been there and done that so many times that the damn t-shirt is now ripped to tattered shreds and is being used to firmly secure my wrists to my waist so I don't beat her to a bloody pulp!
So now, with no hope of a better life through chemistry (Thanks, Cousin Howard! That's such an accurate phrase!), I'm forced to come up with my own treatments for this disorder. Here's a list of possiblities:
1. Boot in the Butt (BIB) - Apply pointy tip of right cowboy boot to posterior region of afflicted youth. This may provide only temporary relief for the patient, but will provide immeasurable pleasure to the caregiver. Note: having a criminal defense attorney on retainer might expedite the caregiver's release from post-treatment incarceration, but a cost/benefit analysis shows that it would damn near be so worth it as to be cheap at twice the price! (No, I wouldn't really do this but there are sure days when it's fun to daydream about!! LOL!)
2. Buy out - Offer to pay for compliance. Note: Ensure that compliance has been achieved BEFORE tendering any cash. Prepayment will only result in the drastically increased necessity for additional BIB treatments.
3. Ostrich-ization - This was the counselor's advice. Ignore it, it'll go away. Quit asking. Quit worrying. Quit caring so much! Way more easily said than done!
4. Treatment in Kind (TIK) - Start responding to their requests with, "Yes, Dear" and then promptly do something else. This will provide a great way for you to stretch those creative thinking muscles that have been long deadened by the tediousness of day-to-day life with PIBPAD teen.
5. Prayer - for patience. for peace. And a time warp that rapidly moves us to the day when THEY have their own teens and we can sit back and LAUGH OUR OLD, KNOWING BUTTS OFF!
Laying side by side in the wee hours of the morning, her in her hospital bed, me on my roll-away, Mother and I talked quietly about our life together.
“Were you ever sorry you adopted me, Mom?”
“Yes. If I thought I could pull it off, I’d have given you to the first gypsy troop I could find heading out of town.”
“It was when you found out about Bob*, wasn’t it.”
She laughed in that sweet, half-giggle way of hers and said, “Well, yes, that was one of the worst of them.”
“Them?” I replied in mock shock, knowing full well that during my teenage years I’d given her plenty of reasons to toss me in the nearest Dempsey Dumpster (or gypsy wagon) and run for her life. She was right about one thing, though: my first fully involved sexual relationship had nearly killed not only her soul, but also her spirit, and very nearly her body as well....
I met Bob a month or so after the beginning of our sophomore year. He was a new kid. I knew what it was like to be the new kid and never allowed another new kid to feel left out. We had science together and, since none of the “cool” guys would lower themselves to be lab partners with a new kid, I took the job on myself. It wasn’t long before we were a couple. When Spring break came, we couldn’t bear the thought of being apart for a whoooole weeeeeeeek, so we devised a plan for him to spend lots of time with my friend Sally’s boyfriend who just happened to live only a few blocks from me. Coincidentally, Sally* would be spending most of Spring break with me. Both of our mothers worked full time, so they loved the idea of us keeping each other company. They had no idea just how much company we were going to be keeping with the guys.
On Thursday of that week, after Mother left for work at 7:00 a.m., Sally and I went to work primping and preening. We shaved our underarms and legs, checked each other for unsightly blemishes, did each other’s hair and makeup. Around 10:00 a.m. two totally clueless boys arrived and were presented with what we were sure would be the best surprise of their lives.
The following week at school, the boys broke up with us. Devastated, Sally and I wrote notes back and forth trying to figure out what had gone wrong. We didn’t understand how they could be so cruel after we’d been soooo kind. Being at that “it’s none of your business, Mom!” stage of teenage pseudo-independence, I sulked and grouched around the house so much that mother was finally compelled to go on a scavenger hunt in my room to try and figure out what was wrong with me. She didn’t have to look long to find one of our notes wadded up in the trash.
As a 15-year-old, I was outraged at her invasion of my privacy. Now, as the mother of a teenage girl, my heart physically aches at the thought of her sitting there in shock and horror as she read the words that no little girl’s mommy ever wants to read. I can hardly bear to think of how she looked as she read, but I will never forget the look on her face when she drove up to where a friend and I were walking in the neighborhood and ordered me into the car. I saw the crumpled paper laying on the car seat and immediately knew that she knew.
She’d actually taken off work early to come home and take me shopping in a surprise effort to cheer me up a little, but I’d already left the house when she got there. By the time she had me in the car it was about 4:00 p.m., however, she’d already called our family doctor, obtained the name of a gynecologist friend of his, and had an appointment scheduled for me at 4:30. It had been over 4 weeks since Spring break and she didn’t want to waste one more minute before making sure that I wasn’t pregnant or diseased. Or both. When I protested she growled, “You want to be a woman, this is part of it. And don’t you DARE put up a fight. You will do whatever the doctor needs you to do. Is that clear?” It was. I knew that if she had to get my dad involved it mean another beating and I would do anything to avoid that. Thankfully, so would she.
Fortunately, I survived the humiliation of that first gynecological exam even though I was wishing for death the whole time. It would take a few days for any test results to come in, though, so we were sent home to wait. And wait. And wait. And the waiting was done in tense silence with the barest minimum of contact between us. A few days later she got word that everything was alright. That may have been true medically, but relationally things couldn’t have been more wrong. She no longer knew how to relate to me. I wasn’t a baby anymore, but I was still her baby. I also wasn’t a woman who could be counted as her equal with whom she could easily converse about womanly things. I was a testy, withdrawn, and thoroughly nasty-to-be-around teenager. Years later she’d told me that because there was no one she could talk to about it all, she had fallen into such a deep depression that she came very close to ending her own life.
I realized that I had tears on my cheeks when the soft beep-beep of the morphine machine shook me out of my reverie as it released the much needed pain medication it hoarded like liquid gold. I reached across the dark void between us, squeezed her hand and said, “I love you, Mom, and I’m so sorry I put you through so much hell.”
As she once again drifted off into peaceful oblivion, she whispered softly, “You were worth it. I’m glad there were no gypsies.”
Now, nearly 25 years later, I am comforted by the fact that eventually this very difficult, painful, gut-wrenching, maddening, yet somehow wonderful job of parenting an emotionally damaged and behaviorally challenging teenage girl will be worth it. And I, too, am very glad there are no gypsies in town. Today.
It is the sound of the other shoe finally dropping. It is not a good sound. It may mean that, if she doesn't turn back around soon, I'll be losing My Girl again...
I can't go into it right now; just please pray for her to recognize the dangers involved in her actions and for her willingness to accept the help she will need to come out of this.
It is the sound of Hubby's heart being broken. Again. I can't stand it when he cries. Add to this the fact that Twig is making some really poor choices again and it's the sound of the TV remote click, click, clicking because I'm having trouble finding the heart to do much more than sit and stare at the boob tube most of the time wondering when we get to get off of this train through hell. Right now it doesn't seem like we ever will.
I'll be around more again when I have a chance to grieve this current loss and find a way to cope. Until then... I don't know.. just, until then.
Today was a really great day with My Girl. I picked her up at work at 11:30 and, since we were both starving, headed to get something to eat. As usual, she fell asleep in the car. When we got close to the restaurant I nudged her so she could start waking up. In that moment of half sleep, with her eyes still closed, she said, "I love you, Mommy. Thank you for everything you do for me."
After lunch we went shopping for a while and she was as much concerned with me finding a new pair of shorts as she was about finding some for herself. When she mentioned wanting to look at the shoes (she's a shoe-aholic!) I said that was fine, but we weren't buying any because she doesn't need anymore shoes. She didn't whine, beg, pitch a fit, or even complain!
Tonight, Hubby took us out to our favorite Italian place. She was delightful. She even told her new male interest that she'd have to call him back after we finished eating. I nearly choked on my lasagna!
When we got home I told her I'd really like her to at least attempt to clear an emergency exit path in the room from hell. She not only did that, she cleaned picked up her bathroom and did a load of laundry.
Ok, now I have to admit I'm beginning to get a little worried about what she may have done that she's buttering me up for. But I'm going to revel in the moment and try not to hold my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop. I can't dwell on it. I have to believe that today is a small ray of light shining in what has lately been a pretty dark time.
Days like today keep me hanging on. These small glimpses of true normal make it worth the fight.
Don't laugh at a youth for his affectations; he is only trying on one face after another to find a face of his own. ~Logan Pearsall Smith, "Age and Death," Afterthoughts, 1931
In the week before the oblivion we spent a lot of time going to appointments with her doctor, counselor, probation officer. We also picked up applications at every place we thought might be willing to hire a 16 YO. The end result of it all is that:
1. The PO agreed not to put her back in lockup as long as she is working, attending GED classes, and following all her court orders. 2. SHE GOT A JOB! YAY! I am now the proud parent of a Kroger bagger/basket pusher.
At home she alternates between her traumatic ages (3, 8, & 10) and being a normal snot-nosed bratty teenager determined to move out on her own as soon as she can get enough money together to pay for her own place. I handle the latter much better than the former.
It is getting harder and harder for me to deal with her regressions because I know that if she doesn't decide to get a handle on them soon they will interfere with her job and probation status. Nobody in the outside world is going to put up with a kid her age throwing an 8 YO tantrum when she doesn't get her way.
Did you ever hear about the time when the speaker at a preachers' conference asked folks to stand and tell everyone their favorite bible verse? Well, this old, rugged, gray-haired preacher stood and said, "I've lived a long life. Been at the pulpit for more than 50 years. In all that time I've learned a thing or two, and through all I've experienced I've held onto one phrase that is repeated over and over: It came to pass." All the other younger, smarter, better educated preachers just stared at him. Finally, the speaker broke the silence when he asked why on earth he'd chosen that particular phrase to hang onto. The wise old preacher replied, "In times of trial it keeps me strong because I know the good book said that it came to pass, not that it came to stay."
That's kind of where I am right now. Hanging onto the fact that it came to pass. That God has a plan for her and for me, and He's not going to let it stay this hard forever.
I leave you with a few of my favorites of late:
Joshua 21:45: Not one of the good promises which the LORD had made to the house of Israel failed; all came to pass.
Psalm 105:19: Until the time that his word came to pass, The word of the LORD tested him.
Adolescence is perhaps nature's way of preparing parents to welcome the empty nest. ~Karen Savage and Patricia Adams, The Good Stepmother
I am a problem solver. I've learned that no solution is possible without a solid plan, so we've come up with one for My Girl (Since that's what I call her most of the time anyway, that's what her new handle her is going to be, by the way. "Daughter" just sounded too aritificial.):
1. GED classes because there is no way she'll be able to thrive in public school and she won't allow me to teach her at home. 2. Get a job. She will not be allowed to lay around all day long doing nothing. For the time being, starting Monday, she will be working for me. I'll teach her some secretarial skills like filing and accounting (what little I know about it, anyway!). In the mean time, she's to continue to apply at other places to obtain truly gainful employment. 3. Complete her community service hours.
The plan settled my mental stresses, but my emotional stresses were still pretty unsettled. However, I have now reached an emotional place where I am mostly OK. All of the prayers and good wishes that have come in are SO uplifting and encouraging. The icing on the cake, though, came from my efforts to encourage and support Angela Williams Duea over at angelawd. (As a quick aside: I love that her name is phonetically Angel Awed because she has such a strong faith and I know she is surrounded by loving angels and is awed by the strength and peace they give her.) I was typing a comment on her "I'm not in Minnesota" post (go read it if none of my post makes sense, it will help) and all of this just came pouring out. It came from somewhere so deep inside me that I know that MY angels were helping me find the words I, myself, needed to hear. The next thought was that I needed to share it with all the wonderful earthly angels here.
I truly believe, in my heart of hearts, that this wonderfuly kind and loving God who put us here and allowed us to bond and love so strongly would not just, POOF!, make it all disappear when we reach his doorstep.
I KNOW - absolutely and beyond any doubt - that my loved ones are still around me. I KNOW that I feel them, smell them, hear their words in my heart when I'm lost and their joyous laughter in my celebrations.
I KNOW that they are together and know each other; and I KNOW that even those with whom they disagreed in life are there and loved because to be in God's presence is to find the perfect peace, understanding, and knowledge beyond all earthly pettiness.
And when it is my time to go home, I KNOW that they will be there waiting for me with arms wide and I will be enfolded in a love that is beyond all imagining.
THAT is what my faith is to me. It is the peace, comfort, and hope in which I to walk every day. It is the life preserver that I cling to when I feel that I'm drowning in a world of pain, turmoil, and uncertainty. It is the hand I reach for in the dark, the sunlight that shines through the storms that this human existence spawns.
My faith is the air I breathe, the water I drink, and the pillow on which I lay my head each night knowing that no matter where I wake up in the morning, I AM LOVED.
I wish you all the peace and calmness I have found today through your love and God's grace.
We just got home from picking the girl up. She's been dismissed from the program. What happens next is a crap shoot. I'll be surprised if the judge doesn't throw her back in lockup. There is a part of me that thinks it would make my life easier, but the mother in me is aching for the loss of the dream of Seaborn being the key to her finally getting her head together enough to have a chance at succeeding in life. I'm afraid that may never happen. And it scares me to death.
The next few days are going to be rough. If I'm not around it's not because I don't want to be.
Peace and blessings to all who I know will have us in their prayers.
Monday was a day of celebration that was nothing to celebrate about. As I was getting ready to take 2+ dozen cupcakes to Galveston for Daughter's squadron to help her celebrate her Happy Forever Family Day the phone rang. Seems Miss ASSter (I'm seriously thinking about permanently changing her name to that!!) decided that she would throw one of her classic fits and proceeded to: 1. Throw books at her team leader (their equivalent of a dorm parent); 2. Threaten to break the teacher's thumbs; 3. Kick a hole in the wall of the classroom. Yep, you heard it right - KICK a HOLE in the WALL. They wanted me to come down and try to get her calmed down. My first thought was, 'you are the professionals. what the heck do you want ME to do??' But, being the idiotic optimistic pushover loving mother I am, I hurried up and hit the road.
Forty-five minutes later I pulled in the parking lot only to be met by a very chipper, almost jubilant, daughter. She was all smiles and happiness. I, on the other hand was fuming. I guess my look said it all because she stopped dead in her tracks and started trying to explain. Explain?? Kicking a hole in the wall??? Threatening people?? How about explaining what happened to my Cadet of the Week?? Never mind -- I am so sick of her explanations that I could actually throw up. Anyway, as always, I took a deep breath and tried to hear what she was telling me.
First, she was not feeling well; hasn't been for a while now due to sinus and allergy problems. Monday morning she wanted to go to the nurse but they wouldn't let her because (pick one - it's a multiple choice pop quiz) A. they didn't care whether she lived or died; B. she uses it as an excuse to get out of doing anything she doesn't want to do; C. they hate her; D. THE FRIGGIN' NURSE WASN'T THERE AT THE MOMENT! If you answered D., you get a 100. If you answered B. you get partial credit. A & C, however earn you a trip to the Principal's office for thinking like a screwed up little snot who can't seem to get it through her head that the whole world does not revolve around her and just because things aren't going your way you shouldn't threaten people with bodily harm and KICK HOLES IN WALLS!!
Second, they tease her and call her names and pick on her all the time. And she just does not understand why the phrase, "I pulled a knife on my own mother. What do you think I'll do to you?" is sort of off-putting. Nor does she know why telling people, "I'm going to f-ing kill you/break your face/kick your ass/break your arm," hasn't won her a BFF there. And who wouldn't respect a classmate who sleeps/whines/complains/disrupts class/argues with the teacher/argues with the other students or just plain walks out every day?
After about an hour of talking to her, the assistant administrator, and a counselor we finally decided that she should come home with me for the night so that I could get her to the doctor for additional allergy medication. Plus, this gave her a chance get her head clear a little and get some much needed family bonding reinforcement time.
I took her back Tuesday morning. I didn't go in with her because this is her mess to have to straighten out. They were meeting with her to give her a chance to apologize to all concerned and convince them that she should be allowed to stay in the program. Since it's Wednesday night I haven't heard anything yet, I'm assuming that they let her stay. Either that or they had her probation officer pick her up and she's back in lockup. (They have 48 hours to notify me.) If that's the case, I should get a call sometime Thursday. Either way, it's out of my hands at this point. Thank God for small, albeit short-lived, favors.
Oh - and the cupcakes? Still in the back of my car. Thursday's trash day. I wonder if the garbage men would like some cupcakes.
The first time she ever saw her new daughter is a memory that is seared into the heart of most mothers. That feeling is no different for me even though the first time I laid eyes on my daughter she was already 10 years old. And belonged to someone else.
In 2001, as a worship leader at the church I’d attended for several years, I was never shy about talking about my life. I’ve always felt that God wouldn’t have put me through all of it – good and bad – if He hadn’t wanted some greater good to come out of it. That summer a couple who had recently transferred to Houston started attending our church with their 9-year-old son. The morning that I witnessed about the miracle of my own adoption, the mother (we’ll call her MR for now) told me the story of the adoption of their son. She began asking my advice on how to best help him overcome some of the pains of his past and I was honored to offer whatever wit and wisdom I could.
In December, the boy’s sister was brought to visit him by the foster family she was living with. She was cute and sweet with big hazel-green eyes that spoke such sadness that my arms ached to fold her in and never let the world hurt her again. I was glad to learn that the foster parents were in the process of adopting her. Soon she would never have to be hurt again because she’d have a family to love and protect her. I hugged her and told her that she and I had lots in common because I was adopted when I was 10, too. We were a couple of very lucky girls, indeed! She didn’t seem to know how to handle being hugged. I thanked God again that He’d seen fit to give her a home to get her out of the cold system that had left her so distant and withdrawn. Little did I know on that Christmas Eve that in just a few short months her whole world would again be shattered.
On Sunday, June 30, 2002, MR and family, including the girl attended church. I was surprised, but strangely excited to see her again. She didn’t remember me at all. After the service MR asked me to pray with her. In the prayer room, out of her son’s earshot, she told me that the foster family was considering returning the girl to Children’s Protective Services (CPS) custody. She had become so violent and aggressive that they just couldn’t handle her anymore. She was “visiting” with her brother while the foster family made their final decision. My heart broke and I asked what I could do. MR asked me if I would talk to the girl and try to help her understand that her life could be better, but she had to want it. I agreed to take her on an outing on July 4th.
We met at the church and the little girl shyly agreed to come shopping with me while her brother’s family went to some boring Boy Scout meeting or something. I told her that I needed help picking out some gifts for a friend and since I didn’t have little girl of my own, I was hoping she’d help me decide what would be best. (Of course, she didn’t know that she was picking out her own stuff.) After a couple of hours of shopping we stopped for lunch at my favorite Italian food place and we talked about life as a foster kid and about how hard it was to be separated from her brother. After lunch we went to Target where she found a sweet little silver necklace she wanted to buy. It said, “Daddy’s Angel.” She bought the necklace with her own money so she could take it home to give to her “new daddy” after the adoption was finalized. It took every ounce of self control I had not to break down and cry right there. She had no idea what was going on in her world and only wanted to be loved enough to be considered somebody’s angel.
It was almost time to meet MR back at the church, so we went by my house because she wanted to meet the crazy bird, Mikey, and Tessa, the wonder dog I’d told her about. This was the first time she would meet my husband, too. No longer nervous and shy, she bounded into the house and smiled the smile that won his heart forever. She sat and talked easily about her love of animals and swimming. We invited her back to visit any time she wanted to play with Tessa or practice her backstroke in our pool. And then it was time to let her go. That night Hubby and I talked about what a shame it was that God hadn’t seen fit to give us a little girl of our own.
The next Sunday MR came to me crying saying that it was over. The foster parents had made the decision and as soon as it could be arranged they would be relinquishing her to CPS. By the following Sunday, it was done. I was devastated by the knowledge that she was about to become a statistic. A child lost in a system with no hope of getting out without a miracle. I knew then and there that I was supposed to be that miracle. Back at home after the service, I told Hubby what had happened. His first question was, “What do you want to do?” My response was swift: “I want her.” And without hesitation, he said, “Then let’s go get her.”
I’d love to be able to tell you that we rushed out right then and brought her home, but that would not have been a mature and responsible way of dealing with the situation. Believe me; the last thing I wanted to be was mature and responsible. I knew in my heart that the little girl God had meant to be my daughter was out there somewhere alone and hurting. Like any mother, the only thing I wanted to do was to get to her as fast as possible. However, I knew rationally that this decision would alter our lives forever. Hubby and I had to make sure that we were willing to take on a child with all the baggage this one carried. For nearly five years it had been just the two of us; free to come and go as we pleased. Were we truly ready to get back into the parenting game? On top of all that, the last thing we wanted to do was to take her and then end up having to give her back like all the others had. We spent several weeks praying about it and investigating the situation more. Finally, with August nearing its end, we knew that we were ready to accept her into our hearts and our home. I called CPS the next morning and learned that getting her home would be an uphill battle.
“Why would you want her? She’s already failed out of two adoptions.” was the first thing out of the case worker’s mouth when I told her that I was interested in this particular child. I’d already spent over an hour in long distance terminal hold and transfer hell just trying to get the case worker’s name. Now, I could not believe what I was hearing. “Why the HELL would you even ask me a question like that right off the bat?” I screamed back at her. I’d introduced myself and explained my relationship with the child. I’d already given her a brief synopsis of my history and life status. She’d listened without saying a word, and then THIS came out of her mouth?? I was furious to say the least.
Knowing that screaming at the woman wouldn’t help any, I took a deep breath and said “Tell you what, why don’t you give me your supervisor’s name and I’ll deal directly with that person since you don’t seem to want to do anything to help me, OK??” Despite my best efforts, it was dripping with sarcasm and venom. Dang it! I really hadn’t meant to sound so rude, so I was surprised when she immediately backed down and decided to start cooperating. She explained everything that we would have to go through to get approval to adopt. She said that she would send me the forms I needed to get started. Two weeks later, the forms still hadn’t arrived and I realized when she wouldn’t answer the phone or call me back that the case worker had no intention of allowing the girl to be placed in our home. She obviously had no idea with whom she was dealing. I picked up the phone and instead of calling her CPS office, I called my local division and asked to speak to the regional director. Finally, things started moving.
At the first meeting with our local people I explained that I wanted my daughter home for Christmas. They looked at me like I had three heads and said that things just didn’t happen that fast. It was already the second week in September and there was no way that we could get everything done and have her living with us in just 2-1/2 months. That was the first time that I said what would become the words that case workers, court clerks, and office staff members learned to hate: Don’t tell me it can’t be done. Tell me who I need to talk to to make it happen.
It took a monumental coordination effort involving three different government offices being required to play nice. And in truth, I think they were more scared of me causing some major trouble than they were concerned about my daughter’s well being. I didn’t care. My goal was to have her home by Christmas and I wasn’t letting anybody tell me that it couldn’t be done. We would take the required parenting classes in one county, have the home and personal investigations done through our local county, and schedule visitations with the girl through the county in which she lived. None of them liked not being in total control of the case. My standard response was: Tough cookies. I want my daughter home for Christmas.
On Christmas day, 2002, the child of my heart came home for good. Though the initial decision period is only supposed to be 6 months, Hubby and I refused to give in and allow her to be removed from our home when we weren’t ready to finalize in that short period of time. There were days when we truly doubted our sanity, but we never doubted that she was supposed to be ours. Nearly 16 months later, on April 7, 2004, we stood in front of a judge and committed to becoming a forever family.
Don’t get me wrong: this is not a fairytale ending where we ride off into the sunset with the birds singing and butterflies fluttering as the music crescendos to a rousing finish. It is a hard journey. It is a road that I would not recommend others walk unaware. But it is the right road for us. And even on the hard days, we bless the broken road that brought her home to us.
I am officially floating on cloud nine! Daughter called and said that she made
CADET OF THE WEEK!!!
WITH A PERFECT OVERALL SCORE OF
300 POINTS!
I guess I'd better hurry up and introduce her officially so you will all know what a HUGE accomplishment this is. For a quick preview, you can read a little about her here. I do enough preaching and complaining in here that I thought it was about time I did some BRAGGING!
For the first time since October 18, 2007, I am optimistic about the possibility of ever having her home again... and I'm Walkin' on Sunshine!!
Hey gang! I’m BACK!!! Thank you all for your wonderful well wishes and emails encouraging me to hang in there. And get the job done. And get my (not so) scrawny tail end back here. Now, as promised, here is my week in a nutshell:
Sunday – PANIC ATTACK #1: Spent 5 hours tearing apart every nook and cranny in Daughter’s room looking for her Texas State ID. Needless to say (but since when did that stop me??) it WAS NOT in her green wallet as reported so confidently during our visit on Saturday. Hubby finally found it in the back of the top of the closet in the bottom of a large black canvas tote bag that she has not carried in months. I had already looked in that bag and had missed it. HUBBY IS MY MIRACLE MAN because not once did he give up or complain about having to do this.
Monday – PANIC ATTACK #2: Spent 8 hours driving to every #@&%^$ store within a 50-mile-radius trying to find gray gym shorts made of t-shirt material and with no pockets or logos. (Yes, I called several first, but kept being told, “Sure we have those” only to arrive at the store and find that they were the mesh kind. With pockets. And logos. Hence, the driving frenzy.) I thought I’d solved the problem before Christmas by ordering them online when nobody had them then because they were out of season. And they were still out of season on Monday night when I finally gave up and came home crying to Hubby again because I had no idea what I was going to do at that point. Up jumped MIRACLE MAN again, and with his lightening quick fingers and keen sense (that’s all. not sense of something. just sense – as in he had some where mine was way long g.o.n.e), immediately found a reliable supplier on the Web.
Note to wise: Do not order things on the internet from places you have never heard of just because the item seems affordable. Not everyone honors their stated shipping schedules.
Internet purchase #1 - $53.20
Gas to look for replacement for Internet purchase #1 – $65.18 (Gas plus lunch out)
Internet purchase #2 - $84.00
Guaranteed delivery by Thursday $13.90
Returning Internet purchase #1 – Don’t know because it’s not here YET. On the up side (I can’t say that phrase now without thinking, “Hi, Kellan!”), the charge hasn’t hit my credit card yet, either. Hopefully, if their telephone wasn’t burned to a crisp after my very heated call, they got my message and just dropped the whole thing.
Having my very best friend and personal hero as my husband: PRICELESS!
Tuesday – My regular 160-mile round trip day. Thankfully, it was sans the need to go to Lowe’s and risk running into Oggy again! (I now refuse to go to Lowe’s on Tuesdays for fear I’ll find him there waiting with flowers and moonshine in hand, and that drunk snaggletoothed donkey grin plastered hopefully across his grizzled old face!)
Wednesday – PANIC ATTACK #3: D’s Social Security Card was missing from the folder where it is always kept. The very military-minded attendance people at the school said that they required the ORIGINAL. Her birth certificate was there. The Order of Name Change from the adoption was there. The receipts from when we ordered her Texas ID, her new birth certificate and new Social Security card were there. BUT THE ORIGINAL SS card was MISSING! There was, however, a copy of the SS card with her new name on it in the folder because when I showed the original to the entrance application reviewer at the school he’d made two copies by accident and gave me the extra. THANK GOD HE REMEMBERED THIS because I’d made a big, goofy deal out of not wasting paper (see, Mom Thing, I’m greening up too!). And because he had seen her original card with his own two eyes they agreed to allow me to submit the copy as long as I had an application for another new card attached. Crisis averted, I went to Rita’s to help her unpack some stuff.
Thursday – FIBRO MELTDOWN – All the stress finally caught up with me. I spent most of the day incapacitated, being pampered by Hubby who had taken the day off to help me get the rest of the $700+ worth of supplies labeled and bagged. He cooked and cleaned and waited on me hand and foot most of the day. Every time I tried to do anything he ordered me back to the couch and asked what I needed. This has been his MO for over 26 years. He takes such good care of me! God, I am crazy blessed with this man! He is truly my One in a Million. And the best thing of the day – THE SHORTS ARRIVED!
Friday – PANIC ATTACK #4 – The copy of the SS card was missing. I COULD NOT, nay, WOULD NOT, call those people again and ask if I could get a copy of their copy to turn in with the admissions packet. I tore through the house un-cleaning everything Hubby cleaned yesterday trying to find one stupid piece of paper. After calling Rita to tell her why I was running late to come pick her up, I sat down one more time at my desk to cry a few poor pitiful me tears. And while shuffling stuff around again found the copy paperclipped to the back of a fax I’d sent the doctor requesting that she fill out medical prescription forms. Wondering what part of my anatomy my head was stuck in when I clipped those documents together, and when that might have occurred, we headed:
23 miles into The City to get Rita’s pay check and go to the Social Security office to order yet another card
68 miles out to the County Juvenile Residential Center School to pick up the dismissal paperwork
38 miles back to our town to the Jr. High to pick up Rita’s son, Young Brat (WHAT? That’s not ugly! I can call him Young Brat since he insists on calling me Old Lady!)
Saturday – VEG DAY!!!! Yes, I said it and I DID IT! Hubby and I pretty much vegged out all day. We rechecked the duffle bags to make sure everything was there. I rechecked all the paperwork to make sure the admissions packet was complete. And neither of us got out of our PJs until after 3:00 when we were hungry and wanted to go get a hamburger!
Sunday – TODAY! D-DAY (Pick one: Daughter Day, Dump Day, Done Day) Up at 4:30 a.m. to drive the 35 miles to pick Daughter up at JDRC, then another 63 miles to the military school admissions site. It was a bittersweet time for us all. We are so glad she is going because she’s going to have a chance to make a huge positive change in her life. We are also very sad because for the next 4 weeks we will not be able to see her or talk to her on the phone at all. Letters only.
I’m really going to miss our Tuesdays together. Maybe I’ll go see what Oggy’s up to after all. On second thought - NAAAAHHH!
Wishing you Peace, Blessings, and a Miracle Buddy to help you through all your panic attacks.
Hi, gang. I just had to jump in here really fast to tell you that I'm going to be AWOL for a while. Maybe two or three days depending on how long it takes me to complete my forced march through military school preparation hell.
No, I'M not going to military school, Daughter is. She goes on Sunday and, in my usual efficient fashion, have just realized that I ONLY HAVE A WEEK TO FINISH GETTING ALL HER STUFF TOGETHER!!!
AND I CAN'T FIND HER TEXAS I.D. CARD. It was in her wallet. The last time she saw her wallet was the day she was arrested back in October. If I can't find her wallet with the I.D., the academy won't accept her! AAACK!
PRAY FOR ME, EVERYBODY. PLEASE PRAY FOR MY SANITY.
OK. I'm better now. Just needed to yell and scream and run madly around the room flailing my arms and pulling my hair for a minute. Now I'm taking a deep breath and trusting God and all your good wishes and prayers to get me through this.
The fourth of my meme 8 has spurred some interesting questions. Here is a brief (well as brief as I am able to make it!) explanation.
My oldest son is 28, married, lives in Michigan with his wife and my two grandkittens, and is the assistant manager for some store there. I call him Bug for 2 reasons - he was always bugging me with very insightful questions that I didn't have answers to and he was fascinated with insects even as a small child. He and his wife (that still sounds strange to my Mommy ears!) are coming in for Christmas and I am so excited/nervous I can hardly stand it!
My 2nd is 25 and is, for at least the next 2 to 3 years, a guest of the Federal Prison System. He got involved with drug trafficking to support the habit he began when he was about 12. I always asked if a parent was going to be home at friends' houses. I always talked to the parent to confirm their presence... I never EVER thought to ask if the parent would introduce him to drugs!!!
By the time he was 18 we had spent close to $50,000 on lawyers, rehabs, counselors, fines, military school. We had also moved 2 times to try to get him into a better situation. NOTE TO THE WISE: If your child is hell bent on doing what he/she is going to do, moving will only provide an opportunity to find the same people wearing different faces in the new place. By the time he was 19 he was in state prison. By the time he was 21 he’d gotten out of state, reoffended and was in Federal Prison. He has not spent a birthday or a Christmas at home since he was 13.
THANK GOD his brain is now kicking in. Sadly, he’s realizing what a mess he’s made of his life. Happily, he starts college in January. Once again, it will cost us money, but we will gladly pay the price if it means he has a chance to straighten his life out for good. Right now he thinks he wants to be a counselor to try to guide kids away from the path he walked. I’m praying that his history will lend such credibility to his counsel that he will be able to spare other families the agony we have endured. He also wants to pursue his musical career. He writes some unbelievable stuff!
My 3rd is 16-1/2 and currently a guest of the County Juvenile Corrections Residential Facility. We adopted her at 11. We knew she came with a load of baggage and we will continue to stand by her and help her deal with her problems. However, after some reaaaaly bad stuff that happened in October, we told her that she would always have a place in our hearts, but she no longer (at least for a while) had a place in our home. When she went to court for her sentencing, we asked them to help us help her. The court, knowing that in the last 5 years we've spent over $30,000 on her counselors, lawyers, rehabs, psych hospitals, and medications (not including the adoption costs), agreed to keep her locked up, for her own benefit, until January when she should be going to military school. As long as she's confined and not out in the free using drugs or beating people up, she can't screw up her scholarship.
I do have to give her some serious credit, though, because when the judge asked her if she wanted to go home, she said flatly, NO. She explained to him that she knew she could not make it “out there” and feared she’d do something so detrimental that there would be no coming back from it. Her long term goals are to join the military, possibly the Coast Guard or the Marines. The school to which she has a scholarship will help her decide which is best. They will also help her learn self control and discipline in a way that we, as her parents, have been unable to manage. The program has approximately an 82% success rate with kids just like her. We are SO, SO, SO VERY BLESSED to have found it!
I am blogging all of this stuff because I know there are lots of families out there who deal with such issues, but are too ashamed or guilty feeling to mention it. I, on the other hand, have n.o.t.h.i.n.g. to be ashamed or guilty about. My children were raised with the right moral values in a loving, upper middle class home with both of their parents doting on them from the first moment we laid eyes on them. They were expected to do chores, earn an allowance, get good grades, tell the truth, and be respectful.
Were we perfect parents?? NO. Did we make mistakes along the way?? YES. But we always did the best we could with the tools we had, and EVERYTHING we EVER have done has been for the benefit and wellbeing of our children. PERIOD. We could have retired by now if it wasn’t for all the money we’ve spent trying to get them the help they need. But it’s not about the money – it’s about the LOVE. We could have thrown up our hands and walked away a long time ago, but that is not who we are. And it is definitely not in line with the moral values we want them to understand and live by.
As for those who think we somehow did something that screwed them up: I REFUSE to allow anyone to make me feel like a bad parent or a low life because of my kids’ choices. I REFUSE to hide my “dirty laundry” in an effort to avoid offending anyone, including the miscreant kids who dirtied up the stuff to begin with! My husband and I live by, and taught our kids to live by what we call the headline test: If you would be embarrassed to have it splashed across the front page of the newspaper, then DON’T DO IT!
If you are a parent with perfect children, get down on your knees and thank your creator that you were so awesomely blessed. If you are the parent of a child who, like ours, has spent a good part of life with his head stuck up the wrong part of his anatomy, take heart. If you know you did the best you could, then hang in there and believe that God is in control and things will eventually all balance out. If I didn’t have that to hang onto, I’d have to be locked up now. In a rubber room. With a nice clean white coat to help me hug myself to sleep.
Speaking of sleep – I’m going to bed and try not to have nightmares about what could be happening to my kids in places where I can’t protect them. A mother’s job, truly, never, never, ends!
As always – Peace and blessings, and sweet dreams.
