Eight is A*Nuff

Oldest playing Wii downstairs, baby sleeping. Older three riding bikes on the basketball court. Younger three on front porch playing with action figures. Mama in the kitchen watching it all in wide eyed wonder. Other Mother on TV in 17 minutes for a news feature for the large community youth organization she runs.  A much better day all around.

Monday Morning Mayhem

It's way too early for Friday fragments, so I've decided to do Monday Mayhem. 

The two older littles are LOUDER THAN LOUD and spent most of their morning time ARGUING with one another and SCREECHING trying to pick up the bin of tiny plastic "leg*gos" building blocks they dumped all over their bedroom floor.  Their two favorites: hot breakfast of oatmeal and toast was incentive to do a quick 3 minute  pick up.  Verbal prompts and redirection every five minutes are going no-where. That was an hour ago.  When they do get picked up, they are going on a shelf.  The "leg*gos". Not the kids.

The Middle Little is food obsessed. Really. Most of the conversations he initiates revolve around some maddening variation of the following:
"I have a blow-knee-cheeze rollup?"
"You have mayonaisse blow-knee cheeze sam-ich?"
"I Have mayonaisse blow-knee?"
"What we having fur-dinner?"
"Is it dinner?"
"We have dinner?"
"I want blow-knee fur-dinner"
"I have juice"
"I want blow-knee"
"Is that my blow-knee?"
"Whose blow-knees that?"

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Doesn't matter if he just ate, or is watching me make his blow-knee cheeze....the kid is OBSESSED.

I'm re-thinking my plan to go to the water park with them ...A fenced in kid friendly back-yard sounds a little more manageable... than refereeing the second coming of the Frazier-Ali Match (for those of you age-impaired like me that are old enough to get that reference....)

I just heard about a thousand leggos clatter on the wooden floor.  Argh.

They are now SCREAMING again over whose job it is to pick them up. They have a nice little chant going: "Middle" won't help me" and "'Oldest' won't pick up".  Meanwhile, the leggos sit on the floor and the hot oatmeal isn't so hot. Maybe they'll grow up and work for FEMA.

PS. The twenty minutes back and forth to the kitchen, typing a paragraph here and sentence there, the total time to sit and write this and find 2 images is MY TIME OUT so I remain calm and centered when responding to their dysregulation and SCREECHING. Did I mention the SCREEEEEECHING???....

Sunday In My City

I love Sundays In My City hosted by Unknown Mami.  

Find out what's going on in communities all over the world at Sundays in My City

Yeah. What She Said: A Milestone Moment

If you don't already follow The Other Mother (my better half for the past Twenty years) you have to at least check out her post here about a milestone with our foster son, James. You know, the one who'd run away on us or not speak to us...the one who after five months of solid togetherness is starting to relax. The one who might be here til he ages out of the system in 9 years...

The other reason you should read her post is that I am too tired to do my own post...spent the evening with the three littles while she took James to his first football game at the league's Football Jamboree. He looked so handsome and grownup in his game uniform! 

During dinner, the oldest little had a complete scary instant meltdown because his sliced hotdogs were placed on top of his macaroni, not next to it. 

Regardless, of why -he imploded.  Then totally freaked when he was sent to sit in time out for five minutes on the edge of the raised brick hearth of our fireplace. Time out is centrally located in the hub of our family...I asked the middle little if oldest was always like this in time out and he told me what usually happens in time out. Time out at their bio-home is very, very different from our style of time out.  Different enough to make me feel sick.

Wow.

So I sat with him while he was still raging and reassured him what we do and don't do at our house.  I re-explained that time out was a chance for him to get all of his big feelings out and then pull himself together and come back and join us at the table. Finishing dinner was up to him.  He didn't have to eat it, but that was what was for dinner. He is a smart guy and if he was really hungry he could figure out how to get the hot dogs off the macaroni. He did join us and ate his dinner and laughed at how easy it was to move the hotdogs to the side of the plate.  He stayed close for the evening.  Several times he stood in front of me, head and shoulders down, with arms slightly up in the air in a "please pick me up" gesture and he'd just melt into my shoulder.  A rough day for the oldest little. I need to come up with names for the three littles....

Tomorrow we pick up Bobby from camp and we are heading to a state park to enjoy the lake with 7/8ths of our crew. Alex is working.

I'm off to bed.

Friday Fragments

• Last year I left my job in the Behavioral Program of an Elementary School and spent the past year as a Stay At Home Mom. SAHM. It still cracks me up there is an acronym for that. Anyhow. Two of the three new littles make me feel as though I am still there. I can't leave them alone at all (not even for three minutes to switch the laundry)or turn my back for 5 seconds with out one of them protesting the other's behaviors. Legitimately so. The older one is becoming my stick-to-guy. Good thing I had those blue and green sticky hands to practice with.
• I read FREECYCLE daily in the hopes that someone, somewhere is looking for what I am hoping to get rid of: Housefull of stuff I've managed to collect but will probably not use and a whole bunch of DPS (Dead Peoples Sh*t). So far this week I have a Kindergarten teacher looking for a guinea pig cage - which I happen to have. Sadly, The sculptor looking for assorted metal scraps was not interested in free-ranging my garage. Darn.
• I used to buy antiques, tools and country primitives and then sell at a shop in Central VT. I have an odd collection of leftovers when I closed my business that are gathering dust in the garage and basement, including a four foot long railroad wrench. Talk about trying to find a specific buyer. I can't help it. I love antique tools.
• No matter how much I plan ahead when buying groceries, or cook up several batches of food to freeze on Sundays, I am still absolutely surprised that I once again have to cook dinner and find something to feed these kids. Didn't I just feed them yesterday? Anyone else go through this?
• I have been reading some blogs of some wonderful women who are going through tough times with their kids. I read and witness their pain but don't have much to offer in the support/comment department. "Hang in there" sounds so weak, yet it is what I have said on more than one occasion. By the time I sit down to read at the end of the night I am fried from my own day. Sorry to those of you who need so much more.
• Babies are sprouting up everywhere around us: The Other Mother's program manger just learned she is having a girl in Jan., Bobby's oldest sister just learned she is having a boy in Jan., his older sister is having a girl in Sept., my first foster daughter is having a boy in October...phew. When we had Baby Dee last fall and winter, I had made it a part time job shopping for baby clearance/sale items and as a result have more than enough baby gifts to welcome these little ones.
• Happy Friday.

Semi Wordless Wednesday

It is so nice to have the helping hands of friends to get through the day.

Parenting RAD Is Like A Band Concert On The Canadian Border

We spend a good amount of time near the Canadian Border. At the beginning of the weekly Band Concert they play the National Anthems for both Canada and The United States. Everyone stands. Many sing. Some hum. Others, like me, close their eyes and soak in the songs of others.


But everyone stands.

Out of respect.

It made me think parenting a child with Attachment Issues is like a Summer Time Band Concert on the Canadian Border.
How so?

We are asked to stand with respect and patience as our RAD child sings a song we do not know the words to. Sometimes we get the feeling or sentiment, but just don't know the words. Just when we think we know the rhythm, the tune changes and we are lost.

Lost.

Waiting.

Listening.

Straining.
Impatient for a familiar note.

Something familiar that speaks to us and says "Oh, yes. Here we are in our song. Here YOU are. I know YOU".

Much like our song of Attachment.

Our children speak a language we do not always understand and live a life we do not always have the skills or energy to parent. It is hard. Very, very hard. No matter. We stand with them and by them and near them. Even when they sing a different national anthem and we don't know the words. We stand next to them respectfully while they sing.

Even when they push us away.

Especially when they push us away.

At the concerts we go to, both flags fly. The US slightly above Canada. Whichever flag is higher lets you know which country you are in. Who is in charge.

Living on the border between Canada and the US, or parenting on the border between Attached and Unattached, as we do, some days it is hard to tell whose flag is flying higher

On the good days, I like to think my parent flag flies slightly above the flags of my children.

On a really good day it actually does

So we stand in respect for whoever's flag is flying or when each other's anthem plays.
Parenting a child with Attachement Issues...If you don't know the words: relax and try to hum along.

Over Easy or Scrambled?

Over easy? Scrambled? Nope. Fried.  As in: I-Am-Fried.  Brought Bobby to the central location/drop off point for his week long camp today.  The time was misconstrued and we wound up sitting in a grocery store parking lot from 10:30 until 1:30 waiting for the bus.  The memo read to me over the phone said drop off was at 10:30am and pick up was at 1:30pm.  True. Except the memo was written from the perspective of the Camp Staff - not the poor parents who had to DROP OFF their kids at camp so they could have 5 stinkin' days of peace and quiet before they had to go PICK THEM UP! 

Sitting for three hours in a grocery store parking lot is not something that would normally irritate me. In fact I am prepared for the random traffic jam or unexpected wait in a doctor's office.  In my car you'll find a totebag with my "junk mail" (catalogs, newsletters, school notices, etc), a book or two, magazines, a few pens and highlighters and an ongoing notebook filled with random lists (projects, groceries, to do , etc.)

Like a good little squirrel, I even have those nasty plastic wrapped packages of orange peanut butter crackers

and a case of overpackaged 10% juice AND 90% sugar beverage boxes tucked in the back of the mini-van.

Actually they sit in the back of this mini-van.  Had I an actual mini-van, and not a sad, pathetic, storage disadvantaged, pretender, wannabe, sorry excuse of a mini-van  I could tuck them under a seat...but, sadly, in this model, there isn't room to slide a map under the seat...let alone a case of juice boxes.  So my emergency food stash is exposed to the elements (and the children...)

But I digress....

So, I was saying that I actually enjoy having a good sit .  However, sitting in a busy grocery store parking lot with two four year olds (The Irish twins that just joined our family on Friday) and an increasingly anxious Eleven year old - Not so much!

It was challenging for us all, especially the kids: Poor little lambs...Finally at noon I left Bobby and his luggage in with his sister and her entire foster family (in case the bus actually showed) and made a mercy run to Mickey Dees for the ten of us. Yeah. the ten of us.  After lunch I broke into my tote bag and passed out magazines to the grownups and my stash of catalogs  to the four girls in the other car.  It made the time pass...sort of.  Then I remembered I had two bags of clothes in the back of the min-van headed for Goodwill and I brought those out for the four teen girls to go through....That took 5 minutes. Ughhhhh. Time went soooo slow today.  The little guys held it together for so long...They really didn't whine half as much as I am whining now.....I was proud of their resilience.

After the successful boarding of the bus at 1:30 - I got lost taking the long way home. I had delusions that the boys would nap on the longggg car ride home. Bahahahaha. Not even a cat nap!  I sooo needed a nap today as the seven month old baby brother to the Irish Twins joined our clan last night and had me up at 3 am screaming and at 4 am for a screaming foodfest, followed by more screaming til 5.  I don't do well when my beauty sleep is interrupted.

There I go, digressing AGAIN! So after Bobby boarded the bus ( I cannot bring myself to say drop off or pick up without breaking into a cold sweat) - I was off to the pediatricians for the twins'  exam/check up......I cannot even begin to describe the craziness of the office visit.  I am tooooo tired to do it justice.  Think 3 adults and 2 manic dysregulatied traumatised napless kids on steroids in a 6 foot by 8 foot exam room with no windows for over an hour and a half.  Yeah.

This Momma has had it for tonight.  I promise I will have a much better attitude tomorrow....

Vermont Is Ahead of The Game

Would somebody puhleeeze talk to Vermont and explain that it is still summer? Sum-mer. Summer. A whole month to go until it is officially Fall. Does Vermont know this?  No. Not even a little bit. 

Leaves are dropping, colors are changing, apples are ripening. The windows are mostly shut before bed. Extra blanket thrown on for good measure. It is downright chilly in the morning.

The true testament that Fall is here?  The sign up sheet for the Chicken Pot Pie Supper at Church was passed around for the second Sunday in a row.  How many pies will you bake? Can you work in the kitchen, serve dinner, or will you stay after and do clean up?

Yeah.  Fall is here, allright. Geesh.

Two -Thirds of The New Additon

Yesterday two lovely young brothers joined our home.  For a month or so they are the same age. "Irish Twins" my Irish/English grandmother would say. On Monday their infant brother will also join us (on respite) for a short spell. Hopefully relatives will step up and they can be together.

James and Bobby, our older boys, were thrilled to go to the county fair with the Other Mother and enjoy the rides while I stayed behind and enjoyed the solitude at the lake with the little ones. We were the only ones there!  On a Saturday? Yup. The lake to ourselves.  Solitude. Yes. Peaceful. No. Nonstop squeals, frenetic energy and chatter.  I'm sure it will be irritating at some point - but for the time being I'm enjoying the giggles and silly questions. 

I'm also exhausted from chasing them around....early bedtime for this Momma.

Why Hope And Despair Are Better Than Kale

You remember, a while back, I told you how much I love kale? Lots. Well, this is like a hundred times better than kale. Maybe a thousand times better. Truly. I just had to share this post on "Hope And Despair" from The Livesay Haiti Weblog. Check their work out here.

HOPE AND DESPAIR

“Hope and despair are not opposites. They are cut from the very same cloth, made from the very same material, shaped from the very same circumstances. Most of all, every life finds itself forced to choose one from the other, one day at a time, one circumstance after another. The only difference between the two is that despair shapes an attitude of mind; hope creates a quality of soul. Despair colors the way we look at things, makes us suspicious of the future, makes us negative about the present. Hope, on the other hand, takes life on its own terms, knows that whatever happens God lives in it, and expects that, whatever its twists and turns, it will ultimately yield its good to those who live it well. When tragedy strikes, when trouble comes, when life disappoints us, we stand at the crossroads between hope and despair, torn and hurting. Despair cements us in the present; hope sends us dancing around dark corners trusting in a tomorrow we cannot see. Despair says that there is no place to go but here. Hope says that God is waiting for us someplace else. Begin again.”

(unknown author)

Sayin' Grace

When AK returned to us last fall for his second stay with us in foster care (AK stands for Average Kid) we started saying Grace at dinner. Pretty much it has stuck. We go around the table and each take a turn saying our own prayer/blessing/whatever you call it and it has worked. Part of the ritual is recounting who went (said Grace) last night, the night before, etc. in order to confirm whose turn it is.

So the interesting thing is in the twenty or so years we have been together, it was only two weeks ago while on vacation that The Other Mother and I, alone, have actually held hands and said "Grace" out loud. I've silently prayed with her - plenty of times, actually. She probably doesn't even know when. Holding hands, sitting, walking, laying in bed in the quiet time before sleep. But always in my head. Privately, not aloud. So when The Other Mother and I held hands and said Grace last week while the kids were at camp (and we were together on vacation) it just seemed strange.

It felt a little odd since we usually have a few kids around the table to hold hands with. Even when Baby Dee was with us, I'd hold her whole tiny little hand with just my finger tips and Bobby would stretch over to the high-chair and grab onto her sleeve to complete our family circle. Praying with just The Other Mother it seemed...I dunno. Different. Strange. But, at the same time, very, very nice.

Wordless Wednesdaaaaayyyyyy AHHHHH!!!!

One of the reasons I believe I can successfully parent a child with PTSD is that I have raised a child to adulthood, despite his best efforts, that is a carrier of the disorder as evidenced by the following Wordless Wednesday Photos.

Cilantro Chicken Roll Ups ( Instead of Trauma Anniversay Cake)

It is that time of year again folks. Disregulation, snarkiness, raging. Manic highs and lows in a matter of moments. It begins when the very first fall leaves start coming down. The morning light changes, there is a crisp earthy smell and chill in the air. Summer is ending. Fall is coming. And so is Trauma Anniversary.

In other homes the change of seasons is a cue for back to school shopping, fall sports, another school year. In my home, the change of seasons heralds an oncoming emotional upheaval much like the sound of a train in the distance. It's coming. Coming closer. Closer. Trauma Anniversary is coming. It's here.

You'd think I'd know my kid's signals by now.  Duh.   If you look at the past four summers, anyway.  Because as much as stuff spills out everywhere, the causes of this annual emotional upheaval just aren't talked about very much - especially not for the past three years of therapy. Especially not there.  A new therapist has been hired by the clinic and we've met with her for an initial appointment. The fourth year of therapy begins in September. We'll see. In the meantime we have solid psychiatric support that has remained consistent and supportive. Thank goodness for that.

So, rather than giving you another Trauma Anniversary Cake recipe - I thought I'd share my latest culinary adventure. Ummmmmmm. Easy. Quick, and oh so yummy. Good enough to maybe forget for a while I am parenting a very damaged kid. The bright twang of lime, the peppery bite of onion and zing of cilantro give me something else to pay attention to for a while.

CILANTRO CHICKEN ROLL UPS

Ingredients:
Onion, Lime, Cilantro

Package Taco Seasoning

One pound of Bonesless Chicken,

Package of soft flour tortillas

Recipe:

Saute chicken in seasoning as directed on package

Shred chicken using 2 forks

Squeeze juice of one lime over chicken

Sprinkle generously with raw finely diced onions

Sprinkle to taste with finely chopped cilantro

Spread on soft tortillas

Roll up
Inhale

Garnish:

Lime wedges

Finely diced white onion

Finely chopped cilantro

Optional
Taco sauce on the side

Sunday In My City

Sundays in my city. Sort of. Yeah, so this is really what we did on Saturday.  Close enough. Sunday was pretty much the same thing - except minus the kid who was disregulated and looking to continue his rage from the night before on his Moms.  So rather than ruin everyone's day (which was one of his goals, anyhow) we explained he did not have to go with us, and in fact he was not welcome to join us "since all we do is boring stupid stuff and never have any fun anyway *".  He quickly changed his mind crawled out from under the covers stomped upstairs, grabbed a swimsuit and stomped and sighed his way into the back seat of the van.  He was wide eyed and shocked when I said. "No. Really. You are not coming. Your staying with Alex. Really." As hard as it was. We left.  Alex, 20,  was standing in the driveway looking quite shocked as he had never seen us do that before.  Silly kid. He was an only child up until five years ago! Had he a big brother or sister back in the day when he was pulling his own tantrums, we would have left him with his sibling in a skinny minute. But as an only child we only had the option to work things through or cancel our plans. Thankfully we have choices now.  

We left him in the care of his 20 year old brother while the three remaining civil individuals enjoyed the beauty of the great outdoors, a resonable facsimile which is illustrated below.  We just went to a much bigger lake that was very windy and had white caps. James and The Other Mother worked their arm muscles fighting a headwind out to the other end of the lake and rode the white caps (yes! WAVES!) to shore.  I did the kind thing and remained behind on shore to hold down the blankets blowing in the heavy winds. Since I was already bundled in a towel and hooded sweatshirt, and I stretched out on the blankets to save them from the wind, it just seemed silly to let a good napping opportunity go to waste....

* This is what we did on Saturday that he said was boring stupid stuff : 5 mile bike ride exploring town, and the bike path in morning, tennis on the nice courts in a neighboring town, lunch back home, kayaking on the lake with the loons - a few games of kayak tag,  home to change clothes and play a little Wii, then off to dinner at our dear, dear friends where we dined around the campfire on deep fried turkey, sweet potato fries, grilled corn on the cob and roasted marshmallows.....

Yeah. Boring. And Stupid. Don't forget stupid. 

The Still, Small Quiet Voice of God

I heard the still, small, quiet voice of God the other night and it sounded remarkably like my friend Kay.  Kay is a foster adoptive bio Mom, a well respected author and public speaker and is part of the Mountain Top Moms foster adoptive/support group I attend.  Our monthly dinner meeting was breaking up the other night when someone suggested she write her next book about Foster Parent Support Groups.   She was standing by the table, getting ready to leave, and with one hand tucking her hair behind her ear, smiled and said so quietly and sweetly, "Oh, but it's not my story to tell".

I thought about what she said as I was getting ready for bed on Wednesday and thought about it a few times yesterday and woke up thinking about it today.

Maybe a week prior I had shared my blog address with Kay.  This was very hard to do. As you all know,  I keep our identity and location private so I can blog freely about my life.  During this same time I had read of a call for submissions for a publication on foster care. I began sorting through my blog archives looking for several posts that might fit into the publication's listed parameters.  Ones that weren't too awful and that I could, maybe, submit.

I have to tell you both my literary and personal insecurities came out in full battle regalia soon after.   I am, after all, from New Jersey where deeze, dem and doze and youse guys can be considered formal speech. My blog posts couldn't be submitted for publication let alone shared with someone who knew me. Who was I kidding?  Kay is a published author whose successful books cover a wide range of topics.  I look up to Kay and wanted to put my best foot forward in revealing something so personal and private to someone I knew.  What if she read a boring post? Or, worse yet, one where I was cranky and whiny and as miserable as I sometimes portray my kids to be? 

I was uncomfortable being vulnerable to scrutiny and judgement. Rightly so.

I culled a few into some general groupings: humor, foster/adoption, challenging behaviors, etc. and , and sent an email off to Kay highlighting what I felt were some posts I'd not mind her reading and ones I would select from to send off to this publisher.

I came to the blog world struggling in parenting a child with RAD in a preadoptive placement in our home.  I felt at times like I was living in the Twilight Zone, that I was very alone. Here in the blogosphere I discovered there are MANY (far too many) moms who deal with parenting traumatised kids in a crazy world similar to mine. It was a blessing.

But, somehow along the way I lost sight of why I came here and what I was seeking.   At times, my blog has morphed into a forum where I do not put my best foot forward, I do not speak lovingly and kindly and with empathy about my children and our day to day interactions. I do not always look for the message in my children's behavior, because all I write about is their messes on the bathroom floor.  Instead of turning to them with love and acceptance,  I whine, I pout I rant and rave and type with a pointed finger.  Instead of looking at their families with compassion I publicly list their shortcomings when I could just as easily list my own. 

I do like to go on and on about imagined indignities and perceived injustices I think have been committed against me and mine...and I just wanted to say that I am very sorry. 

Truly sorry. 

All because the still, small, quiet voice of God reminded me that it is not my story to tell.

So what does this mean?

It means that there are a few posts I'd like to cover up and bury in the backyard compost bin  because I have not always been kind and loving in my words.

Not very kind at all. Certainly not kind and loving like the still, small quiet voice of God I heard the other night.

It means there are other posts I'd like to republish to show others and say "See. I didn't need to say that; that was my own fears and insecurities speaking. It was me not feeling competent as a mom reacting to my child's fear of not feeling lovable ...". Instead of me ranting and raving about the daily drama. 

It means there are funny posts where I could say "look; I got that laugh at another's expense to make myself feel better for just a moment because of my own inadequacies".  I'm not very proud to admit I often go for the laugh to make myself feel better when I should be acting better. That is not moving towards good or God.

It means that some posts should just get tossed  tossed in the Too Much Information file.  It is NOT my story to tell.  I am part of the story, but it is not always my story to tell. What I write is true.  I hide identities and locations. You can't make this stuff up.  But it is not my story to tell. I need some fresh batteries for the TMI - Edit button on my Emote Control.  Yeah,  because sometimes my Emote Control just doesn't work at all.

Ultimately, it means I have discoverd somethings about myself, my writing, my desire for a more therapeutic and less judgemental relationship with my children,  and my search for a deeper relationship with God and with all things good. 

Don't worry. I will still tell the story - but will  to spare you the dirty details.  I will still tell the truth , but be more compassionate in the telling.

I will better try to sort through my day when I tell my experiences, and make it my story, because, really, that's the only story I can tell.

Becoming a Little Lop-sided

I'm becoming a little lop-sided.  Cute if you are a rabbit.  But I'm not a rabbit: I'm a wife, quilter, reader, cook, dreamer......more than just a foster-adoptive mom.  I  need to reflect that same balance,  not just in my writing, but in how I spend my time.

Take quilting for example.  I say I love it, I used to love doing it, but have not consistently carved out time to actually sit down and quilt regularly in the past year.  Under my sewing table, is a large laundry basked filled with completed quilt tops that need finishing. I have an embarassing amount of lovely fabric just waiting to be used. Mid-September is the bi-annual quilt show that I have previously entered and quilt guild membership renewal. Quilt magazines are stacked in baskets and coffee tables with sticky tabs marking projects I'd like to try.

My amazing spouse gave me a fancy new sewing machine for my birthday this year for inspiration.  It took me almost a week just to read the manual! I'm still a little intimidated by all the bells and whistles, but I am also excited about the fancy tricks this new rig is capable of.

This weekend, plans have been made for kayaking the pond with the boys and our dear friends. Sleeping late on Saturday. Spend sometime with our eldest son. Do a little house hunting. Sunday morning is Church and our family will share in the preparation, serving and clean-up of coffe hour after church services. With any luck, there will be time at the lake, a nap in the afternoon and something grilled for dinner, maybe head downtown for ice cream and a walk along the bike path by lake for sunset. Nice. 

No matter what we do this weekend, or what crazy stuff life, and my kids and their social workers throw at us, I think balance, the idea of Balance, the actuality of BALANCE, must be a priority. Lop sides are cute on a rabbit and all....

This weekend I will remind myself about to live my life with BALANCE:

Coffee hour.....I'm thinking something blueberry-ish since we picked 20 pounds two weekends ago and 6 pounds last weekend. When I don't feel like baking I need to remind myself how good those berries are going to taste.

Quilting...I have this cute fabric with trout and bass and a fishing theme that would be fun to work with. I need to make myself sit down and sew. Just pick up the pieces and sew.

Reading...Our library has an ongoing book sale in the book-nook under the stairs and yesterday I picked up 5 books in a knitting/murder mystery series that might be just the ticket....I need to remind my self to sit in the recliner and take some time to read.

My spouse. She is just amazing. After twenty years, my heart still skips a beat when I see her when she comes through the door at the end of the day. Being with her is like putting on eye-glasses: everything is crisp and clear and focused. She is my anchor.  My best friend. This weekend when we walk along the bike path or hold hands in prayer at church or fold laundry together I won't need to remind her.  She already knows. 


 

Wordless Wednesday Cucumber Cilantro Salsa

Word Association

Bobby took it upon himself to open a personal-private email account despite several adults in his life saying very clearly it was not allowed. We were obviously concerned why he chose this particular password.

When he was confronted, Bobby said "I picked it because it was a word you wouldn't associate with me".

True.

CRACKHEAD is definitely not the first word that comes to mind when I think of Bobby. Freckles, maybe.

THANKS FOR THE GEN-ER-OS-A-TEA

THANKS FOR THE GEN-ER-OS-A-TEA AND CREAT-TEA-VITY.
YOU'RE A PEACH!









Gotta go - The Architect is coming by and we are making some preliminary sketches of the RAD MOM COMMUNE waaaaay out in the sticks. Can I interest you in a Time-Share????

APPARENTLY I AM BEAUTIFUL

Apparently, I am beautiful. Well, at least according to the blog award I received tonight from one of my favorite folks evvvahhh (said in my wicked best New England accent). Corey. Truly, she handles what life throws at her (and throws up ON her) with equal parts grace, dignity and spunk. It doesn't hurt that she has a wicked sense of humor, too. Plus, she always cooks amazing yummy healthy recipes for her kids instead of feeding them cereal and McD*nalds like I do. Despite her fabulous cooking skills, I still love her. Lots.

The rules for the blog award are: post the award on your blog, link back to the person that gave it to you, and give it to whomever you want to. But make sure they are beautiful.

But, you know me...every one IS beautiful. In their own way.





So, therefore, by the powers vested in me by Corey, I now pronounce the following blogs as recipients of the Beautiful Blogger Award......drum roll, please....



Holly at A Purpose Driven Life. She is passionate about her family, adoption, God, her husband (who is active Military). Love her blog. Love what she's done and is doing to "unorphan". She is a pure, strong voice in the wilderness.

Monica at Noisy, Colorful, Lively She writes about life and foster parenting. Clear, crisp writing. Clear, crip insights. Kinda like Hemingway, but without the crazy. Well, maybe just a little bit of the crazy. Ya, know - enough to keep things interesting.

Megan at The Terry Household. A mom passionate about adoption, orphans and the Congo. What's the Congo? Don't get her started.....Her posts are bright, cheerful, inspiring, painful and hopeful. Usually not all at the same time...cause that would probably give her a headache.

Lulu at What Now? writes so honestly about the joys and challenges of being adopted by a teenage boy. She is a quiet yet steadfast cheerleader. Reading the everyday unexpected joys of sharing life with an older teen makes me want to open our home to a teen or two, and your home, too. Come on - you have room...I know you do.

Lastly, Lynn at An Accidental Advocate. She sooo gets it and speaks it and teaches it. I am still mulling over some parenting lessons she has so graciuosly shared, and deftly explained, at her blog. Honest support on the challenges of adopting older children and raising children with mental illness and alphabet soup.

The Other Mother at The Other Mother's Blog. Because she's my best friend and I love her. You will too.

I could go on and on and give out a bazillion more awards to some fabulous blogs I follow.... becase there really are so many good ones out there...but a beautiful blogger has got to get some beauty sleep!

Welcome to Sunday in MY City

Sunday in MY City:
The Other Mother was the guest Minister at Church Sunday morning while our Minister was on vacation. I must say, she did an amazing job. Once she got going you could have heard a pin drop during her sermon. Our children were focused and complimentary as well. The boys actually SANG some of the hymns. Wow.

It's a good thing her sermon was so good and I felt so spiritually nourished and calm after - because I anticipate my blood pressure will be a little elevated when I speak to both a certain teen and his Social Worker later on today about the, ahem, "Adult Oriented Internet Research" this young man was caught doing in the middle of the night on my laptop. Yeah. Really. Welcome to MY City.



Let me back up a little: Sunday morning, Alex, my oldest boy, was sweet enough to ask me upon awakening: "I have something to tell you but do you really want bad news before church?". Yup. Bring it. And he did. Holy Cr*p.

Apparently, Alex woke up at 3 am to use the bathroom and found an unamed child sitting at the kitchen counter with my plugged in, lap-top computer. When Alex asked what he was doing on my computer - Dude replied "watching a movie". Alex said "Dude - you need to go to bed". Dude shut the computer cover quickly and went to bed. Alex waited and checked what was on the screen, locked the computer and kept all the screens as they were so we could see....Holy Cr*p. Ewwwww. Is that even physically possible????

I checked my history and this has happened a few late nights before in the past month. The other concern is this child takes an evening sleeping pill that is TWICE the dosage of another child's same sleeping pill. In other words, he is on enough sleep meds to knock out a horse, but has still gotten up in the middle of the night to look at internet stuff. Yeah. I'm not even a little OK with this.  I get that it is developmentally appropriate for a almost 14 year old boy to be interested in this (in the 60's and 70's boys sneaked looks at Playboy Magazine...now we have the internet...) But, still, I am not OK with this. Not even a little.

The funny thing is a few weeks ago I was looking for a recipe and couldn't remember the site it came from, so I went to "History" with The Other Mother standing over my shoulder and there some adult sites listed in the wee hours of the morning. I freaked and saw the blog listed right before was an adoption blog that I recently began to visit that advocates and fundraises for special needs kids in orphanages...

So for the past few weeks I haven't gone back to that blog, thinking I picked up a virus there - and the pictures of the orphanage were really p*rn pics in disguise designed to infect your computer ...OK so I have an over-active imagination....but really...It wasn't me looking at...Ewwwww. Gross. Well, you don't want to know. Really. It never occurred to me it was one of the kids looking at stuff  in the middle of the night, cuz they are on sleep meds and show NO interest in my lap top computer...the Wii on the other hand, has their full attention.....

So, any how, back to the CHURCH THING:

Upon arriving to church, a well respected older gentleman asked to have a word with The Other Mother after church. Hmmmmm. During coffee hour they chatted in the back of the room for some time. We were busy with coffee hour and she didn't tell me what the conversation was about until we were at home having lunch. In summary, he asked if she would consider being the Chaplain to the Fire Department. Wow. Holy Smokes! What an honor...I got a little verklempt (happy-proud-weepy) with all that implied....

And being asked to be Fire Chaplain totally balances out the p*rn thing... At least in my world.



PS: Editorial Clarification/Technically speaking: I had previously stated The Other Mother was the Minister at church. She was not. She was the GUEST Minister. No offense to anyone for my error. Sorry, but I am new at this Guest-Minister's Wife Thing...

Last Of The Season

The day was overcast with scattered thunderstorms. Not suitable to kayaking on the pond. The boys were disappointed. Truth be told, we were all disappointed. It was cold and damp enough to warrant one of our favorite lunches: grilled cheese and tomato soup. Yeah, I know that is a winter meal - but hey, here in Northern Vermont, it gets cold early. In fact, it was 45 degrees Saturday night. Really.


The chilly, damp weather today was, however, just fine for bluebery picking.


Don't you know, the 20 pounds The Other Mother and I picked last week will only get us so far through the winter.


We just had to get some more before they are past season. Probably this week they'll be done.


Plus, if the boys participated in picking a few pounds, theoretically, they'd be more inclined to eat them in recipes throughout the year.



Blueberry Pancakes, Blueberry Muffins, Blueberry Smoothies, Blueberry Pie, Blueberry Crisp, Blueberry Scones, Blueberry Crepes, Blueberry Blintzes............hmmmmmmmm

Heee's Baaaaack

He's baaaack. Picked up Bobby at the dock from Camp. He is taller and tanner - but still covered in freckles and just as stinkin' cute as when he left a month ago.


On our ride home, we circled several times on the single road running through a tiny picturesque New Hampshire Town settled in the 1760's. We were searching for the boulder strewn swimming hole I briefly spied through the trees as went over a tiny bridge back on the main road. It had to be somewhere. Thankfully, we saw a woman being walked by her elegant, brindled boxer dog, Ivy. She directed us to a well hidden lane that led to the river and an amazing swimming hole that entertained the four of us for the rest of the afternoon.












Early to bed tonight. Guess who is the preaching at church tomorrow? Yup. The Other Mother is the minister at our United Church (Methodist + UCC). Hmmmm. Doesn't that make me the minister's wife?????