Enough

The Past:
   I was struggling to sew with a kid on each leg and on in a pouch against my chest, her little soft breath tickling my neck.  I was making Christmas outfits for them all, trying to anyway.  I had made outfits for years for my cousins, the family pictures a record of my love for them.  And I did-do love my cousin though they are all grown, most out of high school and starting families of their own.  And so I wanted to continue the tradition with the children in my care, the ones that as far as I was concerned were mine for a time, however long that maybe.  But sewing with little fingers and little  voices is to much, and I realized that I wasn't going to make it, that other outfits would have to be cute enough for the pictures we were having made...for us and for their "real" parents.  December 1997 what a month.  We had a foster son and the girls, all under three- in truth 2.5, 16 months and not even 2 months.  It was as close to magical as my Christmases have come to the ones my mother made for my brother and I.  The delight of little people discovering presents and figuring out how to open them...I don't think we even have pictures we were both so  caught up in the moment.  I had worried over getting things for the girls, that there would be enough for them...we didn't even know how long we would have them, that they would be there to have the gifts.

The Present:
   I am not enough for her.  I have lost the ability to talk to her with the look of hate coming over her face, and in truth the anger in voice comes out far more often than it should.  Or maybe it should I don't know anymore.  Nothing I say to her helps, she does nothing to help me understand how to help her.  I have had enough.  Enough anger, more than enough sadness, enough embarrassment.  I can't make anyone else understand what I am going through.  I worry that this is all making me less than what the little dude needs from me...will I be enough for him.  His little voice telling me that he loves me is what keeps me going some days...nothing else is enough to pierce the wall I have up.  It's made of sadness and hurt, loneliness and desperation.
   She still wants to leave us.  When the daggers are shooting from her eyes I am tempted to give her a suitcase.  16 for the oldest was an age of heartbreak and growth, a strengthening in her understanding of the world...16 for the middle is a continuation of the struggle within herself and with us, with everything.  She has been through three relationships since the beginning of school, turned her back on the religion that six months ago was going to save her even if it meant that she hurt us to join it.  She sleeps here.  She rarely eats, unless it's from a restaurant or the neighbors.  I am so angry with those neighbors that I want to move, but we are stuck.  Stuck with everyone and everything and it's more than enough.  I have struggled since last I posted with faith and belief...just when I think that I can still find solace in faith something else happens...maybe God has had enough with me.  I am losing myself in the sadness that overwhelms me but I am a good actor and can make everyone else smile with my tales of woe...ones that only touch on the problems, not the whole truth.

The Future:
   I have to make changes for myself.  I can't keep trying to make her better, I am not enough.

This is about choices...

This post has nothing to do with the middle child.  It's all about the oldest one.  She is 15...very very 15.  She is beginning to take baby steps towards her future.  This past weekend she was baptized.  Admittedly I have been lax in teaching the kids about religion, so it fell to the nieghborchild and her pastor family to formally introduce the oldest to church on a regular basis.  I have always tried to instil values of acceptance and tolerance in the kids...all of a sudden she made some rather judgemental statements.  Hmmm. About the same time she decided to the lead singer in a friends band.  The band is loosely made up of some friends who kinda play instruments.  I didn't see anything coming of it and had to giggle in my hand when she told me that they we going to be a punk band (the Squnky Rocker on Wonder Pets is the only exposure to punk she has ever had- Oy oy oy!). And the boyfriend...I am not looking forward to him moving because I know that she is going to be so  miserable.  He is a nice kid and bonus he is smart.  All of this hit the perfect storm last night.He pastor told her she was going to go to Hell along with the boyfriend because she hasn't brought him to God, she told a band mate she didn't like the punk stuff (in reality more like goth) because it was depressing and had awkward talking, so she was kicked out of the band and she is hormonal. I believe that she has to figure out a balance for herself.  If I do it for her then how is she going to learn...I can give her advice, but I can't make her take it or even listen sometimes.  Of course when I tell all this to my mom she just laughs and reminds me of the very sage advice she gave me as a teenager...go wash your hair, you'll feel better.  I had the cleanest, shiniest hair in the world for a few years, but I also figured it out mostly and nobody was totally emotionally scarred.  Leap with both feet kiddo towards the future, just trust that a net made of your decisions will catch you.  Mommy will be over here with the camera.

She's on the phone...

Taking to the suicide prevention hot line after cutting her arm.  I am finding no comfort in anything.  I am so angry at the hospital for letting her out, particularly the social worker that really seemed to no care a bit about her.  She told me earlier that she hates our family and that she would rather live in a group home.  She would rather be anywhere but here.  The whole time she was in the hospital and the last week before she left the treatment center she had cried and begged to come home.  I am so tired of the illness that affects her... us all.

Running in circles, chasing normal

The Present:
  I have driven all over California.  At least that is the way it feels today.  In a surprise turn the middle was released from the hospital yesterday.  After an avalanche of phone calls between the insurance company, me, the hospital, a potential care center, my mom and dad, an an agency that provides counseling services and the school district office, the oldest, the youngest and I headed to three hours to pick her up.  She assaulted a staff member day before yesterday, had been put in isolation for so behaviours that quite frankly make me angry, has had several melt downs and is refusing to eat, but hey, she's okay to come home.  I am just destroyed by all of this.  I know that the stress is hurting me in every way possible.  I just don't want to talk to anyone anymore.  I am really not sure I want to deal with her right now.  I feel like I am faking every emotion except anger right now.  I am a big crying mess.  We had been in the car for less than twenty minutes on the way back before she was back to acting the way she was before she went to the hospital.  She asked a random stranger at the gas station we stopped at for a cigarette.  I can't trust her to be in a room by herself.  Did I mention I have two other kids to care for too...hello.  The youngest told her that she can't hurt herself anymore, it hurts his heart.  My words out of the mouth of a three year old.  At that point I just cried because that's all I can do.

The Past:
   I can't write about it today.  I am grieving the little girl that was there too much.
The Future:
   Errands, housecleaning...faking it.

And again.

The Present:
     My ears hurt from being on the phone all day.  My stomach feels like there is a rabid hedgehog poking around in there.  My heart, physically and spiritually, hurts.  Middle is in the hospital again, having been removed in handcuffs from the residential treatment center for trying to hurt herself.  She is in Bakersfield this time.  She can't go back to the place she was and the prospect of her coming home, still unable to cope with her issues makes me ill.  We don't have the money to send her anywhere without the insurance helping and since the benefit was created for the place she was at...I just don't know what will happen.  I ache for the child that grew in my heart from the moment I saw her. I rage against the whatever this all is that has taken her away from me.  No one can put a definitive label on what is the root of it.  I want that closure, the knowledge, give me an answer so I can go inform myself and be prepared.
The Past:
     I took her in becausee she was desperate to go to school like her sister.  She had to be tested for early childhood.   I really didn't think there was a chance she would be accepted, she didn't have any needs or concerns.  She blew the test out of the water.  We were told her I.Q. which was a moment to breathe, she was in the normal range, something that worried at the back of my mind since the moment the doctor in Alaska told us that she was FAS.  It was good to breathe.
The Future:
     A big pop up question mark.  Nobody has any answers, least of all me.  It sucks.

Today, May 27, 2012

I blinked and it was already May.  As a child I remember that May was always the longest month next to December-waiting for school to end and Santa to arrive makes time slow when you are under 12.  As an adult it seems like the months grow shorter, there is never enough time to get things done.  So here we are...
 The Present:
     The middle child is still at a residential treatment place to get help for her depression and cutting issues.  I am still angry...no an anger anger really but a sadness anger.  Truth be told there is a lot of resentment there as well.  I don't understand why she chooses to hurt herself.  I know the clinical responses, I can read thank you...I just don't understand why she does it...I really don't think she wants to, but she wants attention from others and this is a very dramatic way to get it. 
      Oldest child...she is doing okay.  She makes me crazy in a whole other set of ways, most notably her constant mood swings and attitudes.  She is trying hard to grow up and be responsible, but some days the emotional growth and the physical growth are hundreds of miles apart.
      Youngest Child:  He got his beautiful golden curls cut off today.  I am weepy.  He looks so odd to my eyes right now.  He steals my kisses and I adore him. He needs a nap.
      The Husband: My rock...I love him more than the day I married him.  He puts up with me and the monsters.
       Me:  Angry, fat (okay huge), in pain.  I  some days don't want to get up, but I do.  Constantly worrying is taking a huge toll on me, emotionally and physically.  I want to go see my family in Texas, but I can't because I have to pay the bills from the middle's problems...and I resent it so much knowing that I shouldn't resent it because it's an illness (it had better be anyway).

The Past:
 They were sitting on the counter in the bathroom, wrapped in towels as we blew their hair dry.  Laughing. 

The Future:
 I will go wipe my eyes and blow my nose and go sew.  I can pretend that I am not on the ragged edge of sanity and that I am not stressed beyond measure over this whole mess...

Enchilada machine!

As I just titled that I had a lovely thought...if I could have an enchilada machine that made me nothing but cheese enchiladas with green onions I would be happy forever...anyway...
I am the enchilda machine. Vegetarian corn and black bean sour cream enchiladas to be exact. Three big pans of them. Now go ahead, ask me what we are having for dinner. Yes you are correct, fried chicken from the gorcery store! At least that's what the hubs is having...I am not hungry (except for cheese enchiladas) and the kids are outside playing so I have no idea what they want.

Why is Mommy Mad tonight???

Because it's 1:39 and I have the massive hootie owls and need to go to bed, but I'm not tired. The sleep doctor is going to be so mad that I haven't been sleeping 7-8 hours a night. I just can't do it. He says that sleeping helps you maintain a healthy weight.
And I am not really mad today wasn't horrible other than getting hounded to take the girls to the pool from the moment I woke up. I did take them...it was lovely to have a stress free two hours. And they cleaned their nasty bathroom to get to go.

Why Mad Mommy

I have other blogs...well technically I have other blogs with much more fun names, but I can't recall the passwords. To be honest I didn't even remember this one, but here it is, so I will use it. Mad Mommy was named that because at the time I felt a little crazy, dealing with the girls and teaching. Now, it's even more true, except there is another small human in the mix and I am not teaching. Moving was a good thing, don't get me wrong. I love our house, we have nice neighbors (even if they give me the number to Supernanny), and there are flowers everywhere. California is laid back and I'm sure interesting, except we never go anywhere. We can't go anywhere because neither of the cars can hold all of us now, but oh well. And I guess that makes me a little crazy. The girls are older...13 and 12. I don't remember being mean and hateful to my mother, but if I ever was I am so sorry. It seems like the oldest tries to be hurtful on a daily basis. I am a HORRIBLE mother because all I ever do is clean the house, cook food and take care of the baby, who is the most STUPID baby EVER and because I won't play the Wii with her. Oh and I won't take her to the grocery store to buy a soda or let her pay to take us out to dinner (apparently I am a HORRIBLE cook since she asks to eat out EVERY night). I wouldn't let her buy a swimsuit that was two sizes too big and would have fallen off when it was wet-EVIL. I offered to pay the difference in the cost of a swimsuit that fit, but wouldn't just give her the money-TERRIBLE. I told her I would give her 20.00 to make up for the 20.00 she lost in the dressing room trying on the swimsuits so she could get something but not a toy-HORRIBLE. I won't take her to the pool in her swimsuit from last year that's way too small and falls down in the front and rides up in the back-AWFUL. I want her to shower every night because she has P.E. everyday and well, frankly she smells-LAME. I make fish sticks and salad for dinner-GROSS. I make meatloaf for dinner-BARF. I tell her to eat a piece of fruit-DUMB. I know that teenagers are hard to deal with, but her attitude makes it very hard to like her. My heart aches for her. I want her to be respectful and smart, but I get hate and failing grades. I want her to have friends and be healthy, but I get daily chronicles of how much all the people at school hate her and food being turned down because it's remotely good for her. I think she would live on processed chicken patties and cake if she could. I want her to do simple chores (sweep, put laundry in the dryer, rinse the dishes etc.) and some days I get a cheerful helper, but most days I get eye rolls and sighs and no help. I am so jealous of the relationship that other mothers have with their daughters that I feel embarrassed for myself. I wanted to be the mom who kept a perfect house, made delicious food, volunteered at school and was really cool. I wanted to sew cute little dresses and make quilts with them, teach them to make dolls and to cook...but I can't.
This post has veered off course I think...I need to talk to someone. More later.

Whoa..how did I get here again?

Oh look, I am alive, kicking and blogging. When last I typed I believe I was 40, fat and the mother of two. Hmmm, time- but not- fat flies. I now live across the continent, have an almost 11 month old baby (imagine my surprise) and had a couple of birthdays in there...oh and I am still fat. I didn't even know this account still exsisted, but hey, I'll make a go of it again.

I told you so...

I tried to tell you. I am terrible about keeping the blog up. It's not that I don't have tons to say, it's just that I suffer from a horrible time management condition. I try, but it just never seems like I can get it all done. Maybe I suffer from the myth that I am indeed Superman's lumpy twin sister, maybe it's because I lack motivation...maybe just maybe I have too much to do.
I've been trying to get all my school stuff done. I want to be able to press the magic button on my laptop and enter my grades early so that I can spend my workday moving rooms. Weeeee. I like my room. It feels like mine. I hate having to share. And I hate it when the kids come in after we have all sat there eating our lovely school lunches (three weeks of school, three times we have been served hot dogs) and comment on how the room smells.
But anyway.
I promise to try and keep up better. Really, and I will try to care just a little more.

And blah...

I don't feel good. I feel blah and yucky and I can't talk about a whisper. My husband commented "how very tragic." I am believing he meant it in a "I'm sorry you are ailing my fairest love" sort of way and not in a "Thank God I'll get to go right to sleep instead of listening to you politely way." Maybe I'll just infect him.

Well yuck...

I survived the first day back at school. It was very strangely quiet this morning in the hall. The little darlings just saved it up till they got to class. I really am not liking eight graders and certain sixth graders. If I survive this year and we don't move* please oh please* I want to beg to have an advanced class and a everybody else class for eight grade. I will have had the ones I choose for it for the third year. I just feel like it would better serve them to have a more advanced class.
Saw Eragon tonight. I adored the dragon. And I like Jeremy Irons. Call me plebian but I liked the movie. I feel more than a little ill however from the popcorn and pizza. Or maybe it was the disgusting hot dog from lunch. I have got to remember to take the lunch I make from home.

Trauma revisited

So, I wrote about the salad issue. About an hour later the bug issue came to it's ugly anntenaed head. From the tv room we hear a scream, then panicked footsteps to the computer room. There was giant cockroach. Given the way the oldest was acting, it was armed and demanding salad and a dining companion. Her loving father and I said grab a shoe and kill it. This was met with numerous grumbled and whined responses. She finally guilted her little sister into playing mighty bug killer. It was a loving show of sisterly love and compassion...until the youngest brought the decedent to show her daddy. The oldest climbed off her chair and onto the table while screaming. It was very dramatic, some how though I doubt it was good parenting that I laughed.

Oh Trauma

Yes I know I missed yesterday. It wasn't like I didn't think about my new found need to share my life with the two people who might by chance read this...I just didn't do it. Yesterday was the last day of winter break. *Sigh* While I am ready for everyone to go back to school and work, I am not ready to go back. I need a few days of alone time.
I will confess I am not a great housekeeper and when I get a cleaning jones on, that's what I want to do, clean. I can't be very productive with everyone here. Give me some everyone gone, heavy metal on the radio, an empty vacuum and wipes and I am a tornado of energy and industry. Okay maybe I exaggerate, but I do prefer it just me as I try to clean.
Yesterday as I sat down to try and get some school stuff done or as I tried to sort the million baskets of stacked laundry someone or something came up. That and my family's obsessive need to eat three meals a day. Ordinarily if I had said go make a sandwich I would have been able to complete my task and go clean up the mess of sandwich making ecstasy later, but no, not yesterday, nothing would suit unless it was made by me. The oldest watched me make a lovely warm turkey...salad...wrap thingie, she commented on all the ingredients, saw it go in the pan to warm, saw the lettuce be washed and arranged to be the wrappers, saw the yumminess be put on the lettuce and rolled up. I made it pretty on the plate even. Now before I go any further let me just add that the husband had turkey, cheese and crackers. The youngest opted for this too after deciding pizza flavored fish shaped crackers were not quite all she had hoped for. I did ask three times if the oldest wanted to have that too-the turkey combo not the fish snacks. So she sat down to eat. One bite and there was a copious amount of tears. Apparently I hate her because I made her eat salad. You try convincing her that salad is a loose term that does not always involve lettuce. Okay lettuce as a wrapper, but there was no horrible tomatoes or other veggies. The child would live on processed chicken nuggets, chicken sandwiches with mayo *shudder* and ketchup (because as we all know ketchup is NOT made of horribly terrible tomatoes). Somehow suggesting that she make herself a peanut butter sandwich caused hysterics.
But as I see by the clock it's time to get ready for work...I'll continue later because the bug trauma is even more fun than salad trauma. I don't want to go...just the thought makes me want to cry. It's not that I don't love parts of it and some of the students...it's just everything else.

So Here We Are...

It's that time of year. The printer is whizzing off my resolution list and I am giddy with anticipation to begin them. Okay maybe not giddy, but at least looking forward to starting fresh. January 1, the start of school, the first day of summer camp...I love or loved these days as it meant a chance to reinvent myself. So here we are, reinvention eve. I will be a blogger. I promise to try to do it regularly. I have lots of opinions and no qualms about expressing them. Consider yourself warned. You can always disagree, because we are humans and that's normal, whoever is right or wrong will be decided when the hedgehogs take over the world.