Jack's New Family, An Older Child Adoption Story

The Crab Chronicles

I have decided to return to my other blog, which is entitled The Crab Chronicles, since it documents the day to day life I have now, with two kids who were both born in July  [thus we are all Cancerians or "crabs" - get it?! Clever, huh?! Tough to think of catchy names sometimes - LOL] So I took off password protect and it's open to all - just click on it:

http://deescribbler.typepad.com/my_weblog/

I will leave up Jack's New Family for a while. I am still hoping to launch my own website one of these days soon, so more changes are in the works. Anyone with any catchy website titles, e-mail me and let me know. I checked and adoptbigkidstoo.com is open, but I'm not in love with it. I want to encourage people to adopt non-babies, but "adoptnonbabies" or "adoptolderkids" sound too weird. My other thoughts are too far out there, like "nodiapers.com" or "bigkidsrock." If you're a creative person, help me out here!

Food Glorious Food [cross posted]

Michael announced last night, just before we were headed upstairs to bed, that he was hungry. This is the child who is a very picky eater, so I said "What do you want, some more swiss steak and rice leftover from dinner?"

He made a face of great horror and disgust.

"How about a banana?"

Again, the face - like he just ate a big ol' bug.

"OK, what about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"

Again the face. "No!"

We went through a list. He didn't want raisins, Ritz crackers, an apple, yogurt, not even ice cream. Finally I said "Well what DO you want?" He looked wary, and kept quiet.

Alesia, who had been listening to all this, muttered sotto voce "He wants the CHIPS!"

I looked at Michael. "You want the Pringle's potato chips Granny said you couldn't have?"

He nodded.

"Forget it. You don't need junk."

He pouted. He threw himself down on the sofa, head down on the cushion. I ignored him, and calmly got up and headed to the back of the house. "It's past bedtime. Come give Granny a kiss."

I am thrilled he wants to eat, but trying to direct him to foods with some food value is tough. He and Alesia were very upset with me last weekend at the hotel because I wouldn't let them eat Snickers bars every five minutes. "But we have our own money!" Alesia wailed. "Doesn't matter. The point is, you need to eat healthful food," I retorted. It was rather hard to say no. I wanted a Snickers in a bad way, having been subjected to the same horrible food as the kids.

The most success we have had in feeding Michael [besides pilmeni a/k/a Russian ravioli] is the taco soup recipe I think I mentioned recently. I found the recipe, and I am happy to share it, below.

Another funny conversation - last night, after teeth brushing, Michael was dawdling, didn't want to go to bed. He'd been out of school for two days, remember.

"I don't want go to school tomorrow. OK?"

"Well, I don't want to go to work, but we have to go."

"Noooooo! Mom! I don't like school!"

"Well honey I'd rather stay home too, but that's life."

"No school!" More pouting.

I just herded him towards his room, talking calmly and matter-of-factly - "Sweetie, all your life you will have to go places you don't want to go. Might as well get used to it now," I sighed. I thought about something I read the other day, about telling your children something along the lines of work hard in school, so someday you can spend all day in a cubicle. Yikes.

Then again, Michael told me the other day, looking at a photo on the internet of kids in Kazakhstan playing on a huge pile of hay, "I've slept there before." His birthmother, who drank their rent money, made him sleep outside in hay sometimes. The very thought makes me itch. Life in a cubicle is far superior to being homeless.

Sorry about the weird spacing below. Note: We didn't use the ranch dressing mix, or the chilies. It was still very tasty.

Paula Deen's Taco Soup

2 pounds ground beef 2 cups diced onions 2 (15 1/2-ounce) cans pinto beans 1 (15 1/2-ounce) can pink kidney beans 1 (15 1/4-ounce) can whole kernel corn, drained 1 (14 1/2-ounce) can Mexican-style stewed tomatoes 1 (14 1/2-ounce) can diced tomatoes 1 (14 1/2-ounce) can tomatoes with chiles 2 (4 1/2-ounce) cans diced green chiles 1 (4.6-ounce) can black olives, drained and sliced, optional 1/2 cup green olives, sliced, optional 1 (1 1/4-ounce) package taco seasoning mix 1 (1-ounce) package ranch salad dressing mix Corn chips, for serving Sour cream, for garnish Grated cheese, for garnish Chopped green onions, for garnish Pickled jalapenos, for garnish Brown the ground beef and onions in a large skillet; drain the excess fat, then transfer the browned beef and onions to a large slow cooker or a stockpot. Add the beans, corn, tomatoes, green chiles, black olives, green olives, taco seasoning, and ranch dressing mix, and cook in a slow cooker on low for 6 to 8 hours or simmer over low heat for about 1 hour in a pot on the stove. To serve, place a few corn chips in each bowl and ladle soup over them. Top with sour cream, cheese, green onions and jalapenos.

Soon to be Armed and Dangerous

I just talked to Michael's physical therapist, the remarkable Colleen, with Children's Healthcare, and she said they are still working on making the hand/arm, but it should be done soon. She said some of the parts of the myoelectrics had to come in from Germany, and the myoelectrics are always stopped and searched by Homeland Security. OK, I can deal with that. The good news, though, is that once the components are all here, Michael can get his hand. We don't have to wait and see what the insurance company will do, since Shriner's is picking up the costs. YAY!!!

I know that once Michael gets his arm he will have much more confidence, and feel less "different" - at least I pray that will be the case.

I wrote yesterday about our dreadful food experiences over the weekend. I forgot to mention that the best meal we had - in my opinion - was lunch yesterday at the Burger King in Clayton Georgia! Yes, it was supremely unhealthy, but we didn't have to deal with tasteless plastic food or tattoed or pierced wait people. Michael got a Burger King paper crown, and wore it, with great delight, through most of the rest of the day, except a few occasions when Alesia was wearing it. When it was time to unpack the car he gave me some attitude - "I KING, I no have to unload car!" to which I replied something along the lines of your better move your kingly little popka...

I watch with wonder the various stages of the brother/sister dynamic with my kids. They go through periods when they fuss constantly. All weekend, they were allies. Yesterday they spent a lot of time in the car watching movies together. When we got home and I made them go outside and get some exercise, Alesia took a walk and Michael followed on his skateboard. While they watched the movie last night they were curled up together on the loveseat like puppies.

I think perhaps sometimes if I'm hard on both of them, they band together against the common foe, Big Bad Mom. I fussed at them a good bit over the weekend about hotel etiquette [mainly being quiet], about not buying junk food out of the candy machines, and behaving themselves around Bud and Jean, who are elderly and frail. They were good, most of the time.

On Saturday morning, Alesia was getting on my last nerve, typical teen stuff, and we bickered a good bit. Finally, before lunch on Saturday, as I was parking the car, with only Michael in the back seat, I glanced in the mirror and saw his pouty face and asked him what was up. "Why you and Alesia always fighting, Mom? I so tired of it." I was dumbstruck. I felt ashamed. Here I was, the grownup, and I was being a total b**** and he called me on it. I said a prayer and resolved to try and be nicer during the trip, and I think I succeeded, for the most part.

I was reminded of the fact that I have to cut Alesia extra slack on Saturday afternoon, ironically at the Fun Depot. I had walked around a lot with the kids and was ready to sit down and drink something cold. I told Alesia [looking her in the eye, talking slowly] to keep an eye on Michael and I was going to the snack area, downstairs. I went down, got my snack [the aforementioned rubbery funnel cake] and people watched, one of my hobbies. About 15 minutes later, Alesia and Michael came running up, panic on their faces.

"Mom! You're here! We were so WORRIED!!" they said, almost in unison.

"I said I was coming down here to get a snack, remember? I asked y'all if you wanted to come?" I countered, perplexed.

"I thought you said you were going to the bathroom!" Alesia said, still breathless.

"Well, no. You didn't listen, kiddo. I've been right here, just like I said." I said mildly. They went off to play some more games.

I think this is what happens with Alesia in class. She gets excited or distracted and THINKS she hears the teacher correctly, and she doesn't. Then she doesn't turn in the assignment or prepare for the test, because she has the wrong information. I am still struggling with how much to bug her and how much to back off.

I am praying daily about the situation with my brother. The kids sent him a nice birthday card, and called to wish him happy birthday last week, singing on his answering machine, and he never responded. I sent him an amazon.com gift certificate and he never acknowledged it. He called Mother the day before his birthday, but the kids were in school. I had invited him to join us in Asheville and he never even answered the e-mail. I asked him to please let me know when he is coming in town next, so he could talk to Michael about the typical puberty guy things for me. No response. It just grieves me, and mother, terribly. He used to be a good brother and son, and we were all close. Now he has become more and more remote. I finally e-mailed him this morning:

My kids’ birth fathers were never around. They have almost no experience of male family members. Michael adored his much older birth brother, and the boy killed himself when he was 20. Alesia saw her mother "date" a series of men who never hung around to parent her. So my kids have never been able to love and trust a man. Men have always let them down. Now you are letting them down, by not calling, not coming to see them, and seemingly not caring.

You are either part of the solution or part of the problem. I am praying you will change soon, and be part of the solution.

If you pray, please pray he will respond to this, even if he's mad. I have tried being diplomatic. I've tried being a pest. The kids have sent cards and photos, left voicemails, etc. I've done everything I know to do. My brother is a good and decent guy, but I fear there is some issue that he's not sharing with us, and I worry. Try as I might I cannot seem to get him to understand how his actions have repercussions with all of us. I am just bewildered.

Mountains and Bad Food

I've felt bereft and disconnected for more than two days, without access to a computer. Since we got home earlier this afternoon I've rushed to unpack and get connected again.

We left Friday morning and headed north. Our first stop was the Mayfield Dairy, [http://www.mayfielddairy.com/] to tour the plant and see a film about Mayfield Dairies. The kids got to wear hairnets, and see a real dairy processing plant. Unfortunately, we didn't get to see ice cream being made. Also, it was close to lunch time so we didn't get ice cream at the end of the tour.

I think it's good for kids to see that food is processed before we get it. They also saw how clean the place was, and how much care was taken to process everything in a clean, high quality way. Mayfield has a special process that takes weird smells and tastes out of the milk - that's why their products are superior. At least, according to Mayfield.

Yes, it's propaganda. However, I will never buy anything but Mayfield products again. They ARE superior! If you don't live in the south, and have no access to Mayfield, I'm so sorry.

We got to Asheville after  a lovely drive through the mountains.  For those of you unfamiliar with Asheville, here's some more info.  [http://www.exploreasheville.com/index.aspx]  -  I don't know why my  web addresses often don't  come out  right...

We stayed at the Baymont Inn. We mainly chose it because it has an indoor swimming pool. The pool was small, but nice. The kids and I enjoyed  the jacuzzi and the pool.

The Baymont Inn is a nice hotel, nothing wrong with it. They have free coffee and cookies in the lobby. It's clean. However, sleeping there was a NIGHTMARE. First, there was no rollaway bed for Michael - and we had been assured there would be one. Second, both nights we were awakened buy guys in the next room playing their TV really loud in the middle of the night. Poor Michael slept on the floor, in a nest made up of both bedspreads, on Friday night. He was fine, but not terribly comfortable. Last night, he and Alesia shared a double bed. Alesia is an active sleeper. Poor Michael. She says he kicked her. Poor Alesia.

Several times in the night, last night, I was awakened by Alesia talking. The first time, she said  loudly "OK, I've had ENOUGH!" and I thought oh-my-god there will be violence! I peered over at them, alert for mayhem. She rolled over and went back to sleep. 

Friday night, I was sooooo tired, I just tried to ignore the blaring TV next door, and went back to sleep. Last night, I called the front desk. Then I went back to bed and listened while the phone rang next door about 40 times, while Alesia softly snored. The TV kept blaring. It was a comedian, probably on HBO, spouting a lot of curse words. I was glad the kids were asleep. I called the desk again. The guy said he had knocked on the door and there was no response, and they wouldn't answer the phone. I suggested he call the police, and he said it didn't warrant that! aaaargh....!

In my groggy state, I thought seriously of knocking on Mother's door and getting the Gold Evening Purse. Granny never goes on a trip without her trusty .38, loaded with hollow points, in her gold evening purse.  It looks like something Liberace would store a weapon in. I wanted to just knock on the door of the party room, wearing my blue JCPenney's bathrobe [I forgot my gown and was forced to sleep in my heavy robe], with my hair all sticking up, blast them with night breath, pull the trusty .38 out of it's purse/holster and, snarling, ask them "Do you feel LUCKY!?"

Of course, I didn't do that, but while I was fantasizing, I fell back asleep.

Our dinner Friday night was at the Atlanta Bread Company, an excellent little bistro, normally. The food was awful. Maybe it's only IN Atlanta that the place can produce quality fare. We were tired and we just wanted to eat a sandwich and a bowl of soup, and get back to the hotel. My potato soup had long grey strips of peel in it. YUCKO. My sandwich was supposed to be chicken cordon bleu and it was exactly like plastic. Worst of all, far worse than the food, was the guy who took our order. He was a young man with a punk haircut, a ring through his nose, and a long scar on his hairy arm. I wanted to say "How long are you released from your captors to make sandwiches, Cutie Pie?!" Of course I didn't. I tried to just keep the children out of his line of sight, particularly Alesia.

Yesterday, we ate lunch and dinner with our friend Bud and Jean, who live in a retirement community in Ashville. They are both close to 90 and are longtime family friends. Bud is a retired navy doctor and never married or had children [Jean is his sister] and so we are his "family." Mother talks to him every week.

The food at the retirement home was dreadful. Looked good. Tasted awful. I was reminded again of the fact that I'd rather take a long dirt nap than exist on food with no salt, oil, or sugar. Last night for dinner we had takeout fried chicken and potato salad. Bud used to be a gourmet cook, but he's almost 90 and in poor health. He would not let us take them out to eat. He wouldn't let us bring in food. Thank god for tasty hor d'ouvres - potato chips and homemade clam dip.

Yesterday, we ate at The Huddle House for breakfast. Really bad service, mediocre food. Our waitress has a big butterfly tattoo on her NECK. Yuck. Today, we ate at the little breakfast buffet in the hotel. I couldn't eat the plastic looking eggs or sausage, so I had whole wheat toast and yogurt. Yucko.

We rode to downtown Asheville several times, but it was impossible to find parking. There was an AIDS walk happening yesterday. Downtown has all sorts of funky little stores - a lot of antiques and pottery places. We hit one antiques place on the outskirts of town where we could park. It was nerve-wracking though - Michael kept picking up everything and playing with it.

Probably the highlight of the trip, for me and the kids - well, besides driving through the mountains - was a trip to the Fun Depot in Asheville. It's an indoor amusement park for kids: http://www.ashevillesfundepot.com/events.php

They have bumper cars, go karts, a climbing wall,  arcade games,  mini golf, etc.  Michael was upset that  he was too short for the go karts, but there was nothing I could do. I was upset because the funnel cake I got was tough as leather.

The Fun Depot must have been built by religious conservatives, because there are bible verses everywhere. A sign at the front says all clothing must be modest. It was blessedly free of really bizarre looking people. The verses were a bit creepy to me, though, because they were so incongruous. I was a little afraid they'd ask if we were "saved" before we could leave.


It was fun seeing our friends. I tried to find a way to see a cousin of mine who lives there, but he had to work most of Saturday and we could never find time.

Overall, it was a great trip. Mother and I laughed on the way back saying it was the best weekend trip ever, except for the dreadful food.

The Mermaid Family

Our movie feature tonight was Mermaids, the 1990 film starring Cher and Winano Ryder - before she drank too much cough syrup and became a kleptomaniac. It's an excellent film. I remember watching it when it came out in 1990 and totally identifying with the teenaged daughter. Now I totally sympathize with the mother. The mother/daughter relationship is amazingly accurate. I laughed at a lot of the things the daughter said, while Alesia looked uncomfortable.

Alesia always shouts at the TV screen when she gets hyped up watching a movie. It's rather funny. There is no doubt who she likes in a movie. I am always a bit perturbed, however, when we are watching some heavy dramatic scene, rife with undercurrents of dramatic tension, and she breaks the silence after the big, impassioned speech by saying "Do you think he's CUTE? I don't think so."

Tonight, while watching Mermaids, she kept shouting at the teenaged daughter. "NOOOO! Don't wear those ugly boots! Are you crazy?" At one point Winona Ryder's character is terrified she's pregnant after she just kisses a guy, and Alesia shouted "You're an idiot! You can't get pregnant from kissing!" - and Michael chimed in "You no get baby with kiss! Duh!" I looked at him and thought oh lord, how much does he know?! We have to have The Talk. Soon. Yikes.

Mother said when she picked up Michael after school today that he was way excited. We are going to the mountains tomorrow, up to Asheville, NC. The kids have a holiday. Mother has close friends there and I have a cousin there, from Dad's side of the family. I am looking forward to letting the kids relax by the indoor pool, while I loll about, possibly even reading a BOOK! Good golly Miss Molly!

Michael doesn't know much about mountains. Kazakhstan is part of the Russian Steppe, which is a fancy way of saying prairie. FLAT land, we used to call it in East Tennessee. I'll never forget my drive across it from Astana to Petro last May, and the endless vistas of nothing but grass, and the occasional shack and matching outhouse. Michael's one experience with a mountain is from our trip to Almaty, where we stayed for several days. We took a funicular to the top of a mountain just outside the city, and had a fabulous view. The guide told us everything in Russian, then English. I tried to explain to Michael that I don't think they have that in Asheville, but I don't know if he really understands.

Michael was so excited when I got home that when I went in the backyard for a few minutes he followed me out there, grabbing a toy hockey stick and whacking the ball around the back yard. He was yelling and whacking the ball, the tall grass, whacking the ball into my vegetable garden once, which earned him a mini-lecture. We still have tomatoes and carrots out there. He was just revved up! Mom watched him through the screen door and commented "He's been like this all afternoon!"

I remember going to Asheville many times as a kid, and going through Biltmore House, America's only real castle! I used to pretend I lived there, and I was a princess. When I took Alesia there a couple of years ago it was all changed. It's big business now. Just to go in and look around, not taking any special tours, was almost $100! We didn't see half of it, because we didn't have time. Alesia enjoyed looking out the windows much more than seeing the priceless antiques and artworks. Oh well.

Asheville now is a mecca for artists and antique dealers. It's a booming community but it feels like a small town. My cousin always urges people to move there. If I could find a job there, I might move, but that's unlikely.

When it was bedtime tonight, I watched Alesia put on her pajama pants, after I requested she not walk around her little brother [for the umpteenth time] wearing just panties and a shirt. She complied, pulling the waistband of her pants down around her hips. I just looked at her and shook my head. "Just once, before I die, I want to see you wear a pair of pants at your natural waistline, girlfriend."

She started giggling. "No! It'll never happen!"
"Wait until you're 30, kiddo."
"No! I'm not going to let myself go!"
[Ah, how cruel they are at this age.]
"Kiddo, once you're past 30 or 35, it all starts to go. Don't make fun of my elastic waist pants. I hope to live long enough to see you in them one day!"


Well, I didn't mean I wanted to see her in my exact pants one day, yuck, but just I would love to see her put on a few pounds. She will probably be one of those disgusting beauties - clearly not related to me biologically - who stay slim forever. I can only hope..

[Note: you may not see another post from me until Sunday. Have a fun weekend!]

Free Association

Michael had his first appointment with the orthopedist today. He has to see him about what we call his "short arm" because amputation sites can sometimes have issues. His site is considered very good. What can happen with growing kids is that the amputated bone grows into a splintery shard and it's really painful. The doctor said if it happens, he will tell me because it will be significant pain. I pray that never happens.

Michael has grown 1.5 inches in less than six months, but I don't know if that's normal or average, or what. I refuse to look at the growth charts most parents cherish because they show my son as being in the 0 percentile, and that's ridiculous. You say the words "growth chart" to me and I get irritated!

Mother and I think he is in a growth spurt. We made Taco Soup last night for dinner and he ate 3 bowls! [Fabulous recipe - another of Paula Deen's] This is a little guy who is such a picky eater he gets irritated whenever we say we're going to a restaurant, even a kid-friendly restaurant like Fuddruckers.

I am not having any luck with finding a publisher for my book about adopting Alesia. However, my brain is always percolating with ideas.

I was thinking the other day about a book about what Jesus might have been doing between the ages of 12 and 30, when the bible is just silent about his life. Dan Brown says in The DaVinci Code that Jesus got married and had a family with Mary Magdalene. Whether that irritates you or not [and remember, it's FICTION, ding ding ding] it's a legitimate and fascinating question. I like to think he studied other religions, maybe traveled the world.

I started thinking about this because I have a friend who says he is a Buddhist now. He was raised as a conservative christian, then rebelled and said for many years he was an atheist. So I think becoming a Buddhist is much better, much more healthy.

I started poking around a little on the internet yesterday, and there are a lot of parallels between the teachings of Jesus and buddhism. I found an interesting article written by a Catholic theologian about the many parallels between Jesus and Buddha and was entranced right up until the end - when the author said something alnog the lines of "But we're right and the buddhists are wrong."

The best article I've seen so far is this one:

http://www.gracecathedral.org/enrichment/interviews/int_19980217.shtml

[Please don't send me lectures in the Comments. No matter what your religious persuasion, if you are a thoughtful, thinking person then you are not threatened by comparing great religions. I personally witness to others in my own way because I think being a good example is the most powerful witness. I can show you what my faith looks like. I can't find it for you, though.]

I ran my idea about this book by my pastor and he said, basically, Go for it! Of course, I don't have time because it would require so much research. It would tick off a lot of people, too, if I said I think Jesus studied other religions. NOT that I'm afraid - I just don't want to be in a firestorm of controversy.

Anyway, I also have other ideas I want to write about. I am fascinated by the idea there were Cherokees who married whites simply to avoid being force-marched to Oklahoma on the Trail of Tears. I think my great great grandmother Sarah Nelson was the product of one such union.

I have thought about going back to the 3 screenplays I have written, and turning them into books. However, two of them have single childless women as the main characters, and I don't know that I could write those characters effectively, now. I don't have faith that I am that versatile a writer. [Then again, how arrogant of me to think I could write from the perspective of Jesus!]

Anyway, I believe we have to keep the dialogue open. We have to explore these and other topics about faith, about ethnic identity, etc. I never seem to have time, just stolen moments at lunch and right before bed.  I love my kids more than my life, but what I wouldn't give for a couple of uninterrupted hours every day to write...

Not Keeping Up With the Joneses

In the interest of fair play, I must point out something about my brother which I failed to mention yesterday.

He does not care AT ALL what anyone thinks about him. This is good and bad. Bad, because he should care SO MUCH about what I think! I can certainly run his life better than he can. He just needs to get hip to that fact, quick.

The good thing is, he is no slave to any sort of fashion or fad.

There's a famous story in our house about when Brother was a first grader, he decided one day that he didn't want to kiss Dad goodbye in front of the school, where the other little boys could see. It upset Dad terribly. We're a very affectionate family. The day after, he looked at the little boys, shrugged, and gave Dad a big kiss on the cheek. That's been sort of the rule with him ever since. Even after he grew up and became a captain in the army, when Dad was around Bro never hesitated to hug or kiss him - he didn't care what anyone thought.

That sort of self-confidence is what I wish he would teach Michael.

Michael wanted a rolling backpack because his schoolbooks are so terribly heavy, and he has to walk a little ways when he gets out of school, to where Mother picks him up. So we went to Target over the weekend and I got him a rolling case. It was the only choice - their stock was depleted. The only other "boy" rolling backpack lookde too immature for Michael, who is 11. The new case is great. It looks like a small suitcase. Well, the kids at school are teasing him, telling him it's a suitcase. I told him a few minutes ago, on the phone, "Son, it just DOESN'T MATTER what anyone says! Who cares?! They aren't going to carry your books for you. To heck with 'em." Michael said his teacher had told him the same thing. I just hope he keeps taking the little case and ignores what anyone else says.

Alesia lost her agenda book last week. I had to go to the mall today at lunch, and I got her a new agenda at the Franklin Covey store. I hope she won't be bothered if one of the other kids points out it's not exactly like the agendas her fellow students are carrying. It will serve the purpose.

How do you teach a kid to be confident and not care what other people say? How do you teach a child to ignore catty things kids say to each other, on all levels? I don't know. This is one of those times I regret that I haven't had my kids since they were babies.

I grew up with a father who said to me many many many times, in lots of different situations, "Do it because it's THE RIGHT THING TO DO." He had no patience with anything else. He taught us to be single-minded in pursuing what is right and moral, and to ignore people who tempt us to be sloppy or morally lax. He didn't teach us we'd be rewarded with good karma, or rewarded in heaven, or he'd buy us an ice cream or anything else. He just drilled into us, over and over, to always do THE RIGHT THING. I think perhaps that's where Brother and I got our confidence. I could not care less about fashion, or people who criticize my looks or my words, or anything else.

That's not to say that the right thing is always easy to see.

When my father died, I felt a great deal of guilt because I wanted to scatter his ashes in the lake where we had our cabin when I was a kid. He had mentioned it several times before he died. He was also taking a whopping load of Percocet and later morphine when he made those pronouncements about his ashes. And he wasn't thinking about the hours me and Bro would have to drive.

After he died, I just couldn't find a time to get up to the Tennessee lake, with my brother. I also wasn't sure about the legality of dumping ashes in a public lake, and I was worried about tourists seeing us and freaking out, or me getting hysterical and crying - I envisioned a lot of negative scenarios. Finally, after more than a year of fretting about it, we scattered his ashes on some property owned by one of dad's best friends, just outside Augusta.

It was a beautiful fall day, and we put the ashes in a swiftly moving stream. We were in a place where Dad had hunted many times, and he loved going there. While we were walking down to the stream, we started reminiscing about all the funny things Dad used to say, and we were laughing. It was very different from the enormous public memorial service at the church. It was just me and Brother, thinking about Dad, and NOT crying, but celebrating his life in a beautiful place. It may not have been exactly what he said he wanted when he was alive, but I know in my heart it was the right thing to do.

That's why when my uncle found out about it later and got angry with me, I didn't lose a minute of sleep, or get mad back. I knew in my heart my father was with me that day in the country. I'm sure on the other side, he knows it's not one's mortal remains that matter, it's the soul. The act of scattering those ashes in private, without great sorrow, was healing to me. Dad gave me not just life, but a wonderful confidence. I know that both the public and private memorials to him were the right thing to do.

I hope I can give my kids half as much confidence and strength as Dad gave us.

God's Grace is Amazing

It has been an emotionally exhausting day, a day when I had the blues, and I spent most of the morning crying, which is a rare occurrence for me. I had to cry very softly, to not cause a scene at work.

I re-read an e-mail from Michael's physical therapist this morning, saying the insurance company wouldn't cover the cost of his prosthesis. Then I went online to see how much they cost - it varies, but all myoelectric hands cost over $10,000. Boy, that was depressing. Then I started thinking about the fact that I had not heard from Shriner's whether or not they would cover whatever costs the insurance wouldn't. I kept thinking about Michael's face when I was going to have to tell him I couldn't afford a hand for him, and it just broke my heart.

Sometime during all this I got off a short note to my brother, wishing him a happy birthday. His birthday is tomorrow. He will be 48. In the past year, since his last birthday, he has seen us exactly 4 times, each time being less than 24 hours in duration.

I know everyone has issues with siblings, but my brother worries me. Since his divorce, which was about 7 years ago, he has just kind of become a hermit. He lives 3.5 hours away, not that far, but he always claims he has to work, so he can't come see us. He promised Michael he would come see him in July, then reneged at the last minute. 

He doesn't read my blog. My own brother. He has no idea what's going on with us. I hope maybe I'm wrong, actually. I hope he reads it, but just doesn't tell me. I want him to read this post.

I finally talked to the therapist late this afternoon and she said Shriner's will cover the cost of the arm, whatever the insurance company won't cover, anyway. I was so relieved I cried yet again.

I was in a good mood when I got home. Then Mother showed me this, and I started bawling all over again:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DMF_24cQqT0

For those of you who pray, please pray my brother will come around. He called Mother today, which is a good step. He hasn't called and talked to my kids in weeks. I think he is afraid to love them. I pray every day he will reach out to us. He is missing the joy of knowing a remarkable, delightful little boy, and a wonderful girl. He has no kids.

[If the Youtube link doesn't work, it's a guy named Whintley Phipps doing an incredible version of Amazing Grace. Cut and paste the link, if necessary.]

Eggplant the Enemy

It was a nerve-wracking morning at church. I missed last Wednesday's rehearsal because Michael was sick. The anthem this morning was sung by all the females, all in parts, and it was by Mendelsohn, I think [one of those old guys like Brahms, Mendelsohn - the guys in the long curly wigs]. It was not simplistic happy clappy christian music, that's for sure. So I sight read the alto part as best I could when we ran through it a couple of times in the choir room. To make matters much worse, the director lined up the sopranos behind us, so I'm hearing the melody sung in my ear. It's terrifying. I was sweating bullets - literally. [It was 85 degrees here today]

We got through it, and the congregation applauded. That's unusual. They rarely applaud. I let out a huge sigh of relief, glad my deoderant was working.

Alesia was supposed to go to the Greek Festival with her youth group, but said she didn't feel well. I know she probably didn't feel well, since she's having her monthly distress, but she could've knocked back a couple of Motrin and gone ahead. I suspect she wanted to be with us instead. Most teens cannot wait to go out with friends, but Alesia needs a certain amount of Mom time every week, and the only extended periods of time we have together are the weekends. I am happy she wants to be around me, but I want her to hang out with friends her own age.

So instead of sampling the delights of the Greek Festival, which is a really nice event here in Atlanta, Alesia went to Fuddrucker's with us, and then ran errands with me while Granny napped. Not exactly scintillating, but it was a pretty day and I guess it was better than sitting in the house.

Michael's little friend Kevin came over for a while this afternoon. he's a sweet little boy. Michael didn't quite know what to do, though. I had completely supervised the last visit, but this time I was trying to do laundry and fix a rather complicated dinner, so I left them on their own. Michael kept wandering in and saying Kevin didn't want to do what he wanted to do. Finally, I suggested a board game in the dining room. They picked the most complicated game we have, besides Monopoly. Thank goodness Alesia went in there and helped them. I need to educate Michael about how to be a good host when friends come over. This is not something he has any experience with.

I am trying to introduce the children to new foods. I want to start trying out several new recipes a week, as time permits. My mother collects cookbooks so there are a ton of them in our house. I spent some time this afternoon in the kitchen. I fixed Eggplant pie and Lobster and Shrimp bisque. The eggplant pie was rather complicated. I hate peeling eggplants. You boil it until tender, then chop it up with onion, a red pepper, spices, and an egg, and bake it, with cheese on top. I threw in some fresh parmesan and a few Ritz cracker crumbs. mother and I thought it was very yummy. The kids ate a few bites, but weren't thrilled with it.

They liked the bisque, though. We can't afford lobster, really, but Mother found one small tail at Publix, on sale, and got some shrimp. It's a very rich dish. I was intrigued with making the roux out of minced celery, onion, and garlic, then whisking in chicken broth. It's from one of the Paula Deen cookbooks.

I cannot stand big chunks of onion or pepper in my food, or really big chunks of anything vegetable. So I puree everything, usually with a hand blender. I got out the mini food processor today, though, and went to town mincing up onions. At one point, when I was trying to mince up everything for the bisque's roux, I was so frustrated. I finally called Mother in there to help me. "How come thing thing won't turn on?! I'm doing everything right! The doohickeys line up!" Mother looked at it for a minute, checked the blades and everything, and finally said "Dee it usually works better when it's PLUGGED IN."

Duh.

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Two prayer concerns:

My friend Stephanie, who has 7 adopted kiddoes, most of whom are special needs, is in a tight spot, with 3 kids having medical crises at the moment. Please keep her and her wonderful family in your prayers.

Renia's comment below touched my heart and I went on the website to see this little fellow who really needs a home. Please give him a look. It's an incredible opportunity to help this little guy out:

http://victoriashope.blogspot.com/2007/10/oct-4-update.html

I am a little irked that it says the child may have mild CP - this from a doctor who has never examined him. Due to really poor medical care, many kids in Eastern Europe are misdiagnosed. Often, with love, vitamins, and the right doctors, they are fine within a few months of coming home.

The incredible thing about this little guy is ALL his international adoption fees are paid! That cuts out 80% of the cost of adopting - you just need plane tickets and hotel and meal costs.

I would go get this cutie pie myself, if I didn't think my Mother would disown me!

Seriously, please, if you do nothing else, pray he finds a home soon.

Love can work miracles.

Boy on a Rampage

Michael has been tearing it up all day. He's been in a foul humor off and on, mostly when I've fussed at him, and we have all suffered. It started this morning, when I was trying to fix breakfast and I heard him say "YUCK! Coco!"  I glanced over to him on the sofa, wrapped in his orange Home Depot fleece blanket, staring at the TV, and thought, Whatever. Coco is always doing something yucky.

I was horrified a few minutes later to discover that Coco had vomited on the red throw on the loveseat. I snatched it up and went to the laundry room. That's what his comment meant. He was ignoring the vomit, however, watching the cartoons. When I came back from the laundry room I noticed almost immediately more vomit on the rug, between the TV and Mother's chair.

"Michael!" I hollered, incredibly annoyed.

The rule around our house is that when you see poop or vomit on the carpet or floor, you immediately get it up. Coco has a very weak stomach and she never goes outside, so spotting messes is a daily occurrence. We've tried altering her diet and taken her to the vet and nothing really helps.

Coco has a condition called Ehlers Danlos syndrome, which means her skin tears very easily. We've had to rush her to the vet many times to get stitched up. So that's why she doesn't go outside, to the land of pine cones and concrete curbs. It's not worth it. When she was diagnosed over a year ago [after being stitched up 4 times in 6 months] the vet said most people who discover their pets have this have them put down. We simply weren't able to do that. I told Mother, and she agreed, that as long as Coco has a good quality of life and isn't in pain, we will not have her put down. We all love her, despite the many messes.

Anyway, I made Michael clean up the vomit on the carpet, since he had ignored the vomit on the throw. He was not happy about it.

I had to fuss at him late this afternoon to get him to help me and Alesia with some projects around the yard. We took the many potted plants on the front patio and moved them to the back patio for the winter. We have a side yard with several rosebushes, and that area needed weeding and watering. He was supposed to help Alesia with that. He was dawdling with intent during most of this. I had to fuss and fuss at him, and remind him that everyone in this family WORKS. Kids don't get a free ride, they do chores. Alesia is going to the Greek Festival tomorrow with her youth group, and I was happy to give her $20 for that, but she had to help me around the house.

We went to Target this afternoon and got Michael a new rolling backpack. He complains bitterly about carrying his other backpack, but Alesia is going to try it. It's more for an adult, anyway. He is still very small. The new backpack holds and umbrella and his lunch, and his heavy science book will fit in there nicely. It's also camouflage colored, in case he is ambushed by hostile fourth graders on the way home from school.

We have had such a busy day - we also went to the condo and did some work - that Michael has not really had any pure play time. I think that's why he's so hyper.

We are going to eat pizza for dinner and finish watching King Kong, and hopefully he will calm down...

I knew boys were different. I didn't know HOW different. God bless anyone who can handle more than 1 at a time..