The Crab Chronicles

Simple

I took some flak recently for a post I did where I stated that I crave a porch and a rocking chair. I crave simplicity. I guess that's a sign of getting old, but I don't care. I have had so much drama the past few years, that I truly crave a simpler existence.

I finally have a steady job, and I like my job.

I finally don't have to worry about my daughter's behavior. [I still worry about her, but I don't have to deal with her right in front of me, is what I mean.]

The surprising thing is that my son has come to kind of a similar conclusion about wanting simplicity. He is not into anything overly fussy or complicated. I think that's pretty mature for a 15 year old.

We were in Walmart the other day and he asked me to buy him a package of plain white tee shirts. He wore one to school every day for the last week of school. When he came home yesterday, several of his friends had written cute messages on his shirt. They are all girls, BTW. He was very concerned about not washing out what they had written.

He also decided recently to get a summer haircut. We got it done last night after tennis. Here's the new 'do:

Hair gets oily and sweaty, and contributes to acne, is his reasoning, and I think he is correct. I told him the only problem with this haircut is that is makes him look too grownup!

I have decided to spend some time this summer trying to get things in my house cleaned up, give away a lot of my junk, and throw out a lot of stuff I don't need or want. It's a project that will take a while. Just deciding which of my 5,000 books to give away will be a challenge. I feel compelled to do it, though. I have entirely too many THINGS, and I want far fewer.

I am not looking forward to this weekend. In fact, I dread it. Memorial Day weekend, 1972, was when my beloved Papaw died. Today in 1996 was the day my dad was finally diagnosed with cancer. It's just never been a good weekend for our family. Hopefully this year it will be drama-free and relaxing.

Last Day of School

It's Mike's last day of school. I am relieved. No more homework for ME! Yay! Nobody tells you this before you're a parent but YOU end up completely revisiting school, through your child. You become a tutor, a school advocate, and on occasion, penniless, as you're socked with all sorts of activity fees and book fees, and everything else.

The parent gets "schooled" as much as the child.

Michael is starting high school in August, which blows my mind. I was talked to another parent the other day and she was saying Lakeside is such a huge school, and I laughed. Farrague High School, where I attended from 1976-1980 is a HUGE school. Last time I was in Knoxville, we drove around the school a bit, and my kids eyes were like saucers, staring at the enormous campus. There were more than 3,000 kids there when I was there.

She was right about the social challenges of a ginormous school. You can feel swallowed up if you don't have a core group of buddies.

I always made friends in each of my classes, but I only had a few close friends in high school, a tiny group. I did a lot of Drama Club and Newspaper activities, and Chorus. Those things were what made the whole experience fun.

Michael was in an incredibly foul humor last night, for unknown reasons. He said he was happy and sad. He will miss his school friends. I told him to get contact info and maybe he could see them over the summer.

Transitions are hard for him. He had to leave behind his birthmom [however abusive and awful, she was his original mom] and go to an orphanage. Then he had to leave his friends there are come to a new country, new family, new language, new everything. Now here's another big transition. I am so sympathetic but there's not much I can do to help.

Here he is in 2008. How time flies...

Bunnies and Banquets

I always take my phone out of my pocket and stick on top of my dresser in the evenings here at home, because I want my evenings to be family time, without distractions. I was irked last night, though, because I wished I could take a photo of the cute little brown bunny munching clover in my backyard while we ate dinner.Of course my camera wasn't downstairs either.

He sat there in the grass munching for a long time before moving off.

We are glad to see bunnies because they mean the coyotes aren't around, eating them.

I took the afternoon off yesterday, after working some extra time on Thursday. I wanted to hang out with Michael, who stayed home from school. Yesterday was Field Day at school and I told Michael he didn't have to go if he didn't want to go. In 6th and 7th grade he hated Field Day because it was all set up for kids with two hands and/or long legs. That was also before we realized he has exercise asthma and needed to use his inhaler before exerting himself. I think this year, too, he has just felt really out of place all year, keenly feeling his 15 years, when most of the 8th graders are 13 or 14.

There was an 8th grade dance last night, but he forgot to buy a ticket. I tried to get him to go and buy one at the door but he insisted they wouldn't let the kids purchase tickets at the door. I didn't push it. We did see all the cars at the middle school [which is close to our house] when we were coming back from picking up sandwiches at Jersey Mike's.He didn't say a word.

Being a teenager is tough enough. Being a teen with a lot of acne and one hand is really tough.

So we did our usual Friday night routine of eating sandwiches and watching Ghost Adventures. Mike and I don't really take it seriously. We think it's funny. I wish I had a dollar for every time those guys say "seriously!?" during each program.

That's really all I have to report. Got a lot to do this weekend, including getting DVDs of my speech at the Cherokee County Sports Hall of Fame off to the relatives. The folks who couldn't be there, especially, have been looking forward to seeing it, to get a sense of what it was like.

Here are a few more photos from the event.

Me and my cousin Robin. She is the oldest Hasty grandchild and I am the youngest. Robin was in my parents' wedding in 1957.

Mother's cousins Frank Hasty Sr. and his son Frank Hasty.

Robin's son Brent and his wife Jada, and in the background, Robin's daughter Lana and husband Tim.

Mama Day

Over at my mother's blog she has her favorite saying, and it's one I share totally: If you don't laugh, you'll cry - Laughing's better. I am blessed to have a mother that shares her ideas and opinions freely, laughs with me a LOT, and who has discovered the joy of writing [blogging] in the last few years.

You see, my mother probably thought she was past mothering [heavy duty mothering] years ago, when Bruce and I left the nest, but now she is almost the co-parent with me in the raising of Michael. She also helped me a lot with Alesia.

Most grandmothers get to relax and just have fun times with the grandchildren. Not Elva. She is in there with me, in the trenches. I am a single mom, but not really a single mom. Elva has my back, and that has made a huge difference in my life and the lives of my children.

Michael and I saw a delightful play last night, The Waffle Palace. Very funny. Lots of physical comedy, songs, etc. in an intimate space. Loved the play. Will write my review later today.

Coming home in the car, though, Michael asked me why it is that he makes other people laugh but none of his friends make him laugh. I pointed out that I make him laugh, sometimes. I wasn't sure where he was going with this but we kept talking. Teen angst is a constant presence in our house, now. 

When we got home, I spent a lot of time in Mother's room, talking to her about Mike's feelings and how to handle him. That's a typical example of how she helps me. Most single moms don't have that ability to confide in someone.

I was lucky to have a mother, growing up, who was able to often just listen calmly and without passing judgment. When I was a teen, especially, that was important.

I am not that skilled. I fly off the handle a lot. I am trying to moderate that.

Being a mother is the hardest job in the world, and it's also the best job in the world. There's nothing like it. I wish I had more kids. Then again, I think the Lord knows what he's doing, and we all get the right kids for us.

Just thought I'd share a few sentiments and photos on this mother's day.

Happy Mother's Day to my mom, Elva Hasty Thompson! You're the best and I love you a great big bunch!!

The Man in My Life

I just realized tonight, that I am now living with a MAN. I was pretty startled to come upstairs tonight and find Michael shaving his face. "Getting tired of the chin hair," he explained casually, wielding the razor like an old pro.

"Did Uncle Bruce let you watch him shave?" I asked.

"Yep," was the reply."I don't even cut myself," he said proudly.

In two months my little boy will be 16 years old! This is hard for me to wrap my brain around. You see, I look at Michael and see this little guy:

My little 10 year old "baby" is gone now, though. He has a deep voice, and he's learning to drive, and getting ready to go to high school. Wow. The last 5 years passed in the blink of an eye. Last Sunday, May 7th, was the 5 year anniversary of the day Michael actually landed in America and joined our family.

I told him tonight while he was shaving and I was taking vitamins, "You know, you have to get in the habit of doing some things a man does. When you leave the house you need to get in the habit of taking wallet, keys, and phone."

Those are man habits. He needs to develop them.

I got to thinking, what qualities should Michael have, as a man? What qualities make for a successful man? I don't measure success in terms of money, I measure it in terms of character. Also, some basic life skills.

For instance, a man should know how to turn on a grill [or light a fire] and cook a decent steak.

A man should always be kind to small children and senior citizens.Actually, he should be kind to everyone, but particularly the very old and very young.

So I started thinking, why not go ahead and start a list of characteristics of the man I want to see  Michael become?

I was thinking of the list of traits that Andie McDowell spouts off in the movie Groundhog Day, as how she sees her Perfect Man: he's humble, intelligent, supportive, funny, romantic, courageous, has a good body "but doesn't have to look in the mirror every two minutes," ALSO - kind, sensitive, gentle, likes animals, children, and 'will change poopy diapers." "Oh, and he plays an instrument, and he loves his mother."

Bill Murray replies, "I am REALLY close on this one!" - which is a blatant lie, of course, which is what makes it funny.

I agree with everything on the list except that I don't care if Michael learns to play an instrument.

He has almost all of these characteristics already. He adores his mama and granny, and little Coco. He's courageous, humble, etc.

She left out funny - and Michael is funny. He was cracking jokes in English within a few months of coming here. In fact, I still laugh at how he described the Atlantic ocean the first time he saw it - "Cute" - a word his sister had taught him, with great delight, when he'd been here just a few weeks.

One thing I want to see in him is Confidence. Not arrogance, confidence. Huge difference. I want Michael to not let his missing hand make him shy. I want him to know and accept that he is very, very smart, and be confident with anyone he meets.

I also want him to have a strong faith in God.

A good work ethic.

The ability to admit when he's wrong, and the desire to then make things right.

The ability to truly relax.

And one really important characteristic - the ability to get along with difficult people. He has a teacher he is at odds with, and I've warned him several times, in life you will always encounter people you don't care for, people who may be rude or thoughtless, or snobby or just plain mean. Those people are everywhere. To be successful, you can't let those folks freak you out.We're working on it.

I also want him to have certain life skills, and he's got most of these:

the ability to cook a decent meal for himself [we're working on this one]

the ability to do his own laundry [he can do this]

the ability to manage his money [he has the right instincts in this already]

a concern for the environment [he already has this]

the ability to dress decently and appropriately [working on it]

Pride. I know, it's one of those seven deadly sins, but a certain amount of pride is a good thing. I want him to be proud to be a Kazakh-American. I want him to be proud of his family, his school, his talents in school and on the tennis court. The more proud he is, the more confidence he will develop.

Since I am raising my son without a man in the house, I've thought [and will continue to think] What sort of MAN do I want Michael to be?

I welcome comments about this, especially from guys. What do you think are the most important characteristics/life skills/accomplishments for a successful man?? Please leave me a comment.

"Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me. Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful, that's what matters to me."
Steve Jobs

Thinking About Adoption and Teens

I was so delighted to hear that adoptions have opened up again for Kazakhstan and Krgystan. The sad thing is that Kazakhstan is not allowing single moms to adopt right now. Really ticks me off.

In that country, as in so many others, single motherhood is viewed with great suspicion. In case you don't know anything about adoption, in Michael's adoption I had to prove that I was financially stable, get tested for TB and AIDS and every other STD [several times, because they had to be recent tests and there were delays], produce documents proving I was mentally sound, and swear I wasn't gay. I can't recall exactly the requirements when I adopted Alesia because it was 8 years ago, but they were pretty similar to Kazakhstan. Now, requirements for adoptive parents are actually more stringent.

I read somewhere that there are more than 700,000 orphans in Russia. Many of those children are not adoptable, for various reasons. I met several kids when I was adopting Michael that I inquired about advocating for, and I was told they had siblings and would have to be adopted with the older siblings, according to the laws of Kazakhstan. So they never get adopted.

Most people who are interested in adoption want a baby. They won't even consider a child older than a toddler. They certainly don't want an older child with older siblings. It's heartbreaking.

I understand the reluctance to adopt older kids, though. I truly do understand.

My hope is that people who read this blog won't take away a negative view of older child adoption because of what has happened with my daughter. Yes, she dropped out of school and is living with an older man in an unhealthy relationship. I am not happy about it. I cry and pray, and cry some more, all the time. I try not to dwell on the mistakes I made. I try to remember that many kids raised from birth in loving homes rebel and go wild once they turn 18 and can get away from Mom and Dad. It's not uncommon. It is SO hard, though, as a parent.

I don't know how to react to people who say to me "Well, you didn't get her until she was 13. All the damage was done." That implies that my adopting her made no difference in her life, which I know isn't true. It also unnerves me to think those people view me as some sort of naive nitwit.

If you had asked me two years ago, I would've told you I had a beautiful, sweet daughter. We had normal teenage issues, but she was a good girl.

I still think she's a good girl, with a good heart. The difference is that now she has let herself be coerced into doing a lot of unhealthy things, by people I never would've approved of. She also lies to me all the time. She texted me yesterday and said she was "fine."

To me, "fine" means in school and/or working, being healthy, not using illegal substances, not hanging out with unsavory people. To her, it probably means she has a place to sleep and food, and she doesn't have to work. How she is living, I don't know, and I don't really want to know. She won't tell me the truth anyway, so why bother asking?

I couldn't wrap her up and refuse to let her go out in the world once she turned 18, though. I had to let her go. I had no choice.

Most teens at 15 or 16 go through a phase where they are trying out their own identities. Being patient during this time is hard on a parent. It's particularly hard if you don't have the strong bond and shared history you establish by raising a child from birth. I was always terrified that my daughter would turn to drugs and prostitution like so many of the girls from her orphanage.

After she left here and lived apart in the fall of 2010, she came home saying she wanted me to trust her, because she felt like I didn't. She had done several things over the years that made it difficult for me to trust her. When she was living here between November 2010 and June 2011, I made it a point to act like I trusted her. I didn't go in her room unless invited. I told her she could go out at night with friends I didn't know. I paid her for jobs done around the house. I let her use my car. I tried to give her some space, hoping it would engender good choices and good feelings. It didn't work.

I realized later that she had played me. Basically, for her, my house was a place to get some food and shower, and then she was going out to be with friends. She went to school for a while, and tried, but she had a whole other life, a secret life, that I didn't discover until after she had stopped living with me. I knew from her erratic behavior she was probably smoking pot. I knew she was smoking cigarettes. I just had no idea that those things were the tip of the iceberg. 

However, I want to reiterate: there are plenty of kids who are not adopted, who didn't suffer early childhood trauma, who behave the same way.

I actually had people in my general age group contact me privately and say "Dee, I went through a period of teenaged rebellion, too. I dropped out of school. I did a lot of stupid things. Eventually, I turned things around and I am fine now. Just wait. Be patient."

Ah, patience. Not my strong suit.

As any parent will tell you, though, patience is something that is thrust upon you, whether you want to learn it or not. If you are so hard-hearted as to not develop it, you shouldn't even be a parent.

With kids from relatively normal, stable homes, you usually see teens or young folks who learn their lessons. Eventually they realize their parents aren't total idiots.

I rebelled a little bit, but as a 14-16 year old, mostly. I stayed in school, then held down a job successfully, and was never arrested or anything like that. When I was 21 I was preoccupied with establishing a good credit rating, and having a decent career and falling in love.

My daughter has spent years dumping memories of abuse, and thinking of next week as the distant future. She lives in the moment, literally. She thinks she doesn't need to conform to the world. She can do exactly as she pleases. She hasn't learned otherwise, yet.

However, if I were to say her adoption was a mistake I would be lying. God told me quite clearly that she was my daughter. He helped me overcome many obstacles to bring her home. He never promised me that raising her would be easy, though.

I don't actually know anyone who has raised a teenager, biological or adopted, and said it was easy. But is it worth it? Yep.

My daughter is in God's hands, and that's how I sleep at night. Keep praying for her, though. Prayer is the best investment in the world.

Converse Conundrum

You know, when my mother was a kid she wore Converse tennis shoes. When I was a kid they were not fashioniable. Now they are fashionable again.

Michael has decided he wants to wear his Converse with no laces. We had a fight about it after school today. See, I was asked to go to work early, so I didn't see what Michael wore when he left the house this morning. He was wearing the Converse shoes with no laces.

His teacher took the laces from him last Friday, which ticked me off. He could fall and hurt himself walking around like that, I told the school counselor.

Today, he walked around voluntarily wearing shoes with no laces.

Way to make me look like an idiot, son. Thanks. I don't think I've ever been so ticked off at him.

He's wearing the shoes in the photo above.

He also informed me that he thinks he failed the math part of the CRCT. If he did, he will have to go to summer school. I will have to take him to school and likely there will be some sort of fee involved. Plus, he hates school and will not want to go.

In retaliation for me fussing at him, he's refusing to eat an after-school snack. Only, I'm fine with that. Usually I would beg him to eat. Not today. Today, he can be hungry and sullen all he wants. I am going to water my garden, fix dinner, and ignore him.

Four more years. Then he can either go to work or to college. His choice.

One teenaged boy is bad enough. I don't know how my friend Cindy copes with a whole housefull, but I read her blog daily to get tips.

UPDATE

There has been an attitude adjustment. I have worked in the garden and fixed dinner. Being around food always improves my mood.

Mike taste-tested the cucumber salad I made and declared it yummy. That plus a pork roast and some stuffing, and some fresh peaches for dessert.... yum

Soon A Driver

OK, I now have even more proof that prayers ARE answered. I have had a time mentally dealing with thinking I had lost an important paper and I've been praying so hard for a happy resolution to that situation. Now I have an answer.

Michael was issued an original Certificate of Citizenship by US Immigration when I brought him here in 2007, and I knew he would need that in order to take the test to get his learner's permit. I looked and looked for it. It was not in any of the folders where I keep such things.

Finally, this morning, it occurred to be to look in a big bag of stuff I was going to take out to the curb for recycling. There, in a random folder, was the Certificate!!

I have been praying about this for several weeks, y'all. Praying HARD. To get a replacement would cost several hundred dollars which I can't afford right now.

When I found the certificate I started whooping and hollering, as we say here in the south. I nearly wet my pants with excitement.

Michael came upstairs and took one of the online tests on the Department of Transportation website - he hasn't looked at the book in several weeks - and only missed one. I was fixing to take him to take the test and I realized he has to have a form signed by the school. So we will need to get that next week. Then he can take the test and start learning to really drive.

I hope they won't give me a hard time about him having one hand. We don't have stick shift cars, so I can't see it would be an issue.

I am just tickled to death we found this important paper and he can now take his learner's permit test. YES!

*********************************************************************************************************************

My friend Cindy Bodie has adopted more than thity-five children from foster care, and she published a VERY powerful post on her blog today. I want to share it because this 16 year old son of hers writes so thoughtfully about his experiences of being traumatized as a young child, then bounced around in foster care, before being adopted by Cindy. You can read this post here. I hope he will keep writing.

Boys

Michael just informed me he needed two number two pencils for school. They are doing the CRCT testing. "Why didn't you tell me this yesterday when we were at the store?" I asked, yanking open my file cabinet and rummaging around.

He shrugged, and took two pencils off my desk.

Boys.

Yesterday, I worked in the garden a long time in the afternoon. Later, I was up in my room and Michael and Colton were talking to me. I was sitting down.

"You have a bug in your hair, Mom," Michael said.

"Well, get him out of there," I snapped. I hate bugs.

"No, I think I'll just leave him there," Michael said, nonchalantly. By now I thought I felt the bug crawling on my head.

"GET HIM OFF OF ME!" I bellowed. Coco started barking from downstairs.

Michael showed me a tiny leaf that was the "bug" - laughing, of course.

"Very funny. Now go downstairs and tell Granny what you did, so she won't think something is wrong!" I hollered.

Boys.

As we were working in the garden, there was a stick that I used to stake tomatoes last year. Michael picked it up and suddenly it was a light saber. He flourished it, darting around.

Stick = weapon [to a boy, of course]

But in many ways, Michael is atypical. Last night we had poached salmon for dinner. He loves salmon. I made a little bit of sauce to put on it [mayo, lime juice, dill, onion powder] and it was not enough for him. He finished a good-sized portion of salmon, and had some cauliflower, and announced he was still hungry. "There's more salmon. Help yourself," I said. We had bought extra thinking Lesleigh was coming for dinner but she couldn't come.

"I need more sauce, Mom. How did you make it?" Michael asked. I told him. He made another batch, and ate another large portion of salmon, smothered in sauce. [For any of you unaware of the delights of Mayonnaise, rest assured none of us have high cholesterol.]

About midway through dinner, Michael had a forkful halfway to his mouth and he looked at me, eyes dancing [this is a very Michael thing, as he has very expressive eyes] - "You saw a movie yesterday about salmon, and now we are eating it?!" he remarked.

"Yes, I was in a salmon mood today," I said.

The cauliflower was terrific. It's my cousin Terri's recipe. You just nuke the florets in the microwave until they are tender/crisp. Then cover them with a mixture of one cup mayo and 1 tablespoon mustard, mixed together. Nuke another minute or two. Cover with 1 cup of cheese, whatever kind you have. Nuke some more. Stir it all up and serve. YUM.[Or you can roast or boil it, of course, The mayo/mustard/cheese combo is what makes it delicious]

Michael smelled the cauliflower cooking - normally something he's not too keen on - and said "We're having CAULIFLOWER?! YUM!" He ate a lot.

Boys.

I love them.

This is a jokey smile, not the real one. LOL

Quick Wit

I remember hating being a teenager, to the point there are very few photos in existence of me from the ages of 13-21. Being a teenager is awful. You think everyone is looking at you and judging you, all the time.

[Being 49 is sort of the opposite. I think nobody ever looks at me judgmentally, except perhaps my boss and my mother. Except for them, I really don't care what anyone thinks of me.]

Michael is having a tough time being a teen.

Mother and I, and all his friends and schoolmates, think he is smart, funny, sweet, and an all-around great guy. I just wish we could convince him of that.

He was angry all afternoon yesterday, and I don't know why. Mother and I asked him later, and he looked at us in genuine puzzlement.I think it had to do with hating being a teen.

He spent some time with Colton yesterday afternoon, but I made him come home at 4:30 and go with me to Home Depot to get some gardening supplies, which he wasn't happy about. When we got out of the car at Home Depot he snarled "We don't NEED any more plants!"

I just ignored him.

I remember being a teenager and thinking my parents were totally insane to spend so much time working in the yard and gardening.

His mood improved somewhat after I bought him a milkshake, but he really didn't return to his usual self until he ate dinner.

Frequent Food = Happy Mood -- that's what I have to always remember...

Michael isn't usually surly.

He has so many funny moments. We were watching TV the other day and he saw one of the new GEICO taste test commercials, which are just stupid. Red Kool-Aid representing insurance companies? Really?! I didn't say a word, though, didn't offer my opinion.

When the commercial was over, he just looked at me and said "I like the lizard better."

Mother was talking to him the other day about the story of the 13 year old boy who drove a school bus after the driver was incapacitated by a heart attack. "Isn't it wonderful that the boy was able to do that? Isn't it smart for a kid that age to be so responsible?" Mother said to Michael.

Without hesitation, Michael quipped "Yeah, and he wanted to LIVE, too."

So he is quick-witted and sharply observant, and he has been from the first day I met him. He says something funny about every other day.

But being a teenager who is short, has one hand, acne, and an accent nobody can identify, cannot be easy. I also just had to fuss at him about pulling his "C" in math up to a B. I try to let him alone about grades but a "C" is unacceptable, as smart as he is.

As a little reward for helping me out with gardening chores this weekend, today I am taking Michael to the Buford Highway Farmer's Market. Like me, he loves farmer's markets and hardware stores, so we go as often as we can.

Let's hope some Russian foods will put him in a better humor...