This post should be titled "Inside the mind of a madwoman."  I woke up this morning thinking about today being Jiriaya's first day in daycare/preschool.  Then my mind moved to a grandson who is estranged from his kids and they are being raised by my daughter, his mother and how sad that was.  And then I flashed back to my teens when my brother and I got drunk on rot gut whiskey and red Kool-Aid and how I can not drink red Kool-Aid to this day.  Then I flashed to the next time I got drunk on wine.  I was divorced and living in Hutchinson, Kansas and working at the Red Carpet Restaurant as a cook.  That hangover lasted 5 days.  Now, the point of this post is for those of you who think I do not drink and that butter would not melt in my mouth.  You are wrong.  What I want you to take away from this is several things.

Liquor by itself is not bad.  Liquor in small does is probably alright, but liquor in some peoples hands is like a stick of dynamite in a gunpowder warehouse.  It is not good.  Both of these hangovers are burned into the deep recesses of my mind.  Let's face it, when you can remember a hangover that happened 40 or 50 years ago like it was yesterday, that is a hangover from hell!

I have been married several times, as most of you know.  And the majority of those men were alcoholics.  (Mother always said that the difference between a drunk and an alcoholic was that the alcoholic had to go to those damn meetings.  So with that definition in mind I must rephrase that to read that most of those men were drunks.)  Henry was not, he was just a jerk.  Kenny was not and we were together 20 years when he passed.  He must have made an impression because I have only dated one man since than and that relationship was strictly platonic until he passed.  He did kiss me a couple times, but I am not sure why. Then I hung out with a younger man who took me hiking and things like that, but that one petered out without even a handshake.   And I am not sure where I am going with this, but bear with me.

Oh, I know.  I have now been wide awake for one hour and 49 minutes, drank half a pot of coffee, gone from preschool to hangovers to death and am now thinking about the 2 half sheet cakes that are down in the freezer waiting for me to finish frosting them, but I had a thought when I got up of something I wanted to impart to you, so let me think what it could be.

Oh, this is to my daughter who is raising 3 grandkids and to the father who is letting her.  And to anyone else out there who thinks walking away from responsibility is a good thing.  Thinking drugs are the answer.  Thinking other peoples feelings do not matter.  There are several things I have learned in life and one of them is that God will never give you more than you can carry.

So when I walked away from a 10 year marriage with my kids in the back seat of a 1959 Chevy and all my belongings in the trunk, I was scared to death.  I knew my mother would not let me live with her very long so the first item on the agenda was to get a job.  Easier said then done, but I walked into Skaets Steak Shop where I had washed dishes before I married and told them I was an experienced waitress.  If you lie with a straight face and do not waver, people tend to believe you.  And thus began my career in the restaurant business.  I held my little family together that way.  And now years later I see history repeating itself.  You all know that my youngest son is an adopted grandson.

My hat is off to my daughter who is now the security of 3 kids that belong to her son.  For whatever reason, sometimes people take a wrong turn and sex and drugs seem to be more important then the kids at your knee.  Selfish wants replace love and family.  Temporary feel good moments replace the fulfillment of the children we sired.  And someone has to step in and pick up the pieces.  My daughter and her husband are doing that.  Not because they want to, but because they do not want to see her grandkids separated and placed in foster homes.  I did one kid, but she is doing 3.  So that makes her 3 times the woman I am.  Daddy pops in long enough to make noises that sound like he might actually step up to the plate, but then he doesn't.  The kids do not understand that.  But my daughter does and so does her husband.  So they are the security  for the kids and some day it will all work out.  In a perfect world the Daddy would get a job and set up a home for the kids.  And maybe the mother would do that.  Right now it looks like that is not happening.

So while I may know how things should work, they don't and there is nothing going to change anyone's mind so I guess I will just call it a day and go tend to my own knitting, as mother used to say.  It will all come out in the wash, or not.

Then and Now, or some damn happy dogs!

This is a picture of Daisy at the pound, before she came to live with us.

This is Elvira at the pound before she came to live with us

Now I ask you this, do these dogs look like the same dogs to you?  No way.  And what I can not understand is why more people do not do the dog pound thing?  I am pretty sure if we had not come along when we did that these two little guys would no longer be just setting there waiting. 

Do not let anyone tell you that dogs do not smile, because these two are showing some serious happiness here.  I love my doggies and they love me.  We have a ritual at night, a ritual in the morning and a ritual all through the day.

And this brings me to the next phase.  I have knowledge of a very nice dog that needs a home.  She is a bigger dog, probably some greyhound and a dash of lord only knows what.  I walk her several times a day as she waits for her master who will not be returning.  She would make a lovely pet for someone who has a bit of land and no cats.  If you are interested, please let me know.

Adoption in Fayetville of Russian boy really wasn't what she wanted.

Hey! Wait a minute!  I changed my mind. What was I thinking?  Those thoughts flashed through my mind many times after we adopted Bret when he was eight years old. Lucky for hm, I did not know about that loop hole. I should have just called him a cab and got on with my life. Not really.

Putting that boy on a plane to Russia has probably traumatized that kid beyond repair. Could you picture yourself at 7 years old leaving your homeland and flying to another country only to be slapped back on the plane and sent back to your homeland? I know first hand that the kids who are taken, or thrown away, by the birth parents, can and do suffer rejection. DUH! There minds are not developed enough to set down and methodically decipher all that has happened in there short lives. So they react.

Their reactions are not understood, by the adults as reaching out, but rather as pushing.  In order to gain your love, they need to push and most humans do not react well to being pushed away. They think of it as being pushed away.  I was well acquainted with the people who ran the mental health facility. I was there for the anger management, attachment disorder, and the sports programs to build self esteem. We had the lying, the stealing, and the threats of running away. Been there, done all that. Social Service was not the only group available to help, but they were paramont. It is not in their or the children's best interest for the adoption not to work, so every effort is made to transition.

So rather than haul old Bret off and get on with it, I chose to stand and fight. Now, I may not have the most successful kid it town, but I do have a funtioning member of society. He isn't in a gang, he is a very soft hearted and kind to animals, old people,  and babies, so I don't think he is a serial killer. True, he does not run out and do chores when I first tell him, and sometimes not the second or third time, but he really feels bad when I wind up dumping the 50 pound bags of feed. Or at least he says he feels bad.

I do know, however, that he does love me.  I know he appreciates that I chose to keep him and not let him filter down through the foster care system. Not that the foster care system is bad, but rather that being with grandmother is better. At least there is a connection.

So to the woman who put her son on the plane and walked away, I would say this: "You did what you had to do.  You based your actions on information you had at the time.  There may have been other choices, but you chose the path you walk. Walk forward knowing that we can not say what you should do until we have walked in your shoes. God Bless You!"