was this easy.

Marissa knows the story of my first marriage. I told her one day that, “You know, I really don’t understand the spiritual meaning of ‘the two shall become one,’ but in a very real way, my ex-husband and I were one. I shared his consequences. When he chose well, our life prospered. When he chose poorly, I felt it in my finances, my daily battles, my emotions. My life was inconvenienced and he became a burden rather than a blessing.”

Marissa is learning my lesson in a real way. She is experiencing what it is like to be in a relationship with someone who behaves badly. With all my heart, I wish she was young enough that I could control what happens in this relationship, I cannot. I simply don’t have the right to control my near adult daughter’s boyfriend choice. She shuts down whenever I try to talk to her. I am judgmental. I don’t like him. I don’t believe people can change.

Anyway, Marissa spent the entire day Sunday in tears.

And, Baby David, seeing his sister’s distress told his Dad (in all seriousness), “I think she needs a wedgie!”

Our house is in turmoil again. And, I have finally succumbed to the bad cold that has been going around our town since the beginning of September. I feel rotten. I have promised a reader an entry on my thoughts on attachment. I am in the process of writing it but I find it hard to compose them. I don’t want to write this quickly. I know that there are families who are really struggling with their older, adopted children. We are too. I know that there are adult adoptees who were hurt and not helped by attachment therapies. I don’t want to dismiss anyone’s feeling or experience.

Maybe I need a wedgie!

In my life prior to kids and my current husband, I was in the military, the Army Nurse Corps to be precise. I loved it for a time. I decided I wanted to be a mom. I was single. I chose to an adopt an older, waiting child. The risk of being deployed no longer fit my life. I resigned my commission and left the military. But, the Army was who I was for 13-years. I still write my dates with the day, then the month and, finally the year. I still call duct tape 100 mile an hour tape.

And, apparently, I still use “No Go.” For those uninitiated, whenever I attended military training, I would have to demonstrate competency. If I passed, I received a “Go.” If I needed remedial training, I got a “No Go.” Whenever my kids do something that is not quite up to standards, I tell them that is a “No Go!”

The kids have grown enough to reach almost every high place in my house. Remember I am only 5′ 2″. I don’t have really high places. And, they are smart and strong enough to pull over a chair for the few places that they can’t reach. It snowed on October 30th. It was still freezing cold on the 31st. I started with 105 pieces of assorted chocolates. We had six kids come to our home. The remaining 99 pieces of candy disappeared rather quickly. We were cleaning Beverly’s room and I found several empty candy wrappers stuffed under her bed. And, my baby, David asserted, “Beverly! That is an Oh-Go!”

David has pulled a few Oh-Go’s himself lately. I am currently trying to read Walter Brueggemann’s The Covenanted Self. I am finding the concepts in the book are very difficult to grasp. I think I am fairly bright; I am well-educated. So, I have decided the book is just poorly written. I have had to read chapters over and over to understand what is being communicated. Then, I have to decide whether or not I can find biblical support for Brueggemann’s assertions. It is a daunting undertaking.

Brueggemann refers to D. W. Winnicott’s, a pediatric psychiatrist, “good enough mother” and defines her as one “who acts out this devotion to the child by being fully attentive to and celebrating everything the baby does, from smile to burp to fart.” I am not that kind of mother. I have never felt children (or adults) get their sense of self from being praised for doing things that come naturally. I praise my kids when they do something that they have to work for. Perhaps, I need to increase my praising though. I hear several times a day, “Mom say, ‘Thank you Beverly.’” Or, from David, “Am I a good boy?” But, I believe David took seeking praise to a new, ridiculous level when I caught him with his hand in the cookie dough!

“You had too much cookie dough, so I ate some. Am I a good boy mommy?”

Then, David was pouting after Sunday school. His class consists of six 4-year-old boys. The teacher was having quite a bit of behavior problems in class. So, she made each boy a star book. If David is good, he gets a star. When he collects enough stars, he gets to select a cheap toy or pencil or sticker — those dumb things that motivate little kids to behave. David didn’t get to pick anything. He didn’t earn any stars and he was “be-habing and listening.” I asked him what he was learning about. He may not have been behaving, but I suspect he was listening, at least a little. He was learning about “John the Bathtub.”

Last, a wordless “Oh-Go.”

1. Leaving scissors out is an “Oh Go!”, 2. Playing with scissors is an “Oh Go!”, 3. Cutting your hair is a definite “Oh Go!”, 4. But, I look so cute with my bald fade.

I subscribe to Google News updates about Haiti, adoption, foster care, fetal alcohol syndrome and home schooling. I used to carefully scan the articles looking for blog fodder. Now, I categorize them and hope that one day I will read them. One of this weeks alert caught my eye though. I had to link in when I read the title Girls would be thrilled to be your shoes. What in the world did that have to do with FAS? The link took me to an advice column in Indiana’s Post Tribune. A pregnant woman was writing seeking support for her practice of having a glass of wine with dinner. This woman’s mother was “all shook up.” She wanted the advice columnist to tell her mother to chill out. The woman had already talked to her physician and was told that her nightly glass of wine wouldn’t cause harm to the fetus.

And,

“You’re writing to the wrong advice columnist if you want my blessing for that daily glass of wine. I don’t recommend it. Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, which stems from a mother’s drinking during pregnancy, is a leading cause of birth defects associated with mental retardation. When pregnant, it’s smart to err on the side of safety and caution. To my way of thinking, that would mean no alcohol consumption whatsoever!”

Thank you Dr. Robert Wallace for supporting healthy brains!

I get annoyed every time I read about a doctor who does not have the moral courage to tell their patients that, every time a pregnant woman drinks, alcohol travels through the umbilical vein to the developing baby. The baby’s blood alcohol rises with the mother’s. Brains are usually protected from chemical assault by a blood-brain barrier. Doesn’t that sound fancy? It isn’t. Physiologist called it that to increase their self importance. It just means that the cells that make up the walls of the capillaries surrounding the brain are squished really, really close together. The space or juncture between the cell is tiny and big things can’t get through. Think of a camel trying to get through the eye of a needle. Most chemicals we ingest pass by the brain but remain safely inside the blood vessels. The brain is never exposed to them. The cell wall is made out of fat. So, exceedingly small molecules that can dissolve into fat can get into the brain anyway. The blood-brain barrier is not a perfect barrier. Things like alcohol, caffeine and nicotine have a free pass. Why do you think humans drink alcohol and coffee and smoke or chew tobacco? Honest. Did that first bitter cup of coffee taste as good as it did this morning? It affects our brains in a way that we find pleasurable. They couldn’t do that if they didn’t have access to the brain!

Alcohol has access to the brain. Just like mercury and lead, alcohol is neurotoxic — it is poisonous to nerves and nerve tissue. Alcohol kills developing brain cells. Yes, even a little alcohol. I will grant that more alcohol kills more brain cells. But, face it, anyone who has raised a human into adulthood (or anyone who has critically and honestly examined their own life) knows that humans need all the brain cells they can get.

While my mom was here, she took David, Beverly and I to lunch on Wednesday. We left the restaurant at 1 PM. Wednesday at 1 PM is the time our town conducts tornado siren tests; the sirens were blaring. The closest siren to our home is a little over 1/2-mile away. I can hear it, just barely. When we were in town, the siren was feet away from us. It was very loud! We had been celebrating the fall holidays. The kids got toy shofars to blow.

Is that God’s horn mom? ~ David

Beverly is a little competitive, about everything. Yesterday in church during the song service, a man standing in front of us was raising his hands. Beverly asked why. I asked her what she did when she wanted mom or dad to lift her up.

Beverly: I raise my hands.

Mom: Well, that is kind of what he is doing. He is begging God to lift him up. Lifting your hands is a way you can worship God with your body position.

A few minutes late:

Beverly: Mom. Is God bigger than him?

Mom: Yes, God is way bigger than him.

Beverly: Well, when I grow up, I am going to be bigger than God.

Mom: Wanna bet…

No, they aren’t crop circle hoaxes. Although it might be beautiful, it isn’t meant to be a work of art. My husband is much too practical for that kind of thing. Aliens have not visited. Neither has a strange new fungus infected our backyard. The neighbors stood with their mouths ajar; they were awed, confused and befuddled watching Ron (with a little help from David) created perfectly round, large circles across the entire width of our yard. Two of them were brave enough to ask, “What in the world are you doing?”

The four circles are 26 feet in diameter. Apparently, when our apple trees grow up, that is where the drip line of the trees we will be. The circles were dug in order to plant yellow and white daffodil bulbs. Daffodils are supposed to crowd out the grass and deter our vermin friends from approaching our crops. We have squirrels, chipmunks and rabbits.

Inside the circle will be a veritable garden of bee attracting plants. We want to pollinate all our apple flowers so we can grow plenty of apples. At some point in the future, these circles are guaranteed to produce maintenance free apples. And, we will have plenty of apples. We can eat them, make pies, strudels, cakes, sauces, salads, preserves and relishes. Then, we will still have enough apples to make our own apple pectin. (Yes, I know I can buy Sure Jell at the store for fairly cheap. You are missing the point!) You see we have 6, yes 6, apple trees in our backyard. Ron bought and planted four. Beverly ate an apple and planted 3 apple seeds in an I-Can’t-Believe-It’s-Not-Butter container and they took off. Before it froze, Ron found a home for two of Beverly’s trees. I am quite sure that she will never get over the fact that he put one of her trees in “the compost.” There simply wasn’t room.

Signs?

Back to our circles. We also want to attract birds that will eat any insects that try to feast on our trees.

I don’t think Ron is planning on moving anytime soon. I am not enamored with Minnesota winters, but I suspect I better plan on putting down my roots.

Finally, I wanted to share what was happening in this photo. Last year I got David a real David-size shovel. So, David got his shovel and worked with Ron. He was a muddy mess when he came in, but I will never, ever discourage industriousness. Anyway, David is digging dirt from around a rather large rock. It kept him occupied while Ron finished the rest of the circle.

As they came in the house to wash for dinner I heard David say,

"Thanks for helping move that big rock Dad!" ~ David, 4-years-old

Oh, how proud my mama heart was! I giggled all the way through finishing up dinner. And, cooking dinner is my least favorite time of day.

Oh, and in case anyone is wondering… we do have a third child. She is busy finishing her senior year and working. It is hard to find things to write about her when she is never home anymore. How did that happen?