if you don't have something nice to say...

I love my children, really, I do.

But, sometimes-like now, I am struggling to like my children.

God gave me two boys that are full of fire.  I thought if we shook up the DNA on the second one, that I might get one that is laid back and easy going.  Nope.  I already had one who was high maintenance,  emotional, possessive, and all kids of rambunctious.   Now, I have another that is jealous, high strung, anxious, and struggling to communicate and despartely frustrated.  Together they are loud, disobedient, defiant and all around impossible.  And they are always crying and/or screaming.

They are also my light and joy (even if they have driven me to drink straight out of a Jack Daniels bottle while trying to get them in the bath).  They both love their mama to the exclusion of others.  They are my heart's desire and a gift from God.

So, since I don't have anything nice to say about them, I'll share some of our pictures from the beach.  I have some other cute ones of Sam and both boys, but they are cute enough that they are in contention for the Christmas card.

Well, since I've revealed my dirty little secret that adoption is hard, language and speech delays can feel hopeless for all involved, and I am struggling to find joy in this season, I'm going back planning a long vacation with J.R. without children somewhere like the Virgin Islands.  That and upcoming trips to see the Bibbs/Davises and to the beach are what are getting me through the days.

I may never have a daughter but I've got a queen

We had a good Saturday morning.  The kids enjoyed story time at Lemuria.  John Hinton and Mo enjoyed petting the iguana.   Sam wanted no part of this experience. 

He did get in on the ferret action though.

I love all of these kids.  They are so stinking sweet together.

This was before good times went bad and John Hinton woke up screaming from his nap and I'm quoting, "I can't take it anymore!" over. and. over. and. over.

He had a bite under his arm late last week and when he woke up the area was the size of a baseball.  As mentioned, this was accompanied by much much screaming that woke Sam up for his nap.  So then they were both screaming.  I managed to get out of my PJs.  Call my mama to come watch Sam.  Leave Sam with the neighbor and take John Hinton to the ER.

More screaming and whining occurred at the ER and since we got home.  Like at 3:30 this morning.

This from a kid that can wipe out repeatedly by speeding down our driveway (see below), but let an ant bite him and you should be prepared for the wrath of the drama queen.  As he told me today, "nothing can ever make me feel better."  Well, alrighty then.

PSA

Here is a little public service announcement.  Sometimes when you go to the Christian chicken, you have to be prepared to take names.  If you know my Aunt Susan or my mamaw then you know that I am genetically predisposed to have zero shame when it comes to making a scene in public.


Dear Punk,

You were too tall to be in the play place.  I don't know how you did not see the sign that said you must be shorter than this (54 inches) to play but whatever.  I saw the way you talked to your mama earlier.  She may be afraid of you, but I am not.  So when John Hinton is trying to talk to you (come to find out, he was trying to ask you your name) and you knock him down by bumping him with your crotch and stepping on him, I am going to make sure that I put the fear of God into you if your parents or guardian will not.

I was unmoved by your "I didn't mean to do it."

You just think that I am two shades to crazy at this point.  You so much as look side ways at the Asian invasion and I will unleash the beast.  I will make you regret that you are not vegan, that you ever dared to consider eating chicken.

Yes, I'm fully aware that most of the patrons were watching me when I came out of the play place including your mother.  No, I am not ashamed.  Don't mess with my children.  

And as John Hinton kept telling me tonight, you are not his best friend.

-The Crazy Lady