The Absence of Grey

Hersheys chocolate has no milk or dairy products in it. Neither do Marshmallows, how crazy is that? When you are helping someoene else, you are not thinking about how sad you are. Reaching out keeps you from collapsing in. Beagles are needy little fockers. Rufus gets oh so sad when the bus comes and the kids leave. He howls, and howls, and howls. Brad's friend Pat, says he will never stop that. UGH. He is so flippin loud. Shew, and once he gets upset, he is upset for a LONG time. There is no picking him up and calming him down! He needs doggie xanex. The bread on Talia's page, is delicious. Ozzy only believes in the Jesus with long hair and a beard. Concrete thinker girl is totally distressed because someone told her about the holy ghost and the only ghosts in her world are bad. But she gets upset about a million other things so I am not stressin. If I cut my hair, she does not know me, a toddler in a 11 year old body. It is NOT NOT NOT Fun. Now im

When parenting the chronically mentally ill, one is, in many ways, a passenger on a roller coaster. It's full of highs and lows, twists and turns, scary, and fun moments. It is frightening and exiherating depending on where you are at any given time. Over and over again, you hop on, for one reason or another, and each time, you go up, down, and sideways. One of the mistakes I used to make, was to get caught up in the twist of the time. I would get so excited about the travel upward, that I forgot in only moments I would be dropping sharply down. In the same token, I would become so afraid on the drop, forgot the rise was coming, and keep my eyes closed, missing the joy of moving upward. The problem with that riding that way, is that the fluctions will drive you nuts. If you go moment to moment and forget about the past cycles of the ride, it will always own you. It will control you and your emotions. Life will pass you by while you are busy riding. But alas my sweet parent frie

Since I'm apparently in the mood to share all my fumbling and bumblings, I wanted to tell ya this one too! A few years ago my children and I attended a foster parent pool party with eighty or so foster children. We work for a level 2 and 3 agency so the children they deal with have experienced major trauma and have a plethora of major issues. The children and I arrived and I was shocked at how quickly Rachel, my biological child, resorted to acting like a crazy person. Oh my goodness, she starts throwing herself on the ground in front of everyone. People are staring, hell, the other kids are even staring. And here I sit, with my two-parent-middle- class-superdeedooper-loving-family child, totally outshining every other emotionally disturbed child in the area. A woman who I do not know or care to know at this point approaches me. She looks at me with the most understanding eyes "gosh, it really is so hard on them", she says. I stand there a minute, thinking, or ra

Tyler Perry , my most favorite playwright, gave the most eloquent speech when I went to see Madea Goes to Jail a couple of years ago in Atlanta. As I am re-doing much of my life, getting back to me, I have been reminded of this most important lesson. This is a terrible Jessi rendition of his speech on Trees. Pardon my lacking, but I believe you can find it on you tube if you look. I compare the people in my life to parts of a tree. Most of the people in my life, in the world are like leaves. The wind blows they are over here, it blows again, they are over there, they are unstable. They are there to take from the tree and provide a little shade sometimes. They disappear with the changing of the seasons. Don't get mad at the leaves, it's who they are. So much heartache is caused by people trying to make leaves permanent. So much time is spent wasted on trying to hold onto someone who was only supposed to be with you for a season. Let them go. There are other people who ar

One of my favorite classes in college was a Philosopy Class taught by Paul Tudico. He is despised among most because he is incrediby witty and challenges every thought good or bad. You best be certain of what you think and believe about things before spending much time around him, because he will question all of it. NEWAY, so by now I'm sure you know I have six children. During one class discussion my professor was discussing abortion and having children and how having children was polluting the earth. Because he knew of my family size, he directed a comment to me concerning how badly I was pollutting the earth by having children. "Oh no!", I said, "I've not had six children, I'm a foster parent, I recycle." (PS I KNOW I"M SOOOO TOTALLY GOING TO HELL FOR THIS ONE, lol)

He joined me on one of my visits to the hospital. I, there to work on defending myself against real life monsters, and him, well, I know someone hurt him, I just don't know exactly how. He was so tiny, even to me, sullen and pale. Dead looking really, especially in his eyes. If not for seeing him draw, you could imagine him dead, for that really was the only thing he did that ever promised there might be something behind those eyes. Day after day, he sat, drawing, never looking, or speaking to anyone. Not his parents, his therapist, or even me. And day after day, I felt drawn to him. His eyes mirrored my own. Sure, I was better at faking it, but him and I, we were the same. He shuffled from place to place, careful to never draw attention, to blend into the nothingness that would allow him to pretend. The other patients, well, they fumbled and bumbled around, and I, I sat with him. I spoke to him, talking to him, pretended he was participating, though he didn't. The other

fragmented words sewn together with strings of tears pieces formed in broken promises and nothingness mistakes and misunderstandings become the very fabric of her

One of the writing groups I'm in had a poetry challenge, using a few of the lines from this poem by Gwendolyn Brooks to make a new one. Here is hers, mine is at the bottom, hope you enjoy! A SONG IN THE FRONT YARD by Gwendolyn Brooks I've stayed in the front yard all my life. I want a peek at the back Where it's rough and untended and hungry weed grows. A girl gets sick of a rose... I want to go in the back yard now And maybe down the alley, To where the charity children play. I want a good time today. They do some wonderful things. The have some wonderful fun. My mother sneers, but I say it's fine How they don't have to go in at quarter to nine. My mother, she tells me that Johnnie Mae Will grow up to be a bad woman. That George'll be taken to Jail soon or late (On account of last winter he sold our back gate). But I say it's fine Honest, I do And I'd like to be a bad woman, too, And wear the brave stocking of night-black lace A

Basic necessities, called that for a reason. I saw this episode of South park once where they were making fun of Sally Struthers. While it was stupid, one thing struck me. During the show, a plane dropped bibles over the dessert. Little starving children ran to the bibles, picked them up, and ate them. They were hungry. Enough said. You cannot focus on food for the spirit when you are starving. You cannot understand the love of a Heavenly father when you have never had the love of a father or mother. You cannot understand forgiveness when you have never been forgiven. You cannot understand unconditional love when all you have seen is the greedy kind of love. Hurt cannot know peace. Pain cannot know rest. Loneliness cannot know belonging Unkindness cannot learn grace. Think about it. Act on it. Be more.

When she is quiet she is oh so loud inside. When she is smiling, tears soak her pillows. When she is surrounded by people, she feels more alone than ever. And when she has had enough, of never being enough, she decides she isn't going to play anymore. She is going to live, And laugh, And love, without you Cause while she was quiet She heard you. And while she was crying She saw you And while you stood close She figured you out

She stands alone Head high in the clouds Wrapped in their soft embrace She hopes alone arms reach for more quiet dreaming her escape She waits alone Feet painfully nailed in this tearing place She sees the sun Feels it’s warm rays Yet she cannot break free wishful feet soaked by rain Half calm, half scared Half more, half less Half everything she wants to be Half everything she's not

an angel with a devil's smile perhaps the other way around it matters none the less, she says I'll only bring you down her wings were clipped so long ago all she knows is falling step close enough my sweet friend from the bottom you'll be calling

BrOKeN PuZzLEs She is damaged goods, Long ago broken by men who will never pay for their crimes. Long ago lost to a world she was never brave enough to dream about. She sits ever so quietly in her room wishing, Wishing to look in the mirror and see more. A broken puzzle with missing pieces, She worked ever so hard to put them together Filling in the holes with hopes for more Trying desperately to make out who it is she wants to be But it doesn't matter Because no one plays with broken puzzles.

You blew in a soft breeze caressing my war-torn skin You blew in reminding not all winds carried pain You blew in just long enough to dry my tears to clear the air so I could see you blew away just as fast just as gently before I even knew you were gone

A woman who I don't know at all, who has become my lifeline in this radical world, suffered a very painful loss today, and I am heartbroken for her. My latest batch of laundry detergent SUCKS. It makes my clothes feel greasy or something so I am rewashing everything with vinegar. I can find a million explanations other than what the truth actually is. If you go bowling after 15 years, you back hurts. Irish spring smells yummy in laundry detergent. Things are rarely as they seem, and even less important than we imagine. There is a blog to print thingamajig which I am thinking of using to print some of my stuff, hmmmm wonder how that will work out? Someone has gone to JCMC twice as me, I got the bill today from a collection agency. I am not happy. I am fairly certain who it is. Will deal with that tomorrow I guess. AHHHH the consequences of meeting sociopaths and degenerates. My tolerance level goes down sharply when I am tired. Petting stinky, but beautiful malam

I do not like surround sound, it bugs my ears for some reason. There are people God has surrounded me with, who hold me up when I am too tired or willing to do on my own. Smoked pizza is the shiznat! If you little white child washes her hair in your black neices hair conditioner, it will take atleast three days to get out...not that it's out...I'm just starting a count. Dish detergent does not help with greasy headedness. I'm ridiculously honest. I talk to much, tell to much, but in general I feel it does two things...one if I know someone knows what I'm struggling with, I think twice before I do it. And two, time and time again I am contacted by people who struggle with the very same things. Christine has been sent into my life at a time when I most needed reminding of the ins and outs of parenting the attachment challenged! She wrote and sings the most amazing song about the things we struggle with, it's called What you do with pee . I am one resil

I fall down, I get back up. You push me down, still I rise. I fall down, I scramble upward. You push me down, I am tired, I decide to lay for awhile. Eventually...I get back up. Over and over again A dizzying mix of up and down, forming a circle I can't free myself from. Where I'm falling is irrelevant. Why I'm falling, hard to pinpoint. It's the getting back up that matters. Resiliency becomes me.

Another me Another place and time A new beginning before yesterday’s nightmares And today’s mistakes Strong and confident and brave A me without trepidation Never little Eyes wide open skin without scars a me to warn others how to never be me

As a mommy, I sometimes find myself saying the most bizarre things... Some of my recent favorites are.... How in the world did you guys make such a mess over night??? No you don't have to wear underwear, but you need pants on. How in fact does a dog six inches high reach a ceiling tile to pull it down? As long as you are peeing in the house, You are the pee getter of the house, so get started on the mess the puppy just made. Stop spinning on the cat food lid No you are not allowed to ride my basket down the stairs, I don't care if your dad thinks it's funny. Well tell the voices to hush, they are getting on your mother's nerves. It doesn't really matter how your shirt got soaked in pee, I hear you saying you did not pee on it, but it does have to be washed so hand it over. Get off the pond, we live in East Tennessee, it's not that frozen. (followed by, Well I guess I'll be driving your soaking wet self to school!) Who colored the dog?

a simple piece of paper stuffed under a book full of words I never knew about feelings I crave I wish I could hear you say them Or really anything at all A simple piece of paper scrapes layers of scars back to the rawness of your loss back to the hopelessness a child so close and a million miles away growing her own tomatoes, so I grow some too. Anything to make me feel closer Anything to make her real Not just a kid who once lived here Not just a story I tell when I am sad Not anything but her. My Angel. My baby of the heart. Lost to me. I hope someday I find you.

Her eyes hold a thousand truths untold secrets she's never brave enough to say out loud yet they were brave enough to look into his eyes as she whispered no, not any more Her eyes are a map to worlds lost and love ached for Her eyes Cry tears no one ever sees and reach for more Her eyes a mystery, seductive, a fortuitous consequence of pain and strength twisted in dark brown circles begging you come just a little closer close enough to hear her whisper what her eyes can't say....

I, I am all or nothing. I keep people out, or I let them in. I love them, or hate them. No in betweens. Not ever. Some people have figured that out. They work their way in. They find all my soft places. They find all those hidden feelings. And I let them because just for a little while it feels good to not be so alone. And then they go. Having found what they wanted, the chase is no longer fun. They go. And I, I ache. And I cry, and I write poems and stories But I, I move forward. And they will keep chasing Never ever finding, because you can't find pursuit, it is an act, not a destination,

Mud You, You see me with mud covered glasses, feel me with shaky hands, love me with missing pieces, and reach for me with broken arms. But I, I will wash away the dirt of yesterday, so you can see the sun. I will hold your hands steady, until you find rest. I will make new pieces, to fill in all that's been stolen. And I, I will step close enough, so you don't have to reach.