Setting boundaries.

Summer is speedily passing by and it seems one can hear the howl of winter storms in the distance already. We are amazed daily at marked differences time makes when noticing that the new little ducklings are no longer all yellow, the corn that was just weeks ago was no taller than waist high is now too tall to see over and the evenings are progressively becoming cooler and cooler.

My time outside of our foster-parenting responsibilities has been focused on dividing up part of our pasture so as to give our Llamas and Emu (the gentler species) an area of their own and get them separated from our horses. I've been concerned more than once that one of the Emu or Llama will end up injured during feeding time because the horses will immediately kick out at anyone around (except me) so as to protect their portion of the feed.

I have also been planning the addition of horse stalls off the back of my little barn utilizing replaced telephone polls provided by a friend of my brother.

In the last two days that I have had the opportunity to work at it I have dug by hand seven fence post holes and installed posts made from telephone poles anchored with cement. In the last week I have planted at least ten post in the same way.

At 53 I have to learn that the body just doesn't recover as it did in the past but I've now gotten to the point that the last couple of poles were placed and I didn't die at the end of the day. In fact I was capable of a shower and then sharpening 48 number two pencils for the children who started school today.

I feel it strange sometimes that right in the middle of a task so physically demanding as setting fence posts that a philosophical thought will make itself known as if I had been considering it for hours. In this instance I found my self considering the parallels of setting physical boundaries (fence posts) with emotional boundaries (defining emotional limits). It became suddenly clear that emotional boundaries where akin to the physical boundary of the a fence line I was installing, extremely hard to install but once set and strung lasts for a very long time with periodic maintenance while effortlessly keeping those inside safe and those outside separate. For the life of me I can't figure why in the middle of sweat and strain such a thought passed through my brain.

Saturday is the last swap-meet of the season up in Cromwell and I have set my mind to attend money or no. It is always a fun time and good place to get ideas for around the farm.

The children started school today and I think the wife is looking forward to the time it will allow for not just catching up on the cleaning but also catching up on the latest plot twists of All My Children.

I hope the weather holds and as time passes I improve in setting my boundaries.

I found a box of clay...

I was rummaging around in my garage yesterday looking for a suitcase or a suitable container to transport the clothing of our oldest foster daughter who was leaving our care for independent living. When foster children are moved it is not acceptable to put their clothing and belongings into plastic trash bags as it implies the stigma that their property is on the same level as trash. When moved with a suitcase it is more dignified.

Any way as I was rummaging around, I ran into a large box of artist quality modeling clay that I recognized as the clay that we had purchased for our daughter Misty when she first came to live with us five years ago.

I began to reminisce about our time with her despite a self imposed rule not to do so in an attempt to dull feelings of loss, as usual though it only takes that one trigger and off I went down memory lane.

I recalled that here was the box of clay that was meant to represent Misty’s new awakening or rebirth into a world of unbridled opportunity, to do exactly as she wished instead of everything wished of her. This box along with a large artist’s easel, paints, brushes, and whole room put aside as her art studio were the result of her mere suggestion that she always wished for the tools to express herself in her art. We were her new caretakers so it was our obligation to provide her with every opportunity.

I remembered that as the time passed, the clay was not used and the months slid into years. The box of clay began to take on another persona more to the negative instead of its original purpose of setting her free. The box became a reminder of Misty’s inability of original thought or creative thinking robbed from her by the lack of hope during an abusive childhood. This box of clay became both the symbol of the faint hope of one day sculpting something from her soul while also representing waste and unrealized dreams.

It hit me then in the close summer heat of my garage while obtaining that suitcase for one child preparing to leave just what that box actually represented… As nothing was done with the potential of the clay within the box it seemed that the potential we saw in Misty sat as the clay had sat unused and unrealized. It felt at that moment that five years of teaching, caring and loving were contained in that cold uncaring lump of clay and once again I cried…

Time will tell with Misty and hopefully some day soon she will come to know that her potential is limitless, her story inspiring, her person unique and her spirit deserving of true love.

Two new cats and the 4-H Fair.

Aside from having a ton of fence work to get done, horse stalls to build, and a barn to side before winter we find ourselves right smack dab in the middle of the Allen County 4-H Fair.

Our ten year old foster daughter is entered with Nabokko the most popular of our three Llamas obtained in a rescue. She has her poster to finish, her Llama's costume and her club paragraph to complete all before the start of the fair on Monday.

Anyone familiar with 4-H will tell you just how much of a strain that puts on the parents when everything is began at the last moment. It is a good thing that the wife has good friends who have volunteered to help out so the ten year old won't be left out. We look forward to an enjoyable week and an overnight next Saturday as long as we can keep our wits and schedules together.

I brought home two male cats for the barn last evening. Both are about four months old and hopefully right at the best age to be acclimated to the barn without bringing bad habits with them, namely hunting birds. I am a little concerned about the chickens with chicks and the momma duck with her fifteen ducklings if the cats take to hunting the little ones.

We may have gotten lucky though in that when I let them loose in the hay loft of the barn it was already occupied by two of our Guineas. When I dumped them out of their carrier they slunk for a couple of steps and then as if a fire cracker just went off jumped about a foot into the air when the Guineas began sounding their distinctive alarm and then ran for the nearest cover. I think I got them at just the right age. The one thing that I want them to hunt though are the mice that are beginning to over populate the barn and even though it is summer they are still getting into the animal's feed.

I think I will name them B1 and B2 for Barn cat one and two. Both cats are actually pretty good looking cats with distinctive pastel tones to their coloring in varying shades of white, blue grey and patchy yellow.

The peacock chicks are beginning to grow their crowns and should be ready for free ranging in another week.

I just found out yesterday that I won't be able to tell my male Emus from my females until they are approximately a year and a half old. I learned that the females make the distinctive booming or drumming sound familiar to those that have been around Emus while the males grunt or growl. Oh, well I just have to be patient... The Emus are really fun to watch and are quite friendly. It's neat to watch them circle or turn as they run as they lean into the turn just like a rider on a motor cycle.

I recently added a photo of Gypsy my mare and I on my My Space page along with a photo from last year of three of my girls. Time has passed and as is life things have changed. I know I'll catch hell from some of my family for also including it in my My Space slide show but after considering how it depicts a nicer time for my Three Musketeers I decided that it was the moment that was of value and shouldn't be lost.

My next writing will come if I survive the two new cats and the 4-H fair.

Summer begins.

Summer is beginning to pass signaled by the 4th of July and Fort Wayne’s traditional Tree Rivers Festival. These two events have come to signal with me that the refreshing newness of spring and a new seasonal beginning is at its end. The headlong march through summer into fall and ultimately winter begins with the festival. I guess it’s true that as you grow older winter becomes less and less the favorite of all the seasons.

This Independence Day was nice in that there wasn’t any distress or controversy attempting to intrude. It was a nice warm day culminating in the domestic normalcy of a cook-out, fireworks viewed from the front porch and a campfire shared by the adults. I missed family that wasn’t there but enjoyed those that were and was content.

Now it is time to begin planning the necessary construction of horse stalls and shelters for my Llama and Emus for the winter and getting the barn sided. God it’s good to be a guy and have projects to look forward to.

What's on my mind.

It's Saturday, I'm at my part-time job and now setting at the keyboard with the desire to put thoughts down into words but not the least idea of how to start or what to start writing about.

There are really four situations or circumstance that seem to occupy my mind most of the time depending on which one for what ever reason hooks into my thinking processes. The four issues not necessarily in the order of importance are my daughter Candy, my daughter Misty, our foster children, and building horse stalls and out buildings for our animals before winter.

Our Foster Children,

The issues with the foster children are actually the easiest to deal with while they seem to cause the most amount of immediate stress. The current sibling group a challenge as they have never known structure or consequences prior to being placed into Foster Care. Every day is a challenge in attempting to reach each child in a loving manner and instilling some sense of security through structure without going stark raving mad! The oldest thinks she is mom and rules don't apply to her, the nine year old doesn't listen half the time or abjectly violates the rules. We are still attempting to figure out if his behavior is intentional or a side issue of severe ADHD and possibly suffering from mild Autistic symptoms. The six year old is by the most part a semi-normal little boy with a propensity to abuse animals and a total lack of control of temper. The five year old again is pretty normal by the average with an over developed ability to push her siblings buttons resulting in her being attacked verbally and physically much too often. The issue at the forefront is allocation of time and addressing the needs of the children in our home so I guess the Foster Children would be the thing that occupies most of my thoughts but is also something constructive to do with my mind and is totally painless re emotional cost.

My daughter Candy...

How does a father express his concerns for his daughter's decision making processes, discuss the benchmarks set by previous decisions good and bad and not be made to pay for setting the boundaries needed to protect himself from the pain of watching the daughter he loves make what he believes to be negative decisions in her quest for happiness. Why is it that a child has to hold their parent accountable for their misery even when it is the parent that has tried to council them so as to keep them from that pain. I wish my children could accept my advice without dispute, act on what they feel they can use and disregard the rest without attempting to shove it down my throat that they are rejecting my advice with prejudice. One saving grace in the situation with my daughter Candy is that I know she loves me no matter what.

My daughter Misty...

The situation with Misty is still so very raw that it evokes emotional extremes that are still in need of the healing salve of time. I cannot get myself to believe that all the advice, all the promises, all the love of the last five years was for naught. The hard thing to accept with the Misty situation is the total disconnect between the loving memories of the past and the harsh and ugly circumstance of her rejection of my family and I. I understand the circumstance, I understand psychological pieces at play, I accept that the plain facts speak of the irreversible destruction of our relationship with our daughter but I still can't let go. On those solo runs from work to home or unplanned errands to buy milk, bread or butter I find myself remembering when I told her she was special not ordinary, smart not stupid, talented not untalented, beautiful not plain, good not bad. I remember constantly attempting to un-instill the self-destructive precepts taught by an abusive step-father and mentally cruel mother by reminding Misty of her strength and her ability to survive. My pain is now not just the point of loss through rejection but the concept that everything that we attempted to pass on to Misty was also rejected. I had for so long thought as with any of my children that no matter the trial life may throw my way my connection would never be broken, the future would always include her and then I realize...

My Farm...

I have four horse stalls to construct and a Llama and Emu shelter to build before winter. I have a load of old telephone poles and the plans to get everything done. This is the one task and life event that I truly enjoy and need.

Those are the four main things that occupy my mind these days. I'm sure that some of the little things not getting much attention now may grow to major things and time will do it's best to heal those wounds left from the aforesaid turmoil and tasks. I know today that I have the love of my wife and the protection of a power I can not comprehend. I know that in the near future and always in the background I will be dealing with a wayward son who can't come home because of warrants for his arrest, a son who is facing fifteen years in prison after taking a deal to avoid twice the time, another daughter leaving for the Air Force and of course how to pay for Christmas.

I can honestly say that I have no hate in my heart for anyone and have not stopped loving anyone. I wish I had all those I love about me and hope for the day it is possible.

Hectic can be fun.

Lately life has been so busy and confusing that it has actually been fun. We have in our home now six foster children that we like to call our vacation kids.

As is a common thread within the norm for foster children they usually come our way with a lack of structure, a lack of boundaries or a familiarity with a nurturing parent with control.

This last sibling group of four has been a real test for both my wife and I. Two of the boys have severe ADHD to the point that if not medicated can not control their behavior and are quite the challenge especially when there is an attempt to get them to do something they don’t want to. The oldest sister is ten going on twenty and motherhood as she has an opinion on everything and is a constant intrusion when attempting to redirect her brothers into more positive behavior. The littlest one, who is five years old, is starved for attention and knows exactly what button to push with each of her siblings to get things going.

We have Raymond who is our newest addition and long term placement whom I have wrote of in earlier blog entries. Raymond is beginning to act out as a normal boy but does still not understand the Quid Pro Quo of childhood inter-personal relationship when it comes to hitting or biting. You hit someone, then you should prepare to be socked. If you push someone then prepare to be pushed etc… He will learn.

We spent over a thousand dollars on groceries for the upcoming month, paid the bills and allocated for gasoline and ended up with a grand total of who knows how much for the rest of the month.

With twenty loads of laundry, discarded juice cartons laying all around out side, board games not put away and the dogs constantly being left in or out when they are not suppose to be saying that life is challenging would be an understatement.

The fun parts though seem to make it all worth while. The backyard campfires, the trips to Magic Wand in Churubusco and watching the children witness the miracle of eggs hatching in the incubator. We get anger after the visits with parents but we also get the hugs when they are most needed by the children. Most of all there is again the sense of family in this big old house.

The family has taken its licks lately but it seems that life if given time will always send the healing salve needed to heal all wounds. We have been reminded that with every rejection there is acceptance and there is no negative in life that can’t be overcome with love and understanding.

My wife and I are so very lucky to have the life we have.

An evening thunderstorm in spring.

The hot summer’s night air was pushed aside so quickly the experience was not unlike dropping into a cool pool of water in the heat of the day. Chills began to run from the exposed parts of our bodies where minute’s earlier perspiration shone.

We sat on the front porch facing north wrapped in blankets and opened sleeping bags watching as a mid-spring thunderstorm rumbled past spiking jagged shards of lightning into the ground and from cloud to cloud with sudden violent beauty. The smell of ozone and wet dust filled the air.

Earlier I had become a little melancholy and just a little morose as I pondered the recent departure of two of my children from our immediate family and my inability to maintain my relationship with them in the close loving way every parent should know and experience. I caught myself wishing that they were there to share in the moment.

With the sudden stab of blue-white lightning zigzagging across the blue black sky my thoughts were brought back to ground and the awareness of those whom I love who by their choice were present in that moment. I consciously took hold of the memory in the discussions of God and Jesus bowling to make the thunderous sounds and the rain beginning in the eyes of the angels crying with delight in the sport.

In that moment a gift was given. The gift was the memory of a warm spring night, a violently beautiful thunder storm and the loving reminder of understanding and appreciation from our most recent addition to family… Vanessa.