When Anger is Overwhelming

If anyone were to ask my close friends to describe me in 5 words or less, I can guarantee you that one of those words would be strong-willed.  My mom loves to tell this story of me when I was around 4 years old and I had decided I didn’t want to wear the clothes she had picked out for me so I was shoulders deep in my dresser throwing clothes over my back until I got to the clothes I wanted to wear.  Over the years I have also been called audacious, determined or maybe spunky.

As my husband and I struggled over the past year plus, my will and “spunk” turned to a deep-seated anger.  I was angry over little things like always being responsible for grocery shopping and kids’ lunches or even “big” things like addictions.  I felt violated and dumped on.  I had proven my love and devotion with each child and through numerous deployments.  I had led and carried our family for close to 13 years and how dare he treat me this way??!!

My anger was pitted in a household with an 11-year boy with anger issues.  He takes medication to manage his mood swings but it is not uncommon for him to punch holes in doors, walls or to hurt himself or others.  Then there’s my husband who came home from this last deployment with a temper I’ve never seen before.  He’s more physical in his anger and shouts, rants with an angry red face.

We were living in a cesspool of anger and it was overwhelming.  When you’re caught in a situation like that it can be hard to know where to start in making it better and your tendency is to hold onto the righteous anger.  But that’s not the best answer.  “My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this:  Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.” James 1: 19-20.  In addition to prayer I challenged myself to find 2-3 things each day that I could be positive about with my husband (even if I didn’t communicate it to him).  So rather than getting frustrated that he couldn’t go to the grocery store without me making a list for him, I was glad that he would go at all.

Looking At Myself in An Unflattering Light

For my blog fans — I’m back!  After almost a year of semi-retirement I am blogging again and look forward to sharing my stories and hearing yours.

The sad reality is that I have been on the verge of losing my marriage.  After 13 years together, three of our own kids, countless foster kids, military deployments/training and just the daily grind, my happy marriage (or so I thought) came to a screeching halt.  And how do you talk about that? It was hard enough to look in the mirror and accept that my life was going to be changed forever.  AND to accept that I contributed to the problems.  These things were enough — how could I dare to talk or write about it to others.

Once my righteous indignation at being hurt by someone I loved began to ease, I had to ask myself did I want to save our marriage?  Was it saveable?  After 7 months of emotional separation and 5 months of physical and emotional separation, I can say yes to both.  My answer was building over time — some days were good and some days were horribly bad. But the good days were enough to make me try harder.  God commands me to be a better wife and my children need me to as well.  For the sake of my family’s health and happiness, I had to do more.

So I read my Bible, I prayed, I talked to my best friend and my mom.  Yet I still thought, “well if he would just do this.  Or, if he promises not to do that.”  I prayed for God to change him.  After a dreadful week of several gut-wrenching “discussions,” I began to realize how wrong I was.  I needed God to change me. I am not the person I want to be — impatient, bossy, driven, vain, and lots of other unflattering qualities.  I need to focus on being a better Jennifer and let God handle the rest.

There is still hurt, anger, disappointment and frustration for both of us to the other on any given day.  But we are on a path to working through those feelings together.

Surviving Change in Your Marriage

My husband and I have enjoyed more than 10 years of marriage and with good reason.  I enjoy every day waking up to his red hair and freckles.  He makes me laugh (you should really have a front row seat to his Mr. Roboto routine with the kids screaming, “Stop, Daddy, stop).  He makes me crazy (as he puts the color coordinated coat hangers out-of-order).  He’s kind and thoughtful with just enough meanness to keep it interesting (making me do my own oil changes and tag renewals!  Isn’t that his job??)

I can also say one key thing that keeps us married is that we are a good balance to each other.  I am a Type A, anal-retentive, workaholic.  My husband, blessedly, is not.  He is in the military and manages to leave the regimented BS at the door every day.  He is quite easy-going.  I need to be moving and doing.  I wake up on Saturday morning excited about what we can plan for the next 48 hours.  He wakes up and hopes I’ll leave him alone. 

Another thing — I like change.  It’s exciting.  My entire home could burn down tomorrow and with the exception of my pictures, my laptop and my jewelry, I would relish the challenge to find a new home and fill it with new treasures.  (Assuming, of course, that all the people got out OK.)  My husband loathes change.  He considers it unnecessary.  

We moved into our new home last weekend and this weekend we were going back to visit our former church.  On the way to church I said, “Honey, why don’t we try a new Sunday school class?”  “Why would we do that?” he says as his head whips around. “Well, I just thought that it’s been almost 18 months since we’ve lived here and the teacher has changed.  Maybe another class would work better for us now,” I said.  His face is a little flushed.  I can almost feel the heart palpitations.  In an almost harsh tone he says, “Look, I painted our den a new color this weekend and rearranged the furniture. That’s enough change for a while.  We’re going to the same class.”  I said nothing further.

Would you like to guess if we went to somewhere new for Sunday lunch?

My Name Has Changed

My name is no longer Jennifer, Jenni, Mom, Mama or even Honey.  I am most often referred to as “But Mooo – ooom . . . . ” and then some argument ensues from one of my older children.  This week we are in between school ending and summer camp starting.  I was not traveling for work and so I volunteered to work from home a couple of days so we did not have to hire extra help to stay with the kids.  Perhaps that was not the best idea because I have now had my fill of “But Moms.”

A discussion with my 10-year son went like this last night:
“Mom, can I go outside and shoot my BB gun again.”
“No, sweetie.  It’s dark now and you’ve already shot several times today.”
“But Mom, I’m bored and you told me I needed to go outside more.”
“You’re right, I did.  I really don’t want you shooting anymore today and it’s dark now.  Let’s find something else to do.”
“But Moooooom.  I don’t want to find something else to do.  That’s all I want to do.  Why won’t you let me?”
“I said no and my answer is final.”
But Mooooom.  You’re so mean to me.”  Huff, huff, stomp, stomp.  Off to his room he goes very upset with me.

I distinctly recall a few occasions in my own childhood when I thought my mother was the meanest, most awful person in the world.  As I got older I realized she was strong, tough and had a very large soft spot for those in need.  Perhaps its okay if I lose my name temporarily if in the end it means I teach my children some of the same lessons she has taught me. 

A few of those lessons include:
*  God gave you these children because he thought you were best prepared to raise them.  They are temporarily yours until God needs them again.
*  Your children don’t have to like you.  They do, however, need to respect you.  It is your job to teach them that respect.
*  It is also your job to teach them respect for others, including themselves. 
*  Kindness and generosity make it easy to meet new friends.

TV And A Book Provide Small Joys

“But my God shall supply all your needs according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.” Phillippians 4:19 

Yes, indeed Goes does supply.  I love Phillippians.  Some of my favorite scripture verses are found there.  Last night I thought on this particular verse and I reveled at the wonderful ending to my day.  At 9:07pm my children were in bed (and close to being asleep), the laundry was done, work was done (as much as it ever is), lunches were made and there were no more boxes to be packed (we’re moving in 4 days).  Sakes alive — could it possibly be true?  Could I have the opportunity to sit down with uninterrupted time to myself? 

I did just that.  I sat down and watched 45 minutes of a TV show.  It was a pretty good cop show and I wondered why I hadn’t seen much of it before.  Oh yeah, those sleeping creatures in the next room and the constant influx of emails (the familiar DiNg from my laptop).  But I really did it.  I watched a TV show and then I marched myself off to bed with a brand new book.  I may have only gotten into a few pages before my eyes were heavy laden but it is the thought that counts.  It was wonderful time if only because it happens so rarely. 

This morning I woke up desperately chipper.  Even the kids noticed and they acted accordingly.  No fighting, no name calling and we made it out the door on time and well fed.  I’m determined to keep today positive and find another few minutes of quiet sometime before Christmas.

Where Does My Son Go?

After watching my son’s beautiful green eyes well up with tears yesterday at the sight of my suitcase, I called two of my staff and told them that I wasn’t making my business trip and would have to join our meeting today remotely.  I rescheduled other meetings and instead spent the rest of Mother’s Day with my family.  As I was fixing breakfast for the kids, Zoen says, “Mom, if it will only be for a day, I can be strong enough.  You can go.”  I stopped.  I looked at him squarely.  He needed to know that I absolutely wouldn’t go if he needed me to stay.  Instead, we made a deal that as long as I could be home tomorrow night before dinner that it was OK for me to go. 

I was three hours into my trip when the calls began.  Our college student had asked the two big kids to spend some time playing in their room since they were arguing.  That was the first point of escalation.  When he began to hit and bite her, she took away his Legos.  That was another point of escalation.  It could have been Legos, a teddy bear, a sock — anything could have set him off.  But at this point his is out of control and had to be tackled at least once so that he didn’t hurt himself or others.

We’re all spent — emotionally, mentally and (for those who have to restrain him) physically.  Can someone please tell me where my son goes when The Angry One comes?  How did we get here?  How do we get better?  I love him so very much but there are days when I look at him and don’t know what to do anymore.  I don’t know how to help.  He seems so filled with hate.  But then he’s not.

If This Too Shall Pass, can it please pass more quickly?

Anger, Abuse and Addiction

In the 9+ years of being a foster parent, my husband and I have been fortunate enough to take care of many children and also help some of their extended families.  Since we were trained as “therapeutic” parents, it meant we could take cases of abuse, neglect, addiction, behavioral and mental challenges.  About the only thing we didn’t get were those children classified as medically fragile.   Because I was too naive to know better when we originally got involved with our foster agency and their social workers, I somehow thought that children who came out of broken and dysfunctional homes would be more prone to acryonyms — ADD, ADHD, ODD, etc., etc.  Little did I know that God was only preparing me for one of my own.

I was traveling for work the entire past week.  The first couple of days seemed to go OK.  By the third day things were awry.  Being on the west coast, I called at dinner time so I could get the kids before they went to bed.  My 10-year old son was hysterical.  About 20 minutes later he was calm enough to explain that he had lost his temper and kicked a hole in a wall at home.  Our college student had put the other kids to bed but was still trying to deal with Zoen.  We finally got him settled but he was then heartbroken and apologetic over the damage he caused.  The next day he was a little better but still easily agitated.  He tried to pick a fight with his younger sister after school and was either chasing her away from the car, shutting the door on her or kicking her in the seat because he “couldn’t stand to be near her.”   Again, our college student calls and we try to calm him down enough so that she can at least get all the kids in the car and home.  Once home he just had to be left alone.

When my son first sees me on Friday, he practically falls into my arms.  He immediately apologizes for the hole in the wall and trying to hurt his sister and says “you can take away anything I have.”  He is distraught that I am disappointed in him.  For two days he has stuck to me like glue.  He has said please, thank you, yes ma’am and jumped at the chance to help me with something.  He’s in the “being perfect” stage of his cycle and is what I imagine other abusive or addictive personalities go through after a destructive binge. 

I’m supposed to leave on a business trip again today.  As I was in my bedroom packing, Zoen walks in.  He asks what I’m doing — as if he doesn’t already know what the suitcase means — and I tell him.  He stands there very still and begins to cry.  No fit of anger, no screaming, no tantrum . . . just tears.  He covers his face and walks to give me a hug.  A few minutes later he says, “Mama, I don’t like it when you’re not here.”

God bless me and God bless this child.

God Help Me But I Almost Punched Her

I had decided last night after a cross-country flight and getting to my room at midnight that I shouldn’t write this blog.  I was only aggravated because I was so tired.  And I was tired.  But I was also really aggravated.  I couldn’t sleep.  I was still stirred up and thinking that I could have been on the evening news.  The headline would have read, “Tennessee Woman KOs American Airlines Know It All.”   But my online blogging friend, The Domestic Fringe, wrote earlier today about the fun of tying her son to a pole so I will share my own experience. 

As I sat down in my 6-in wide seat last night and tried to get comfortable, so were the other ladies in my row.  We began to exchange the normal pleasantries and settle in for a multi-hour flight.   Middle Seat (that’s what I’m calling her) begins to tell about her children and asks if I have some.  I respond yes and share their ages.  She doesn’t leave it there because obviously she wants to talk during the flight so I prepare to be polite (this is what we do where we’re raised in the South, remember?) and answer her questions.  I have now shared that my oldest biological son has some struggles, including severe ADHD.  Well that just pushes her button and she’s off on a tangent about how overmedicated children are these days and she’s sure he just needs more creative discipline and an outlet for his energy.  After all, she says, “weren’t many of us hyper as children?”  I think to myself, “Here we go again.  Words of wisdom from someone who has absolutely no idea what they’re talking about.” 

Let me explain something about the children in our home.  I am blessed to have three children of my own, ages 10, 7 and 2.  My husband and I have also been foster parents for almost 10 years and have provided care during that time to close to 30 other children ranging in ages from 1 month to 17 years old.  They stay with us a minimum of 6 weeks and up to 18 months.   Many have come diagnosed with ADHD, ADD, ODD, OCD and a variety of other behavioral disorders due to a history of neglect and abuse.  We’ve seen some bad stuff and dealt with it all under the grace of God.  So I feel pretty confident that my own son’s ADHD is not just a simple matter of needing some extra “play time” as Middle Seat would have it.

Most people don’t know that ADHD is not just able your energy level.   My son has no impulse control and little sense of danger.  He wouldn’t think twice (and has done this before) about standing on the second floor railing at home and throwing a rope 10 ft. out to the nearby tree and trying to jump across to it.  Nevermind that the rope gets twisted and tangled around his dangling body in the process; it seemed like a good idea to him at the time.  He doesn’t respond well to social cues and has little concept of personal space.   School, homework, church, making friends, keeping friends and lots of other things don’t come easily to him.   You learn to accept that first day in each school year when another kid calls him “a freak” and your child is crushed.

So . . . Middle Seat, be glad I held my reaction last night.  Until you walk a mile in our shoes, don’t be so quick to judge other people’s struggles.

Ruth Bell Graham Understands Marriage

Ruth Graham is an amazing Christian woman.  Not only was she married to one of the world’s leading evangelists but she had a ministry of her own and was a successful author.  I read an interview from her in the mid-1980s where it was asked if she had ever considered divorcing Dr. Graham.  Her response was classic, “Divorce, no.  Murder, yes.”  I figure if she can occasionally want to murder such a beloved man then it’s OK  me to think the same about my husband. 

Speaking of my dear and wonderful husband, let me share a few details.  He’s a Yankee and I’m a Southerner (which means we speak TOTALLY different languages).   He’s a Big 10 fan and my heart belongs to the SEC.  He’s Episcopalian and I’m Baptist.   He was raised by hippie, theater-loving parents.  I was raised by a strict single mother and older brothers who hunt and spit (not always in that order).  Sometimes it seems like our only common ground is the beautiful (yet heathenistic) children we have produced.   

We have made it through almost 12 years together.  I can say that most of them truly have been wonderful but I travel for work and he is deployed for many months at a time so, hmmm . . . maybe distance helps us as well.  (If you are reading this, I love you honey! Smooch, smooch!)  Our newest adventure together is house hunting.  This will be our second home purchase together and I must have blocked out this experience the last time we did it 9+ years ago.  

A recent “discussion” (aka argument) was not about a house but the land that comes with it.   My husband wants it.  I don’t.  Or at least I don’t want a lot.  An acre or so is just fine for me.  So when my husband proposed that we look at several homes with 5-10 acres, my thoughts were, “Are you crazy?  Have you lost your ever lovin’ mind?  When was the last time you mowed the grass?”  Unfortunately, at least one of these thoughts actually came out of my unfiltered and Southern mouth (sorry, I couldn’t help it).  Well then he digs his heels in and becomes adamant that he’ll go see the homes with or without me. 

A friend of mine told me recently about visiting a jewelry store where she immediately fell in love with a fabulous and equally expensive emerald and diamond ring.  The sales lady looks closely at her and says, “Honey, that’s just for a different time in your life.”  Perhaps I would do better by my husband if I responded, “Honey, that seems like a great house but it’s just for a different time in our lives.”

The EverReady Bunny Has Been Cloned

Yes, the bunny that never stops has been cloned and its new form is a little red-headed boy named Elijah.  I took him to the doctor this morning for his 2-year old well-child check-up and he was in rare form. 

      The first sign comes when he spots the swinging door that separates the waiting room from the 25+ clinical rooms, triage area, etc.  This is clearly his access to freedom.  He plays calmly for about 30 seconds and then pretends to walk to the water fountain for a drink.  In the two seconds that I look down to check the emails on my mobile phone, he pulls a fast one and darts away.  I look up to the door swinging in the breeze.  So in my spring dress and stiletto heels I go chasing after him and all I see rounding the corner is his little butt.  I pass at least 12 physicians, nurses, PAs, etc. and not one of them try to stop the escape artist as he finally manages to lock himself in the medical record room.  I make my way in through a back door and carry him out over my shoulder while one of the same  doctors that watched me chase him down in heels says, “he’s a fast one, ain’t he?”  Really?? 

We make it into the clinical exam room and Eli is crawling on the table, in the cabinets and on the rolling stool.  The doctor walks in and he burst out of the cabinet with “s’pise.”  In a very deadpan voice, doc says, “So I guess there are no problems with his motor skills?”  No, I don’t think so.  I’m pretty sure we’re motoring along just fine.  In fact, I wish someone would take the motor out for just a little while each day.

The nurse comes in a bit later and confirms that he is 33 pounds and 35.5 inches tall.  Most everyone looks at him and asks, “What is he — about 3 or so?”  I sheepishly say, “No, he’s barely 2.”  So today, the nurse and doctor both say, “I think it’s fair to say he’ll grow up to be larger than average.”  Really??  He’ll grow up to be larger than average??  He’s larger than average now.  Getting him dressed in like putting pantyhose on a giant octupus with 18 legs.  How is it that my other children are tall and lanky and now I get this linebacker-sized child?  God must have really special things lined up for him.  I’m hoping it’s the NFL because he’ll need something to take care of all this momentum.