John and I kid around a lot about the oldest of our three new children. We should probably stop, but in the beginning, we joked around as a form of therapy for ourselves. "Big C" as I call him in this blog, is a difficult child. Oh, he is a beautiful little boy. All three of our little angels are beautiful. "Little C" has a grin that will have the girls swooning one day. And our little girl has golden hair and little gold flecks in her eyelashes. And Big C is just adorable too. He has those big brown eyes and mischievous grin. He's handsome, and smart and coordinated for a five year old. But he is far from the easiest child I have ever parented.
The kidding around between me and my husband is normally something like this:
Me: "I'm going to the store to get milk, eggs, etc. Do you want me to take one of the little ones with me?
John: It doesn't matter, I can watch them all - or if you want to, you can take Big C . . ."
(Insert sarcastic laughter)
Occasionally, we have a little disagreement over who will handle his antics. It goes like this:
Me: It's your turn, dude. I've had enough of the master of disaster.
John: Seriously? I changed two exploding diapers just now on the other two.
Although it doesn't always go like this, you get the picture. It's not easy. We knew this whole "arrangement" would not be easy. But all the classes we took, books we read, stories we heard, and conversations we had- nothing could have prepared us for these specific children and their needs, experiences, and trauma.
And being that Big C is the oldest, he remembers the most. He holds onto the most.
After he went to therapy this past week, he started recalling stories of his parents, who he referred to by their first names. He knew the names of the towns he lived in, who he lived with, and where Little C lived, and all the other details. He knew unbelievable details. It was so sad.
And as frustrating as this child can be, sometimes I am overwhelmed with grief for what he has lost and what life has done to him. He has a hard time with trust. The first time his caseworker came to visit us, he was terrified that she was going to take him to live somewhere else. The first time I took him to daycare, he clung to me, afraid I would leave him. And at therapy, before he will go in the room and play in the sand or with the other toys, he turns and asks: "Will you be right outside the door the whole time?"
I don't know what heavy burdens he has carried but I know he has had a hard time just being a child. He spent the first five or six weeks in our home telling us how to change the baby's diaper, how to discipline his brother, how to cut the food for them, how to hold the baby, and all manner of things most five year olds never bother to be concerned about.
Recently I decided to look up the children's names and read about their meanings. I have this big fascination with names and what they mean. If I had ever been able to have my own babies, it would have been a big process to choose their names. As it is, I put great time and thought into naming my two babies in Heaven - Jacob and Abigail. So, not being able to choose your children's names is hard, but I wanted to know their names all the same.
I flipped through a book of baby names and read the meanings. Everything was pretty straightforward, nothing spectacular. But I did pause when I got to the meaning of Big C's name.
It means "winding valley."
Another translation claims that his name means "bent or crooked."
Could there be a better name for this child?
It breaks my heart, but his name fits him well. We watch him struggle, make unwise choices, use profanity (at five years old!) and learn the hard way. We watch him battle moment by moment with simple rules and structure that is designed to guide and protect him. He has been in this winding valley all of his life. He has struggled on path that is bent and crooked. His life has been less than ideal.
So it was that today I did go to the grocery store to pick up milk, juice, bread, etc. You know, the basics. And I was tempted to just take the baby. She is so easy and sweet and people stop by the cart to gush: "Oh! She looks just like you!" And I smile and feel so happy. Or I could have taken my handsome Little C, who sits happily in the cart and is just glad to be there. But when Big C heard I was going to the store, he slipped into the narrow space between my body and the kitchen counter and reached for my hands. "Can I go with you Mommy?"
Flashback of the last two times he accompanied me to the grocery store: Screaming, kicking, clawing me, slamming the grocery cart into my heels (ouch!) grabbing at helium balloons and knocking down a display of Little Debbie cakes . . .
John looked hopeful . . . the baby was content . . . Little C was about to take a nap.
"Okay, buddy. You can come with me."
And the little Winding Valley happily trotted out the door with me.
In the parking lot, I laid down the ground rules. You may have one (1) treat, if and only if you stay with me, do not ask for anything, and do not attempt to push the grocery cart. Do not argue with me, do not talk to strangers, and do not run in the grocery store.
He agreed to my rules.
We shopped for about thirty very uneventful minutes. We spent even longer with the cashier due to an issue with my kool-aid coupon. As we checked out, I told Big C he could choose his one (1) treat. He chose a cheese danish, of all things.
While I paid, the charming child walked over to some 25 cent-candy machines but HE DID NOT ASK FOR A SINGLE THING.
We walked to the car, loaded the groceries into the back and he climbed into his booster car-seat. I buckled him in and he asked if he could eat the danish in the car. I said yes and got into my seat, started the AC and began backing out of the parking space. While I was turned around looking out the back windshield, his eyes locked with mine. Between bites of danish, he smiled and said: "Thank you, mommy."
As we pulled out of the parking lot, I caught a glimpse of him in the rear view mirror. I was overcome at the sight of him: sweet, innocent, pure, lovable, precious, full of life, and full of energy. He looked so safe and so "at home."
"I love you, buddy." I said.
And I meant it.
I do love him.
We didn't sign up for easy street. We signed up for the winding valley. And I am happy to be moving forward, one step at a time.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Rollin' with the Changes
We knew this was coming but it still hit us out of the blue. John went to work on Friday with his customary brown-bag lunch and Steelers mug of coffee and was soon greeted by his supervisor- the district manager- coming to deliver some news. I'm not going to call this "bad news," in fact, I refuse to call it anything other than "news" because we just don't know what God has in store for us next. John has been working for Wolf as a manager for over twelve years. He has been with Wolf far longer than he's been with me, and he has done well there. But sadly, the economy has hurt this business and his store, along with many others, is closed. Originally, he was told that there would be about 3-6 weeks until the store was officially "closed." That changed yesterday when John was told to put a sign on the door and start boxing up the merchandise. Done. Over. Adios. The End. John called his "guys" - the faithful work associates who have kept him company for years, and passed along the "news." And here we go again.
In October, I left a job of fourteen years. A comfortable, easy, pleasant job that I had done for so long I could do it with my eyes closed and both hands tied behind my back. I left because God said "it's time to go, I'm done with you here," and he lead me to work right here in my community with a struggling non-profit that truthfully couldn't afford to hire me. But God opened that door, and I am overwhelmingly grateful because not five months later we received the wonderful news that our family was about to grow in a very special way. Bringing C, C and E into our home has changed our life dramatically. In fact, it was such a massive change for us that John took 6 weeks of paid FMLA time to stay home with me and help get the children into a routine with our family and community. We went from being a family of 6 to a family of 9 and I have loved every minute of it (except for the uncertainty about the future . . . but let's not go into that right now.) I am tempted to be a little nervous right now, but actually I'm kind of excited. I'm excited to see what God has in store for us. John has been faithful to a job that hasn't always been easy. He has been a hard-working and faithful provider for our family, and I believe God will honor that faithfulness. John has sacrificed his Saturdays and some Sundays for years, and many holidays. He has worked long hours, put up with ornery customers, and spent far too much time wearing a black polo and khakis. And now God has something else for him- and for us.
My mother in law called tonight to ask how John was doing. He is her baby, after all. I should also interject that I adore my mother in law. She is adorable, funny, clever, creative, warm, and witty. She is someone I admire and enjoy. Her humor is always laced with sarcasm (like me), and she is thoughtful like no one I have ever known. She never forgets a birthday, she never lets a holiday pass without sending a card to each of the children. And she faithfully calls us every Sunday just to check on things. Tonight's phone call was focused on John, and of course, the children. And I felt really encouraged after talking to her. She believes like I do, that something great is just around the corner.
Our life seems to be full of changes. Yes I know, everyone feels that way. But when I think about the changes that have happened in this house over the past year, I can honestly say that these changes have been for our good. Isn't that what scripture promises us? That in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28 Sometimes I am still blown away that God chose me and called me according to his purpose. But I am grateful for this perspective. I am grateful that as we roll through life and face these changes, we can know that God still holds us in His hand. Nothing takes Him by surprise.
Now if all of you will just keep reminding me of this!
In October, I left a job of fourteen years. A comfortable, easy, pleasant job that I had done for so long I could do it with my eyes closed and both hands tied behind my back. I left because God said "it's time to go, I'm done with you here," and he lead me to work right here in my community with a struggling non-profit that truthfully couldn't afford to hire me. But God opened that door, and I am overwhelmingly grateful because not five months later we received the wonderful news that our family was about to grow in a very special way. Bringing C, C and E into our home has changed our life dramatically. In fact, it was such a massive change for us that John took 6 weeks of paid FMLA time to stay home with me and help get the children into a routine with our family and community. We went from being a family of 6 to a family of 9 and I have loved every minute of it (except for the uncertainty about the future . . . but let's not go into that right now.) I am tempted to be a little nervous right now, but actually I'm kind of excited. I'm excited to see what God has in store for us. John has been faithful to a job that hasn't always been easy. He has been a hard-working and faithful provider for our family, and I believe God will honor that faithfulness. John has sacrificed his Saturdays and some Sundays for years, and many holidays. He has worked long hours, put up with ornery customers, and spent far too much time wearing a black polo and khakis. And now God has something else for him- and for us.
My mother in law called tonight to ask how John was doing. He is her baby, after all. I should also interject that I adore my mother in law. She is adorable, funny, clever, creative, warm, and witty. She is someone I admire and enjoy. Her humor is always laced with sarcasm (like me), and she is thoughtful like no one I have ever known. She never forgets a birthday, she never lets a holiday pass without sending a card to each of the children. And she faithfully calls us every Sunday just to check on things. Tonight's phone call was focused on John, and of course, the children. And I felt really encouraged after talking to her. She believes like I do, that something great is just around the corner.
Our life seems to be full of changes. Yes I know, everyone feels that way. But when I think about the changes that have happened in this house over the past year, I can honestly say that these changes have been for our good. Isn't that what scripture promises us? That in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28 Sometimes I am still blown away that God chose me and called me according to his purpose. But I am grateful for this perspective. I am grateful that as we roll through life and face these changes, we can know that God still holds us in His hand. Nothing takes Him by surprise.
Now if all of you will just keep reminding me of this!
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
The Emotionally Crippled Mommy
I had one of those weekends where all I could think about was "what if?" What if we lose them, what if we have them for another year and THEN we lose them? What if we have them forever and they grow up to resent us and turn into delinquents?
I can't say what causes me to have these fears and feelings of gloom. I can say, being brutally honest, that sometimes facebook is really hard for me. It seems like page after page of newborn babies, pregnancy posts, happy pictures from the delivery room. And in spite of these beautiful children that live in my home, and my wonderful compassionate husband, I still struggle with bitterness, sadness, longing, and loneliness. Yes, loneliness. Infertility makes you feel like you are alone in a sea of happy fertile people who were blessed to be able to plan their families, and see the natural fruit of their wombs. Infertility makes you feel left out. It's like being the only kid not picked for a team in kickball, or not being asked to a school dance when all your friends are going.
This weekend I was seriously bummed out. Just watching the kids play made me sad. I couldn't enjoy them because all I could think about was how broken and imperfect this world is - and how broken and imperfect I am. I thought about their circumstances, and how they came to us- and I thought about what I used to imagine as my future. You know- a good old, pity party.
And at the height of my brokenness and self-loathing, the boys asked for a bedtime story. I reached into the big basket and pulled out three board books. "Pick one," I offered, already too distracted by my pitiful nonsense to pay much attention to the titles. John noticed one of the three books was Max Lucado's book, The Crippled Lamb. He muttered something about that sounding like a really depressing children's book. I didn't remember the whole story. I knew it was something about a lamb that was there during the nativity. In a fleeting moment, I thought about putting that one back. It might be easier to stick with Little Monster or the Berenstein Bears than deal with the complicated theology of barnyard animals as spiritual beings.
The boys followed me into the bedroom and naturally they picked "the lamb one." I opened the book and started to read, telling myself not to get emotionally dragged into the story. Max Lucado is great - but sometimes a little heavy for a Sunday night. Big C was sitting on my lap while Little C wandered in and out of the closet, talking to himself and counting his fingers. I managed to get through the first part, about how poor little Joshua (the crippled lamb) always felt left out because he had a bad leg and the other lambs were mean to him. I remembered parts of the story as I read (it's easily been eight years since I read this one) about Abigail the nice old cow who encouraged Joshua that "God has a special place for those who feel left out." Why did that stupid dreamy-eyed cow have to say that? I got choked up on page two. Big C was sitting in my lap and he pointed to the drawing of the cow. "Is that his new mommy?" He asked. I sniffed. "Yes, she's . . . well, she's like his foster . . . foster mom." And then I really fell apart. Joshua the lamb was not able to go into the fields with the other lambs because he was crippled. He was different. He was broken. And my heart was just broken. I cried big, crocodile tears, desperately trying to pull myself together. But who was I crying for? The fictional lamb with a disability? For the next few pages, Joshua watches the birth of Christ unfold in the stable where he was left behind with Abigail the cow. When the baby Jesus is cold, Joshua curls up beside him to keep him warm and he stops crying. And then Joshua is reminded of Abigail's words: God does have a special place for those who feel left out.
As I wept my way through this children's book, Big C looked at me with complete astonishment. "You really ARE crying!" he exclaimed. "Yes, I am," I replied. Little C had stopped digging in his diaper long enough to notice my emotional breakdown.
"What's wrong with you?" Big C asked, "It's just a story. Besides it's all okay now, see, he's not sad anymore."
He was right. Joshua, the crippled lamb, made peace with his disability and his loss. He accepted God's purpose for his life, and was glad- maybe delighted - to be "the one" who stayed behind in the stable and got to be with Jesus.
And I'm gonna get there too- one day. But in the meantime, I hugged my little ones tight. They are mine for right now. I am here in this moment for this reason, just like Joshua.
I can't say what causes me to have these fears and feelings of gloom. I can say, being brutally honest, that sometimes facebook is really hard for me. It seems like page after page of newborn babies, pregnancy posts, happy pictures from the delivery room. And in spite of these beautiful children that live in my home, and my wonderful compassionate husband, I still struggle with bitterness, sadness, longing, and loneliness. Yes, loneliness. Infertility makes you feel like you are alone in a sea of happy fertile people who were blessed to be able to plan their families, and see the natural fruit of their wombs. Infertility makes you feel left out. It's like being the only kid not picked for a team in kickball, or not being asked to a school dance when all your friends are going.
This weekend I was seriously bummed out. Just watching the kids play made me sad. I couldn't enjoy them because all I could think about was how broken and imperfect this world is - and how broken and imperfect I am. I thought about their circumstances, and how they came to us- and I thought about what I used to imagine as my future. You know- a good old, pity party.
And at the height of my brokenness and self-loathing, the boys asked for a bedtime story. I reached into the big basket and pulled out three board books. "Pick one," I offered, already too distracted by my pitiful nonsense to pay much attention to the titles. John noticed one of the three books was Max Lucado's book, The Crippled Lamb. He muttered something about that sounding like a really depressing children's book. I didn't remember the whole story. I knew it was something about a lamb that was there during the nativity. In a fleeting moment, I thought about putting that one back. It might be easier to stick with Little Monster or the Berenstein Bears than deal with the complicated theology of barnyard animals as spiritual beings.
The boys followed me into the bedroom and naturally they picked "the lamb one." I opened the book and started to read, telling myself not to get emotionally dragged into the story. Max Lucado is great - but sometimes a little heavy for a Sunday night. Big C was sitting on my lap while Little C wandered in and out of the closet, talking to himself and counting his fingers. I managed to get through the first part, about how poor little Joshua (the crippled lamb) always felt left out because he had a bad leg and the other lambs were mean to him. I remembered parts of the story as I read (it's easily been eight years since I read this one) about Abigail the nice old cow who encouraged Joshua that "God has a special place for those who feel left out." Why did that stupid dreamy-eyed cow have to say that? I got choked up on page two. Big C was sitting in my lap and he pointed to the drawing of the cow. "Is that his new mommy?" He asked. I sniffed. "Yes, she's . . . well, she's like his foster . . . foster mom." And then I really fell apart. Joshua the lamb was not able to go into the fields with the other lambs because he was crippled. He was different. He was broken. And my heart was just broken. I cried big, crocodile tears, desperately trying to pull myself together. But who was I crying for? The fictional lamb with a disability? For the next few pages, Joshua watches the birth of Christ unfold in the stable where he was left behind with Abigail the cow. When the baby Jesus is cold, Joshua curls up beside him to keep him warm and he stops crying. And then Joshua is reminded of Abigail's words: God does have a special place for those who feel left out.
As I wept my way through this children's book, Big C looked at me with complete astonishment. "You really ARE crying!" he exclaimed. "Yes, I am," I replied. Little C had stopped digging in his diaper long enough to notice my emotional breakdown.
"What's wrong with you?" Big C asked, "It's just a story. Besides it's all okay now, see, he's not sad anymore."
He was right. Joshua, the crippled lamb, made peace with his disability and his loss. He accepted God's purpose for his life, and was glad- maybe delighted - to be "the one" who stayed behind in the stable and got to be with Jesus.
And I'm gonna get there too- one day. But in the meantime, I hugged my little ones tight. They are mine for right now. I am here in this moment for this reason, just like Joshua.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
These are My People
This new phase of my life is full of rich experiences that ought to be written down- if only I had the time. Something about the addition of three preschoolers into a house full of hormone-infused teenagers has me running in circles. And probably the most interesting part of this journey is making a home for three children who called me "Mommy" the first day they entered my home. Yes, it is a strange thing to go pick up three bright-faced children in the parking lot of a restaurant, strap them into car seats in your own vehicle, and bring them home. I cannot imagine what it must be like to be so little, and have no idea where you are going, where you will sleep that night, and who will be taking care of you. What must it be like to watch the sun go down as the car moves along an unfamiliar highway and you notice the dark gray caps of the blue ridge mountains ahead of you- mountains you have never seen, as you leave behind the last place you called "home?" My three new babies were in their last "placement" for only three hours before the "potential adoptive parents" who had taken them, made a decision to give them back. One of the case workers told me that these parents complained: "These are not the children you described to us on the phone," before packing them up and sending them on their way. At this point, having no other in-county options, their placement team decided to call our private agency in Atlanta, and the decision was made to send the three little ones to the home of "Mr. and Mrs. Line." Imagine that! A couple made a quick decision in under three hours and these children came to us! It's a miracle, really . . . a strange, wacky, mixed-up kind of miracle, but a miracle nonetheless and I will take them any way they come.
Of course this experience is different for all of the kids. Our sweet girl, just 18 months old now, is full of life and bubbly energy. She is happy to be held, cuddled, tickled, or just smiled at. She knows us and trusts us now after seven weeks. She calls John Daddy and reaches for him whenever he is nearby. I have to admit that in the beginning I wondered if she would attach to us. She seemed ready to go with anyone who showed her the slightest bit of attention. She reached for strangers, smiled at all of us the same, but looked lost and alone in the floor of her nursery class at the daycare. So I must admit, somewhat ashamedly, that I was secretly happy the first time I took her to day care and she refused to let me go. She held on to my arms, crying, pleading with those dark gray eyes for me to take her with me, instead of leaving her. I felt a twinge of guilt at my happiness, not that she was crying- but that she was longing, and that she was longing for me.
My little middle monkey just melts my heart. He has these big brown eyes and the deepest little voice for a three year-old. Just the sound of the word "Mommy" from his lips is all I need in the morning. At first I wasn't sure how he would bond with me. He was so confused about where he was, and who was the boss. He attached to John so easily, clinging to him like an orphan - grunting instead of talking, flying into tantrums if John set him down. I realize now that I avoided him for the first two weeks. It was easier to let John handle him, and the other two were demanding enough. I'm not saying I ignored him- but I just didn't work on getting to know him. And then one day, I saw him sleeping in his bed, his little body so tiny and I saw this precious baby that he is, so desperate for a mother's love. I made a decision in that moment to hold him more, to reach for him more, to tell him how handsome and how sweet he is, as much as possible and to nurture him. I fell in love with him! And he fell in love with me too, and the nurturing paid off. Suddenly, he is even more charming and beautiful than the first day I saw him.
But the child who is probably experiencing this new stage of his life with the most difficulty is our oldest new child at five years old. He has hurt the most, I believe. He remembers the abuse and the violence he witnessed. He recalls those stories to me often. He remembers the places they have lived, the people who cared for him (or should have), and the way the house looked, the toys inside, and the beds they slept in. He remembers the names of previous caseworkers, caregivers, foster siblings, and family members. He has previously assumed the role of parent, and is just now learning to "let go" and be a little boy.
On his second day with us, while driving to my dear friend's house to play, he asked me "How long are we gonna live with you?"
I was shocked by his question, but I answered, "I hope forever."
He sat quietly for a minute before replying, "Why would anyone want to keep us forever?"
On the way into his home town for court nearly two weeks ago, he sat up in his car-seat and looked around. We had driven for over two hours, away from the mountains, away from the river, away from our front porch and two dogs, and the toys in the yard. He hadn't said anything about where we were going- he was just along for the ride. But as we approached the center of town, he took notice of an old, run-down looking hotel where shady deals go down in the light of day. He sat up straight and tall, and announced that he and his brother had once lived in "that house." Further down the road, he looked out the window anxiously, watching familiar buildings and sites go by. Quieter than usual, he softly said: "I used to live in this world."
My heart sank.
I guess when you are five, and you have had 5 different homes in less than a year, and some strangers take you home and feed you, bathe you and tell you that you can call them "Mommy" and "Daddy," you probably do feel like you have gone into a different world. And when you once lived in a scrappy hotel and witnessed unspeakable acts of violence, and suddenly you are whisked away to live in a big, bright house full of crankly but lovable kids and two giant hilarious dogs, and a constant supply of friends and toys, it probably does seem a world away.
Last Friday night, John and I volunteered (what we we thinking??) to babysit kids for a foster parenting class. So we watched eleven preschoolers who all live in different foster homes in our area, including our own. I was surprised that in the room full of rambunctiousness (7 boys, 4 girls!) our three little ones clung to us like laundry on the clothesline. They refused to let go, swapping my lap for John's, or vice verse. I could barely get up to hand out crackers to the other kids. But finally, one by one, they began to play with the other kids and toys. John was picking up blocks and I had moved to the other end of the room. A little boy named Alex had fallen over and was crying. I picked him up and sat him on my lap. He cried and cuddled close to me, and soon his foster-sister, an adorable little four-year old girl with crossed-eyes and blue glasses, came and sat on my other leg. Soon they were smiling and holding on to me, and no sooner did my five year old take notice.
"Hey!" He shouted, angrily stomping his foot, "That's my mommy! And I want to sit on her lap!"
"It's okay," I told him, "They just want to sit with me for a few minutes."
He stomped his foot again, "But you're not THEIR PEOPLE! You're MY PEOPLE!"
I smiled and reminded him that he was going home with me, and there was no reason to be jealous. But secretly I was pretty happy. I'm happy to be his "people."
I pray and hope we can be their people forever. We need each other.
Of course this experience is different for all of the kids. Our sweet girl, just 18 months old now, is full of life and bubbly energy. She is happy to be held, cuddled, tickled, or just smiled at. She knows us and trusts us now after seven weeks. She calls John Daddy and reaches for him whenever he is nearby. I have to admit that in the beginning I wondered if she would attach to us. She seemed ready to go with anyone who showed her the slightest bit of attention. She reached for strangers, smiled at all of us the same, but looked lost and alone in the floor of her nursery class at the daycare. So I must admit, somewhat ashamedly, that I was secretly happy the first time I took her to day care and she refused to let me go. She held on to my arms, crying, pleading with those dark gray eyes for me to take her with me, instead of leaving her. I felt a twinge of guilt at my happiness, not that she was crying- but that she was longing, and that she was longing for me.
My little middle monkey just melts my heart. He has these big brown eyes and the deepest little voice for a three year-old. Just the sound of the word "Mommy" from his lips is all I need in the morning. At first I wasn't sure how he would bond with me. He was so confused about where he was, and who was the boss. He attached to John so easily, clinging to him like an orphan - grunting instead of talking, flying into tantrums if John set him down. I realize now that I avoided him for the first two weeks. It was easier to let John handle him, and the other two were demanding enough. I'm not saying I ignored him- but I just didn't work on getting to know him. And then one day, I saw him sleeping in his bed, his little body so tiny and I saw this precious baby that he is, so desperate for a mother's love. I made a decision in that moment to hold him more, to reach for him more, to tell him how handsome and how sweet he is, as much as possible and to nurture him. I fell in love with him! And he fell in love with me too, and the nurturing paid off. Suddenly, he is even more charming and beautiful than the first day I saw him.
But the child who is probably experiencing this new stage of his life with the most difficulty is our oldest new child at five years old. He has hurt the most, I believe. He remembers the abuse and the violence he witnessed. He recalls those stories to me often. He remembers the places they have lived, the people who cared for him (or should have), and the way the house looked, the toys inside, and the beds they slept in. He remembers the names of previous caseworkers, caregivers, foster siblings, and family members. He has previously assumed the role of parent, and is just now learning to "let go" and be a little boy.
On his second day with us, while driving to my dear friend's house to play, he asked me "How long are we gonna live with you?"
I was shocked by his question, but I answered, "I hope forever."
He sat quietly for a minute before replying, "Why would anyone want to keep us forever?"
On the way into his home town for court nearly two weeks ago, he sat up in his car-seat and looked around. We had driven for over two hours, away from the mountains, away from the river, away from our front porch and two dogs, and the toys in the yard. He hadn't said anything about where we were going- he was just along for the ride. But as we approached the center of town, he took notice of an old, run-down looking hotel where shady deals go down in the light of day. He sat up straight and tall, and announced that he and his brother had once lived in "that house." Further down the road, he looked out the window anxiously, watching familiar buildings and sites go by. Quieter than usual, he softly said: "I used to live in this world."
My heart sank.
I guess when you are five, and you have had 5 different homes in less than a year, and some strangers take you home and feed you, bathe you and tell you that you can call them "Mommy" and "Daddy," you probably do feel like you have gone into a different world. And when you once lived in a scrappy hotel and witnessed unspeakable acts of violence, and suddenly you are whisked away to live in a big, bright house full of crankly but lovable kids and two giant hilarious dogs, and a constant supply of friends and toys, it probably does seem a world away.
Last Friday night, John and I volunteered (what we we thinking??) to babysit kids for a foster parenting class. So we watched eleven preschoolers who all live in different foster homes in our area, including our own. I was surprised that in the room full of rambunctiousness (7 boys, 4 girls!) our three little ones clung to us like laundry on the clothesline. They refused to let go, swapping my lap for John's, or vice verse. I could barely get up to hand out crackers to the other kids. But finally, one by one, they began to play with the other kids and toys. John was picking up blocks and I had moved to the other end of the room. A little boy named Alex had fallen over and was crying. I picked him up and sat him on my lap. He cried and cuddled close to me, and soon his foster-sister, an adorable little four-year old girl with crossed-eyes and blue glasses, came and sat on my other leg. Soon they were smiling and holding on to me, and no sooner did my five year old take notice.
"Hey!" He shouted, angrily stomping his foot, "That's my mommy! And I want to sit on her lap!"
"It's okay," I told him, "They just want to sit with me for a few minutes."
He stomped his foot again, "But you're not THEIR PEOPLE! You're MY PEOPLE!"
I smiled and reminded him that he was going home with me, and there was no reason to be jealous. But secretly I was pretty happy. I'm happy to be his "people."
I pray and hope we can be their people forever. We need each other.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Is love worth the risk?
Another week in our journey has come and gone. John is in the bedroom giving little Lizzie a breathing treatment. The little boys are in bed, big boys are watching TV. Georgia is on a "date" at a school play. I needed to blog tonight.
I needed to blog because as we are four weeks into our new lives with "little ones," more of their story has begun to unfold before us, more of the sad truth about their predicament. Harder for me has been the realization that when we took these precious little ones- we were stepping into unknown territory. And the unknown territory is all because of one little box we checked on the last form of our home study. The question beside that box asks: "Willing to accept legal risk placement?" and we checked "Yes."
Of course, going back to that moment in my mind, our adoption caseworker was very cool and gentle about it. She was awesome after all. I remember sitting on our back porch and she was going over the final "application" to adopt. To the question of ages, we listed all ages up to ten since we had already determined not to upset the birth order already in place with John's three children. For the question of siblings, we checked "yes" and stated that we were willing to accept a group of 2-6 related children. To the question of race, we checked "all" because we truly did not have a preference. And that last question: "willing to accept legal risk placement?" Is the reason we now have C,C, and E.
Going back we wouldn't have done anything differently. We know scores of people who have accepted legal risk placement and now have their children, safely and permanently legally adopted. We have also heard a "few" horror stories, but not enough to scare us from checking that "yes" box.
When we first got that "all important" call about C, C, and E, we felt they would be ours for good. We forgot about checking that little box. We drove blindly and madly to a town nearly two hours away to pick up two dark-haired little boys with runny noses, and one blond little tot with soft chubby cheeks and a funny little smile. We signed some paperwork in the Cracker Barrel Parking lot. We took possession of three car seats, four garbage bags full of clothing and personal belongings, broken toys, stained and worn-out pajamas and outfits that I would never dream of putting on a child. We stuffed all of these things, along with the kids, one bicycle, one pink princess car, three green duffel bags and quite a few plastic superheroes with missing limbs into one car. We didn't have enough time to take a breath or process the depth of this situation, or pause to consider the risk.
We brought home our new kids, introduced them to our existing kids, put everyone to bed and tried to sort through the mounds of junk, limited paperwork, and varying emotions. Lizzie woke us up the first night and I hopped up to rock her in a rocking chair that brought back memories of Jeremiah. I stroked her hair and smelled her baby smell and recalled all the nights I had cried myself to sleep wondering if God would ever hear my cry and give me a baby. Had he given me a baby? No, not in the conventional sense, but for a few nights I forgot that she wasn't mine yet.
My mom came into town and stayed for four nights after I called her in a panic. We had only had two hours notice after all! John took off family medical leave, but it didn't kick in for another week. Alone at the house with three preschoolers, mom and several wonderful church members came to my rescue. The first few days and nights were especially rough. I was so tired! But after mom came and went, and then John was on leave, everything seemed to get a little better. They began calling us "Mommy" and "Daddy." My friend April came to help me out one day and meet the kids. She commented that I had waited so long for a child to call me "Mommy" and now I had three who called me that special name.
But then the next week came. Week two was when the case worker called to arrange a visit with biological mom. We didn't know the whole story, but we began to piece it together with the fragmented information in their files and with what we had been given by DFACS. At the end of week two, another worker called to arrange a visit for the oldest child with his biological dad. Soon we were shuffling the kids around to meet with people who had obviously let them down to some advanced degree in the past. When we told the oldest of his visit with dad, he threw himself in the floor crying and begged not to go. At their second visit with mom, he informed her that "I have a new mommy and daddy now" which did not go over well. At each visit, mom sent more junky toys, more candy, more cheap clothing in the wrong sizes. She sent home garbage bags of Easter candy with labels warning not to give to small children due to choking hazards and chocolate bunnies so old they had turned almost white. Again, we sorted through the "baggage" and pitched what was unacceptable.
And in the past week, I have started feeling this deep fear and sadness. I have to remind myself every day that God is in control of this situation. I would hear one thing from one person involved in the case and I would feel like it was just a matter of time until the termination would take place. Then I would talk to another worker or voice in the case and hear a completely different side of the story. This is just a mess, just a tricky mess. Nothing seems to ever be simple in life. But some grace did come yesterday, through our Families First caseworker, Jocelyn, who took one hour out of her busy life to talk to me and answer all of my questions about the pending court case, birth mom's rights, criminal proceedings, and a lot of legal jargon. She reminded me that we did agree to accept legal risk and that there is no guarantee that these children are here to stay. Then she reminded me of the important role we play in these children's lives right now. "The best thing you can do right now," she told me, "is love them and try to give them the most normal and healthy family situation you can give them at this moment in their lives. Love them the way you would want someone to love your children."
At first that really stung. I wanted to say "but I don't have any children of my own." It reminded me of all the kids I have loved and lost. It reminded me of Peniel and Jeremiah, who's hand prints are all over our home, and who we could not have loved more if they had been born to us. I still can't bear to paint over Jeremiah's drawing on the wall beside the pantry, or his name that is drawn into the wall above the bed he used to occupy. Some of their clothing and toys have now been passed on to these two new little boys. I don't put a shirt on these boys without remembering Jeremiah wearing it on the first day of Kindergarten, or to church one Sunday. And I know that when we took those two sweet boys, we were also taking a risk. We loved them with all we had, with complete devotion, but we couldn't keep them. In the end, we lost them, but our love for them will never go away.
So we will love again because love is worth the risk. We don't know how long they will be ours. I pray it is forever, and I pray that we were wise to take the risk again. For them, tonight, right now, they are part of this family. And in my heart they always will be, no matter what.
Please pray for us.
I needed to blog because as we are four weeks into our new lives with "little ones," more of their story has begun to unfold before us, more of the sad truth about their predicament. Harder for me has been the realization that when we took these precious little ones- we were stepping into unknown territory. And the unknown territory is all because of one little box we checked on the last form of our home study. The question beside that box asks: "Willing to accept legal risk placement?" and we checked "Yes."
Of course, going back to that moment in my mind, our adoption caseworker was very cool and gentle about it. She was awesome after all. I remember sitting on our back porch and she was going over the final "application" to adopt. To the question of ages, we listed all ages up to ten since we had already determined not to upset the birth order already in place with John's three children. For the question of siblings, we checked "yes" and stated that we were willing to accept a group of 2-6 related children. To the question of race, we checked "all" because we truly did not have a preference. And that last question: "willing to accept legal risk placement?" Is the reason we now have C,C, and E.
Going back we wouldn't have done anything differently. We know scores of people who have accepted legal risk placement and now have their children, safely and permanently legally adopted. We have also heard a "few" horror stories, but not enough to scare us from checking that "yes" box.
When we first got that "all important" call about C, C, and E, we felt they would be ours for good. We forgot about checking that little box. We drove blindly and madly to a town nearly two hours away to pick up two dark-haired little boys with runny noses, and one blond little tot with soft chubby cheeks and a funny little smile. We signed some paperwork in the Cracker Barrel Parking lot. We took possession of three car seats, four garbage bags full of clothing and personal belongings, broken toys, stained and worn-out pajamas and outfits that I would never dream of putting on a child. We stuffed all of these things, along with the kids, one bicycle, one pink princess car, three green duffel bags and quite a few plastic superheroes with missing limbs into one car. We didn't have enough time to take a breath or process the depth of this situation, or pause to consider the risk.
We brought home our new kids, introduced them to our existing kids, put everyone to bed and tried to sort through the mounds of junk, limited paperwork, and varying emotions. Lizzie woke us up the first night and I hopped up to rock her in a rocking chair that brought back memories of Jeremiah. I stroked her hair and smelled her baby smell and recalled all the nights I had cried myself to sleep wondering if God would ever hear my cry and give me a baby. Had he given me a baby? No, not in the conventional sense, but for a few nights I forgot that she wasn't mine yet.
My mom came into town and stayed for four nights after I called her in a panic. We had only had two hours notice after all! John took off family medical leave, but it didn't kick in for another week. Alone at the house with three preschoolers, mom and several wonderful church members came to my rescue. The first few days and nights were especially rough. I was so tired! But after mom came and went, and then John was on leave, everything seemed to get a little better. They began calling us "Mommy" and "Daddy." My friend April came to help me out one day and meet the kids. She commented that I had waited so long for a child to call me "Mommy" and now I had three who called me that special name.
But then the next week came. Week two was when the case worker called to arrange a visit with biological mom. We didn't know the whole story, but we began to piece it together with the fragmented information in their files and with what we had been given by DFACS. At the end of week two, another worker called to arrange a visit for the oldest child with his biological dad. Soon we were shuffling the kids around to meet with people who had obviously let them down to some advanced degree in the past. When we told the oldest of his visit with dad, he threw himself in the floor crying and begged not to go. At their second visit with mom, he informed her that "I have a new mommy and daddy now" which did not go over well. At each visit, mom sent more junky toys, more candy, more cheap clothing in the wrong sizes. She sent home garbage bags of Easter candy with labels warning not to give to small children due to choking hazards and chocolate bunnies so old they had turned almost white. Again, we sorted through the "baggage" and pitched what was unacceptable.
And in the past week, I have started feeling this deep fear and sadness. I have to remind myself every day that God is in control of this situation. I would hear one thing from one person involved in the case and I would feel like it was just a matter of time until the termination would take place. Then I would talk to another worker or voice in the case and hear a completely different side of the story. This is just a mess, just a tricky mess. Nothing seems to ever be simple in life. But some grace did come yesterday, through our Families First caseworker, Jocelyn, who took one hour out of her busy life to talk to me and answer all of my questions about the pending court case, birth mom's rights, criminal proceedings, and a lot of legal jargon. She reminded me that we did agree to accept legal risk and that there is no guarantee that these children are here to stay. Then she reminded me of the important role we play in these children's lives right now. "The best thing you can do right now," she told me, "is love them and try to give them the most normal and healthy family situation you can give them at this moment in their lives. Love them the way you would want someone to love your children."
At first that really stung. I wanted to say "but I don't have any children of my own." It reminded me of all the kids I have loved and lost. It reminded me of Peniel and Jeremiah, who's hand prints are all over our home, and who we could not have loved more if they had been born to us. I still can't bear to paint over Jeremiah's drawing on the wall beside the pantry, or his name that is drawn into the wall above the bed he used to occupy. Some of their clothing and toys have now been passed on to these two new little boys. I don't put a shirt on these boys without remembering Jeremiah wearing it on the first day of Kindergarten, or to church one Sunday. And I know that when we took those two sweet boys, we were also taking a risk. We loved them with all we had, with complete devotion, but we couldn't keep them. In the end, we lost them, but our love for them will never go away.
So we will love again because love is worth the risk. We don't know how long they will be ours. I pray it is forever, and I pray that we were wise to take the risk again. For them, tonight, right now, they are part of this family. And in my heart they always will be, no matter what.
Please pray for us.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Week One Done
So it has been one week since our new kids joined our family. So much has happened in one week, namely, I have lost five pounds and about 40% of my brain cells, and I can no longer complete a sentence without trailing off into a fog. Having gone on a few mission trips, including construction project trips, I can honestly say without a doubt that I am exhausted. I have never been this tired in my life. But yes, tired and happy. The kids are wonderful. They came with lots of baggage, but they are wonderful.
My five year old can cuss you out in just a few seconds. He knows words I had never heard in college. He knows how to use them. He can cuss you under the table in no time at all. Today, I was thrilled to hear him say "Shut the heck up!" to his baby brother, rather than: "Shut the X#$% up!" like I was hearing a few days ago. He is a precious, little, dark-haired boy with tiny teeth and big brown eyes. He wants to do right, and he wants to be somebody's little boy, but he is so angry. He has been hurt by so many adults, that he just lashes out at everyone.
My "middle child" came to me with chronic diarrhea. His paperwork says that it started on March 9th, which is why I am calling it "chronic." I took him to the pediatrician where he wailed and screeched for her as he has for me for an entire week. He makes sounds like a wild animal when I change his diaper. The diaper contents look like guacamole, refried beans, or well . . .use your imagination. He just can't shake his tummy troubles but it hasn't hurt his big appetite. He loves all foods, and he loves John! He won't take a nap unless it's laying on John's chest or being rocked by John.
My little girl is just sixteen months old. She is funny, with a bossy little personality, walking around sticking her finger in everyone's face and saying "No!" She loves carbs and has such chunky little legs you would swear she was my biological child. Our plan is to change her middle name to Joy when she is adopted.
We are slowly falling into a routine. John is home for SIX WEEKS!!! on paid leave!!! I am overjoyed, and with his help, we are getting it done. I always thought I was so good with children. It's a different world with these guys. John is so good with them, so patient, and so gentle. I am so blessed to have him as my partner.
We have gates up in our house, we have covers on the electrical outlets, stoppers on the drawers. There is never a dull moment! well, there wasn't before!
Pray for us, because the kids are still "foster" until the biological parents are terminated. It will be a long, hard road. Nothing wonderful ever comes easy, right?
My five year old can cuss you out in just a few seconds. He knows words I had never heard in college. He knows how to use them. He can cuss you under the table in no time at all. Today, I was thrilled to hear him say "Shut the heck up!" to his baby brother, rather than: "Shut the X#$% up!" like I was hearing a few days ago. He is a precious, little, dark-haired boy with tiny teeth and big brown eyes. He wants to do right, and he wants to be somebody's little boy, but he is so angry. He has been hurt by so many adults, that he just lashes out at everyone.
My "middle child" came to me with chronic diarrhea. His paperwork says that it started on March 9th, which is why I am calling it "chronic." I took him to the pediatrician where he wailed and screeched for her as he has for me for an entire week. He makes sounds like a wild animal when I change his diaper. The diaper contents look like guacamole, refried beans, or well . . .use your imagination. He just can't shake his tummy troubles but it hasn't hurt his big appetite. He loves all foods, and he loves John! He won't take a nap unless it's laying on John's chest or being rocked by John.
My little girl is just sixteen months old. She is funny, with a bossy little personality, walking around sticking her finger in everyone's face and saying "No!" She loves carbs and has such chunky little legs you would swear she was my biological child. Our plan is to change her middle name to Joy when she is adopted.
We are slowly falling into a routine. John is home for SIX WEEKS!!! on paid leave!!! I am overjoyed, and with his help, we are getting it done. I always thought I was so good with children. It's a different world with these guys. John is so good with them, so patient, and so gentle. I am so blessed to have him as my partner.
We have gates up in our house, we have covers on the electrical outlets, stoppers on the drawers. There is never a dull moment! well, there wasn't before!
Pray for us, because the kids are still "foster" until the biological parents are terminated. It will be a long, hard road. Nothing wonderful ever comes easy, right?
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Finally Home!
Today around 2:30 pm, came the most joyous of phone calls ever made. The adoption supervisor at our agency called us to ask if we would be interested in a sibling group of three: two boys (age 5, and 2) and a baby girl age 1. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect this call, this perfect call. John and I were together because he was so sweetly helping me move boxes from a storage facility for work. We put the caseworker on speaker phone so we could both hear about the kids, just an hour away from us in foster care. When she told us about the babies, I jokingly asked, "Can I pick them up today?" Jane replied, "Actually, I was going to ask you if you would pick them up today."
Words cannot describe the feeling of driving to meet our new kids. I couldn't imagine what they would look like, and that didn't matter. I just couldn't wait to meet them, and hold them, and tell them, "you are safe." The caseworker was parked behind a Cracker Barrel restaurant and joyfully handed the baby over to me when we pulled into the parking lot. Elizabeth held out her little hands to me and laid her head on my shoulder. "They're exhausted," The caseworker told us, "They've been through so much." The boys looked up with round, big brown eyes, probably wondering who we are following a string of broken placements in their short lives.
There are today a flood of emotions I cannot explain. I rocked a baby girl tonight in my arms- a baby I never expected would find her way to me. We put the boys to bed and settled in for the first of many nights together. Thank you, God.
Words cannot describe the feeling of driving to meet our new kids. I couldn't imagine what they would look like, and that didn't matter. I just couldn't wait to meet them, and hold them, and tell them, "you are safe." The caseworker was parked behind a Cracker Barrel restaurant and joyfully handed the baby over to me when we pulled into the parking lot. Elizabeth held out her little hands to me and laid her head on my shoulder. "They're exhausted," The caseworker told us, "They've been through so much." The boys looked up with round, big brown eyes, probably wondering who we are following a string of broken placements in their short lives.
There are today a flood of emotions I cannot explain. I rocked a baby girl tonight in my arms- a baby I never expected would find her way to me. We put the boys to bed and settled in for the first of many nights together. Thank you, God.
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