Last week it happened again: a phone call sends me spinning. It seems that after twelve years my reaction hasn't changed - excitement, concern, anxiety, mental gymnastics thinking through bedroom configurations and the family schedule.
A newborn baby girl needed a place to stay for a few weeks while her adoption is finalized and all the interim homes were unavailable. Since we have six children under eighteen in our home, we are considered 'full.' Kind of crazy since we have an empty bedroom with room for two kids and the empty crib in the master bedroom that has become a fixture for the past five years. It would be so sweet to use that crib to hold more than blankets, pillows, and the kids' outgrown clothing that has yet to make it into the properly labelled bins in my closet. As a 'full' foster home, the best we can hope for is a waiver for which the state grants dispensation and allows more than six children to stay in our home. Over the years we've been fostering, it's happened at least five times for us, mostly in the case of siblings needing to be placed together.
After a day of waiting for a call back, and day dreaming about having a baby in our family over Christmas, and wondering what size clothing I should begin to gather, what kind of formula she would need, how many bottles to buy since it seems that my just-in-case supply must have been lent out or given away, thinking through the car seating arrangement to include an infant seat (especially given our Christmas day trip out to Grandma & Grandpa Heisey)... after a day like that, I called the next morning to leave a message to see if and when this little lady might arrive.
A few hours after my message, the agency worker called to tell me that they had found another arrangement which would not require a waiver. I was caught off guard by how much my heart dropped. There have been many times when we have been called about a placement and then not have it go through - different reasons, but I get the same feeling: feeling like we missed out on meeting someone special; like our family lost the chance to love on a child who is needing love; wondering what she or he looked like, acted like; concern that the child is safe; hoping that he or she will learn and grow, and missing that we are not getting a chance to be a part of that.
In this case I was glad that another positive placement was found and that the agency did not have to complete the extra paperwork for a waiver. Our agency does an excellent job of placing children and supporting them and the families, so the concern regarding her safety was dispelled; certainly this little girl will be in a loving foster home until she is placed with her forever family.
In this case my reaction was based soley on my personal disappointment - and that of some of my kids - of not having that baby girl with us for our own enjoyment. Not that our enjoyment is a negative thing; I believe that God has gifted our family to be able to love and enjoy the babies and children He has brought and will continue to bring to us.
So until the next phone call, I rest in the knowledge that God will place just the right child in our family at just the right time.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Monday, December 26, 2011
The Best Gift
Family: an incredible gift. We are very blessed to have a very close, supportive, involved family, both on my and my husband's sides. Our kids are some of the eighteen grandchildren of Geibs and of the seventeen of Heiseys - that's a lot of family. Between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day we are able to celebrate Christmas with both sides of our families; it makes for a lot of activity and fun - wearing, but worth it.
Some family members only visit with us a few times a year; they know us, but don't fully understand us. There is no blame in that statement; it's not expected that everyone (or anyone) would be so intimately interested in the gory details - most days, if I had the option of knowing less about us, I would probably take it.
There are some members of my family with whom I can speak very freely about struggles we are having, and they get it because - as one of my sisters has said about our kids - they've got their number. Good, bad, sad, surprising... they know it all and because they've involved themselves these relatives understand why we parent the way we do, why we seem to have such strict demands, high expectations, and tight limits. Again, no bitterness or blame in this statement: with other relatives there is the feeling of giant question marks hanging over their heads when they see or hear me talking to or disciplining one of the kids. Explaining myself feels like what I need to do, but would prove to be tedious for the listener and probably embarrassing for me and my child; I am not always proud of the way either of us behaves in stressful situations. Stress for the child due to the change in routine and environment, boundaries and stimulation; stress for me due to my child's unforeseen response to those stresses.
Living in a fishbowl, what with various therapists and case workers constantly checking in with our family, has certainly heightened my sensitivity of being watched, evaluated, scrutinized, criticized, and affirmed. But the opinions of those 'professionals' mean little compared to the encouragement and understanding of my family, which is perhaps why there is the felt need for explanation.
The flip side is this: my family (on both sides) unconditionally accepts and loves us. It is almost as if rude manners, social awkwardness, hyperactive behavior, tantrums, and the like are overlooked in favor of loving on my kids - my wonderful, amazing kids - just the way they are. So it would seem that the issue here is not with my family who welcomes, plays, talks, and laughs with us; nor with my kids who are just as excited and eager to return the love that is extended. Only one factor remains: me. By setting such high expectations for my kids based on what I perceive everyone to expect, I only succeed in setting us all up to achieve the opposite: miserable failure. My kids fail to be able to relax and enjoy and just be kids, and my family fails to be able to reach out fully to us because my limitations get in the way. So while the intent comes from a heart of wanting what is best for everyone, the result is a cutting off and holding back of what family at a most basic level is meant to be.
Thoughtfulness and manners are positive pursuits and will continue to be sought and taught, but above that thankfulness, appreciation and love for family needs to be instilled, starting with this mom.
Some family members only visit with us a few times a year; they know us, but don't fully understand us. There is no blame in that statement; it's not expected that everyone (or anyone) would be so intimately interested in the gory details - most days, if I had the option of knowing less about us, I would probably take it.
There are some members of my family with whom I can speak very freely about struggles we are having, and they get it because - as one of my sisters has said about our kids - they've got their number. Good, bad, sad, surprising... they know it all and because they've involved themselves these relatives understand why we parent the way we do, why we seem to have such strict demands, high expectations, and tight limits. Again, no bitterness or blame in this statement: with other relatives there is the feeling of giant question marks hanging over their heads when they see or hear me talking to or disciplining one of the kids. Explaining myself feels like what I need to do, but would prove to be tedious for the listener and probably embarrassing for me and my child; I am not always proud of the way either of us behaves in stressful situations. Stress for the child due to the change in routine and environment, boundaries and stimulation; stress for me due to my child's unforeseen response to those stresses.
Living in a fishbowl, what with various therapists and case workers constantly checking in with our family, has certainly heightened my sensitivity of being watched, evaluated, scrutinized, criticized, and affirmed. But the opinions of those 'professionals' mean little compared to the encouragement and understanding of my family, which is perhaps why there is the felt need for explanation.
The flip side is this: my family (on both sides) unconditionally accepts and loves us. It is almost as if rude manners, social awkwardness, hyperactive behavior, tantrums, and the like are overlooked in favor of loving on my kids - my wonderful, amazing kids - just the way they are. So it would seem that the issue here is not with my family who welcomes, plays, talks, and laughs with us; nor with my kids who are just as excited and eager to return the love that is extended. Only one factor remains: me. By setting such high expectations for my kids based on what I perceive everyone to expect, I only succeed in setting us all up to achieve the opposite: miserable failure. My kids fail to be able to relax and enjoy and just be kids, and my family fails to be able to reach out fully to us because my limitations get in the way. So while the intent comes from a heart of wanting what is best for everyone, the result is a cutting off and holding back of what family at a most basic level is meant to be.
Thoughtfulness and manners are positive pursuits and will continue to be sought and taught, but above that thankfulness, appreciation and love for family needs to be instilled, starting with this mom.
Monday, December 19, 2011
And there was much Rejoicing
The back door of our home is very important. If you've ever gone out it you've seen one of the cornerstones of our family: our privilege/behavior indicator. Six different levels and six labeled clothespins are all it takes to know who is allowed, or not allowed, to be where and do what for the day.
The creation of it came about from a brainstorm as a result of desperation. A few months ago we were struggling with having the kids understand respect within the family: respect for property and the house that Daddy works hard to provide for us, so that jumping on (or off of) the sofa and slamming doors are seen as destructive; respect for time so that we are not waiting for someone to find his or her shoes, coat, book bag at the last minute; respect for personal space and property - that just because it's laying there and you want it, you can have or destroy it at will; respect for authority in that it is not to be argued with or questioned; respect for people in that we are gentle and honest as we deal with each other so that teasing and bossing is kept to a minimum. A mom can dream, can't she?!
With some input from the kids, we came up with the basic privileges in our family and ranked them in the hope that the kids would see the connection between responsibility and trust. Level 5 means you have all the rights and privileges afforded to a child in the Heisey home. At Level 4 you lose the right to use the computer and the Wii, and also are not allowed to play outside unless supervised. Level 3 means you cannot play in the downstairs playroom or watch television. Level 2 requires a person to find entertainment with games, play dough, puzzles, or craft projects while stationed at the kitchen table, and also on Level 1, but then you are permitted to only read or color and draw with pencils or crayons. On Level 0, a child needs to be on his or her bed and may chose to read the Bible. Each child has a clothespin with their name on it and so their position on the privilege chart is easily changed.
Honesty is a big deal here, and so if a child is deceitful (including lying, stealing, sneaking)that clothespin automatically goes to zero. For lesser offenses - disobedience, defiance, teasing, provoking - a warning is usually given followed by moving the clothespin down a level if the warning is not heeded. Each morning each clothespin below level five is moved up one level which gives the child motivation to continue to improve their behavior.
We have one child that is challenged by honesty; for some reason it seems easier to tell lies to cover deceit. So for the past six weeks this clothespin has hovered around level zero - a very sad state. Often this child made comments about wanting to do other things, and complained that I was to blame for the boredom and unfairness of it all. We just stuck it out.
In those same weeks we have had another child struggle through the idea of respect for other people's feelings. It seemed okay to this child to tease and joke, even when it was obvious that the siblings did not appreciate the attempt at humor. That clothespin bounced between levels three and four for a while.
Defiance is the name of the game for our littlest one. Boy does she know how to get the digs in! Sometimes there's not but a few seconds between a warning and the loss of privileges for her. But she gets it quicker than some of the others and has shown improvement in self-control and how quickly she can catch and change her attitude.
All this to say that yesterday, for the first time in a LONG time, all six clothespins were jammed together at the top of the chart on level 5. Last night we enjoyed decorating Christmas cookies while watching Christmas specials on television - all of us, altogether. Rejoicing!
The creation of it came about from a brainstorm as a result of desperation. A few months ago we were struggling with having the kids understand respect within the family: respect for property and the house that Daddy works hard to provide for us, so that jumping on (or off of) the sofa and slamming doors are seen as destructive; respect for time so that we are not waiting for someone to find his or her shoes, coat, book bag at the last minute; respect for personal space and property - that just because it's laying there and you want it, you can have or destroy it at will; respect for authority in that it is not to be argued with or questioned; respect for people in that we are gentle and honest as we deal with each other so that teasing and bossing is kept to a minimum. A mom can dream, can't she?!
With some input from the kids, we came up with the basic privileges in our family and ranked them in the hope that the kids would see the connection between responsibility and trust. Level 5 means you have all the rights and privileges afforded to a child in the Heisey home. At Level 4 you lose the right to use the computer and the Wii, and also are not allowed to play outside unless supervised. Level 3 means you cannot play in the downstairs playroom or watch television. Level 2 requires a person to find entertainment with games, play dough, puzzles, or craft projects while stationed at the kitchen table, and also on Level 1, but then you are permitted to only read or color and draw with pencils or crayons. On Level 0, a child needs to be on his or her bed and may chose to read the Bible. Each child has a clothespin with their name on it and so their position on the privilege chart is easily changed.
Honesty is a big deal here, and so if a child is deceitful (including lying, stealing, sneaking)that clothespin automatically goes to zero. For lesser offenses - disobedience, defiance, teasing, provoking - a warning is usually given followed by moving the clothespin down a level if the warning is not heeded. Each morning each clothespin below level five is moved up one level which gives the child motivation to continue to improve their behavior.
We have one child that is challenged by honesty; for some reason it seems easier to tell lies to cover deceit. So for the past six weeks this clothespin has hovered around level zero - a very sad state. Often this child made comments about wanting to do other things, and complained that I was to blame for the boredom and unfairness of it all. We just stuck it out.
In those same weeks we have had another child struggle through the idea of respect for other people's feelings. It seemed okay to this child to tease and joke, even when it was obvious that the siblings did not appreciate the attempt at humor. That clothespin bounced between levels three and four for a while.
Defiance is the name of the game for our littlest one. Boy does she know how to get the digs in! Sometimes there's not but a few seconds between a warning and the loss of privileges for her. But she gets it quicker than some of the others and has shown improvement in self-control and how quickly she can catch and change her attitude.
All this to say that yesterday, for the first time in a LONG time, all six clothespins were jammed together at the top of the chart on level 5. Last night we enjoyed decorating Christmas cookies while watching Christmas specials on television - all of us, altogether. Rejoicing!
Friday, December 16, 2011
Christmas without Angel
By this time in December I've usually packed a Dollar Store Christmas stocking with some pretty smelling lotion and body spray, a necklace or two, some socks, and a few home-baked Christmas cookies and sent it off to Angel. But not this year.
In September 2004, twelve year old Angel came to stay with us. We were her second foster care placement - she had been with another family a year before, then reunified with her birth mother only to be placed again. Angel had a strong, but unhealthy, relationship with her mother in which Angel took on the parental role of protecting her mom while her mom was buying, selling, and doing drugs.
Angel did not take well to structure or authority; she had academic and behavior problems in school because she did not care to follow the rules, she had only a few friends due to her tough-girl exterior, at home she quickly became acquainted with her bedroom until she became enlightened to the fact that certain attitudes and choices were not going to benefit her or our family. On one occasion our family attended the wedding of a family friend. Disposable cameras were placed on the tables at the reception for guests to snap candid photos for the bride and groom, but the camera at our table was missing and, even after much searching and questioning, was not found. About a week later we discovered that Angel, having lied her way through the reception, had hidden it in her clothing, taken it to school for her own use and tried to send it through the mail to be developed. It's kind of a comical story now, but at the time it only reinforced what we were realizing: Angel had been taught that the road to survival was paved with lies and deception.
Angel's mother did not help her child whether they were together or separated. We allowed Angel to call her mother several times a week, mostly in the evening to say good-night. Eventually we had to curtail the calls because mom would urge Angel to tell her all the horrible things we were doing in the name of discipline and then advise her daughter that she did not have to listen to us. There were also instances when we would hear her mother yelling and blaming Angel for their separation. Several times we, along with our agency and Philadelphia DHS, were threatened with a supposed law suit for mistreating Angel.
As can be imagined, all this emotional turmoil took it's toll on Angel and at least twice we made our way to a crisis center to seek counsel. Even though the crisis center was local to Angel's mother, she did not come to be with her daughter; she even went as far as to refuse to give verbal consent by telephone for Angel to receive treatment. On those nights Angel and I returned home where she would sack out on the recliner while I, with the aid of large amounts of coffee and the television, stayed awake through the night on suicide watch.
Despite birth mom's best efforts to prevent it, Angel did receive treatment but it meant that she needed to leave our home and be placed into a therapeutic foster home in Lancaster. Thankfully that family was also Christian and continued to model the love of Jesus to her. The move occurred in March, just after Angel turned thirteen. At that point we did not have regular contact with Angel, but heard from that foster family that she was again returned to the care of her mother in the summer of 2005.
When the phone rang on a winter afternoon in early 2006, I was shocked to hear Angel's voice. She called to say she was back at home with her mom and doing okay. After we chatted and I reminded her that I loved her, she promised to stay in touch, which surprisingly she did. Surprisingly because I knew that Angel's mom did not want her to be in contact with us, and because I didn't think that Angel would go against her mother's wishes. But the phone calls continued, and that Christmas I sent Angel a stocking full of Christmas goodies.
About every month or so we would hear from Angel. There were calls late at night when she was out on some street with no way home or when she and her mother had had a fight, but also phone calls to share good news - taking high school classes online, getting a drivers license and a part-time job. Most of these positive things happened when she moved out of the city to live with a relative in the suburbs in 2008. Angel had made a hard but good decision to put some distance between herself and her mother's lifestyle in hopes that she could rise above the despair and dead-ends she had witnessed. When she got a car, she visited with us twice at our home and continued to call; each phone call ended with us telling each other "I love you." She also continued to receive a Christmas stocking from us every year.
In early 2011, a distraught Angel called a few times: her relative was in some trouble and was incarcerated, so Angel was alone in the house and had lost a few jobs and her car; she told me that she also had been relying more on her mother and had been spending some time in the city and with her mom. In late February Angel called me from jail to tell me that she had been picked up for shop-lifting; she was upset because she was either going to have to lie in court to cover up for this relative or tell the truth and testify against her relative. I encouraged her to always do the right thing; that she knew in her heart what was right and that God would help her and honor righteousness. Court was scheduled the following week and I asked her to please call me afterward to let me know what happened. That phone call never came.
The next week, the second week in March 2011, I received a facebook message from a young friend who lives in Philadelphia. She wrote to ask if I had heard the news of Angel's death.
Angel died tragically during the first week of March. The details remain very sketchy, but we know that she died of a drug overdose and possibly alone. Her body was held in the county morgue for weeks after her death because her birth mother would not complete the necessary paperwork to have it released. This fact really upset me; that even in her death, Angel's mother did not care for or respect Angel.
The next week was a struggle. I had lost a child, Angel was MY child. Although she lived in our home for only six months, those months were very intense and filled with a determination to love and help this child. Stan and I were committed to showing and teaching her a better way. The fact that Angel reached out to us after being reunified with her mother was at first shocking, but not after I realized that we may have been the only true family she had ever had - bumps, lumps and all. All the desparate, late night, crying, sobbing phone calls were her connection to us; all the times she called to ask for advice, knowing full well what advice she would get, was what kept her grounded; all the stories she told about how hard things were, how good things were going, how much she hated or loved her mother, were us sharing as a family.
Some may have a hard time understanding why the grief I experienced was so intense; and at first I wondered, too why this loss was so devastating - after all, we hadn't seen Angel in several years. When you invest time, energy, love, and prayers into a person's life and then that person - Angel, a nineteen year old child - is gone suddenly and tragically, I am left to wonder if there was a point to it all. The grief is over the loss of Angel, first and foremost, but also over all of the seemingly wasted resources. Did what we had invested in Angel's life count for anything? Initially I decided that we were done with fostering; that after our current placement ended we would be finished - finished with a broken system full of broken people.
Since I tend to be a rather emotional thinker this first decision was replaced a few days later when God finally cut through all my selfish thinking. Who was I to call the shots? We have dedicated our family, our children, our lives, our home to God. He calls the shots and He reminded me, through some wonderful friends, that our efforts do matter and do make a difference. So instead of letting this situation discourage us from investing in and loving on these kids, we needed to be that much more open to God's love, peace and strength to be able to show and shower it on those God would bring to us.
I have hope that Angel knew in her heart the love of Jesus, that she had called out to Him for his saving grace, that in her final days or even final moments, she remembered His great love for her and cried out to Him. And that this Christmas Angel is celebrating the gift of the birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus among all the other angels in heaven.
In September 2004, twelve year old Angel came to stay with us. We were her second foster care placement - she had been with another family a year before, then reunified with her birth mother only to be placed again. Angel had a strong, but unhealthy, relationship with her mother in which Angel took on the parental role of protecting her mom while her mom was buying, selling, and doing drugs.
Angel did not take well to structure or authority; she had academic and behavior problems in school because she did not care to follow the rules, she had only a few friends due to her tough-girl exterior, at home she quickly became acquainted with her bedroom until she became enlightened to the fact that certain attitudes and choices were not going to benefit her or our family. On one occasion our family attended the wedding of a family friend. Disposable cameras were placed on the tables at the reception for guests to snap candid photos for the bride and groom, but the camera at our table was missing and, even after much searching and questioning, was not found. About a week later we discovered that Angel, having lied her way through the reception, had hidden it in her clothing, taken it to school for her own use and tried to send it through the mail to be developed. It's kind of a comical story now, but at the time it only reinforced what we were realizing: Angel had been taught that the road to survival was paved with lies and deception.
Angel's mother did not help her child whether they were together or separated. We allowed Angel to call her mother several times a week, mostly in the evening to say good-night. Eventually we had to curtail the calls because mom would urge Angel to tell her all the horrible things we were doing in the name of discipline and then advise her daughter that she did not have to listen to us. There were also instances when we would hear her mother yelling and blaming Angel for their separation. Several times we, along with our agency and Philadelphia DHS, were threatened with a supposed law suit for mistreating Angel.
As can be imagined, all this emotional turmoil took it's toll on Angel and at least twice we made our way to a crisis center to seek counsel. Even though the crisis center was local to Angel's mother, she did not come to be with her daughter; she even went as far as to refuse to give verbal consent by telephone for Angel to receive treatment. On those nights Angel and I returned home where she would sack out on the recliner while I, with the aid of large amounts of coffee and the television, stayed awake through the night on suicide watch.
Despite birth mom's best efforts to prevent it, Angel did receive treatment but it meant that she needed to leave our home and be placed into a therapeutic foster home in Lancaster. Thankfully that family was also Christian and continued to model the love of Jesus to her. The move occurred in March, just after Angel turned thirteen. At that point we did not have regular contact with Angel, but heard from that foster family that she was again returned to the care of her mother in the summer of 2005.
When the phone rang on a winter afternoon in early 2006, I was shocked to hear Angel's voice. She called to say she was back at home with her mom and doing okay. After we chatted and I reminded her that I loved her, she promised to stay in touch, which surprisingly she did. Surprisingly because I knew that Angel's mom did not want her to be in contact with us, and because I didn't think that Angel would go against her mother's wishes. But the phone calls continued, and that Christmas I sent Angel a stocking full of Christmas goodies.
About every month or so we would hear from Angel. There were calls late at night when she was out on some street with no way home or when she and her mother had had a fight, but also phone calls to share good news - taking high school classes online, getting a drivers license and a part-time job. Most of these positive things happened when she moved out of the city to live with a relative in the suburbs in 2008. Angel had made a hard but good decision to put some distance between herself and her mother's lifestyle in hopes that she could rise above the despair and dead-ends she had witnessed. When she got a car, she visited with us twice at our home and continued to call; each phone call ended with us telling each other "I love you." She also continued to receive a Christmas stocking from us every year.
In early 2011, a distraught Angel called a few times: her relative was in some trouble and was incarcerated, so Angel was alone in the house and had lost a few jobs and her car; she told me that she also had been relying more on her mother and had been spending some time in the city and with her mom. In late February Angel called me from jail to tell me that she had been picked up for shop-lifting; she was upset because she was either going to have to lie in court to cover up for this relative or tell the truth and testify against her relative. I encouraged her to always do the right thing; that she knew in her heart what was right and that God would help her and honor righteousness. Court was scheduled the following week and I asked her to please call me afterward to let me know what happened. That phone call never came.
The next week, the second week in March 2011, I received a facebook message from a young friend who lives in Philadelphia. She wrote to ask if I had heard the news of Angel's death.
Angel died tragically during the first week of March. The details remain very sketchy, but we know that she died of a drug overdose and possibly alone. Her body was held in the county morgue for weeks after her death because her birth mother would not complete the necessary paperwork to have it released. This fact really upset me; that even in her death, Angel's mother did not care for or respect Angel.
The next week was a struggle. I had lost a child, Angel was MY child. Although she lived in our home for only six months, those months were very intense and filled with a determination to love and help this child. Stan and I were committed to showing and teaching her a better way. The fact that Angel reached out to us after being reunified with her mother was at first shocking, but not after I realized that we may have been the only true family she had ever had - bumps, lumps and all. All the desparate, late night, crying, sobbing phone calls were her connection to us; all the times she called to ask for advice, knowing full well what advice she would get, was what kept her grounded; all the stories she told about how hard things were, how good things were going, how much she hated or loved her mother, were us sharing as a family.
Some may have a hard time understanding why the grief I experienced was so intense; and at first I wondered, too why this loss was so devastating - after all, we hadn't seen Angel in several years. When you invest time, energy, love, and prayers into a person's life and then that person - Angel, a nineteen year old child - is gone suddenly and tragically, I am left to wonder if there was a point to it all. The grief is over the loss of Angel, first and foremost, but also over all of the seemingly wasted resources. Did what we had invested in Angel's life count for anything? Initially I decided that we were done with fostering; that after our current placement ended we would be finished - finished with a broken system full of broken people.
Since I tend to be a rather emotional thinker this first decision was replaced a few days later when God finally cut through all my selfish thinking. Who was I to call the shots? We have dedicated our family, our children, our lives, our home to God. He calls the shots and He reminded me, through some wonderful friends, that our efforts do matter and do make a difference. So instead of letting this situation discourage us from investing in and loving on these kids, we needed to be that much more open to God's love, peace and strength to be able to show and shower it on those God would bring to us.
I have hope that Angel knew in her heart the love of Jesus, that she had called out to Him for his saving grace, that in her final days or even final moments, she remembered His great love for her and cried out to Him. And that this Christmas Angel is celebrating the gift of the birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus among all the other angels in heaven.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
A Store Story
Costco & me - it's a like-dislike relationship. Location, prices, products are all likes. Glances, looks, and random comments from other shoppers fall into the other category.
Typically we are feeding a family of eight, most with healthy appetites and a bent toward growth spurts. We're finding that the rumors of how teenage boys eat are actually true! To make the most of the paycheck that Stan works very hard to bring home, we shop where the deals are: Aldi, Bottom Dollar, Redners and then with coupons and sales circulars at the major food stores. Costco is on our monthly rotation for things like meats, cheeses, produce and other staples.
Since I only frequent there once a month, less often if we can swing it, my cart does get quite full; if the total comes to less than $400 it's a good day. So, fellow shoppers I apologize for: pulling over every now and then to reorganize my cart so that the bagels don't get smashed by the spaghetti sauce, digging around in the meat coolers to find the largest package of pork chops, taking twice as long at the freezer section to load up on twice as much orange juice, pausing by the socks and underwear section to try to remember which kid of which size needs what essentials, causing a commotion and confusion at the check-out lanes because no one wants to get in line behind 'that' cart.
One woman line-hopped from behind me into the lane next-door, but then hopped on back over when she saw how expertly I unloaded my behemoth pile onto the conveyor. Meat all stacked together with sliced cheese, cream cheese, and shredded cheese all balanced and held in place with cereal and cracker boxes behind to keep it all from toppling over as the belt lurched forward. It was a proud moment; I tried to remain humble and smiled sweetly over my accomplishment.
You know how you fall into a pattern of passing the same shoppers coming from the opposite direction as you go back and forth through the aisles? It was amusing to 'overhear' the remarks that one mother-daughter duo made as they and I perused the shelves as we passed. It might have put their minds at ease to just come out and ask how many people I was feeding or why I needed so much pasta. Being able to tell people about my amazing kids and husband is a joy for me - so just ask next time.
Unfortunately, today's total bill did not make it a 'good' day; however, the adventure and entertainment that I provided for the other shoppers most definitely made it worthwhile.
Typically we are feeding a family of eight, most with healthy appetites and a bent toward growth spurts. We're finding that the rumors of how teenage boys eat are actually true! To make the most of the paycheck that Stan works very hard to bring home, we shop where the deals are: Aldi, Bottom Dollar, Redners and then with coupons and sales circulars at the major food stores. Costco is on our monthly rotation for things like meats, cheeses, produce and other staples.
Since I only frequent there once a month, less often if we can swing it, my cart does get quite full; if the total comes to less than $400 it's a good day. So, fellow shoppers I apologize for: pulling over every now and then to reorganize my cart so that the bagels don't get smashed by the spaghetti sauce, digging around in the meat coolers to find the largest package of pork chops, taking twice as long at the freezer section to load up on twice as much orange juice, pausing by the socks and underwear section to try to remember which kid of which size needs what essentials, causing a commotion and confusion at the check-out lanes because no one wants to get in line behind 'that' cart.
One woman line-hopped from behind me into the lane next-door, but then hopped on back over when she saw how expertly I unloaded my behemoth pile onto the conveyor. Meat all stacked together with sliced cheese, cream cheese, and shredded cheese all balanced and held in place with cereal and cracker boxes behind to keep it all from toppling over as the belt lurched forward. It was a proud moment; I tried to remain humble and smiled sweetly over my accomplishment.
You know how you fall into a pattern of passing the same shoppers coming from the opposite direction as you go back and forth through the aisles? It was amusing to 'overhear' the remarks that one mother-daughter duo made as they and I perused the shelves as we passed. It might have put their minds at ease to just come out and ask how many people I was feeding or why I needed so much pasta. Being able to tell people about my amazing kids and husband is a joy for me - so just ask next time.
Unfortunately, today's total bill did not make it a 'good' day; however, the adventure and entertainment that I provided for the other shoppers most definitely made it worthwhile.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Loud & Clear
Cinque has lived with us for 15 months and 5 days; his stay was supposed to be about three days long... welcome to the world of foster care. His placement here was on an emergency basis after needing to be moved from a family who he thought was going to adopt him. We were told that adoption was going on the back burner so that some stability could be maintained after all the trauma.
Cinque is a charming young man, there is no denying that! What gets confusing, and yes, at points very frustrating, is that not everyone understands the motivation for the charm nor what lies underneath it. In only a few weeks we were aware that so much damage had been done within Cinque that it was difficult for him to function at a basic level regarding personal skills and interpersonal interactions, to say nothing of expectations of living and participating in family life or fitting into a school routine with all the expected behaviors.
As a family, Cinque most definitely included, we have worked at solidifying those most basic skills: honesty, respect, and personal hygiene being the top three for anyone living in our home. There have been wonderful gains and we have seen him taking on more and more responsibility for himself and his choices. But something wonderful has recently happened to put a kink in all this progress and success - a potential adoptive family has been identified for Cinque...and he knows it.
Other children have gone through a similar leaving process; it's much easier to leave a place you don't like so our family and home is made out to be the 'bad guys'. Even though Cinque has not formed strong family bonds with us, nevertheless we have been his only family for over a year, we have begun to see the rearing of the ugly head of regression.
While I was away last night, he and Sierra had problems, but he forcefully denied being involved. This morning, Samara was the target of choice: he waited until he thought I was out of ear-shot (when will they ever learn!) and started in on her. Again he denied (and lied - oh, a definite no-no) about his behavior.
Just by looking at him at that moment it was so evident that he is at such a loss - about what's going to happen to him next, about how he's supposed to feel about leaving our family and meeting a new family, about the lack of control and power he's had over his own life. Honestly, I really wanted to let him have it because it often seems that subtlety is lost on him (like most kids), and in a way I did.
I started by telling him that we are going to miss him, too, that I have been praying for his family to find him and that I know this is an answer to prayer, that we are feeling just a small part of the anxiety and excitement that he is feeling. But I also told him that we have come to expect much more from him: wiser choices, thoughtfulness, honesty and accountability for his actions. I went on to say that this is "reality, right now at 7:45." He smiled then. I think he heard me and knew that I had 'heard' him, his thoughts, his feelings, his behaviors, his hopes and dreams. We hear each other loud and clear.
Cinque is a charming young man, there is no denying that! What gets confusing, and yes, at points very frustrating, is that not everyone understands the motivation for the charm nor what lies underneath it. In only a few weeks we were aware that so much damage had been done within Cinque that it was difficult for him to function at a basic level regarding personal skills and interpersonal interactions, to say nothing of expectations of living and participating in family life or fitting into a school routine with all the expected behaviors.
As a family, Cinque most definitely included, we have worked at solidifying those most basic skills: honesty, respect, and personal hygiene being the top three for anyone living in our home. There have been wonderful gains and we have seen him taking on more and more responsibility for himself and his choices. But something wonderful has recently happened to put a kink in all this progress and success - a potential adoptive family has been identified for Cinque...and he knows it.
Other children have gone through a similar leaving process; it's much easier to leave a place you don't like so our family and home is made out to be the 'bad guys'. Even though Cinque has not formed strong family bonds with us, nevertheless we have been his only family for over a year, we have begun to see the rearing of the ugly head of regression.
While I was away last night, he and Sierra had problems, but he forcefully denied being involved. This morning, Samara was the target of choice: he waited until he thought I was out of ear-shot (when will they ever learn!) and started in on her. Again he denied (and lied - oh, a definite no-no) about his behavior.
Just by looking at him at that moment it was so evident that he is at such a loss - about what's going to happen to him next, about how he's supposed to feel about leaving our family and meeting a new family, about the lack of control and power he's had over his own life. Honestly, I really wanted to let him have it because it often seems that subtlety is lost on him (like most kids), and in a way I did.
I started by telling him that we are going to miss him, too, that I have been praying for his family to find him and that I know this is an answer to prayer, that we are feeling just a small part of the anxiety and excitement that he is feeling. But I also told him that we have come to expect much more from him: wiser choices, thoughtfulness, honesty and accountability for his actions. I went on to say that this is "reality, right now at 7:45." He smiled then. I think he heard me and knew that I had 'heard' him, his thoughts, his feelings, his behaviors, his hopes and dreams. We hear each other loud and clear.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Music to my ears
What is more rewarding than watching your child struggle through and work at what at first seemed a goal too lofty, a bar set way too high?
Although Evan was never officially labeled with any disorder or condition, several teachers noted his bent toward distraction - and being a distraction, and his inability to focus. So Evan began violin lessons as a kindergartner with one goal in my mind: self-control. Learning and mastering an instrument, reading and appreciating music, or playing in the orchestra were secondary fringe benefits that might or might not occur.
Violin lessons in kindergarten, first grade, and second grade presented challenges, probably more for me than for Evan; as the at-home teacher I was often made out to be (and sometimes felt like) the bad guy. During those years, however, Evan began to respond to the school strings teacher in ways that were unexpected. Even with young students, this teacher set expectations that challenged the children to learn to pay attention, actively listen, and take responsibility. In a half-hour lesson Evan was able to stand still, stay quiet, focus on playing technique, and work with the group - and he began to be a musician.
This evening we attended the orchestra concert at Evan's school where he played in the school orchestra as well as in the Select String Ensemble for which he had to audition after being invited by the strings teacher - the same teacher who had dealt with Evan since those challenging days in kindergarten. Needless to say, I was surprised that he was asked to audition, surprised and proud that he passed the audition, and (I'll be totally honest here) a bit worried when the full responsibility of this privilege sank in. The Select Strings Ensemble has earned many honors: performing at national teacher's conferences and at Carnegie Hall, being recognized by Live at Lincoln Center, invitations to play in national competitions alongside high school orchestras.
I say all that to say this - the fact that Evan is a part of this prestigious group is a testament to a teacher who:
I was wrong, the goal was not too lofty, nor the bar too high; but my original goal of simply developing self-control did not do justice to my son's capabilities.
Although Evan was never officially labeled with any disorder or condition, several teachers noted his bent toward distraction - and being a distraction, and his inability to focus. So Evan began violin lessons as a kindergartner with one goal in my mind: self-control. Learning and mastering an instrument, reading and appreciating music, or playing in the orchestra were secondary fringe benefits that might or might not occur.
Violin lessons in kindergarten, first grade, and second grade presented challenges, probably more for me than for Evan; as the at-home teacher I was often made out to be (and sometimes felt like) the bad guy. During those years, however, Evan began to respond to the school strings teacher in ways that were unexpected. Even with young students, this teacher set expectations that challenged the children to learn to pay attention, actively listen, and take responsibility. In a half-hour lesson Evan was able to stand still, stay quiet, focus on playing technique, and work with the group - and he began to be a musician.
This evening we attended the orchestra concert at Evan's school where he played in the school orchestra as well as in the Select String Ensemble for which he had to audition after being invited by the strings teacher - the same teacher who had dealt with Evan since those challenging days in kindergarten. Needless to say, I was surprised that he was asked to audition, surprised and proud that he passed the audition, and (I'll be totally honest here) a bit worried when the full responsibility of this privilege sank in. The Select Strings Ensemble has earned many honors: performing at national teacher's conferences and at Carnegie Hall, being recognized by Live at Lincoln Center, invitations to play in national competitions alongside high school orchestras.
I say all that to say this - the fact that Evan is a part of this prestigious group is a testament to a teacher who:
- believes in students and their ability
- respects students enough to expect them to rise to that ability
- treats students as musicians, not merely as kids playing music
- gives hard-earned praise and specific feedback
- teaches students to self-evaluate and be accountable.
I was wrong, the goal was not too lofty, nor the bar too high; but my original goal of simply developing self-control did not do justice to my son's capabilities.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Welcome Home
Seven years ago - December 7, 2004 - Sierra came home. We had learned about her only two weeks earlier after expressing some interest in adopting a little girl.
Stan and I and our three boys were happy together and enjoying taking care of the children placed in our home - most of which were also boys. I mentioned to Stan that it would nice to add a little sister to the mix, and he agreed that we should mention it to someone at the agency so that if a foster/adopt situation came up we might be called.
About a week after speaking with a supervisor, she called back to tell me about an eight month old baby girl who had been born two months premature and addicted to three different drugs. Another foster parent had been caring for her since she was two months old, birth mother had not been in contact and the birth father was unknown, and this older foster mother did not feel able to adopt the baby.
I told the supervisor to please not contact any other families - how presumptuous of me! - until I could call Stan and we could meet the baby. The next day I visited with Sierra in her foster home, made arrangements for another visit and then scheduled for the whole family to go and pick her up and bring her home on December 7, 2004.
It was only about a half-hour car ride, but it seemed to take SO long to get to her. We had packed the rest of the kids - Angel, Fred, Eli, Evan and River - into the car and talked about the new baby all the way. There was jockeying for position as to who was going to get to sit next to the baby in car and who would get to hold her first when we got home. I don't remember who won those arguments, but I do remember a seamless transition.
That's only part of the story of seven years ago - the happy part. Now the not-so-happy part:
I mentioned River, a blond haired, blue eyed, very friendly and highly precocious little boy of 2 1/2. River had been placed with us in September 2004; the following month we were asked if we would consider being an adoptive resource for him, and we said yes. Just a month after we committed to adoption, we were told that his grandparents had arrived from out of state to request visitation. Following that visit and another one, we were told that River would be moving with his grandparents to South Carolina... in two days.
That news came on the morning of December 7, the very same day we brought Sierra home. And so just two months after we had thought River would be our fourth 'permanent' son, he left our home and family for good.
Some might see God's timing in all of this: that even though we had lost the chance to adopt River, God had brought Sierra to our family. And there is nothing wrong with that perspective, but it's just not where I was or may ever be with it all. Having River leave, albeit to be with his relatives who clearly loved him, was one of the most difficult fostering experiences for me. There is still a piece of my heart reserved for him, I still think of him every year in December not only because that was when he left, but because his birthday is December 23 - this year he'll be turning 10 years old.
While I am immensely thankful for the miracle of adoption through foster care, as well as for birth families who are reunited through it, my heart is also broken for all the children who may never experience the love and security of a permanent, forever family either through reunification with family or through adoption.
Some of these kids will never hear, "Welcome home."
Stan and I and our three boys were happy together and enjoying taking care of the children placed in our home - most of which were also boys. I mentioned to Stan that it would nice to add a little sister to the mix, and he agreed that we should mention it to someone at the agency so that if a foster/adopt situation came up we might be called.
About a week after speaking with a supervisor, she called back to tell me about an eight month old baby girl who had been born two months premature and addicted to three different drugs. Another foster parent had been caring for her since she was two months old, birth mother had not been in contact and the birth father was unknown, and this older foster mother did not feel able to adopt the baby.
I told the supervisor to please not contact any other families - how presumptuous of me! - until I could call Stan and we could meet the baby. The next day I visited with Sierra in her foster home, made arrangements for another visit and then scheduled for the whole family to go and pick her up and bring her home on December 7, 2004.
It was only about a half-hour car ride, but it seemed to take SO long to get to her. We had packed the rest of the kids - Angel, Fred, Eli, Evan and River - into the car and talked about the new baby all the way. There was jockeying for position as to who was going to get to sit next to the baby in car and who would get to hold her first when we got home. I don't remember who won those arguments, but I do remember a seamless transition.
That's only part of the story of seven years ago - the happy part. Now the not-so-happy part:
I mentioned River, a blond haired, blue eyed, very friendly and highly precocious little boy of 2 1/2. River had been placed with us in September 2004; the following month we were asked if we would consider being an adoptive resource for him, and we said yes. Just a month after we committed to adoption, we were told that his grandparents had arrived from out of state to request visitation. Following that visit and another one, we were told that River would be moving with his grandparents to South Carolina... in two days.
That news came on the morning of December 7, the very same day we brought Sierra home. And so just two months after we had thought River would be our fourth 'permanent' son, he left our home and family for good.
Some might see God's timing in all of this: that even though we had lost the chance to adopt River, God had brought Sierra to our family. And there is nothing wrong with that perspective, but it's just not where I was or may ever be with it all. Having River leave, albeit to be with his relatives who clearly loved him, was one of the most difficult fostering experiences for me. There is still a piece of my heart reserved for him, I still think of him every year in December not only because that was when he left, but because his birthday is December 23 - this year he'll be turning 10 years old.
While I am immensely thankful for the miracle of adoption through foster care, as well as for birth families who are reunited through it, my heart is also broken for all the children who may never experience the love and security of a permanent, forever family either through reunification with family or through adoption.
Some of these kids will never hear, "Welcome home."
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
An Evening Out
It sounds terrible I know: it seems to me that having a child with disabilities that are physically evident, as opposed to a 'typical looking' child whose disabilities are not so obvious, is somehow easier to manage in public. Being out in the world with children who struggle to interact in socially acceptable ways is a challenge at best.
This evening we - all of us - attended Eli's orchestra concert. Since it was a packed house, we had to split and sit in two different rows, so I was seated with Sierra and Samara on either side of me and then Fred beside Samara. Thankfully Stan and the other boys were sitting directly in front of us.
As we were waiting for Stan to find us in the auditorium after he parked the car, my occupation was helping Sierra (whose ADHD medication had worn off hours before) to find a comfortable way to sit still and remind and direct her to speak quietly (since there was no way she'd be able to stop talking altogether) and dealing with Samara's near meltdown after I asked her to keep her feet off the seat in front of her.
I'm sure the ladies behind us were at least amused, and at most annoyed, with our pre-concert-show. Admittedly, I was a bit too embarrassed to even make eye contact with them. Little did they know they were about to be nearly assaulted as Fred spotted Stan walk into the crowded auditorium; he threw his arm up and backward (toward those sweet ladies) turned and yelled "DADDY!" right into the face of the woman behind him. Quite a shocker when one would expect a fifteen year old (who looks at least twelve) to prefer his father to NOT sit with him!
About half-way through the concert, it became apparent that the seating arrangement needing tweeking since Fred continuously tapped and clapped very loudly to every song and Samara grew more and more agitated with his behavior. Sierra did surprisingly well and seemed entertained by the music until she discovered that her tights required adjustments and the placement of her coat on her seat became problematic.
I am very proud of my kids and of all that they've accomplished - down to being able to attend a school concert - especially with these non-visible disabilities. I know that we are not the picture of a normal family: there are eight of us and we don't match. But other than that we look normal... and that's sometimes a frustration since my kids don't show their differences on the outside.
This evening we - all of us - attended Eli's orchestra concert. Since it was a packed house, we had to split and sit in two different rows, so I was seated with Sierra and Samara on either side of me and then Fred beside Samara. Thankfully Stan and the other boys were sitting directly in front of us.
As we were waiting for Stan to find us in the auditorium after he parked the car, my occupation was helping Sierra (whose ADHD medication had worn off hours before) to find a comfortable way to sit still and remind and direct her to speak quietly (since there was no way she'd be able to stop talking altogether) and dealing with Samara's near meltdown after I asked her to keep her feet off the seat in front of her.
I'm sure the ladies behind us were at least amused, and at most annoyed, with our pre-concert-show. Admittedly, I was a bit too embarrassed to even make eye contact with them. Little did they know they were about to be nearly assaulted as Fred spotted Stan walk into the crowded auditorium; he threw his arm up and backward (toward those sweet ladies) turned and yelled "DADDY!" right into the face of the woman behind him. Quite a shocker when one would expect a fifteen year old (who looks at least twelve) to prefer his father to NOT sit with him!
About half-way through the concert, it became apparent that the seating arrangement needing tweeking since Fred continuously tapped and clapped very loudly to every song and Samara grew more and more agitated with his behavior. Sierra did surprisingly well and seemed entertained by the music until she discovered that her tights required adjustments and the placement of her coat on her seat became problematic.
I am very proud of my kids and of all that they've accomplished - down to being able to attend a school concert - especially with these non-visible disabilities. I know that we are not the picture of a normal family: there are eight of us and we don't match. But other than that we look normal... and that's sometimes a frustration since my kids don't show their differences on the outside.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Virtually Reality
Saturday was one of those days of the year that have potential to put me over the edge with giddiness and giggles or over the other edge with tantrums and tears: it was decorate-the-Christmas-tree day.
Every year I set myself up by Rockwell-izing in my head, what the event will be. Every year I wonder what I was thinking and when I will decide to be more realistic.
Reality is: Sierra has little self-control to begin with and adding the excitement of this activity sends her into orbit; Samara always deserves to be first and foremost and if she doesn't get her own way she has the right to let us all know how unfairly she's being treated; Evan has at his disposal all of his siblings in a limited area so that he can pester and bother without the worry of them getting away; Cinque, although having been through last Christmas and knowing the ropes, gets to play the sad-faced victim to garner the attention he feels he's owed; Eli likes things to be orderly and fair and feels the need to set right whatever is wrong to the point of squelching any glimmer of spontaneity; Fred is resistant to and confused by any out-of-the-ordinary event and so may chose from any number of disruptive behaviors to attempt to cope.
Reality ALSO is: Sierra says some really funny things as she gives commentary on each ornament she hangs, where she's putting it and why = JOY; Samara takes great care in examining, exclaiming over and appreciating every ornament that I hand to her = GENTLENESS; Evan finds just the right spot to hang just the right ornament and wants to hear stories of the history and memories of others = PATIENCE; Cinque volunteers to find hooks for the hook-less ornaments, pick up the ones that slide off the branches and help with the clean up afterward = KINDNESS; Eli waits for the younger ones to take turns, helps the girls to reach the higher spots and ensures that no one is getting more turns than anyone else = GOODNESS; Fred stands back, smiling and watching, taking his time while trying to stay out of the way = PEACE.
I rather like our reality.
Every year I set myself up by Rockwell-izing in my head, what the event will be. Every year I wonder what I was thinking and when I will decide to be more realistic.
Reality is: Sierra has little self-control to begin with and adding the excitement of this activity sends her into orbit; Samara always deserves to be first and foremost and if she doesn't get her own way she has the right to let us all know how unfairly she's being treated; Evan has at his disposal all of his siblings in a limited area so that he can pester and bother without the worry of them getting away; Cinque, although having been through last Christmas and knowing the ropes, gets to play the sad-faced victim to garner the attention he feels he's owed; Eli likes things to be orderly and fair and feels the need to set right whatever is wrong to the point of squelching any glimmer of spontaneity; Fred is resistant to and confused by any out-of-the-ordinary event and so may chose from any number of disruptive behaviors to attempt to cope.
Reality ALSO is: Sierra says some really funny things as she gives commentary on each ornament she hangs, where she's putting it and why = JOY; Samara takes great care in examining, exclaiming over and appreciating every ornament that I hand to her = GENTLENESS; Evan finds just the right spot to hang just the right ornament and wants to hear stories of the history and memories of others = PATIENCE; Cinque volunteers to find hooks for the hook-less ornaments, pick up the ones that slide off the branches and help with the clean up afterward = KINDNESS; Eli waits for the younger ones to take turns, helps the girls to reach the higher spots and ensures that no one is getting more turns than anyone else = GOODNESS; Fred stands back, smiling and watching, taking his time while trying to stay out of the way = PEACE.
I rather like our reality.
Friday, December 2, 2011
A new one for me
Yesterday I spent four hours volunteering at the Holiday Shop at the kids' school and in between helping the students, I had the chance to meet some moms that I didn't know and who didn't know me. So as moms do, we began to chat about our kids. It so happens that the two moms I was working with each have one child, so their reaction to finding out that we have six kids was the classic: eyes wide open, gasping & exclaiming, "HOW many?" In my usual fashion I began to explain that it's not as hard as it seems because we have such a fantastic support system of family, friends, other foster families, our church family, case workers, school and community members AND because they are all such great kids. The one mom smiled and nodded, but from the other mom I received a response that I hadn't yet encountered...
In the middle of me explaining how thankful we are for the great teachers at our school and how helpful they have been, this mom interrupted me to tell me to "just stop it" and to realize that I, as the mom, was the one totally responsible for my kids. It took a few seconds for me to process what I was hearing and to try to figure out how to respond. This mom seemed really frustrated that I was not taking full credit for raising my kids, OR that I might be expecting them to be shaped and raised by others instead of taking the full burden (and by burden I don't mean something terrible, just a big job) on myself. Okay, so that processing probably took longer than a few seconds, and admittedly I processed it much more afterward.
My response to the "just stop it" comment was something like: (a few seconds of an awkward pause) "no, really it does take a village and we have been blessed with wonderful support." We three (the other mom stayed during this conversation) smiled sweetly at each other and quickly became distracted with helping some first graders with their holiday shopping.
It is my hope that this mom understood my message of recognition and appreciation for the friends and supports that God has placed in our family's life; and that hopefully, she will experience the same type of love and community in the life of her family.
In the middle of me explaining how thankful we are for the great teachers at our school and how helpful they have been, this mom interrupted me to tell me to "just stop it" and to realize that I, as the mom, was the one totally responsible for my kids. It took a few seconds for me to process what I was hearing and to try to figure out how to respond. This mom seemed really frustrated that I was not taking full credit for raising my kids, OR that I might be expecting them to be shaped and raised by others instead of taking the full burden (and by burden I don't mean something terrible, just a big job) on myself. Okay, so that processing probably took longer than a few seconds, and admittedly I processed it much more afterward.
My response to the "just stop it" comment was something like: (a few seconds of an awkward pause) "no, really it does take a village and we have been blessed with wonderful support." We three (the other mom stayed during this conversation) smiled sweetly at each other and quickly became distracted with helping some first graders with their holiday shopping.
It is my hope that this mom understood my message of recognition and appreciation for the friends and supports that God has placed in our family's life; and that hopefully, she will experience the same type of love and community in the life of her family.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Does it matter?
Since the kids and Stan were home from school and work on Friday, Eli and I were on an errand and Stan had the rest of them doing some leaf-raking. When we returned we heard that Patrick had visited on his motorcycle.
Patrick is now 19 years old and was placed with our family two years ago for about one year. His placement was full of drama - manipulating parents, missed visits, lies and deceit - and that just made his stay with us that much harder; we were made out to be on the side of the 'bad guys'. We did our best to stick to our family routines and expectations, but were often challenged by the birth family who took their complaints to the county who in turn had to check in to make sure what we were doing in raising our kids was acceptable. So not a real fun placement.
It all ended when Patrick made allegations against us to his parents during a visit in the county office. After being contacted by our Bethany case worker and being cleared of all and any allegations, we made the decision to have Patrick move from our home. And within a week he was back in the home of his parents who live just about one mile from our home.
With all this deceit and upheaval, and with Patrick being vocal about not wanting to live in our house or be a part of our family I would have thought we'd be the last people he'd want to see. But there he was, on his motorcycle in our driveway chatting with Stan about future plans for military service.
So does it matter that we are caring for kids who don't want to be here? Does it matter that manipulation and lies seem to win? Does it matter that we live in a virtual fishbowl and have to defend and explain why we do what we do? Does it matter that there seemed to be no bond between Patrick and our family? Does it matter that he chose to show up at our house on his own for a visit?
Does it matter?
Patrick is now 19 years old and was placed with our family two years ago for about one year. His placement was full of drama - manipulating parents, missed visits, lies and deceit - and that just made his stay with us that much harder; we were made out to be on the side of the 'bad guys'. We did our best to stick to our family routines and expectations, but were often challenged by the birth family who took their complaints to the county who in turn had to check in to make sure what we were doing in raising our kids was acceptable. So not a real fun placement.
It all ended when Patrick made allegations against us to his parents during a visit in the county office. After being contacted by our Bethany case worker and being cleared of all and any allegations, we made the decision to have Patrick move from our home. And within a week he was back in the home of his parents who live just about one mile from our home.
With all this deceit and upheaval, and with Patrick being vocal about not wanting to live in our house or be a part of our family I would have thought we'd be the last people he'd want to see. But there he was, on his motorcycle in our driveway chatting with Stan about future plans for military service.
So does it matter that we are caring for kids who don't want to be here? Does it matter that manipulation and lies seem to win? Does it matter that we live in a virtual fishbowl and have to defend and explain why we do what we do? Does it matter that there seemed to be no bond between Patrick and our family? Does it matter that he chose to show up at our house on his own for a visit?
Does it matter?
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
In the beginning....
Stan and I married in April 1998 and in March 1999 welcomed our first born child to the family. When Eli was 9 months old we began our foster family journey. So he knows nothing other than this way of life; the same goes for our other four 'permanent' kids.
We've been doing this foster care thing for twelve years. Some days that's a long time and others, a small drop in a big bucket. Some placements we struggled through and others were a breeze. Some caseworkers make things so much smoother and easier, and others... Some birth families are amazing and just need that extra support, and others just leave us with hearts broken and heads shaking.
The title of the blog comes out of a little family joke that started soon after we began to foster parent. When called with a placement, we usually had anywhere between several minutes to several hours to prepare the house, the kids, and dinner. I found it very easy to throw together a pot of spaghetti on short notice; and as we went along, I also found some other things about spaghetti to be true:
1. Most kids (not all, but MOST) are familiar with spaghetti, so hopefully the first meal is not too intimidating.
2. There are choices to be offered when serving spaghetti: with sauce or without, with cheese on top or not, eaten cut up with a spoon or twirled on a fork. Many of the kids that come into placement feel like they have little control over what is happening to them and their family, some small choices up front give a bit of hope.
3. Spaghetti is filling. Some of the kids may not have eaten recently, or may be too upset to eat much when they arrive. Even a little is a bit comforting.
4. It works for any age. I've had an older child get involved in the preparation and older children enjoy the fun of twirling the pasta; and it can be cut up so even the little ones can manage to get some on a spoon.
So, when a call comes in during the day and I haven't been able to reach Stan by phone before he walks in the door, chances are good that if he smells spaghetti he knows that means we have a guest for dinner. And so the name of the blog.
We've been doing this foster care thing for twelve years. Some days that's a long time and others, a small drop in a big bucket. Some placements we struggled through and others were a breeze. Some caseworkers make things so much smoother and easier, and others... Some birth families are amazing and just need that extra support, and others just leave us with hearts broken and heads shaking.
The title of the blog comes out of a little family joke that started soon after we began to foster parent. When called with a placement, we usually had anywhere between several minutes to several hours to prepare the house, the kids, and dinner. I found it very easy to throw together a pot of spaghetti on short notice; and as we went along, I also found some other things about spaghetti to be true:
1. Most kids (not all, but MOST) are familiar with spaghetti, so hopefully the first meal is not too intimidating.
2. There are choices to be offered when serving spaghetti: with sauce or without, with cheese on top or not, eaten cut up with a spoon or twirled on a fork. Many of the kids that come into placement feel like they have little control over what is happening to them and their family, some small choices up front give a bit of hope.
3. Spaghetti is filling. Some of the kids may not have eaten recently, or may be too upset to eat much when they arrive. Even a little is a bit comforting.
4. It works for any age. I've had an older child get involved in the preparation and older children enjoy the fun of twirling the pasta; and it can be cut up so even the little ones can manage to get some on a spoon.
So, when a call comes in during the day and I haven't been able to reach Stan by phone before he walks in the door, chances are good that if he smells spaghetti he knows that means we have a guest for dinner. And so the name of the blog.
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