Stay out

The countdown to Cinque's departure continues; probably only a few weeks left, and that's good. He's anxious, the family is anxious, and we would love to see him settled. There is a struggle to find a balance between the here and the there, the now and the soon, the reality and the dream; it's hard.

Providing boundaries and guidance to kids in the system is usually a balancing act as well. Coming from places where adults are either physically absent, or at least emotionally detached and disconnected, rules and consequences, and love, affection, and attachment are severely lacking. That was our starting point sixteen months ago. Arguments, defiance, anger, and deceit abounded and we did our best to meet that with calm consistency.

Recently two people on two separate occasions remarked to me that Stan and I "run a tight ship." Several years ago, that statement would have sent me into a session of second-guessing and re-analyzing - our rules, parenting, discipline strategies; not today, those words reaffirm that what we have set about to establish in our home is having noticeable results. The "tight ship" mentality is what we - as parents and children in our family - need to make it all work.

Walking into our family - our ship, if you will - is most definitely alien to the children placed in our home; we recognize that and make allowances for the learning curve. Usually we choose one or two areas to address right away, lay down some very basic expectations and clear consequences which we enforce immediately, and watch the child learn quickly. In our current case the big issues were honesty and safety. And being a very intelligent young man, the lessons were learned fairly painlessly and quickly.

The finer points of family relationships continued to be tweaked - what parent doesn't want their kids to continuously learn how to love and respect others - as we honed in on respect for the possessions, space, and feelings of other family members. There was also substantial attention given in the area of personal care and hygiene. Somehow so many kids are never taught how to wash themselves - using soap, brush their teeth - using toothpaste, change into clean clothes - daily. With these simple tasks being overlooked and under-taught, how can we expect the children to understand, or even care about respect for other people?

But our young man came to understand the importance of these issues rather quickly, as well. The desire to do the right thing is in place; but as with most kids, the follow through is sometimes lacking. Not a big deal and we continue to learn together, to give reminders as needed as is the parents' role. However, not having been parented in the same vein as our other kids who have been around us most of their lives, this guy did not take well to being told "what to do all the time."

When a longer hair style was requested, the request was honored until the hair became dirty and unkempt. When teeth go unbrushed for several days, then the consequence of a lost privilege is invoked. When personal belongings are left laying about the house at the inconvenience of the family, items are confiscated. These statements hold true for any child in our family who is struggling to maintain the expectations for self-respect.

With a child unused to that much parental 'control' by way of rules and reminders, the feeling is uncomfortable and maybe overbearing; and we have been told in various ways to "stay out of my business." Realizing the importance of growing up to be independent and the effectiveness of learning from natural consequences, there are times when we have "stayed out". Especially as our time together comes to a close, there is a tendency to create some distance and to ask our family to "stay out."

It's kind of sad to see some of the work that has gone into the bettering of our guy slip away. School grades are sliding, disrespect for others is on the rise, self-care has taken a back seat, and his basic interaction with our family is strained. Now is a time in the placement that ties should be strengthened to send him 'home' on a high note, being the best he can be, giving it all he has learned and can give. The balance to respect his wishes to stay out and my nurturing inclination to stay all in is difficult, but very worthwhile.

Ninety Minutes

There is a special time that takes place in many homes each day, that precious time when the kids get home from school, the phone is ringing, other kids need to get to appointments and practices, the doorbell rings, the dryer buzzes, homework needs to be started and papers need to be signed, and dinner - if not already half-way started - has to be prepared. At our house those ninety minutes are from 3:45 to 5:15. Yesterday was a doozy.

On Thursdays, Sierra has violin lessons after school, so she, Cinque, and I arrive home where Eli, Evan, and Samara have already gotten off the bus, had their snack, and have started their homework - theoretically. Yesterday we were about ten minutes late getting home, and Eli had a friend over to study quizzing. Once getting everyone settled and started on homework, and after listening to Evan complain about having to read during homework time instead of at bedtime, the DHS case worker arrived at 4:00. She's a wonderful worker, and since things are moving along with Cinque's transition, I was really looking forward to speaking with her; so we sat down to talk.

About five minutes into our conversation, Fred came home and needed help to transition into unpacking his book bag and starting his homework. While I did that the case worker made a phone call, it was all good. Sierra also finished her homework about that time and wanted to watch a video, which was also good because she usually can sit quietly for twenty minutes to do that. So with Fred settled and the video started, we got back to our conversation.

Unfortunately, we were talking in the same space where Sierra was watching the video; she felt that the volume needed to be louder and would scoot to the television and turn it up, but I had the remote and from the other side of the room, would turn the sound back down - while holding the conversation with the case worker. Sierra and I continued this unspoken battle until I interrupted the conversation to threaten her with the ending of the movie if she turned up the sound again. She settled down.

But then Fred started up; he's not big on social niceties. From where he was working, he asked for a calculator. Time for the case worker to make another phone call while I worked with Fred to help him understand that he was not allowed to use a calculator for his homework. That issue was settled and then the phone rang. Checking caller ID, I saw that it was the pre-adoptive family with whom I had been playing phone tag in trying to schedule Cinque's next visit with them. The case worker told me to take the call, which turned out to be a fifteen minute conversation during which time Sierra cranked up the volume on the video and Fred finagled the calculator into his possession.

After hanging up the phone, turning down the video volume, and confiscating the calculator, we resumed our conversation and actually shared some helpful information with each other for about the next ten minutes. At that point, Eli and his friend entered the room, politely stood back and waited for an opening - apparently there were some pressing questions regarding the upcoming quiz meet. I asked them to wait a few minutes and I finished talking with the case worker who then met with Cinque for a bit.

Fred and I checked over his homework, and he cleared out. Eli, his friend, and I sat down to talk through some quizzing details, meanwhile Evan joined Sierra in front of the television - not usually a good combination. True to form, a few minutes later Evan was quietly instigating and Sierra was loudly protesting. Interrupting my conversation with the boys, I issued a warning to Evan and Sierra with a consequence to have to work together to clean the basement if they bothered each other again. We finished talking about quizzing, I got up to check on dinner - thank goodness for crock pots, the case worker came downstairs from talking with Cinque, Stan walked in the door from work, and Eli's friend was getting ready to leave.

On Thursdays, Samara and Stan have basketball practice at 5:30, so Samara is to be dressed and ready to go to practice when Stan gets home - she wasn't ready. She and Stan hurried upstairs to change, we said good-bye to Eli's friend, finished up things with the case worker and she left, and Stan and Samara headed out the door for practice.

I checked the clock:  5:15 - another successful navigation of those precious ninety minutes.

Which way do we go?

Six weeks and the transition continues. The visits between Cinque and the potential adoptive family have increased in length; this weekend should be the initial two-night visit with possibly several more to follow. Reports from all parties are very favorable, and everyone is cautiously optomistic and very hopeful that this match will result in the permanancy that Cinque desires and deserves.

Slow and steady is probably the best way to go, and gives opportunity for both child and family to make a well-informed, thoughtful decision. On the other hand, the longer the transition the more anxiety that may be induced as Cinque wonders and asks when he might be moving. There's also his felt need to have closure here as he moves on; which is also played out as a lack of care for everyday life here.

In a twelve-year-old's way of thinking, why should time and effort be spent on school work assignments that will be left behind before the year is over, why practice for a band concert that will happen after he's gone, or why use self-control in the classroom when the consequences won't follow him to the next school. And that same attitude is demonstrated at home: lack of attention to homework, needing to be prompted to complete routine chores, blatant refusal to care for personal hygiene, pestering and picking on the others kids. Understanding and some allowances are extended, reminders are given, attitudes are excused, explanations are provided to the other kids: this is not an easy time for him, we need to exercise grace.

Besides these somewhat predictable behaviors, some other interesting things have been happening...

Each of the kids have winter weather gear available to them - a winter coat, gloves and mittens, hat, scarves, boots. This child has chosen not to wear a winter coat all season, the preference is for hoodies - this practice is not at all uncommon with pre-teen kids, we see it all the time - and it is not a battle I choose to initiate; if a person is cold, he will put on the coat. The issue isn't even mentioned in our house. Since having overnight visits and the other mom requesting that the winter coat at least be sent along, strangely the child has worn the coat every day since.

At bedtime there are different routines with the different kids, but there is at least a "good-night" for and from each. Not with this child, there hasn't ever been any sort of evening or morning greeting, just a move-about-the-house-and-do-your-own-thing kind of attitude. However, during the first overnight visit we received a nine o'clock phone call to wish us a good night.

Due to his past family experiences, this child is guarded when it comes to forming bonds and trusting. The extent of his tie to our family is that we are a safe place where needs are provided and there are other kids for entertainment. Very obviously little emotional bonding has happened. Yet since beginning to visit with the other family, this child has made it a point to ask me several times a week, "So mom, how was your day?" as we are walking home from the bus stop. The first time I heard it I had to check to see which child was walking beside me to ask such a question; this is the child who either runs way ahead or is lagging far behind.

So I'm not sure which way to go with this. Certainly, we continue to address behaviors and attitudes that are unacceptable and issue the expected consequences, and we understand the feelings of anxiety that may be causing some of what we are seeing. And I also appreciate and enjoy all the cooperation and pleasantries - whatever the source or motivation. The hope is that very soon we will all know for sure which way we are headed and can focus on making it a very positive experience.

What we learn

Today is Evan's birthday. It's my nature to be reflective - not to analyze, if only, then there might be a purpose in it - to remember and ruminate, and sometimes to learn. So on the kids' birthdays, and adoption days I think back...

Before Evan was born, when I was five months pregnant, Eli was eighteen months old, and Fred was four we were called to take an emergency placement for two brothers: T was 10, and C was 7. An emergency placement means that the kids were removed from their home without warning or preparation, that the county did not know the whole story, our agency knew even less, and we were told next to nothing. We knew that the older child had some sort of disability, that court would be scheduled for the next week, and that both boys needed to be enrolled in school.

A county case worker brought the boys to our house, and when she saw Eli and Fred seemed surprised and remarked that she hadn't been told that we had children. That comment should have raised some concern, but it got lost in the shuffle of welcoming the boys into the house and the exchange of some information about the upcoming court hearing. We were assured that the placement would be very short-term, but that we should go ahead and enroll at least the younger brother in school. Since T, the big brother, had Down Syndrome, we were told not to worry about getting him into school as it would take longer to have the necessary documents transferred.

The first day or two went okay, we were able to set a routine and some boundaries. But we did not have much experience in caring for a child like T; he was almost non-verbal (most of the words he used were foul anyway, so it might have been a blessing), was easily frustrated, and became aggressive. Once he became comfortable, he was resistant to bed-time, refusing to go to and stay in his bedroom with his brother. He was also a large child, and so it was difficult to 'make' him stay anywhere he didn't want to.

We found that coloring with crayons seemed to be a calming activity, until he began to throw the crayons. It was on Saturday, so Stan was home. I took the crayons away and put them on top of the refrigerator; this frustrated T even more and he picked up a cup and threw it at me. At that point I took Fred and Eli and we went to our bedroom while I left Stan with T and C to call the agency on-call worker. The worker arrived, and having no information about the boys or the placement, and seeing that T had calmed down, and since it was a weekend, the worker left an hour later leaving us to think that this was an isolated incident - and if not, we could handle whatever might happen until Monday.

The next morning was Sunday, we got up and ready for church. I don't remember what, but something didn't suit T so he began a tantrum that included cursing, yelling, and throwing things. We decided that I would take the other boys to church and Stan would stay home with T and call the agency again. When we arrived home after church, the worker was there and this time T was still visibly agitated. Again the case worker talked about how we could handle these situations and told us to call the office the next morning. I and the boys were in the livingroom as he walked out with Stan. That was enough time for T to see me, get his hands on my neck and push me onto the sofa. I yelled for Stan and he and the case worker came back in time to see what was happening. Apparently this was enough for the worker to decide that T could not stay in our home. Phone calls were made and T left with the case worker for placement in a residential program where his needs would be better met.

When the county case worker followed up with us on Monday, she said she wasn't surprised that T had needed to be moved, that she was surprised that our agency would have placed him with us since, due to his violent history, it was unsafe for him to be in the house with small children and a pregnant mother. When we questioned our agency, they knew nothing about this child's violent tendencies. So not only were we a bit traumatized, but a child who had been removed from his family without being able to understand why, and had now been moved again.

Thankfully, both boys were eventually reunified with their family. At court the next week, we were able to meet their mother who thanked us for caring for her boys. C was able to go home that day and T followed soon after.

When I think about this experience, I'm not sure what I've learned. Sure, we've learned some behavior management techniques, but I might still do things the same way. Those boys would be welcome in our home, we would do our best to keep all the kids safe, the agency would get phone calls until we got help. If I had stopped to think about bringing our baby into this kind of life... well, I guess God knew what kind of baby would add joy to this kind of life, so He provided us with Evan.

Praying for Patience

While in the bank drive-thru the other day, I was reminded of my ever-present short comings in the patience department. The driver in front of me was already at the window, and continued to talk with the teller inside even after the metal drawer had opened and closed not once, but twice. Even though I wasn't in a particular hurry, I found myself feeling agitated.

Patience has never been my strong suit. It's always been a matter of prayer and half-hearted discipline, and when people comment on how patient I am, I usually respond with, "No, I'm just tired." Which is kind of a true statement; not often physically tired, but mentally drained and tired of arguing with and explaining myself to my kids, tired of working - it feels like against - a system when what I want is to work with the system.

During a pull-myself-up-by-the-bootstraps phase a few years ago, I decided to dig in and work at developing more patience. My prayers and Bible study revolved around it, and I tried to be more aware of my attitude with the kids, especially. The timing is blurry to me now, but around that time - months before or after - we took a placement for three siblings.

At the time we had in our family: Fred, Eli, and Evan, and two brothers - Raymond and Deante. The ages of these five boys were: 8, 7, 5, 3 and 2 years old. The three siblings were two sisters and a little brother, named Dante (try keeping track of Deante and Dante for a bit.) As interesting as that name combination seemed to me, the name of the one sister really struck me - the older sister, age 7, was Patience. Her little sister, age 5, was Nicole.

These kids came to us because their dad did not have health insurance for them - period. That's all we were told and it certainly seemed that the kids were well-adjusted: understood limits, responded to discipline, played well with our kids. Little Dante was more fearful since he was not quite 2 years old and didn't understand what was going on, but after a few days he was fitting in and we had the new normal going on.

A few days into the placement, we noticed that Patience was struggling with one aspect of her health and while I had one of the boys to the doctor for a check-up, I took Patience along hoping that they would squeeze in a quick look at her "off the record" since the state health insurance for the kids had not kicked in yet. (A side note here: our pediatrician's office has been phenomenal to work with since we began fostering; even though they are usually technically 'closed' to new patients with medicare, they will take any kids that come to our family and they've seen a number of kids on the side like in this situation.)

It took the pediatrician a few minutes before he looked at me and said something like: "Mrs. Heisey, you need to get this child down to CHOP straight from here." And I said something like, "Huh?!" Stan was at work, I think my mom was at home with the other kids, and this kid had no health insurance. So I went home, filled in my mom, called Stan and he came home. We contacted the agency and the county, and Patience and I headed to CHOP.

Patience was admitted almost immediately and underwent a series of tests and procedures. For part of this time, the case workers were at the hospital with us to help answer the on-going questions for which I had no answers since I had only known Patience for a week and we had been given very little family information. The results of the testing determined that the situation was definitely treatable, and me being totally medically ignorant assumed that that meant we would get a prescription and get home in time for the bed-time routine.

Enter patience (with a lowercase 'p'). Sure, that whole day had taken some patience what with having to rearrange our schedule, have Stan come home from work, find my way to CHOP (I am also directionally challenged), try to comfort a child who hardly knew me, deal with questions for which I had no answers, and try to understand medical terms. But after all that, we could not go home. Patience was given a bed, and I a make-shift cot-type thing, in a room for the night. We had not planned for an over-nighter; I had no extra clothes for either of us, no comfort items for her, no way to take out and store my contacts.

It turns out, I didn't have to worry about taking out my contacts since I didn't sleep. Between Patience being uncomfortable (she was having some procedures continue throughout the night) and scared, and the addition of our roommate at around two in the morning, who had time to try to get comfortable on that plastic covered, too-short cot-bed. Sometime during the next day, Patience was discharged with a list of directions for us to follow.

As I mentioned earlier, I am fully medically incompetent; taking temperatures and administering cold medicine is about as far as I go. So... more patience as I cared for Patience at home. The fact that she did not understand the need for all the things that we had to do, or what could happen if we didn't, was also trying as I attempted to explain in little girl terms what I barely understood myself. Thankfully, her health did improve, her daddy secured insurance for all the kids, and Patience, Nicole, and Dante were reunified with their family after a few weeks with us. And I was again reminded to be thoughtful when praying because God is faithful in providing what I need - sometimes in ways that I can't help but notice.

When I'm Ready

It's no secret that our oldest child has special needs which include: ADHD (attention deficient hyperactivity disorder), ODD (oppositional defiant disorder), PDD (pervasive developmental disorder), ID (intellectual disability), a processing disorder, and epilepsy. The epilepsy is well-controlled with medication, which ironically can cause or exacerbate behavior problems. It's also not a secret that Fred has a very gentle spirit and generous heart; he has always been great around younger children and loves to be helpful.

After being told for several years that he would 'catch up' academically and socially, while watching him struggle and fall farther and farther behind his peers, we sought expert advice. With the assistance of doctors and an attorney we worked with the school district to find a more appropriate educational situation. Translation: We spent a lot of time and money to research, track and document performance of the school, meet with professionals and the school personnel, submit paperwork for state and federal complaints, meet with the school district some more, visit the options the district was willing to offer, and eventually - after nine months of rabbit-trailing -  file a petition for a due process hearing. Amazingly, once the district realized we were not backing down, we were offered placement in an excellent out-of-district educational program for which the district would foot the bill.

We are half-way through the first full year at this school, and the honeymoon appears to be ending. Up until recently, the comments from and conversations with the teachers at this new school have been very similar to what we have experienced in the public schools. Teachers seem very taken with Fred's sweet little boy looks and innocent disposition; these characteristics have helped him get shuffled along and excused from some consequences that he deserved and needed to experience.

Just last week the teacher sent an e-mail, as she does most days (the consistent contact is a source of satisfaction for me and a source of frustration for Fred), to explain a new procedure they had begun to use in the classroom. Apparently there are instances when my son does not want to complete - or even begin - certain assignments; he claims to be too tired or have a headache when the task presents a challenge. No surprise there, why do you think we fought for this placement. In the public school there were times when he was given answers for assignments and tests because he claimed he couldn't do the work. The new procedure includes allowing Fred to choose whether or not he wants to do the assignment with the class or wants to wait, and then he may tell the teacher when he's ready to work.

What? Seriously? My child is deciding whether or not or when he'll do the assigned classwork? We're not talking about allowing 'wait time' for him to process; we are talking about a belligerent and bossy attitude. I understand and appreciate the concept of the IEP (Individualized Educational Plan) when it is utilized, but it is not up to the student to set the tone and expectations. Unfortunately, Fred has learned how to manipulate - when to turn on the charm, or the victim mentality, or use health concerns to work in his favor. For a young man who on paper appears to be quite delayed, he certainly has mastered the art of using his disabilities as an excuse and crutch which is something we do not allow to happen at home. Not for this child or any others.

Together, Fred and I read and discussed the e-mail from the teacher. I explained that if he was given the luxury of waiting until he was ready, then I would also take that attitude - I will fix dinner... when I'm ready; I'll check your homework... when I'm ready; I'll pack your lunch... when I'm ready; I'll do your laundry... when I'm ready. Then it hit home for him and he seemed to grasp the selfishness in this method of doing things.

He's a kid with common sense and a great memory - don't ever challenge him to a game of Pictureka or I Spy. He's been taught and knows right from wrong. He's like any other kid trying to make life easier by taking short cuts, and he's got more crutches than most. Slowly and surely he's getting it, this thing of living life with others. I think he's more ready than he knows.

Are You Smarter Than...

Evan recently went through a phase of interest in the T.V. game show, "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader". Since he's in fifth grade, it was interesting to see how much easier the questions were for him to answer than his parents.

When Evan was in pre-school, we had the pleasure of having a set of sisters live with us. The oldest was fifteen and she had a phrase that she liked to use on me when working her teen-age wiles: "Don't let me outsmart you!" That was my warning that she was planning, preparing, scheming... nothing really bad, this girl still makes me proud today - but that's another story.

In the past weeks my awareness of being outsmarted has been heightened as my kids seem to be throwing down challenges to see if I'm really smarter than a fifth grader, or second grader, or sixth grader, or seventh grader, or ninth grader.

Daughter knows because she's been repeatedly reminded, that she may not wear rings or bracelets to school (necklaces are fine) because they tend to come off and may become a distraction or lost. As we get out of the car at school one morning I notice that daughter seems to be struggling to take off her seat belt, only to discover that she is trying to adjust the bracelet that she has 'hidden' in her underwear so that it won't fall out as she gets out of the car. Outsmarted that second grader!

Son has spelling homework every night to study and review for a test each Friday. After several weeks of below passing grades, we adopted a vigorous, new study routine. Monday night went fine, Tuesday night was a bit of a struggle. On Wednesday son comes home and says, "Oh, my. I accidentally forgot my spelling list at school." "Oh my," I replied, "good thing I saved the paper we used yesterday to practice the words." Smarter than that student!

Daughter has been volunteering to hand out snacks in Sunday School class. On week one I commend her for being helpful. On week two I hear that she has volunteered again, and other daughter says she is giving everyone a double snack. By week three I have deduced that my volunteer is interested in receiving a double portion for herself and by being generous with the whole class, she can be generous with herself. This one took me a little longer, but I outsmarted my other second grader.

One of the kids takes great joy in instigating: causing siblings to fuss and fume, lose their tempers, yell and scream; then takes satisfaction when the sibling reacting is the one to receive a reprimand. Sometimes the stealth of this child has worked, but the established pattern has blown that cover, and I have proven to be smarter than that child, too.

At our house, breakfast is served every morning before school. While having a conversation with a teacher, information was shared in an innocent manner regarding one of our son's habits of purchasing breakfast at school each day. When confronted, our son initially denied it until I suggested that we e-mail the teacher to clarify the information.

It certainly helps to have the eyes and ears of our village out there. The look of amazement on a child's face when they realize that mom knows what they've been up to is priceless. It is a gentle reminder to them that honesty and respect are always worth it and that yes, I am smarter than them.

Happy Birthday!

January 16: My mom's birthday. The day holds more significance for me now than ever. As a kid, I realized that my mom had a birthday like the rest of us, but grown-ups didn't seem to celebrate in the same way. There were years that I made a card, and later when I had money of my own, purchased cards and small gifts. I remember trying my hand at baking birthday cakes, and my mom seemed to appreciate whatever we did, or didn't do to celebrate her special day.

My perception of my mom changed drastically in 1999 when I became a mother. Not only did I begin to realize and appreciate what hard work it is to parent and how some sacrifices were easy to make out of love, but that others bring fears and tears. My mom seldom seemed to fear and rarely shed tears; to me that was and is a sign of her quiet strength and strong faith in God.

As we entered the journey of foster care, our most staunch supporter was my mother; babysitting, advice, a listening ear - she did it all. During one particular placement of two young brothers which lasted for more than two years, I called my mom almost daily. At the time we had five little boys in the house of all different personalities, dispositions, and stages of development. Who else could I call on who would listen to me vent about the holes in the drywall and broken toys, give me ideas for discipline and potty-training, be available to watch the crew when I had to be at visits.

As we've gained experience, and as I've tried my best to fashion my parenting skills from everything I've learned from my mom, the form of my neediness has changed. As the kids have grown and we've faced new and curious challenges, my questions and concerns have also evolved. When Angel died, my first phone call was to my mom; she didn't say much and didn't need to - I wouldn't have wanted her to. She cried and hurt along with me, allowed me to ask hard questions, and mourned Angel's loss as well.

Several years ago we cared for a seventeen year old girl who was struggling to live with our white family in our suburban home. She wasn't connecting in school and claimed to be 'bored' at our house even though we suggested many activities. Having some artistic interest, she eventually decided she wanted to sew a patchwork bag - with which I could offer absolutely no assistance beyond driving her to the store for supplies. But Grammy sews! She agreed to spend most afternoons with this young lady; together they worked on and completed the project.

That situation demonstrated to me the characteristic that I admire most in my mom: loving patience. Not the kind of patience that includes foot-tapping, sighing, and eye-rolling; or reminding, prompting, and nagging - because that's the kind of patience my kids have endured from me. On the other hand, I am hard-pressed to recall a time when my mom raised her voice or grew impatient with me. Oh, there was discipline - well-deserved punishments, consequences that were of no surprise to me.

Over time and with much prayer - offered by me and my parents - God has blessed me with a measure of loving patience which on my own is not possible. With God's continued help and my mom's continued example, I am hopeful that my children will be able to experience, grow from, and pass along this wonderful, strong, gentle heritage. Happy Birthday, Mom!

Before Coffee

Unloading the dishwasher is a chore that seldom falls to me, but this morning it did - only because the assigned unloader is going from one activity to the next after school and won't be home until ten o'clock tonight and we can't wait that long between dishwasher runs -and the entertainment was coming from all parts of the house.

In our family we have dueling attention seekers -a boy and a girl; sometimes one pulls way out in front which spurs the other toward bigger and greater methods. Here's the way it played out this morning...

In the dining room area - and not visible to me - daughter was sitting, working quietly on quizzing homework. At the same time, in (what we call) the library area son was playing on the Leapster making very loud noises and comments. He was also not visible to me or daughter number two (who was with me in the kitchen having issues all her own), but he had positioned himself at just the right angle to be seen - and more importantly - heard by his opposition.

It took but a few minutes for daughter to begin a song of few words and little melody, initially very soft, but then for maximum effect, growing in volume. The same four or five words were 'sung' over and over in an effort to drown out the sound effects of her brother. From the library we soon we heard, "Oh man, what a great score!" and, "Wow! Can you believe it?!" and other such exclamations - of course receiving no attention - escalating to drown out the sing-songing of his sister. She did her best to not really ignore, but rather make a show of letting him know she wanted to ignore him; while at the same time calling for me to come and check the work she had done.

Mercifully, it was time to collect our stuff and ourselves and walk to the bus stop. Daughter secured a spot beside me and dove into a diatribe about a book she had put on hold at the library: what the book is about, why she had to put it on hold, who else in her class had signed the book out, what I would say when she showed me the book... and each time she took a breath, brother was right there ready to take over. His was a discussion on what snakes he had seen at the zoo, the size and color of them, where they were located, how large the cases were, what he saw before and after the snakes.

Once the bus had come and gone, I enjoyed a quiet walk back to the house where I savored a mug of coffee, thankful for the energy of my kids and even more thankful that I had put off that coffee - and being fully alert and awake - until the attention seekers had gone.

The Right to be First

The phone call did not provide the expected or anticipated information; it fell flat and was a bit disappointing. But more than that, it left a lingering feeling of unease that all was not right, will not be right.

Anticipating the placement of a foster child into a possible adoptive family is: exciting, terrifying, nerve-wracking, anxiety-invoking, promise-filled... that includes some of the thoughts and emotions of the adults involved. Imagine how the child must feel, think, and react to all this exciting uncertainty.

Our family has walked with a half-dozen children through this process; most times it has been very successful. Heart-breakingly there have been mismatches, failed attempts, more trauma. If only there were a way to know, to see, to predict, to make perfect a situation in which we have no control. We have no power to decide how the child will try to fit into, test the limits of, or adjust to a new environment. Nor do we have any say in how the family will respond to the behavior choices of the child. Agencies and professionals are in place to do preparation and briefing, to assess the connection and commitment, and to give informed, unbiased, wise advice and guidance.

It reminds me of a phone call from one of the case workers who was working on matching a child with a possible adoptive family. After meeting with the child, the family indicated an interest in pursuing adoption and so was given the opportunity to have the child visit for the weekend. From experience (since we were in a similar situation with Sierra) I can remember the thrill of knowing that the child you long to have with you forever is one step closer, is able to stay in the house that hopefully will one day be the child's home, to be able to tuck the child into bed at night and be there when he or she wakes up. However, this phone call did not relay that those were the thoughts this pre-adoptive family was having.

Instead of asking how early the child could be picked up or how late the drop off could be, there were questions about whether a one-night visit would work for us since that would work best with the family's schedule. To me, and my totally biased and protective way of thinking, they were not sold on the idea of adoption, or at least had not come to understand it fully. If they were not interested in, able to, or willing to make adjustments to their schedule for one weekend to visit with a child they desired to be their very own, then how would they ever accommodate the many changes in the family schedule, in the home structure, in their ways of thinking that the adoption of this little one would require? And since our family had made the necessary initial and on-going adjustments, we knew that it would require a shift for this family as well.

So the feeling of unease and doubt about this match planted itself in my head and heart. This child, our child, was not some information, some child profile, something to try out to see if it would work; this was a life that deserved the very best. Our only hope is in knowing that as much as we cared for this child, the all-knowing God who we serve and who loves us has the life of that child - and all these children - as His first and best interest.

Smile!

January is a month of fresh starts and clean slates, a chance to do better, try harder, be more. Some Januarys ago I had decided that I would make it a goal to smile more - more often, more sincerely, at more people. Don't you know that God was ready to help me work on that goal.

During January 2008 things looked like this: Samara and Sierra were attending Head Start, the boys were in school, and Haily was with us - a beautiful blue-eyed, pleasant, easy-going eight month old little girl. The days had a structure and routine which flowed very well - it was quite easy to smile. Aside from some school issues with Sierra at Head Start (if you've read an earlier post, you might remember that there were some behavioral concerns) and the normal meetings and visits, family life was very managable and enjoyable.

Late in the day on Wednesday, January 2, a phone call came from the agency asking if we could take in twin five month old babies. Placement was needed immediately as the babies had just been picked up from their previous home and were in the office waiting until another foster family placement could be arranged. The plan was for us to care for the twins until Friday of that week so that the agency had time to find a more long-term placement. So within two hours Baby Boy and Baby Girl and all their baby equipment were delivered to our home.

We did a little rearranging of our schedule; Stan was able to take the girls to Head Start on his way to work in the morning and pick them up and bring them home during his lunch time, there were a few appointments that needed to be rescheduled, but overall the week was fairly open. We adopted a camp-out-in-the-living-room mentality so that the three babies could play, eat, and sleep with full supervision. This was definitely do-able for four days.

By that Friday morning we hadn't heard a thing from the agency, and I hadn't thought (or had time to have a thought) to call them. Late on Friday a supervisor called and asked if the twins could stay through the weekend and possibly into the following week. What did they expect me to say? These poor kids had just gone through a total upheaval, and although they were doing okay, there were some health concerns (Baby Girl had an awful runny nose and consistent cough) as well as the need for Early Intervention to be involved (Baby Boy was not able to push up on his arms when on his belly and did not even try to roll over) - but since we were an emergency placement, we had no medical information and little contact with the case worker about what we should be doing.

After a week, we had gotten to know these precious babies pretty well; Baby Girl was very demanding all day long and into the night - not a good sleeper and waking up fussing so that she would wake her brother, Baby Boy was much more laid back, but almost too calm and passive - he was often the last one tended to out of the three since his cry was not the loudest. We were able to establish a new routine to include the needs of the twins and still try to meet the needs of Haily and the older kids. But honestly, it was getting less and less easy to smile.

It was during this time that Sierra's problems in school flared (no surprise there) and we - the school and her parents - decided that she should stay at home. Stan continued to transport Samara back and forth to school in the morning and on his lunch break. To keep up with the other family acitivities we also had boatloads of help from family and friends: my mom, my cousin, and a few foster mom friends were on-call to come and sit with the babies if I needed to get to a violin lesson, doctor's appointment, family visit for Haily, or just to the store for more formula and diapers.

As the end of week two approached with no confirmation from the agency about the length of the babies' stay, and with little contact with a brand new case worker, things began to stretch thin. While the kids enjoyed having hotdogs and chicken nuggets for dinner, we were hankering for some more substantial meals and meal times where we could all sit down together without one of us needing to jump up to care for a baby. Smiles were becoming rarely sighted occurances and sleep deprivation was manifesting itself.

It wasn't so much the needs of three babies and the five older kids that was wearying as much as the not-knowing of the plan for placement. We might have worked harder at getting the twins on a schedule and should have had them to the doctor if we had known that this four day placement would evolve into four weeks. And while it was sad to see them leave after having bonded with them over what felt like way more than a month, it was good to know that there would be more stability in their future. So there were reasons - and more energy - to smile.

Bigger reasons came about two years later when we heard through the foster family grapevine of a family (who are friends of our friends) who had just taken in twins - a brother and sister - with the same names of the babies that we had cared for in 2008. This family was going to adopt these twins who had apparently bounced around the system for two years without a permanent home.

Through the miracle of adoption and the close-knit network that it creates, we were able to rejoice as this family became a forever family: the twins had found their parents, and these compassionate, committed, and consistent parents found their children, the children God had chosen just for them. We are amazed at and so thankful for God's workings and ways - and we have smiles on our faces and in our hearts.

Can't or Won't

Several of our kids are blessed with strong wills and minds of their own. Guiding and training them to understand the difference between disrespect (as in: "I don't have to listen to you") and independence (as in: "I can do this myself") is a tall order; the challenge is compounded when an intellectual disability (ID) is part of the equation. A teenager with an ID looks like a teenager, may have the maturity of a much younger child, and is socially and intellectually delayed by a gap that just continues to widen.

Since the age of three, our child has been taught that honesty is of the highest importance and that a choice to practice deceit will always result in negative consequences. We've done our best to make very concrete and immediate connections to assist in the learning process, we've praised good choices and pointed out when honesty has been to his benefit, we've allowed him to experience the pain of being on the receiving end of deceit. All kids learn at their own pace and in various ways, I get that; so we've allowed plenty of time on the learning curve and many opportunities for practice.

The seemingly never-ending struggle in this case is the pull between what this child is not able to process as opposed to what he chooses to do with a full understanding of the consequences. Case in point: he is expected to brush his teeth every morning after breakfast before leaving for school. I ask if he has brushed his teeth, he answers that he has, I check and find a dry toothbrush. Given that this is a routine task, there is no question that this is a case of "I won't".

Public situations add another variable; now we have an audience which the young man can try to use to his advantage by making mom and dad appear to be mean and unreasonable. Behaviors that are expected at home are also expected in public, for example, we do not expect any of our children to talk back, sass, be fresh or cheeky... call it what you may, it's disrespectful. When in church, we give reminders about expected social behaviors - taking only one snack, greeting others with a handshake instead of an unexpected hug, keeping hands and feet to yourself. Sometimes our reminders are not welcome and then a yelling episode ensues; clearly another case of "I won't".

There are times when this child sincerely doesn't understand or is struggling to pick up on something that is obvious to others. For several years of school, we tried our best to understand what he was capable of doing and what things were just too much to expect. The sad thing is that sometimes a little bit of trying turned an "I can't" into and "I won't" simply because a teacher would step in and make things easier by doing it for him. This became a learned behavior which only worked against him; at school his seeming struggle produced a different result than at home where we expect that if something is hard to do, that means we must try harder.

As we approach the mid-teenage years, I am a bit anxious to have our son continue to grow into a young man who is responsible. There is always a question of whether we are pushing too hard, expecting too much; are we only frustrating him and ourselves? But if we stop expecting and pushing, will we be doing him and society a disservice? There have been times when I have wanted to just give up; stop teaching and reminding and just let things play out on their own. But then that would be me saying, "I can't and I won't."

Who knew?

A full set of dimples, wild curly hair, huge brown eyes, feisty as all get out, talks the paint right off the walls... guess which one of my lovelies I'm describing...

Yesterday was a big day for Sierra; a big day that was worth the wait. And the wait has been a sweet and sometimes rocky road. Even before we met Sierra, the things we were told helped us to understand who she was and is, what formed her personality, and the cause of her strong spirit

Born eight weeks early, weighing 3 pounds 10 ounces, addicted to three different drugs - after five weeks in the hospital, Sierra was placed into the care of a wonderful foster mother. About six months later we met Sierra at the age of eight months old. She was a tiny baby - about twelve pounds - with big brown eyes, straight brown hair (which would later fall out and be replaced by her signature curls), deep dimples, and a sweet laugh. The foster mother reported that Sierra showed little distress from the drug withdrawal - which is not common - but that is was uncertain what effects the drugs had had on her system and how that might play out as she got older.

Until she was twenty-four months old, we were followed by a program for preemies through Early Intervention to ensure that Sierra was meeting all the developmental milestones; she was talking by eleven months old and took her first steps at fourteen months. Still on the tiny side at two years old, Sierra was discharged from the Early Intervention program, did not present any delays and so did not qualify for any further services. Although that was somewhat freeing, it left us alone - without the support of those professionals - to face the uncertainty of Sierra's future.

At three years old, Sierra was enrolled in Head Start from which she was removed after a few months due to her problematic behaviors: hitting, kicking, spitting, refusal to participate or listen. Overstimulation and loosely structured activities were very challenging; being at home for another year seemed a good choice. When she was re-enrolled the following school year, she was more successful but continued to struggle with self-control.

At home Sierra was always talking and on the move; her verbal and reasoning skills developed quickly. She was extremely strong-willed and uncooperative at times. Time-outs were difficult as Sierra determined that she would always have the final say in things; but that tenacity also worked in her favor as it became manifested in determination and ambition. We can only speculate that that disposition was what helped her survive and thrive such a tenuous beginning in life.

Kindergarten brought a whole new world - being very bright, Sierra found ways to entertain and amuse herself when not challenged academically. Usually her choices were less than acceptable and sometimes resulted in phone calls home. Through the recommendation of her teacher, Sierra was evaluated and it was determined that she carried the diagnosis of Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD). With some strategies and supports, Sierra completed the school year.

It took the first grade teacher two weeks to send an e-mail to let us know that Sierra was not only distracted but distracting to the entire class. After another evaluation, she was additionally diagnosed with Attention Deficient Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). With the guidance of our doctor, Sierra began to take medication to help with focus and self-control; within a few days the change was remarkable so that even Sierra noticed that she was able to pay attention in school.

In addition to the medicine, Sierra is learning self-discipline through Suzuki violin lessons which we started in kindergarten. These lessons teach children how to play an instrument through listening and memorization, both of which require sustained focus. The teacher also stresses the importance of playing precisely, being responsible for learning the music, and for behavior during the lessons.

Which leads us to the BIG DAY. Sierra had her weekly violin lesson after school - already a challenge since she had withstood an entire day of second grade and was running on fumes from her morning meds. Upon meeting her at her classroom, she was distracted and unfocused - swinging her bookbag in the air, recounting her daily experiences and talking about what she wanted to wear to school the next day. We stepped aside in the hallway on the way to the music room so I could try to help her simmer down enough to focus on the task at hand, and then entered the music room where the other students were quietly and dilligently unpacking their violins. The struggle continued as Sierra could not seem to stop moving or talking; I took her shoulders between my hands so that we were face-to-face and firmly (and as quietly and discreetly as possible) reminded her that she needed to stop talking and think only about violin - it was a chat we'd had many times before, sometimes with good results and sometimes with a crash and burn.

By the end of the half-hour lesson I was nearly beside myself... with pride! Sierra had pulled herself together beautifully, was able to stop talking and focus on the teacher and the music. She played the review songs well - including a fast one in which she did not miss a single note, was able to demonstrate the new material well enough to be moved ahead, and was self-disciplined and focused during a new exercise which she completed as well as the other students.

Later, while unpacking her bookbag at home, she gave me a note from the teacher: Sierra had been invited to participate in a special math program based on her advanced math and reading skills, strong math test scores, and problem-solving ability. Here was proof of that determination.

Experiences like those are special and ones I will treasure and cherish tightly for a long time because they are rare, yes; but also because those are the times I am reminded of how blessed I am to be the mommy of Sierra - a little girl with such a tough start to life. Who knew - or knows - who she will become.

Through the cracks

One night at dinner when Eli was about four years old he asked, "Why don't I have a case worker?" Since kids coming and going, and case worker visits were part of his little world this was his attempt at fitting himself into life in our family. From the age of nine months old, Eli has shared his home, bedroom, toys, family, and parents with other kids - sometimes with no notice and usually without any say so. Our other children - both temporary and permanent - have had to make the same gracious adjustments.

The personality of our first born child does not lend itself naturally to change; he likes predictable, precise, and planned. Walking with and watching him work through some of the transitions our family has encountered has been challenging at times and helpful as we all learn to live outside our comfort zones. After twelve years, life has become more manageable for him; he has learned to go with the flow and roll with whatever punches come his way.

In addition to the above mentioned personality traits, he tends to be quiet, thoughtful, serious, and pretty much prefers to keep a low profile and not garner any attention. From very young he required little correction or discipline beyond a reminder; that characteristic has only become more pronounced as he has grown; his convictions are very strong, run very deep, and are firmly based on what he knows as Truth. All this makes it both a pleasure and a pressure to parent him.

Last year we spent much time, energy, and money in pursuing a more suitable educational situation for another one of our kids. There were also school issues for three others which required ongoing attention. Little time or energy is left for the 'typical' school issues or concerns. And the thing is, this kid isn't 'typical' either.

Treading lightly here because I don't want to come across as if this has anything to do with me: this child is highly intellectually gifted. This next part does have to do with me: I have done nothing about it. Sure, he's placed in classes with kids like him with similar aptitude, and his 'let me just fly under the radar' attitude keeps the teachers satisfied. He's polite, he participates, he's a good student, so he's been shuffled along.

My other child who we had to fight for was also shuffled along, but we raised a stink and got results... and a reputation. Have I done a disservice to my other child by not having the same fire to get him a more suitable education?

And this is not the only time I've felt like some of the kids have missed out. There have been soccer games, basketball games, music concerts, visits with friends, trips to museums and restaurants that have been missed due to the dynamics in our home at a specific season - a surly teenager with a bad attitude that refuses to participate, but that is also not permitted to stay home alone; a preschooler with an inability to sit anything close to still and quiet for any amount of time; an infant who has sustained injury and cannot be out of the house for any length of time.

Have our kids fallen through the cracks? Have we short-changed them by taking on the children of others? Have they missed out on important, or even not-so-important events and activities? Maybe at points they have, and maybe they will remind us of how unfair we have been.

We also have enriched their lives by making them aware of the opportunities they have (and sometimes take for granted) - like a safe home and their own bed, food every day, and clothes that fit. They have come to appreciate the miracle of adoption through our own family as well as with so many of our friends. We've also been affirmed in this choice when teachers have mentioned how compassionate and caring our kids are; they have been exposed to many needs and behaviors and find ways within themselves to reconcile and meet those needs for these other children.

So to go full circle: this is why, Eli, you do not have a case worker. You and your brother have not had to go through the trauma of the system to have been brought to us - and that, my son, is a blessing. A bigger blessing than the toy that was busted to bits by an angry little boy, or not having to share your bedroom with a crying toddler, or being able to have your parents at every event and concert, or having a more enriching education. I feel quite confident that you have had more of an education than most kids and I trust that you will continue to hold tight to the Truth as you live out what you have learned.

Both Ways

Foster parents have no rights, and that's just the way it is. Most times it seems to make sense since we are just full-time, round the clock child care. Child care includes: typical and non-typical doctor's appointments - specialists - some local, some not because of the limitations of health insurance providers; therapy appointments - in-home or somewhere else, usually not at a convenient location - for emotional, behavioral, family reasons or due to some delay in speech, motor, or educational development; school meetings for IEP development and academic and behavior concerns; family visits and often the aftermath of them; accommodation of multiple case worker visits and phone calls - one with our agency and one with a county agency; then the normal kid activities and kid needs - safety, food, school supplies, clothing, discipline, and love.

Maybe after all that 'child care' the system would begin to realize that this child that has been cared for in our home for over a year is more ours than anyone else's right now; that after a year of caring for the basic and not-so-basic necessities, meeting with therapists, teachers, doctors, and case workers regarding the child's behavior, health, daily functioning needs, concerns, life history and trauma, and future plans, someone in the system would understand that our opinions and perspective are valid and may even prove helpful. I'm not talking about rights, just good old-fashioned common sense and respect - for the child and the child's 'family', as it were, at the present time.

Our current foster child has been available for adoption for over a year, and due to the need for stability an adoptive placement was not sought until this summer, so we had a full year to help establish stability, boundaries, discipline, trust and general family life. Common sense would say that we might have an inkling as to what makes this child tick, what works and what doesn't when it comes to communication and discipline; what the child is REALLY like when rules and consequences are enforced. Kids in the system are savvy, they have learned how to play the system: how to be charming when charming will work, and how to play the victim to tip the scales in their favor. These kids are not bad, they are doing what they have found to work for them; unless someone catches and calls them on it and then holds them accountable, all we are doing is perpetuating the system which has brought them to their current situation.

Most case workers and some therapists with whom we have worked seem to get it. Foster parents GET IT, which is why I just love our foster parent friends. When our child is sweet and polite and oh-so-charming in public and gets all kinds of wonderful smiles and attention and positive affirmation, that is a good thing - all kids need and deserve that. When that same child is disrespectful, thoughtless, mean, and defiant at home we know that we are doing the right thing because the child has become comfortable enough in our home to let down that shallow front. People who have seen and gotten to know only that shallow front are skeptical should they hear of the at-home behavior. All kids, all adults, have the capacity and tendency to put on a false front to make a good first impression; that is not the same thing.

Back to common sense... so when we as parents give our perspective - sometimes solicited, usually not - a cursory nod is given in response. Why consider the observations of the uneducated 'child care provider' when there are professionals with whom to consult? Excuse me for being cynical, but why would a therapist who spends one hour each week with this child know about how the kid responds to rules? Does the therapist ever enforce consequences? Or the case worker who meets with the child once a month - even a good, supportive, alert, involved case worker - may see some and hear more about that at-home behavior, but is rarely there to witness a situation from start to finish to see the child and parents in action.

Our guy has been visiting with a possible adoptive family, and initially everything that we were told about the family seemed to match well with the child. That information came through someone - a professional - who had spent a total of four hours with the child. We don't claim to be able to predict future events and we only want and pray for a successful adoption to happen sooner rather than later, but (you knew it was coming), but after three visits we are feeling less convinced that this is the right family. There is nothing wrong with the family, they seem like very caring people, and on paper it makes sense and the case workers are positive that this is the best thing.

Now is the time I'd like some rights to call just a few of the shots; to be able to speak honestly about what I as a mom see and know that this child needs, about what I have learned about him, about how I can't bear the thought of him facing another rejection. While this family appears to be loving, the impression is that they don't yet get it; they've seen the sweet and charming and have been drawn to that - who wouldn't be? But when the time for sweet and charming is over, will they be there for the less attractive, harder to handle stuff? Have they even been prepared for when that happens? If nothing else, I want a chance to share with them, and the case workers making the decisions, what our journey has been like over the past year - all of it, the wonderful, fun times and the frustrating, hard times.



So like I sometimes tell my kids: you can't have it both ways. Since we've decided that we are not the best candidates to be his parents, I have given up my 'right' to make the decision as to who would be the best.