Here's my Facebook status from today: "just experienced a whole new animal: an IEP meeting that was not only informational and helpful (as if that weren't shocking enough), but one in which every single person agreed upon a course of action that is going to require some effort and will actually benefit my student! Yay!!"
And here's the history behind that comment:
Having come to us at age three-and-a-half - a happy little boy - not toilet trained, and only speaking in two or three word sentences, we were told that the permanency goal was reunification, and that during the placement we should have Fred evaluated by the Intermediate Unit to receive any services for which he might qualify.
Evaluations completed, toilet training accomplished, boundaries and discipline introduced and enforced - this little boy was learning and growing. It was determined that he did not demonstrate enough delay in any developmental areas to qualify for services, so we were encouraged to enroll him in Head Start, which we did.
After a few weeks the phone calls began: aggression toward peers and teachers, defiant behavior, unexplainable and uncontrollable anger outbursts. So more evaluations followed, he was 'dismissed' from the Head Start program and soon after was reunified with his birth mother.
Fred returned to our home at the beginning of his first grade year. Reports from the school where he had attended kindergarten while he was living with his birth mother revealed moderate behavior problems and a lag in academics. Our school district used those reports and their own assessments to determine that Fred qualified for full-time learning support services. He continued in this placement for the next two years - the district allowed him to spend two years in first grade to 'catch up.' At that point we were told and believed that the learning delay was a result of a lack of stimulation and exposure during his first three years, and that the learning gap would close in time.
In second grade he was placed into a regular education classroom with supports for some academic subjects; this situation was somewhat successful and was repeated for third grade. However, as that year unfolded, there were more and more visits to the Principal's office and more evaluations. During one of the many meetings in which we requested Fred's return to a full-time learning support classroom, the guidance counselor - who clearly thought that all of Fred's behaviors were a result of my lack of parenting skills - commented that 'once we moved him back into full-time learning support, it would be nearly impossible to move him back out.' Who said anything about ever wanting to move him back out? That was when I realized that we were facing a battle.
From that time on we knew that whenever the district made a suggestion regarding our son's education, we were expected to quietly settle on and agree to it.
He was moved back into full-time learning support for fourth grade - a much happier year for all involved. We also requested that the district re-evaluate to rule out (or in) a diagnosis of what was then Mental Retardation (MR), and what is now Intellectual Disability (ID). They did the evaluation and ruled it out, so we paid for a more comprehensive private evaluation which resulted in a diagnosis of MR which would allow for Fred to receive more (and much needed) services. When presented with the results that we had gathered, the district refused to accept the MR diagnosis.
Fifth and sixth grades were fine for Fred, and a battleground for us. At every IEP meeting we were shown results of assessments that proved that he was making little to no academic progress and were also told that 'there would be more options in the Middle School.' Since Fred was enjoying school and the behavior problems had subsided somewhat, we waited with hope that seventh grade in the Middle School would bring opportunities for progress.
In reality the Middle School experience brought a nightmare. During the course of the year we were reported to Montgomery County Children and Youth Services twice and investigated for allegations of child abuse as reported by the school. Instead of checking Fred's stories with us for accuracy (even after we explained to them Fred's penchant for lying to get back at us) we were instead notified of his lies by a case worker showing up unannounced at our door.
In addition, the school reported progress of several grade levels, but at IEP meetings there was no documentation to support those assertions. In fact, one testing tool showed a decrease in his reading level; the teacher excused those results by saying that there was a discrepancy between the testing tools. The outcome of that particular meeting proved to stoke our frustration; after all, if the district doesn't have or use proper testing tools, how are they going to be able to teach my child in a way to meet his needs. And speaking of needs, it was at this point that the school repeated an IQ test and agreed that Fred met the requirements to be diagnosed with ID.
At the IEP meeting at the beginning of eighth grade, the district admitted that Fred had made little to no academic progress the previous year, but reassured us that at the High School he would be better serviced. Hmmm... having heard this same song and dance in the elementary school, we decided to seek legal advice. After about six months of documentation, meetings, and lots of money, the district agreed to place Fred in an alternative private school. That placement began in April 2011 and we are now finishing the first full year at this school.
Back to my comment today:
This morning was the IEP meeting to plan for the coming school year. The meeting included me and six professionals: teachers, supervisor, counselor, therapist. In preparation I had thoroughly read through the re-evaluation report and the IEP draft, discussed them with Stan, and made a list of questions. Past experience has been the best teacher - go in with an agenda, don't get defensive, stay calm (and smile if possible), listen to and take notes on everything they say.
At fifteen minutes into the meeting I began to feel uncomfortable - everyone was agreeing, giving input, offering and receiving suggestions, answering questions directly - basically working as a team, not the usual IEP experience. When it was my turn to ask my list of questions, there was no need because each one had been answered throughout the discussion. When the supervisor suggested that the school would like to move Fred's placement to a more suitable classroom, and asked if that would be okay with me, I just about cried. Even though this move is not convenient, wasn't in the initial plan, and may require additional supports, the recommendation came from the school in the best interest of my child.
Several people commented on the status up-date with this phrase: miracles still do happen. A miracle, indeed.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
The Line-Up
In any home with more than one child, there's bound to be lines... to brush teeth, take a turn on the computer, use the shower, pour some cereal, get some attention...
Those lines are prevalent in our family; and the more kids, the longer and more frequent the lines. Since this is an uneventful occurrence (usually), it rarely captures my attention; well, other than when we are waiting for the hand-washing line before dinner to run it's course while the food is rapidly cooling down on the table because I've misjudged the time needed for five or so kids to wash up while chatting and trying to scare each other as they exit the bathroom.
This afternoon, while attempting to answer some e-mail messages on one computer, Eli was finishing up a research paper on the other computer and occasionally running some ideas by me. So besides my targeted task at hand, Eli was first in line.
In the midst of a conversation about topic sentences, two other children entered the 'computer room'. The first, who would become number two in line, interrupted because he needed to know if he could watch television (after being instructed to practice his violin before even thinking of asking about anything else) and was closely followed by his little sister, number three.
Samara was concerned because Evan had told her to clean up some Legos that she had left on the living room floor. She had come to tell me that she was still playing with the Legos - although at that very moment she seemed more intent on tattling than on constructive play. We briefly reviewed where and what they should each be doing - violin and Legos (or clean up) and also that it is expected that they will not interrupt conversations with non-emergency issues.
Back to the child in the number one position in the attention line... and a question about making a sentence more 'attention grabbing' (oh, the irony!) But hardly a thought crossed my mind as Sierra came racing into the room to announce that she had finished her session of violin practice and now needed a snack, but that the snack bowl was empty. In this case, which is hardly isolated, 'empty' meant that none of the few items left in the selection were to her liking. And suddenly number three child had returned for another turn since she had heard her sister's complaint and, having apparently deemed herself the tattler for the afternoon, reminded me that Sierra had already had a snack a few hours before.
Somewhere amongst the snack bowl discussion, the last child walked in the door from school and announced to me from the kitchen that he had a 'very important paper' for me to see right away. The need-for-attention line was quickly morphing into a small, unruly mob.
At that point it was obvious that Eli was going to have to go solo on his research paper, that my e-mail messages would go answered for another bit of time, and that the line-up for attention required first priority.
Those lines are prevalent in our family; and the more kids, the longer and more frequent the lines. Since this is an uneventful occurrence (usually), it rarely captures my attention; well, other than when we are waiting for the hand-washing line before dinner to run it's course while the food is rapidly cooling down on the table because I've misjudged the time needed for five or so kids to wash up while chatting and trying to scare each other as they exit the bathroom.
This afternoon, while attempting to answer some e-mail messages on one computer, Eli was finishing up a research paper on the other computer and occasionally running some ideas by me. So besides my targeted task at hand, Eli was first in line.
In the midst of a conversation about topic sentences, two other children entered the 'computer room'. The first, who would become number two in line, interrupted because he needed to know if he could watch television (after being instructed to practice his violin before even thinking of asking about anything else) and was closely followed by his little sister, number three.
Samara was concerned because Evan had told her to clean up some Legos that she had left on the living room floor. She had come to tell me that she was still playing with the Legos - although at that very moment she seemed more intent on tattling than on constructive play. We briefly reviewed where and what they should each be doing - violin and Legos (or clean up) and also that it is expected that they will not interrupt conversations with non-emergency issues.
Back to the child in the number one position in the attention line... and a question about making a sentence more 'attention grabbing' (oh, the irony!) But hardly a thought crossed my mind as Sierra came racing into the room to announce that she had finished her session of violin practice and now needed a snack, but that the snack bowl was empty. In this case, which is hardly isolated, 'empty' meant that none of the few items left in the selection were to her liking. And suddenly number three child had returned for another turn since she had heard her sister's complaint and, having apparently deemed herself the tattler for the afternoon, reminded me that Sierra had already had a snack a few hours before.
Somewhere amongst the snack bowl discussion, the last child walked in the door from school and announced to me from the kitchen that he had a 'very important paper' for me to see right away. The need-for-attention line was quickly morphing into a small, unruly mob.
At that point it was obvious that Eli was going to have to go solo on his research paper, that my e-mail messages would go answered for another bit of time, and that the line-up for attention required first priority.
Monday, April 23, 2012
It's Simple
Last week I went on a trip to Lancaster with Evan's Select Strings group. The experience included a ride in an Amish horse and buggy. The driver was a retired Amish farmer who enjoyed relating details of Amish life to the riders. As we bumped along the dirt roads between the Amish homes and farms and saw the barefoot children running and playing in the yards, my heart ached a bit.
Stan and I were both raised in solid Christian families where people were more important than possessions and eternity of greater value than any temporary material stuff. Yes, we both came from families who were not wealthy, so there were no means to have lots of things anyway. Admittedly, there were times in my teenager-hood when I was embarrassed by my lack of the latest fashions and name brand shoes; situations in which I felt 'backward' and out of style and therefore, highly conspicuous (not in a good way.)
With our backgrounds deeply steeped in the Pennsylvania Dutch way of life - parents and grandparents of each of us hailed from Lancaster County - we are no strangers to frugality and simplicity. And in spite of occasional uncomfortable circumstances as I was growing up: teasing due to wearing K-Mart brand sneakers, having attention drawn to the patched-up knees of my jeans, not being able to answer questions about the latest movie I saw or the last album I bought; I am now raising my children in that same vein - at least I hope that I am.
My kids (and their parents) wear hand-me-downs and thrift store clothing; it's clean and fits well, but it's not brand new and hardly ever brand name. We have two computers, two television sets, and one video game system. And I just found out that we are not the last family in America to not have a flat screen television - another family in church thought they were the last. None of my kids have cell phones or personal gaming systems; we have two Leapsters, one of which has been around for eight years (I think we got our money's worth out of that one!) One child has an iPod. Stan and I have cell phones with texting capabilities, but that's all, no Smart Phone or iPhone or whatever comes after that.
This list of what-we-don't-have is not to put us above any family that has more - or less, for that matter. But I find that in rubbing shoulders with other families who are similar to ours, demographically speaking, that from time to time those old feelings of uncomfortability creep up.
When 'all the other kids in middle school' have cell phones, should my kid get one? Wouldn't it make it easier if he could just call when he needs a ride? How in the world did my parents ever remember to pick me up from wherever I was without one?
Our family listens to music or books on CDs on long car rides. Don't we need a DVD player to keep them entertained? Why shouldn't they have those personal gaming systems like 'all their friends.' Just this weekend we were all in the car together for about five hours, and yes, at points it got noisy and close. But without any electronics we enjoyed playing the alphabet game and 'Contact' - a word guessing game.
When I am chaparoning a field trip and the other moms get out their smart phones and iPads, I tend to shove my clunky old-style plain-jane cell phone to the bottom of my purse. If I am feeling that out of place and different, what might my kids be feeling since peer pressure at their age is so strong.
Thankfully my amazing kids help to remind me of what is necessary in life: On Sunday, Samara wanted to take money for the offering at church and didn't have any change in the 'church' section of her bank and so said very matter-of-factly, "Oh well, I'll just take some money from the 'spend' section since God is more important than toys anyway."
It's simple.
Stan and I were both raised in solid Christian families where people were more important than possessions and eternity of greater value than any temporary material stuff. Yes, we both came from families who were not wealthy, so there were no means to have lots of things anyway. Admittedly, there were times in my teenager-hood when I was embarrassed by my lack of the latest fashions and name brand shoes; situations in which I felt 'backward' and out of style and therefore, highly conspicuous (not in a good way.)
With our backgrounds deeply steeped in the Pennsylvania Dutch way of life - parents and grandparents of each of us hailed from Lancaster County - we are no strangers to frugality and simplicity. And in spite of occasional uncomfortable circumstances as I was growing up: teasing due to wearing K-Mart brand sneakers, having attention drawn to the patched-up knees of my jeans, not being able to answer questions about the latest movie I saw or the last album I bought; I am now raising my children in that same vein - at least I hope that I am.
My kids (and their parents) wear hand-me-downs and thrift store clothing; it's clean and fits well, but it's not brand new and hardly ever brand name. We have two computers, two television sets, and one video game system. And I just found out that we are not the last family in America to not have a flat screen television - another family in church thought they were the last. None of my kids have cell phones or personal gaming systems; we have two Leapsters, one of which has been around for eight years (I think we got our money's worth out of that one!) One child has an iPod. Stan and I have cell phones with texting capabilities, but that's all, no Smart Phone or iPhone or whatever comes after that.
This list of what-we-don't-have is not to put us above any family that has more - or less, for that matter. But I find that in rubbing shoulders with other families who are similar to ours, demographically speaking, that from time to time those old feelings of uncomfortability creep up.
When 'all the other kids in middle school' have cell phones, should my kid get one? Wouldn't it make it easier if he could just call when he needs a ride? How in the world did my parents ever remember to pick me up from wherever I was without one?
Our family listens to music or books on CDs on long car rides. Don't we need a DVD player to keep them entertained? Why shouldn't they have those personal gaming systems like 'all their friends.' Just this weekend we were all in the car together for about five hours, and yes, at points it got noisy and close. But without any electronics we enjoyed playing the alphabet game and 'Contact' - a word guessing game.
When I am chaparoning a field trip and the other moms get out their smart phones and iPads, I tend to shove my clunky old-style plain-jane cell phone to the bottom of my purse. If I am feeling that out of place and different, what might my kids be feeling since peer pressure at their age is so strong.
Thankfully my amazing kids help to remind me of what is necessary in life: On Sunday, Samara wanted to take money for the offering at church and didn't have any change in the 'church' section of her bank and so said very matter-of-factly, "Oh well, I'll just take some money from the 'spend' section since God is more important than toys anyway."
It's simple.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Easy come...
Twenty hours. Twenty brief hours. Twenty sweet hours.
This is the shortest placement we have done, and I really didn't like it. Long enough to allow my brain to technically understand the details, but not long enough for my heart to go through the loving and leaving process.
Baby Girl was placed with us on Wednesday night at 10:15 p.m. after being discharged from the hospital earlier in the evening. She was born on Easter Sunday and so was just three days old and perfect - healthy, a good eater and sleeper, content, and pink and chubby!
An adoptive family had been identified, but due to hold-ups in the paperwork, she was not able to be placed with that family directly from the hospital, but it was anticipated that all would be in order by the next day. So the agency called us at 7:30 to ask us to care for her overnight, and a few hours later, we were happy to have Baby Girl in our home and our arms.
After an evening bottle, we settled down for the night - everyone but me. Each little squeak and yawn put me on alert, and each little stretch of quiet caused me to strain for the sound of breathing.
The 3:00 a.m. feeding was wonderful - there is no better reason to be up at that hour than to hold a warm, soft, hungry baby. After a change and some cuddles, it was right back to sleep for both of us.
Since our kids had already been in bed when Baby Girl arrived, we took some time to visit with her before school. Everyone wanted to know when she had arrived and if she would still be there after school. And since we weren't sure of the length of her stay, we lingered a bit longer in our talking and cooing over her.
Thursday morning means violin lessons before school, which depending on how the night had gone, we weren't sure we were going to brave. With a peaceful night behind us and the kids excited to show off their "new baby", we headed to school.
So, okay, it wasn't just the girls who wanted to show off the baby! Several conversations were sparked as we signed in at the office and made our way through the halls. Teachers stopped to admire and ask questions. Each time I briefly explained the situation there were reactions like: "What a sweet baby!" and "How hard that must have been for her mother." and "How will you ever let her go?" and "Your family is amazing." and "I want to do this for babies and families when I retire."
And each one of those responses gave me a chance to witness to: a) God's amazing grace in the life of this little one and the life of our family, b) the need for many more people to foster and adopt babies and children who need a safe place and loving home, c) our family is not amazing, but God is and can use ordinary families like ours in amazing ways, and d) the fact that EACH TIME a child leaves our family it is hard - not just with the healthy, sweet, pink babies - and that EACH TIME God's grace is sufficient to help us through.
Upon arriving home - just me and my little bundle - we spent the next several hours rocking in the recliner together. There were loads of laundry to be started, a dishwasher to un- and reload, dinner to be planned and maybe even prepared, phone calls to make and errands to run. But we just sat there, sometimes dozing, sometimes cooing and singing, sometimes just looking at that sweet face. And you know what, I didn't feel one bit guilty about the laundry, dishes, dinner or other stuff.
For those twenty hours I simply enjoyed this gift. She had come into my home and heart so easily and I knew that that night she would be sleeping in HER home with HER family, and that helped to make the fact that she needed to go .... just a little more easy.
This is the shortest placement we have done, and I really didn't like it. Long enough to allow my brain to technically understand the details, but not long enough for my heart to go through the loving and leaving process.
Baby Girl was placed with us on Wednesday night at 10:15 p.m. after being discharged from the hospital earlier in the evening. She was born on Easter Sunday and so was just three days old and perfect - healthy, a good eater and sleeper, content, and pink and chubby!
An adoptive family had been identified, but due to hold-ups in the paperwork, she was not able to be placed with that family directly from the hospital, but it was anticipated that all would be in order by the next day. So the agency called us at 7:30 to ask us to care for her overnight, and a few hours later, we were happy to have Baby Girl in our home and our arms.
After an evening bottle, we settled down for the night - everyone but me. Each little squeak and yawn put me on alert, and each little stretch of quiet caused me to strain for the sound of breathing.
The 3:00 a.m. feeding was wonderful - there is no better reason to be up at that hour than to hold a warm, soft, hungry baby. After a change and some cuddles, it was right back to sleep for both of us.
Since our kids had already been in bed when Baby Girl arrived, we took some time to visit with her before school. Everyone wanted to know when she had arrived and if she would still be there after school. And since we weren't sure of the length of her stay, we lingered a bit longer in our talking and cooing over her.
Thursday morning means violin lessons before school, which depending on how the night had gone, we weren't sure we were going to brave. With a peaceful night behind us and the kids excited to show off their "new baby", we headed to school.
So, okay, it wasn't just the girls who wanted to show off the baby! Several conversations were sparked as we signed in at the office and made our way through the halls. Teachers stopped to admire and ask questions. Each time I briefly explained the situation there were reactions like: "What a sweet baby!" and "How hard that must have been for her mother." and "How will you ever let her go?" and "Your family is amazing." and "I want to do this for babies and families when I retire."
And each one of those responses gave me a chance to witness to: a) God's amazing grace in the life of this little one and the life of our family, b) the need for many more people to foster and adopt babies and children who need a safe place and loving home, c) our family is not amazing, but God is and can use ordinary families like ours in amazing ways, and d) the fact that EACH TIME a child leaves our family it is hard - not just with the healthy, sweet, pink babies - and that EACH TIME God's grace is sufficient to help us through.
Upon arriving home - just me and my little bundle - we spent the next several hours rocking in the recliner together. There were loads of laundry to be started, a dishwasher to un- and reload, dinner to be planned and maybe even prepared, phone calls to make and errands to run. But we just sat there, sometimes dozing, sometimes cooing and singing, sometimes just looking at that sweet face. And you know what, I didn't feel one bit guilty about the laundry, dishes, dinner or other stuff.
For those twenty hours I simply enjoyed this gift. She had come into my home and heart so easily and I knew that that night she would be sleeping in HER home with HER family, and that helped to make the fact that she needed to go .... just a little more easy.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
The Biggest Loser
Adaptation is something I'm fairly good at, the challenge of assimilating a new life into the life of our family is something on which I have thrived. Coordinating, scheduling, organizing - these are all strengths in my skill set. But again this week I am reminded of just how badly I am lacking some other skills.
Transformation has sometimes been a slow process in my life. There have been situations through which we've walked as parents or as a family that produced the very worst from me: my reaction, response, choice of words, course of action. Parenting is hard, fighting for the rights of children is wearying, advocating can be so intimidating.
This week I have become the biggest loser with one of our kids, meaning - I have lost it BIG TIME. Yelling, demanding, assigning severe consequences, threats of more consequences (some of which we all know I'd never be able to enforce) - it's embarrassing and humiliating, and it's a part of life in our family. Sadly, the other kids who were unfortunate enough to be in the same area of house when all this was going down, seemed to be phased very little.
This is a situation to which I've adapted: there are triggers that I know to stay away from, questions that go unasked because there are no answers, topics that are left untouched due to the provocation of anger and frustration, expectations that are not enforced to avoid confrontation. However, I have yet to witness true transformation within myself in seeking what is best for this child of mine.
Transformation is more than just adapting, more than just knowing what to avoid and how to handle the occasional blow-ups. Transformation needs to be deep within my heart and mind in how I view my children and as a result, how I discipline and love my children.
There are times, and those times have been increasing more recently, when I wonder if I took a wrong turn somewhere. If the reason that the transformation that I so desperately desire and so obviously need has eluded me, is because we chose incorrectly at some fork in the road. I am sure that God does not give us more than he equips us to handle - and hopefully handle well. But I am also sure that I am often getting in God's way of equipping me.
My children - all of them - deserve a mother who is daily transformed. Frankly, there are days when I don't seek the power of transformation because... well, no excuses, I just don't. And those are the days - most frequently - that I find myself feeling defeated in this whole parenting journey. After all, if I can't get it right today, then what in the world will it be like three or five years down the road?
All that is yesterday. Yesterday I was the biggest loser. Today I have a fresh chance to work on transforming myself and my children.
Transformation has sometimes been a slow process in my life. There have been situations through which we've walked as parents or as a family that produced the very worst from me: my reaction, response, choice of words, course of action. Parenting is hard, fighting for the rights of children is wearying, advocating can be so intimidating.
This week I have become the biggest loser with one of our kids, meaning - I have lost it BIG TIME. Yelling, demanding, assigning severe consequences, threats of more consequences (some of which we all know I'd never be able to enforce) - it's embarrassing and humiliating, and it's a part of life in our family. Sadly, the other kids who were unfortunate enough to be in the same area of house when all this was going down, seemed to be phased very little.
This is a situation to which I've adapted: there are triggers that I know to stay away from, questions that go unasked because there are no answers, topics that are left untouched due to the provocation of anger and frustration, expectations that are not enforced to avoid confrontation. However, I have yet to witness true transformation within myself in seeking what is best for this child of mine.
Transformation is more than just adapting, more than just knowing what to avoid and how to handle the occasional blow-ups. Transformation needs to be deep within my heart and mind in how I view my children and as a result, how I discipline and love my children.
There are times, and those times have been increasing more recently, when I wonder if I took a wrong turn somewhere. If the reason that the transformation that I so desperately desire and so obviously need has eluded me, is because we chose incorrectly at some fork in the road. I am sure that God does not give us more than he equips us to handle - and hopefully handle well. But I am also sure that I am often getting in God's way of equipping me.
My children - all of them - deserve a mother who is daily transformed. Frankly, there are days when I don't seek the power of transformation because... well, no excuses, I just don't. And those are the days - most frequently - that I find myself feeling defeated in this whole parenting journey. After all, if I can't get it right today, then what in the world will it be like three or five years down the road?
All that is yesterday. Yesterday I was the biggest loser. Today I have a fresh chance to work on transforming myself and my children.
Monday, April 2, 2012
How Silly
Sixteen years ago a baby was born who we knew nothing about; in fact, it would be another 3-and-a-half years until we would first get to meet him in December 1999. Fred and his little brother (who was then 9 months old) joined our family as the second placement Stan and I took as foster parents.
At the beginning of the placement we were clueless - I am just being honest. We were brand new to the whole foster parenting thing - we were caring for a teenage girl who had just been placed two days before these little boys. So essentially, after being parents for nine SHORT months, we were now parents to a teenager, a preschooler, and two babies. How silly.
After several months of adjusting - mostly on the part of the parents - a new routine developed and I enjoyed caring for my passel of boys. Our teenage foster daughter went on to live with a relative and it was me and my boys. We took on potty-training and time-outs with gusto and had a handle on the situation. How silly.
As is often the case in foster care, the longer the boys were with us, the more details unfolded and then complicated the plans of the agencies. Visits with birth mother were increased, then decreased, then Fred's little brother was reunified with his daddy. Another adjustment. We were learning as we went along and rode out the bumps, asked questions, thought we understood the answers. How silly.
Months later we were approached about adopting Fred, and we said yes. He was, after all, our son in every way save being tagged with the Heisey name (and those dreaded wide, square feet!) And only weeks later - following a case worker change at the county - we were told that adoption was no longer a plan, but that Fred would be reunified with his birth mother and grandmother. That we were allowed to even consider adopting him was a mistake - but mistake or not, my heart was still broken. How silly.
Visits were increased and reunification did indeed happen. As foster parents we could only pray and trust God to protect Fred and his family, there was no way to maintain contact or know that he was safe. Putting our faith in God - not silly. But trusting a system in which the rights of parents are always put ahead of the rights of children. How silly.
Fourteen months after I stood in our garage and watched a case worker take Fred home to his mother, we got the phone call that in my heart I knew would come: Fred was back in foster care and could we take him. At that point we were caring for Eli, who was then four years old; Evan who was eighteen months old; two brothers ages two and seven; and another teenage girl. Later, the supervisor who called us told me that she almost didn't consider placing Fred in our home since we were so busy with all that was going on with the other five children. How silly.
Only a few months later we were again asked if we would adopt Fred, and again we answered yes. The paperwork took longer than necessary which meant that visitation continued and we were able to establish a relationship with Fred's mom which we decided would be beneficial to continue even after adoption. We later learned that in this particular case, that was a silly notion as it only served to confuse an already complicated situation.
With the adoption finalized and Fred wearing the Heisey name, we set about building a solid foundation at school - which previously had been lacking. We trusted the school system to place Fred into appropriate classes since it appeared that were some gaps to be addressed. But year after year, with little to no academic progress and our child being passed along and dropped through the cracks we approached the school about the situation and expected honesty and cooperation. How silly.
So that the school knew we were serious about wanting an education for our son, we hired an attorney to help us negotiate and navigate a plan. We documented, communicated, and compromised and in the end spent a lot of time and money to get what our son deserves - a school where his needs are addressed and he is able to learn and succeed. In the midst of those months of frustration I often felt that our efforts were silly.
The message at church on Sunday, April 1 was "Being a Fool for Christ." As I celebrate Fred's birthday today and think over the past thirteen years that I have known him, there were so many times that I'm sure our journey seemed foolish and silly. Looking at our situation from the outside I suppose some might ask why we would open our home and hearts to these children to only have them leave - sometimes to go back to less than satisifactory situations; why we would allow our lives and the lives of "our" children to sometimes take a backseat to the needs of our foster children; how we manage to raise five or more kids and give them all what they need; why we overload a busy schedule with family visits, therapist's and doctor's appointments.
Perhaps our lifestyle choice seems silly or even foolish. But the alternative: chosing to live outside of the will of God for our family - well, how silly.
At the beginning of the placement we were clueless - I am just being honest. We were brand new to the whole foster parenting thing - we were caring for a teenage girl who had just been placed two days before these little boys. So essentially, after being parents for nine SHORT months, we were now parents to a teenager, a preschooler, and two babies. How silly.
After several months of adjusting - mostly on the part of the parents - a new routine developed and I enjoyed caring for my passel of boys. Our teenage foster daughter went on to live with a relative and it was me and my boys. We took on potty-training and time-outs with gusto and had a handle on the situation. How silly.
As is often the case in foster care, the longer the boys were with us, the more details unfolded and then complicated the plans of the agencies. Visits with birth mother were increased, then decreased, then Fred's little brother was reunified with his daddy. Another adjustment. We were learning as we went along and rode out the bumps, asked questions, thought we understood the answers. How silly.
Months later we were approached about adopting Fred, and we said yes. He was, after all, our son in every way save being tagged with the Heisey name (and those dreaded wide, square feet!) And only weeks later - following a case worker change at the county - we were told that adoption was no longer a plan, but that Fred would be reunified with his birth mother and grandmother. That we were allowed to even consider adopting him was a mistake - but mistake or not, my heart was still broken. How silly.
Visits were increased and reunification did indeed happen. As foster parents we could only pray and trust God to protect Fred and his family, there was no way to maintain contact or know that he was safe. Putting our faith in God - not silly. But trusting a system in which the rights of parents are always put ahead of the rights of children. How silly.
Fourteen months after I stood in our garage and watched a case worker take Fred home to his mother, we got the phone call that in my heart I knew would come: Fred was back in foster care and could we take him. At that point we were caring for Eli, who was then four years old; Evan who was eighteen months old; two brothers ages two and seven; and another teenage girl. Later, the supervisor who called us told me that she almost didn't consider placing Fred in our home since we were so busy with all that was going on with the other five children. How silly.
Only a few months later we were again asked if we would adopt Fred, and again we answered yes. The paperwork took longer than necessary which meant that visitation continued and we were able to establish a relationship with Fred's mom which we decided would be beneficial to continue even after adoption. We later learned that in this particular case, that was a silly notion as it only served to confuse an already complicated situation.
With the adoption finalized and Fred wearing the Heisey name, we set about building a solid foundation at school - which previously had been lacking. We trusted the school system to place Fred into appropriate classes since it appeared that were some gaps to be addressed. But year after year, with little to no academic progress and our child being passed along and dropped through the cracks we approached the school about the situation and expected honesty and cooperation. How silly.
So that the school knew we were serious about wanting an education for our son, we hired an attorney to help us negotiate and navigate a plan. We documented, communicated, and compromised and in the end spent a lot of time and money to get what our son deserves - a school where his needs are addressed and he is able to learn and succeed. In the midst of those months of frustration I often felt that our efforts were silly.
The message at church on Sunday, April 1 was "Being a Fool for Christ." As I celebrate Fred's birthday today and think over the past thirteen years that I have known him, there were so many times that I'm sure our journey seemed foolish and silly. Looking at our situation from the outside I suppose some might ask why we would open our home and hearts to these children to only have them leave - sometimes to go back to less than satisifactory situations; why we would allow our lives and the lives of "our" children to sometimes take a backseat to the needs of our foster children; how we manage to raise five or more kids and give them all what they need; why we overload a busy schedule with family visits, therapist's and doctor's appointments.
Perhaps our lifestyle choice seems silly or even foolish. But the alternative: chosing to live outside of the will of God for our family - well, how silly.
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