Today is court for Baby H's case; he will be adjudicated - officially entered into the foster care system. He's BEEN in the foster care system for over four months. Usually children are adjudicated before or several days after they are placed into a foster home. So why is this just happening now?
Those of us who live foster care have a little mantra: "And just when you think you've seen it all..."
We've not been involved in a case in which a parent has a private attorney, this birth mom does. We've not experienced a case in which both parents have stable housing, both birth parents do. It's rare that any parents are employed, birth mom is and birth dad is actively seeking. Usually there's some sort of substance abuse issue, none in this case. Sometimes birth family visits are sporadic or inconsistent, in this case hardly a visit is missed (and if it is a legitimate reason has been given) and some visits have five or more family members visiting to support the parents.
Clearly, we haven't seen it all.
While the fact that a private attorney has been retained could be a benefit to the birth family, it has actually proven to be one of the big hold-ups in moving this case along. Initially, each time Baby H had a visit with his mother there would be a reason to contact the attorney: dry skin and hair, a patch of diaper rash (which to me and a case worker appeared to be slightly irritated pink skin), bumpy dry skin on the baby's face (birth parent remarked that it looked like he had been burned), a runny nose. Every concern and contact to the attorney required a phone call to the attorney for Philadelphia DHS, who would call the case worker, who would finally call us to let us know that the parents raised whatever concern.
So while time that should be spent on investigating the cause of Baby H's injuries is rather spent on these somewhat exaggerated concerns by the parents, this baby continues in the system. Now I'm not complaining, we LOVE having him as part of our family. And despite what grievances the birth family has against us (and from what I gather, it's largely that we are not the right color to be taking care of their baby), it would be more constructive and comfortable if the parents were open to working as a team. We've had some great experiences in getting to know and support birth families.
There have been so many twists and turns and players in this story, that as I tried to sleep last night my mind jumped from scenario to scenario - who-said-what-to-whom-and-who-was-there-to-hear-it kinds of things. Both parents have been at some of the follow-up doctor's appointments, but neither seem willing to admit that a traumatic event occurred that resulted in these appointments. Sometimes when a parent can't make it to a doctor visit, an obscure, loosely connected random person shows up. Supposedly the baby is to be covered by mom's private insurance - she has forcibly vocalized and insisted on this more than once - but the coverage is not active. Dad says he has a full-time job, and then weeks later has to miss a visit to interview for a job since he's "not employed."
Despite investigations by both DHS and SVU, there is still no conclusion and little cooperation. How can this be? How can someone be covering up for the injuries caused to this baby? How can they value lies and deceit and the 'protection' of a guilty person above their own child?
By day's end we should hear from our case worker about the outcome of court today. All indications are that Baby H will simply be adjudicated and that another hearing will be scheduled for six months from now. But until I get that phone call, I can't sleep.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
Is It Enough?
This struggle is probably more common among parents than I am aware. After all, we live in a time different from when I grew up - more options and opportunities, more competition. It seems to me that our kids are adequately involved in school and social activities, and then the realization that some of their friends are much more involved, more busy, more productive (at least by some measure) begins to nag at me. Do I do enough to encourage our kids to take every opportunity, to get out there and be the best, to not let life pass them by? Anyone else feel the pressure?
This is a pressure that my kids should not feel. Kids are kids - as my older neighbor reminded me this morning when she commented that our kids are "good workers" and I pish-poshed that away by saying that at times they REALLY need to be prompted to be good workers. And I want there to be time in our family's life to teach them the importance of being a quality worker; to be dependable to our family, friends, and community and to not get wrapped up in our own activities and pursuits.
But while we have been focused on this, other children have been focusing on sports so that our ten year old cannot get into a competitive baseball league - are there any non-competitive leagues anymore? - because he hasn't been playing tee-ball since he was four. Or our eight year old is placed in a gymnastics class with pre-schoolers who have been tumbling before they could walk. Granted, these situations seem to cause more of an issue with me than my kids.
Add to this the animal of being a foster family who also deals with some special needs. This only makes our family slightly different from other families - not better, not worse, only different. The needs of some of our children makes it difficult to enroll them in "typical" activities for "typical" kids; it is also sometimes difficult to get our own "typical" kids to their activities due to the need to juggle transportation with six children - four of whom always need to tag along. Then there's the possibility of having to spend some time disciplining and processing through: who can stay home and who can't, who will sit beside whom in the car, whether or not they can bring toys and books in the car (depends on the length of the ride and the behavior of any given child), when and what they may have for a snack, and now we've got a baby's nap schedule thrown in there for good measure.
So having each of the kids involved in one extra activity keeps us busy, but as they grow and there are more options for experiences - good learning and growing experiences - the stretch becomes more pronounced. Because as they grow it also becomes more imperative that we instill those "good worker" values.
This thought all began with a comment from one of our kids. A Sunday school teacher asked the students what they liked most about their families. The answer our child gave was something like, "I like that we are a foster family because I always have new brothers and sisters."
And that's when I know that it IS enough.
This is a pressure that my kids should not feel. Kids are kids - as my older neighbor reminded me this morning when she commented that our kids are "good workers" and I pish-poshed that away by saying that at times they REALLY need to be prompted to be good workers. And I want there to be time in our family's life to teach them the importance of being a quality worker; to be dependable to our family, friends, and community and to not get wrapped up in our own activities and pursuits.
But while we have been focused on this, other children have been focusing on sports so that our ten year old cannot get into a competitive baseball league - are there any non-competitive leagues anymore? - because he hasn't been playing tee-ball since he was four. Or our eight year old is placed in a gymnastics class with pre-schoolers who have been tumbling before they could walk. Granted, these situations seem to cause more of an issue with me than my kids.
Add to this the animal of being a foster family who also deals with some special needs. This only makes our family slightly different from other families - not better, not worse, only different. The needs of some of our children makes it difficult to enroll them in "typical" activities for "typical" kids; it is also sometimes difficult to get our own "typical" kids to their activities due to the need to juggle transportation with six children - four of whom always need to tag along. Then there's the possibility of having to spend some time disciplining and processing through: who can stay home and who can't, who will sit beside whom in the car, whether or not they can bring toys and books in the car (depends on the length of the ride and the behavior of any given child), when and what they may have for a snack, and now we've got a baby's nap schedule thrown in there for good measure.
So having each of the kids involved in one extra activity keeps us busy, but as they grow and there are more options for experiences - good learning and growing experiences - the stretch becomes more pronounced. Because as they grow it also becomes more imperative that we instill those "good worker" values.
This thought all began with a comment from one of our kids. A Sunday school teacher asked the students what they liked most about their families. The answer our child gave was something like, "I like that we are a foster family because I always have new brothers and sisters."
And that's when I know that it IS enough.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
The Real Deal
No school Monday. Some of us slept in. Sat around in pajamas. Kids got breakfast on their own. Television was on. Lazy day schedule.
We did have a morning date with our neighbor, a dear lady who is just about ninety years young and loves our family - God bless her. The six of us (Stan was at work, and Fred was at school) strolled up the driveway and over to Miss L's back porch where she met us and insisted that we did not have to take off our wet sneakers (from walking through the dewy front yard) - see how much she loves us! We made our way into her living room where everything is 'just so' and she kept reminding me that she loves having children in her house and that my kids were okay to be touching her photos and knick-knacks; so I relaxed and put Baby H on the floor where he crawled around with Eli keeping a close eye on him.
It was at that point that I noticed Sierra: not sitting, bopping around the room picking up one keepsake after another, rolling on the floor, slithering under the glass-topped coffee table, getting up close and personal with the grand-father clock and then asking incessant questions about it. And it all clicked: the kids got breakfast on their own and I wasn't there to administer her morning medication.
Sierra has been diagnosed with ADHD (Attention Deficient Hyperactivity Disorder) as well as ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder). I prefer the label ES for Extra Spunky, but as of yet that is not a recognized medical condition. At any rate, medication is prescribed to help her learn to manage her hyperactive behaviors, and it works for her. While the idea of children on medication is not my ideal, when it is proven helpful to my kids I am in favor of it.
Back to our neighborly visit where after covering every inch of the living room on her belly, Sierra found a length of lavender ribbon. After her excitement abated somewhat, she was able to nicely ask our friend if she might keep the ribbon scrap; and of course she was able to do so. For the next ten minutes Sierra twirled in circles around the room with that ribbon, making up dances and stories, and then wrapped it around her fingers and arm. Our visit was soon over and the girls and Baby H and I went from there on a walk.
While Samara and I strolled along with the baby, Sierra ran ahead jumping to reach branches hanging low and stopping to look for acorns on the sidewalk. With each of her finds, she would run back to the stroller and share and then take off again. The estimated distance that we walked was about 1.5 miles, the estimated distance that Sierra ran was about 3 miles.
By the time we returned to the house to put Baby H down for a nap, it was getting close to lunch time and while I considered having Sierra take her medicine then, I reconsidered since we had no where else to go and she seemed to be managing okay without it. Knowing that she would be extra spunky required me to be aware that extra grace might possibly need to be extended to her as we went through the day.
As Stan and I have noticed, Sierra is not extremely distracted, but is VERY distracting to others around her. This was the case as the five of us sat down to lunch. It seemed that no matter what any of us did, or didn't do, or said Sierra had a comment to make. And her comments apparently needed to be made while she was standing up or climbing on her chair with a mouth full of food. At one point she was excused from the table and then invited back when the rest of us had finished so that she could complete her meal in peace.
After lunch she and Samara wanted to watch television, but even before the first commercial break Sierra was turning somersaults across the floor and back again. That sort of play is encouraged to happen in the downstairs play room, so she was sent packing. She reappeared for a snack and then decided to practice her multiplication facts.
From the other room she could be heard singing through all thirty-five of those facts; and it seemed as though there was little thought going on - just a lot of "singing." But she did stick with it and then came and asked me to quiz her. Baby H and I were on the floor playing - not a situation that induced focus and concentration, but Sierra was able to answer twenty-five of the math facts correctly - that was an improvement from the day before. So we celebrated a bit and then I asked Sierra to put the math cards away.
Apparently the burst of focus it took to work through the math facts took all of her energy. Watching her struggle to gather the math cards - while being side-tracked with what Baby H was playing with on the floor, then find the baggie in which they are kept - while crawling around on the floor under the kitchen table to find it and some stray craft items her sister had dropped, then put the cards - some of them had dropped along the way from the living room to the kitchen in her journey and she needed to retrace her steps - in the baggie, and finally close up the baggie and put it back on the kitchen counter - while arguing with her brother about whether or not he had homework to do - it became evident that this was the real Sierra. The Sierra without her medication. The manifestation of what it's like to live with ADHD - the Real Deal.
We did have a morning date with our neighbor, a dear lady who is just about ninety years young and loves our family - God bless her. The six of us (Stan was at work, and Fred was at school) strolled up the driveway and over to Miss L's back porch where she met us and insisted that we did not have to take off our wet sneakers (from walking through the dewy front yard) - see how much she loves us! We made our way into her living room where everything is 'just so' and she kept reminding me that she loves having children in her house and that my kids were okay to be touching her photos and knick-knacks; so I relaxed and put Baby H on the floor where he crawled around with Eli keeping a close eye on him.
It was at that point that I noticed Sierra: not sitting, bopping around the room picking up one keepsake after another, rolling on the floor, slithering under the glass-topped coffee table, getting up close and personal with the grand-father clock and then asking incessant questions about it. And it all clicked: the kids got breakfast on their own and I wasn't there to administer her morning medication.
Sierra has been diagnosed with ADHD (Attention Deficient Hyperactivity Disorder) as well as ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder). I prefer the label ES for Extra Spunky, but as of yet that is not a recognized medical condition. At any rate, medication is prescribed to help her learn to manage her hyperactive behaviors, and it works for her. While the idea of children on medication is not my ideal, when it is proven helpful to my kids I am in favor of it.
Back to our neighborly visit where after covering every inch of the living room on her belly, Sierra found a length of lavender ribbon. After her excitement abated somewhat, she was able to nicely ask our friend if she might keep the ribbon scrap; and of course she was able to do so. For the next ten minutes Sierra twirled in circles around the room with that ribbon, making up dances and stories, and then wrapped it around her fingers and arm. Our visit was soon over and the girls and Baby H and I went from there on a walk.
While Samara and I strolled along with the baby, Sierra ran ahead jumping to reach branches hanging low and stopping to look for acorns on the sidewalk. With each of her finds, she would run back to the stroller and share and then take off again. The estimated distance that we walked was about 1.5 miles, the estimated distance that Sierra ran was about 3 miles.
By the time we returned to the house to put Baby H down for a nap, it was getting close to lunch time and while I considered having Sierra take her medicine then, I reconsidered since we had no where else to go and she seemed to be managing okay without it. Knowing that she would be extra spunky required me to be aware that extra grace might possibly need to be extended to her as we went through the day.
As Stan and I have noticed, Sierra is not extremely distracted, but is VERY distracting to others around her. This was the case as the five of us sat down to lunch. It seemed that no matter what any of us did, or didn't do, or said Sierra had a comment to make. And her comments apparently needed to be made while she was standing up or climbing on her chair with a mouth full of food. At one point she was excused from the table and then invited back when the rest of us had finished so that she could complete her meal in peace.
After lunch she and Samara wanted to watch television, but even before the first commercial break Sierra was turning somersaults across the floor and back again. That sort of play is encouraged to happen in the downstairs play room, so she was sent packing. She reappeared for a snack and then decided to practice her multiplication facts.
From the other room she could be heard singing through all thirty-five of those facts; and it seemed as though there was little thought going on - just a lot of "singing." But she did stick with it and then came and asked me to quiz her. Baby H and I were on the floor playing - not a situation that induced focus and concentration, but Sierra was able to answer twenty-five of the math facts correctly - that was an improvement from the day before. So we celebrated a bit and then I asked Sierra to put the math cards away.
Apparently the burst of focus it took to work through the math facts took all of her energy. Watching her struggle to gather the math cards - while being side-tracked with what Baby H was playing with on the floor, then find the baggie in which they are kept - while crawling around on the floor under the kitchen table to find it and some stray craft items her sister had dropped, then put the cards - some of them had dropped along the way from the living room to the kitchen in her journey and she needed to retrace her steps - in the baggie, and finally close up the baggie and put it back on the kitchen counter - while arguing with her brother about whether or not he had homework to do - it became evident that this was the real Sierra. The Sierra without her medication. The manifestation of what it's like to live with ADHD - the Real Deal.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Here's What's Growing On
The beginning of the school year in our family is similar to many other families: time to dig out the lunchboxes and backpacks, shop for school supplies, shove the stained and ripped "play clothes" to the back of the drawers, make sure everyone has sneakers that fit...
And as we journey through the first few weeks of school and everything starts to shake out and shape up, it becomes obvious that these third, sixth, eighth, and tenth graders are not the same kids I sent out the door last September. Somehow as we spend so much time together all summer, these changes are less noticeable, but this week as we've walked and talked together I can't help but be aware of how my kids are growing up.
Samara has been making concerted efforts to find ways to be helpful. Often when I'm working in the kitchen cleaning up or preparing for dinner she'll wander in and offer to help and is happy to complete even the most mundane of tasks: taking cans to the recycle box, sweeping crumbs up off the floor, putting rolls in a basket. More often than not, if there's laundry to be folded, she is eager to do that for me. In another respect, my girl's growth is equally noticeable - she now wears a size 6 shoe, she's in third grade! The good news is that we'll soon be able to borrow each other's shoes.
My other growing-like-the-proverbial-weed child is Eli. His growth spurt started last year when he grew six inches and gained fifteen pounds (it's okay to mention the weight gain of your young son, isn't it?) and it's not over yet. Finding jeans the with the right inseam and waist measurements is maddening; even more maddening is that in just two months those pants won't fit anymore anyway. We haven't officially measured recently, but I'm fairly certain that he is only about an inch or two shy of looking me eyeball-to-eyeball. This young man is still a deep thinker and very analytical, but it is good to hear him talk about his friends at school. Early on, like in preschool, Eli was so quiet and cautious that talking about friends was not something that happened frequently; it does my mother's heart good to know that he is growing inwardly and outwardly as well as upwardly.
Every serious bone in Evan's body, however, ended up in his brother's body. Every year at his annual physical I beg the doctor for a prescription for maturity pills; this son of mine loves to laugh, joke, pester, and instigate. He seems happiest when he's getting a rise out of someone. So where's the growth with him? It's certainly not up, he's about the same size as last year - at least he saves us money on clothes - and his shoes are a size smaller than Samara's. Evan's growth is evident when it needs to be: completing his homework on time without being reminded, remembering which days he needs his gym bag and violin on his own, being on time for violin lessons at school and then making sure he makes up any work he missed during the lesson time, he keeps his room picked up and orderly - and I hear from the teachers each year that he is also very organized at school. So when it REALLY matters, Evan comes through.
This year Fred has some new responsibilities at school: he has an on-campus job as well as an off-campus job at a local restaurant. The pride that he takes in doing these jobs well is wonderful to see. All reports so far are that he is a conscientious and respectful worker. For Fred it is often incremental steps that cause us joy - these jobs are huge steps that he is handling in a mature way - much joy!
Sierra has a wonderful spirited way of embracing all of life; she doesn't want to miss a thing and wants to make sure that no one else misses anything either - so she replays and broadcasts everything all the time. Gaining some self-control over her exuberance has been a priority and lately she has been rising to the challenge. This year when she gets off the bus after school, she allows her brother or sister to share something instead of talking the fastest and the loudest; when she's corrected and disciplined she will sometimes choose to walk away without an outburst. Another sign of her growing up is that during the summer she was able to practice getting her hair to look the way she wanted it to each day, so now she independently does her hair before school. Both on the outside and the inside my littlest is getting bigger.
For the first two weeks of school, that's a lot of growing going on.
And as we journey through the first few weeks of school and everything starts to shake out and shape up, it becomes obvious that these third, sixth, eighth, and tenth graders are not the same kids I sent out the door last September. Somehow as we spend so much time together all summer, these changes are less noticeable, but this week as we've walked and talked together I can't help but be aware of how my kids are growing up.
Samara has been making concerted efforts to find ways to be helpful. Often when I'm working in the kitchen cleaning up or preparing for dinner she'll wander in and offer to help and is happy to complete even the most mundane of tasks: taking cans to the recycle box, sweeping crumbs up off the floor, putting rolls in a basket. More often than not, if there's laundry to be folded, she is eager to do that for me. In another respect, my girl's growth is equally noticeable - she now wears a size 6 shoe, she's in third grade! The good news is that we'll soon be able to borrow each other's shoes.
My other growing-like-the-proverbial-weed child is Eli. His growth spurt started last year when he grew six inches and gained fifteen pounds (it's okay to mention the weight gain of your young son, isn't it?) and it's not over yet. Finding jeans the with the right inseam and waist measurements is maddening; even more maddening is that in just two months those pants won't fit anymore anyway. We haven't officially measured recently, but I'm fairly certain that he is only about an inch or two shy of looking me eyeball-to-eyeball. This young man is still a deep thinker and very analytical, but it is good to hear him talk about his friends at school. Early on, like in preschool, Eli was so quiet and cautious that talking about friends was not something that happened frequently; it does my mother's heart good to know that he is growing inwardly and outwardly as well as upwardly.
Every serious bone in Evan's body, however, ended up in his brother's body. Every year at his annual physical I beg the doctor for a prescription for maturity pills; this son of mine loves to laugh, joke, pester, and instigate. He seems happiest when he's getting a rise out of someone. So where's the growth with him? It's certainly not up, he's about the same size as last year - at least he saves us money on clothes - and his shoes are a size smaller than Samara's. Evan's growth is evident when it needs to be: completing his homework on time without being reminded, remembering which days he needs his gym bag and violin on his own, being on time for violin lessons at school and then making sure he makes up any work he missed during the lesson time, he keeps his room picked up and orderly - and I hear from the teachers each year that he is also very organized at school. So when it REALLY matters, Evan comes through.
This year Fred has some new responsibilities at school: he has an on-campus job as well as an off-campus job at a local restaurant. The pride that he takes in doing these jobs well is wonderful to see. All reports so far are that he is a conscientious and respectful worker. For Fred it is often incremental steps that cause us joy - these jobs are huge steps that he is handling in a mature way - much joy!
Sierra has a wonderful spirited way of embracing all of life; she doesn't want to miss a thing and wants to make sure that no one else misses anything either - so she replays and broadcasts everything all the time. Gaining some self-control over her exuberance has been a priority and lately she has been rising to the challenge. This year when she gets off the bus after school, she allows her brother or sister to share something instead of talking the fastest and the loudest; when she's corrected and disciplined she will sometimes choose to walk away without an outburst. Another sign of her growing up is that during the summer she was able to practice getting her hair to look the way she wanted it to each day, so now she independently does her hair before school. Both on the outside and the inside my littlest is getting bigger.
For the first two weeks of school, that's a lot of growing going on.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Dinner Invitation
Maybe it's just me getting old, forgetful, nostalgic... but somehow with the beginning of the school year my mind is filled with visions of calm, cozy family dinners; smiles all around, peaceful and uplifting conversation, compliments on the delicious dinner...
There is also the realization that these lofty imaginings are unfair to my family.
So here's how it really went down earlier this week, Tuesday I think.
To my left, Baby H sits, bounces, bops around in his exersaucer where I feed him a continuous stream of Cheerios so that he remains placated enough not to notice that no one is entertaining him by being directly-in-his-face. To his left is Daughter 1 - the main culprit of being directly-in-the-baby's-face (but ah well, that is how the random drawing for seating at the dinner table came out this month.) And Daughter 2, for better or worse, is seated beside her sister. Then comes Stan at the other end of the table. The three boys are all along the other side of the table opposite their sisters.
So we sing our prayer and begin to pass the various serving bowls with both girls reminding and re-reminding us that they are able to help themselves AND pass the bowls along. Son 1 feels the need to remark, quite snidely most of the time, on every shortcoming of his little sisters - not bearing in mind his own utter lack of proper table manners. After a few sharp reprimands from Stan and me (I know, I know, we shouldn't LET it take a few reprimands because he should respond immediately - that's another one of those lofty visions of mine) Son 1 pulls it together and gives a half-hearted "sorry" - which only means he's sorry that he didn't wait until his parents were out of hearing range before antagonizing his sisters.
Once all the food has been passed Son 2, who for medical reasons has to finish a glass of water before beginning to eat dinner and for other reasons cannot have the actual food on his actual plate before that, requests that all the dinner items be passed to him. By this time we have begun our tradition of each person sharing "something good about my day." We have done our best to teach our kids to stop shoveling food into their own mouth long enough to pass a serving plate down the table. So eventually everyone has been served and now Baby H realizes that he is the only one eating Cheerios and so voices his displeasure at being left out, so I give him a small piece of cooked carrot to mash on.
About that time Daughter 2 decides that what she has to say is far more urgent and important than what everyone else is discussing; she escalates her volume level and with food in her mouth (the table manner she struggles with most) lets us all know ... something, it was difficult to understand around her mouthful of dinner. She is told to close her mouth, put her fork down, swallow, and with an empty mouth and quiet voice share her thoughts (sounds so peaceful when I write it out, I'm sure it didn't come across that way at the time.) In a fashion true to her personality, Daughter 2 slams down her fork, crosses her arms, and grunts at me in defiance. True to my form, I give a warning for her "talking back" attitude which only serves to fuel the fire of defiance.
Conversation continues and is interspersed with Daugther 1 over-reacting because the baby has spit the piece of carrot out, Son 1 wiping his greasy fingers and face on his shirt, and Baby H hollering from his post at floor level where he can see little of the action. Soon Daughter 2 finishes her mouthful of food and is asked to repeat what she wanted to share - more defiance as she now refuses to speak at all.
It's at this point that Son 3 jumps in and analyzes the situation, "When you are supposed to be quiet you want to talk and now that Mommy is telling you to talk you will only be quiet." A clear and concise assessment, but not one that is likely to pull his sister from her defiant funk.
At some point plates are empty and the table is cleared, wiped, and dust-busted under. Stan and I clean up the dinner dishes and the kitchen and the kids go their ways to play, do homework, or practice violin; someone entertains Baby H in the livingroom and it's a pleasant, peaceful evening. Just like I imagined.
There is also the realization that these lofty imaginings are unfair to my family.
So here's how it really went down earlier this week, Tuesday I think.
To my left, Baby H sits, bounces, bops around in his exersaucer where I feed him a continuous stream of Cheerios so that he remains placated enough not to notice that no one is entertaining him by being directly-in-his-face. To his left is Daughter 1 - the main culprit of being directly-in-the-baby's-face (but ah well, that is how the random drawing for seating at the dinner table came out this month.) And Daughter 2, for better or worse, is seated beside her sister. Then comes Stan at the other end of the table. The three boys are all along the other side of the table opposite their sisters.
So we sing our prayer and begin to pass the various serving bowls with both girls reminding and re-reminding us that they are able to help themselves AND pass the bowls along. Son 1 feels the need to remark, quite snidely most of the time, on every shortcoming of his little sisters - not bearing in mind his own utter lack of proper table manners. After a few sharp reprimands from Stan and me (I know, I know, we shouldn't LET it take a few reprimands because he should respond immediately - that's another one of those lofty visions of mine) Son 1 pulls it together and gives a half-hearted "sorry" - which only means he's sorry that he didn't wait until his parents were out of hearing range before antagonizing his sisters.
Once all the food has been passed Son 2, who for medical reasons has to finish a glass of water before beginning to eat dinner and for other reasons cannot have the actual food on his actual plate before that, requests that all the dinner items be passed to him. By this time we have begun our tradition of each person sharing "something good about my day." We have done our best to teach our kids to stop shoveling food into their own mouth long enough to pass a serving plate down the table. So eventually everyone has been served and now Baby H realizes that he is the only one eating Cheerios and so voices his displeasure at being left out, so I give him a small piece of cooked carrot to mash on.
About that time Daughter 2 decides that what she has to say is far more urgent and important than what everyone else is discussing; she escalates her volume level and with food in her mouth (the table manner she struggles with most) lets us all know ... something, it was difficult to understand around her mouthful of dinner. She is told to close her mouth, put her fork down, swallow, and with an empty mouth and quiet voice share her thoughts (sounds so peaceful when I write it out, I'm sure it didn't come across that way at the time.) In a fashion true to her personality, Daughter 2 slams down her fork, crosses her arms, and grunts at me in defiance. True to my form, I give a warning for her "talking back" attitude which only serves to fuel the fire of defiance.
Conversation continues and is interspersed with Daugther 1 over-reacting because the baby has spit the piece of carrot out, Son 1 wiping his greasy fingers and face on his shirt, and Baby H hollering from his post at floor level where he can see little of the action. Soon Daughter 2 finishes her mouthful of food and is asked to repeat what she wanted to share - more defiance as she now refuses to speak at all.
It's at this point that Son 3 jumps in and analyzes the situation, "When you are supposed to be quiet you want to talk and now that Mommy is telling you to talk you will only be quiet." A clear and concise assessment, but not one that is likely to pull his sister from her defiant funk.
At some point plates are empty and the table is cleared, wiped, and dust-busted under. Stan and I clean up the dinner dishes and the kitchen and the kids go their ways to play, do homework, or practice violin; someone entertains Baby H in the livingroom and it's a pleasant, peaceful evening. Just like I imagined.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Radical
Each summer our family attends camp meeting at Roxbury Holiness Camp. The theme of the camp this summer was simply: "Radical"; various speakers focused their messages on how God has demonstrated the radical way he works in the world and in the lives of his children. There were several opportunities for individuals to give testimony to the radical movement of God in their lives.
One morning a lady shared a testimony regarding how she watched God move in amazing ways in the life of her aging father as he battled Alzheimer's, and that got me to thinking... here was someone giving witness to the manifestation of God's radical-ness in the life of a man near the end of his life, and in our care we have a man at the beginning of his life who has experienced that same touch. Since Baby H is not able to speak for himself, I felt led to share part of what we had witnessed as God has moved radically in this baby's life.
Only after being placed with us for a few weeks did we become fully aware of what Baby H had suffered. The report from the hospital emergency room described him as a "near fatality." That alone caused goosebumps on my arms and tears in my eyes. Upon admission to and an assessment at St. Christopher's Hospital, his injuries were determined to be the result of "non-accidental trauma" and suspected to be a case of shaken baby syndrome.
Initially he was non-responsive and not able to breathe on his own and so was intubated and on a feeding tube. In addition to fractures to his ribs, there was also evidence of previously healed fractures in his ribs and wrists. Bleeding and bruising in his brain damaged the nerves that affected his vision, hearing, and use of his arms and hands, the brain damage also resulted in seizures. I am sharing this information as a way to understand the severity of Baby H's condition and as a reference point as we move forward.
When he came (to our) home on May 18 at five months old, he was taking about 5 ounces of formula by bottle - which would take about 30 minutes due to the pacing technique we needed to use to help him relearn and strengthen the breathe-suck-swallow reflex. He was not able to roll over at all, and could not push up on his arms while laying on his belly - his arms would automatically swing back along his sides - and his hands were often fisted instead of open so that he was not able to grab at toys. Sitting up with support seemed to exhaust him and so was not very tolerable. There was continued concern of hearing loss as he seemed somewhat unresponsive to noises.
During the first few weeks there were follow up visits to the opthamologist and the neurologist to monitor the effects of the injuries and any progress or problems. At the opthamology appointment the doctor remarked that all the blood had reabsorbed into the brain as would be expected and that there appeared to be no long-term damage: return in six months - which we just did last week. This time - a different doctor - examined Baby H and reported, "No need for glasses." To which I replied, "I didn't know that was a concern." After checking the chart the doctor commented that she wasn't aware of the details of his case and didn't know what she should be looking for since there was no evidence of any previous injuries. Return in one year. That's radical.
At the follow-up visit to the neurologist, we were escorted to an examination room to wait for the doctor. Baby H was sitting on the lap of the case worker being his pleasant self. As soon as the doctor entered the room he looked at Baby H and said, "That is NOT the same baby. This is a miracle." He related the details from the first time he had seen the baby several weeks previously, thoroughly checked him over and told us to return in a year. That's radical.
Tomorrow Baby H will be evaluated by a team of professionals from Early Intervention to assess his needs for special services due to his delays. A child must present with a twenty-five percent delay in order to receive services; so at age eight months, Baby H will need to have a skill set at or below the developmental age of six months.
By the time he was six months old he was able to roll over, both back-to-front and front-to-back, sit up unassisted, do 'push-ups' by extending his arms while on his belly.
At seven months he was creeping along the floor forwards and backwards on his belly and then crawling on his hand and knees.
At eight months old he is pulling to stand at furniture, standing supported with one hand, beginning to walk along while holding onto the sofa; he is able to finger-feed himself bite-sized pieces of food (with no teeth - what an adorable toothless grin he has!) and uses a sippy cup, waves bye-bye and plays "patta cake" and "so big." He is able to babble all the vowel sounds and says "dada", "mama", "baba" - although none of those sounds means anything yet. He recognizes and favors Stan and I and our kids over friends of ours.
It would appear to this unprofessional - but well-seasoned mom - that the team of professionals will be hard pressed to find ANY delay with Baby H.
This journey that we are honored to travel, to witness, is nothing short of radical.
One morning a lady shared a testimony regarding how she watched God move in amazing ways in the life of her aging father as he battled Alzheimer's, and that got me to thinking... here was someone giving witness to the manifestation of God's radical-ness in the life of a man near the end of his life, and in our care we have a man at the beginning of his life who has experienced that same touch. Since Baby H is not able to speak for himself, I felt led to share part of what we had witnessed as God has moved radically in this baby's life.
Only after being placed with us for a few weeks did we become fully aware of what Baby H had suffered. The report from the hospital emergency room described him as a "near fatality." That alone caused goosebumps on my arms and tears in my eyes. Upon admission to and an assessment at St. Christopher's Hospital, his injuries were determined to be the result of "non-accidental trauma" and suspected to be a case of shaken baby syndrome.
Initially he was non-responsive and not able to breathe on his own and so was intubated and on a feeding tube. In addition to fractures to his ribs, there was also evidence of previously healed fractures in his ribs and wrists. Bleeding and bruising in his brain damaged the nerves that affected his vision, hearing, and use of his arms and hands, the brain damage also resulted in seizures. I am sharing this information as a way to understand the severity of Baby H's condition and as a reference point as we move forward.
When he came (to our) home on May 18 at five months old, he was taking about 5 ounces of formula by bottle - which would take about 30 minutes due to the pacing technique we needed to use to help him relearn and strengthen the breathe-suck-swallow reflex. He was not able to roll over at all, and could not push up on his arms while laying on his belly - his arms would automatically swing back along his sides - and his hands were often fisted instead of open so that he was not able to grab at toys. Sitting up with support seemed to exhaust him and so was not very tolerable. There was continued concern of hearing loss as he seemed somewhat unresponsive to noises.
During the first few weeks there were follow up visits to the opthamologist and the neurologist to monitor the effects of the injuries and any progress or problems. At the opthamology appointment the doctor remarked that all the blood had reabsorbed into the brain as would be expected and that there appeared to be no long-term damage: return in six months - which we just did last week. This time - a different doctor - examined Baby H and reported, "No need for glasses." To which I replied, "I didn't know that was a concern." After checking the chart the doctor commented that she wasn't aware of the details of his case and didn't know what she should be looking for since there was no evidence of any previous injuries. Return in one year. That's radical.
At the follow-up visit to the neurologist, we were escorted to an examination room to wait for the doctor. Baby H was sitting on the lap of the case worker being his pleasant self. As soon as the doctor entered the room he looked at Baby H and said, "That is NOT the same baby. This is a miracle." He related the details from the first time he had seen the baby several weeks previously, thoroughly checked him over and told us to return in a year. That's radical.
Tomorrow Baby H will be evaluated by a team of professionals from Early Intervention to assess his needs for special services due to his delays. A child must present with a twenty-five percent delay in order to receive services; so at age eight months, Baby H will need to have a skill set at or below the developmental age of six months.
By the time he was six months old he was able to roll over, both back-to-front and front-to-back, sit up unassisted, do 'push-ups' by extending his arms while on his belly.
At seven months he was creeping along the floor forwards and backwards on his belly and then crawling on his hand and knees.
At eight months old he is pulling to stand at furniture, standing supported with one hand, beginning to walk along while holding onto the sofa; he is able to finger-feed himself bite-sized pieces of food (with no teeth - what an adorable toothless grin he has!) and uses a sippy cup, waves bye-bye and plays "patta cake" and "so big." He is able to babble all the vowel sounds and says "dada", "mama", "baba" - although none of those sounds means anything yet. He recognizes and favors Stan and I and our kids over friends of ours.
It would appear to this unprofessional - but well-seasoned mom - that the team of professionals will be hard pressed to find ANY delay with Baby H.
This journey that we are honored to travel, to witness, is nothing short of radical.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
For Today
Today: May 2, 2012. While attending a support group for mom's of children with special needs, I took a call from our foster care agency regarding a possible placement. A four month old baby boy was going to be released from St. Christopher's Hospital later in the day, but before his discharge I would need to go to the hospital for training about using his NG feeding tube. The case worker also read through a list of the baby's injuries: fractured ribs, brain damage and hemorrhaging, seizures (being controlled by medication), possible hearing and sight loss. This placement was beyond the scope of my medical capabilities, but trusting that God had chosen our home for this baby as a safe place to land, I agreed to schedule the training upon her return call to confirm the placement. After I completed the phone call and relayed that information to the dear women at the support group meeting, they lifted Baby H in prayer. For that 'today', God placed me in just the right spot to receive that phone call.
Today: May 3, 2012. The case worker called early the next day (after an anxiety filled afternoon the day before) to report that Baby H had been moved from St. Christopher's Hospital to Weisman Children's Rehabilitation Center in Marlton, New Jersey since he was showing early signs of progress and improvement. I didn't hesitate to tell her that I wasn't shocked to hear of this progress since there were people praying for his healing (in addition to the ladies at the meeting, I had called several close friends and family members asking them to pray.) Baby H's anticipated date of discharge was May 25, and I was to go to the rehab center for training and to meet him sometime before then. Wasting no time, I immediately called Weisman, spoke with the social worker, and arranged to meet Baby H the following day. For that 'today', God's faithfulness was very evident in the healing He had begun in this baby's life.
Today: May 4, 2012. As soon as the bus picked up my kids, I hopped in the car and headed to Marlton. If not for the anticipation and excitement of meeting Baby H, I would have been a messy bundle of nerves over the prospect at driving alone, through the city, across the bridge into New Jersey, to a place I had never been. Armed with two sets of printed out directions, driving tips from the social worker (who used to live in Doylestown), and the fully charged and programmed GPS I was on my way. The bridge I was to cross, the Tacony-Palmyra, occasionally opens to allow large boats to pass. That morning was one of those occasions, only it opened not once but twice, putting me behind schedule by about 45 minutes. Once across the bridge, I made only one wrong turn which the GPS was quick and gracious enough to correct. I arrived at Weisman a little shaky that I had missed the baby's feeding time and would not be able to get the training. By the time I maneuvered my way through the building and found the social worker, I was sure I was too late. With a smile the social worker told me not to worry because I would not have to have the training as Baby H had begun to drink from a bottle the night before. So instead of the NG tube training, I would be trained on how to 'pace' him to drink from a bottle. For that 'today' God orchestrated the timing of my trip to remind me that His timing is perfect.
Today: May 18, 2012. One week ahead of schedule, and without the feeding tube, Baby H was discharged from Weisman to our home. I had been able to visit with him six times during his stay, was able to sit in on his therapy sessions, give him his bottles, play with him, and hold him for long, peaceful naps. Due to the severity of his injuries, upon discharge he was assessed to be about one month delayed, had suspected hearing and vision loss, and would continue to take anti-seizure medication. We were just glad to have him home with our family where he could recover and grow. For that 'today' we were trusting God to equip us for whatever challenges we would face.
Baby H is a miracle, a testament to God's goodness, grace, and love.
Today is really September 5, 2012 and it's been a long, busy, fun, exhausting, and amazing summer. There have been many todays since May 2, and God has walked with us through each one. I look forward to continuing to chronicle this journey now that life is back to the school-year routine.
Today: May 3, 2012. The case worker called early the next day (after an anxiety filled afternoon the day before) to report that Baby H had been moved from St. Christopher's Hospital to Weisman Children's Rehabilitation Center in Marlton, New Jersey since he was showing early signs of progress and improvement. I didn't hesitate to tell her that I wasn't shocked to hear of this progress since there were people praying for his healing (in addition to the ladies at the meeting, I had called several close friends and family members asking them to pray.) Baby H's anticipated date of discharge was May 25, and I was to go to the rehab center for training and to meet him sometime before then. Wasting no time, I immediately called Weisman, spoke with the social worker, and arranged to meet Baby H the following day. For that 'today', God's faithfulness was very evident in the healing He had begun in this baby's life.
Today: May 4, 2012. As soon as the bus picked up my kids, I hopped in the car and headed to Marlton. If not for the anticipation and excitement of meeting Baby H, I would have been a messy bundle of nerves over the prospect at driving alone, through the city, across the bridge into New Jersey, to a place I had never been. Armed with two sets of printed out directions, driving tips from the social worker (who used to live in Doylestown), and the fully charged and programmed GPS I was on my way. The bridge I was to cross, the Tacony-Palmyra, occasionally opens to allow large boats to pass. That morning was one of those occasions, only it opened not once but twice, putting me behind schedule by about 45 minutes. Once across the bridge, I made only one wrong turn which the GPS was quick and gracious enough to correct. I arrived at Weisman a little shaky that I had missed the baby's feeding time and would not be able to get the training. By the time I maneuvered my way through the building and found the social worker, I was sure I was too late. With a smile the social worker told me not to worry because I would not have to have the training as Baby H had begun to drink from a bottle the night before. So instead of the NG tube training, I would be trained on how to 'pace' him to drink from a bottle. For that 'today' God orchestrated the timing of my trip to remind me that His timing is perfect.
Today: May 18, 2012. One week ahead of schedule, and without the feeding tube, Baby H was discharged from Weisman to our home. I had been able to visit with him six times during his stay, was able to sit in on his therapy sessions, give him his bottles, play with him, and hold him for long, peaceful naps. Due to the severity of his injuries, upon discharge he was assessed to be about one month delayed, had suspected hearing and vision loss, and would continue to take anti-seizure medication. We were just glad to have him home with our family where he could recover and grow. For that 'today' we were trusting God to equip us for whatever challenges we would face.
Baby H is a miracle, a testament to God's goodness, grace, and love.
Today is really September 5, 2012 and it's been a long, busy, fun, exhausting, and amazing summer. There have been many todays since May 2, and God has walked with us through each one. I look forward to continuing to chronicle this journey now that life is back to the school-year routine.
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