No Choice

Everything's been building up, leading to this day - this hard, happy, sad day.  So much work, love, energy, trust; again the questions: was it worth it? did it matter? will any of it stick?

Eleven months after her arrival, Little Sweetheart's time in our home ended. And her life with her birth family began, continued; all the visits, paperwork, county protocol, and finally the judge finalizing what we all knew was coming.

While my head understands - yet again - that children need primarily to be safe, my heart aches with the knowledge that children NEED and deserve so much more. LS needs and deserves to be read to every day and have someone cheer her on as she becomes a reader; to have kisses and hugs good-night and reassurrance that we will "see each other in the morning"; clear and consistent boundaries and consequences; a calm and peaceful haven where love is unconditional.

Just from plain old-fashioned observation and a mother's intuition, our LS has entered a place where some of those needs will not be met all the time; some of them rarely at all. Her birth family is not "bad", they are not unfit or unkind; in fact, a common statement by case workers, therapists, and me has been, "He (birth dad) is a really nice guy."

From the beginning, there have been no concerns regarding housing, employment, or safety; some of the biggest hurdles for many familes whose children are in the system. These should be reasons to feel positive about the situation instead of lead to uncertainty and questions: Why, if things were so stable, did it take eight months to have overnight visits? Why, if these people are responsible and dependable, was paperwork incomplete or overdue? Why, if LS was really wanted, were phone calls not returned?

The day before Thanksgiving, a rainy, dreary day, some of the kids went along to take LS home. Having not been to the house, and being unsure of what the situation might be, the kids said their good-byes on the sidewalk by the car. LS ran ahead as MD and I carried some boxes a few houses down and followed her up onto the front porch where two women - one her step-mother - stood smoking. Neither one greeted LS and only spoke to me when I asked where we should put the boxes: "Go ahead in and put them by the front door." LS had already found a seat on the sofa in front of the television and seemed not to notice the other people in the house; which made sense because no one seemed to notice her. Not one person greeted her by name or welcomed her home.

With another load of boxes to retrieve, we went out the front door onto the porch where the women continued to smoke and make no move to go inside with LS.

MD stayed at the car while I took the last load, this time into the house without stopping to try to talk with her step-mother. LS remained seated alone on the sofa, the television seemingly the only company despite random people walking through the house, one of which - a woman who didn't address LS directly, but looked at her and then me and then the boxes by the door - said, "Well, I guess they were really tired of you, they even dropped off all your stuff!"

This person might have been someone LS knew, they might have had a conversation while I was bringing boxes, the woman might have been kidding, LS might not have heard her comment. In that instant, none of that registered or even if it had, was significant. In that instant LS was still mine, her heart was mine to protect.

Before my emotions unraveled, I called LS over to where I was standing by the front door. We got eye-to-eye. We hugged, tight. We kissed, hard. We said a prayer and said good-bye.

I left the house, muttered "Happy Thanksgiving" to the two women still smoking on the porch and pulled it together as I walked to the car where five more of my precious kids were waiting. My kids, MY kids - none of which I would ever choose to leave in such a situation, in a place that appeared clean and safe but felt so cold and lonely. In a place where I had no choice but to leave our LS.

Family Matters

While our new guy - LB (littlest brother) - will become a Heisey within the next few months, at eleven years old he will also retain the identity of and some connections with his birth family. He called his great-uncle this morning, which he does a few times a month, and chatted about school and the deer he has seen in our backyard lately. Then I heard LB ask about his "mommy."

Tomorrow is the four month anniversary of having LB as a member of our family. For the first ten days he was a "visitor" just passing through. He needed to know how to refer to Stan and me, so he adopted MD's handles of "Mr. S and Ms. D." Suited us fine.

When we made the decision that LB would not be just a visitor, but rather our son, we explained to him that we were now "mom and dad"; that we understood and respected that he has birth parents and a birth family. We gave him the option of calling us "mom and dad" whenever he chose. Through the summer we remained "Mr. S and Ms. D."

As I talk with the kids I refer to Stan as "daddy", and so around the beginning of the school year LB also used "daddy" when talking about Stan, but not when talking to him. Within a couple of weeks that changed and Stan solidly became "daddy" to LB.

I continued to be "Ms. D" and tried my best to console myself: the trauma that LB had suffered had been largely caused by his father so it made sense that he might attach to Stan more quickly; LB's relationship with his birth mother was somewhat confusing as he has some sort of bond with her but also suffered neglect and so learned to not depend on her; he has more occasions to refer to (and therefore reinforce) me as "Ms. D" since I am home and administering discipline more often than Stan.

But I wanted to be "mommy." My heart ached to be "mommy" to him.

And it happened last week. Most unexpectedly. While in the midst of a less-than-happy discipline situation. I became "mommy", not only once by accident but several times over in a single conversation. Honestly, it became difficult for me to focus on the homework issue at hand while my heart did backflips and cartwheels.

For the past week my name has been used and over-used by LB; he is pouring the foundation, he knows that I am dependable and will not allow him to be harmed, that we are his last stop, his forever family. I am and will always be his "mommy."

So this morning when I heard LB ask his great-uncle about his mommy, my head understood that he will always wonder about his birth mother, but selfishly my heart sank a little.

A few minutes later LB hung up the phone, shoved on his jacket, grabbed his bookbag, and headed out the door with a cheerful, "Good-bye, Mommy!"

Backflips and cartwheels again.

And I Never Will

Last night there was a third family planning meeting for LS; that's two too many, at least in the opinion of most of those in attendance. The discussion centered on the fact that we've all lived through nine months of a foster care placement that doesn't have to be.

At two months in, her birth dad was identified as a reunification resource and had only a few very simple steps to take in order to have LS move home with his family. Those few simple steps have yet to be completed.

And I just don't understand.

Why it took four months to provide a copy of the lease to Children and Youth? Housing and employment are usually huge hurdles as parents work to get their children back. Not in this case. Rather the "hurdle" was that the lease is printed on legal size paper, and the printer doesn't accommodate that size. 

Why there were missed visits with LS when a social worker practically delivered her to your backyard? Reasons were readily given: traffic, a car fire, unable to call to adjust the visit time because phone was out of range.

Why phone calls from the social worker weren't returned to schedule a time to have the house inspected which would allow for unsupervised home visits? Only when cornered by family members during the second family meeting, after two weeks worth of waiting, was an inspection appointment scheduled.

Why when given the go-ahead to visit with LS that very weekend, there was not a phone call for nearly two weeks? "The foster family was out of town" -- true, and reachable by the e-mail and cell phone contact information that was provided. "I left a message" -- true, to ask to speak with LS and not to schedule a visit; not to mention that the message was left with less than twenty-four hours notice of when a visit would need to occur.

Why LS only had visits on two out of five weekends? Excuses ranged from ill health, to faulty phone service, to leaving a message on Friday night for a Saturday visit, to blaming LS for hanging up the phone too quickly and before arrangements could be made. Never once was there a call back after phone service improved or to follow up on a quick hang up.

Here are other things I don't understand:

Why, when given our phone number, it took six months for you to call LS and then only after prompted by the social workers.

Why you don't call LS every day, multiple times a day. Were our roles reversed, I can only imagine that I'd be on the phone with my child when she woke up, got home from school, finished homework, and before bedtime EVERY DAY. Someone would have to tell me to STOP calling... not prompt me to start.

How you can stand to be away from you daughter, when she could and should be home with you right now is something I cannot understand; have not understood with any other birth parents... and I never will.

Fourteen Steps

On a Sunday morning - a typical-for-our-family-of-ten - Sunday morning a few months ago when I had finally made it downstairs to the kitchen, in the hearing of my precious offspring I made a comment something like, "Well, I guess I could write a book about how to get ready for church in fourteen easy steps."

Not all of our kids are developmentally astute enough to pick up on subtle sarcasm, but the few who are just kind of stared and chuckled nervously. It must have been apparent that the sarcasm was borne out of fairly intense frustration.

Our daughter who is never at a loss for words, but often lacking interpersonal tact, asked, "What are the fourteen steps?"

Our daughter clearly inherited her gift of gab from her mother who was glad to oblige her, and the rest of the family now held captive in the kitchen, with a tirade of epic proportion that went a little something like this:

Step 1 - get out of bed forty minutes early to tell the girls to be quiet until 8:00

Step 2 - turn on the shower

Step 3 - answer the knock on the bedroom door from youngest daughter who is tattling on the other sisters for not staying in their beds

Step 4 - walk youngest daughter back the bedroom, stop in the hallway to take laundry to son's room

Step 5 - get in and quickly out of the shower to respond to the argument in the girls' bedroom

Step 6 - get girls up and moving (in the right direction) and knock on the boys' bedroom doors in a feeble attempt to rouse them (somehow the ruckus from their sisters' room doesn't phase them)

Step 7 - return to the bathroom for a towel for my dripping wet hair, trailed by one son who needs to use our bathroom since a sister is "hogging" the hallway bathroom

Step 8 - resume combing hair, glance at son's outfit as he leaves the bathroom, escort him to his room to find some clothes that are clean and without rips and holes

Step 9 - another son appears at the bedroom door to ask if he can open another box of cereal for breakfast

Step 10 - on the way back to my bathroom, remind daughter that she needs to wear a sweater with "that" dress, engage in a five minute knock-down-drag-out fight about said sweater which concludes with daughter slamming the bedroom door and yelling that she "is not going to church at all then" as I continue on my way to the bathroom

Step 11 - get dressed (except for shoes - and maybe jewelry if I'm lucky) enough to walk down the hall to the kids' bathroom in order to break up a quarrel-bordering-on-fist-fight over toothpaste between two of the boys

Step 12 - back to my room to plug in the flat iron and put on some make-up and hold a conversation about where one might be able to locate her missing Bible with the daughter who has followed me

Step 13 - send daughter on her way, find and put on shoes, stop to turn off lights in two of the kids' bedrooms and the water faucet in the bathroom

Step 14 - walk downstairs where my family waits for me to FINALLY be ready for church.

Dreams

Next week is a court date for Mister D. It's been seven months and so much has changed, and yet so little has changed.

MD was placed with us in February because he had missed more than fifty days of school so far in the school year, and because although his case had been taken to truancy hearings, his mother did not appear to explain his absences.

Upon registering for and beginning school here, and then being tested for appropriate class placement, it became obvious that MD had missed way more than just fifty days of school. Assigned to the fifth grade, MD could not identify all the letters of the alphabet and did not know what a subtraction sign was. In an effort to provide learning support services for learning disablilities, the school - through thorough testing - instead ruled out all disabilities and rather settled upon the conclusion that MD's severe learning deficient was the result of a lack of school attendance.

Education was not all that MD lacked; he had had very limited exposure to life in general. He could not tell time or know how to use a calendar; didn't know how many days were in a week. The concept of three meals a day at routine times was foreign, and not having the television on non-stop was culture shock. Short trips to the grocery store became full-fledged field trips as we pointed out signs, and stores, and prices, and products. Questions like: "Are you scared to drive in the dark?" - "Who taught you to read?" - "How far is it to California?" - "Will we go to school tomorrow?"  were on-going, which was a wonderful glimpse into how curious he really was; but also sad as we realized how much he had missed.

When we reserved a house in Ocean City for week this summer and told the kids about it, MD's questions were: "How deep is the ocean?" - "Can we swim in it?" - "Can you see the end of it?" - "Will there be a diving board into the ocean?"  These sorts of conversations continued and more were added when we showed him a youtube video of the ocean; he hadn't realized there would be waves.

When we arrived at our ocean house, walked down to the beach, and stood with our feet in the waves, he looked at me with a huge grin spreading across his face and said, "Ms. D, all this time we've been talking about the ocean and now our dream has come true." And all that I could say was, "Yeah, buddy, our dream come true."

What a precious week that was - watching him swim in the ocean, jump the waves, get buried by and bury the other kids in the sand, shop on the boardwalk, chase seagulls - full of firsts for him.

These past seven months have been filled with revelations for MD. He has a best buddy within walking distance of our house and has earned our trust to be able to be very independent; on the playground he is revered and well-liked for his basketball skills and friendly, gentle manner; teachers continue to find creative ways to help him close the gap (despite not having an IEP, MD receives all sorts of special help) because they see a student who is willing to work and eager to learn. It seems that the little bit of care and attention MD receives is multiplied in his efforts to grow and take advantage of these opportunities.

All the while, MD has a family who loves him and wants him to come back home. And when asked, MD will tell us that he wants to go home, but he also wants to be able to go to school here. He understands that that cannot happen, but also that it is fully out of his control, that his mother's efforts - or lack thereof - will control the outcome.

His mother's efforts have been minimal. From the beginning, visits for MD and his mother have been on-going, but she has not been consistent; it's been over a month since she's seen him. There are other concerns which case workers need to address, but find nearly impossible since it is rare to be able to contact his mother by phone.

On Monday, the judge will probably decide that MD needs to remain here with us; it is doubtful that his mother will even attend the court hearing. That will give us three more months of life with MD, three more months of speaking love and care into his life, of teachers and friends encouraging and nurturing him, of exposure to life and all it has to offer.

But it will also be three more months of wondering - will his mother show up? does she really care about him and his dreams?

Stepping Out

It's been just over three weeks since LB came into our family. It took only one of those weeks for him to commandeer a large place in my heart; probably due to the the lack of a 'honeymoon period'  which required intense and intentional encouragement and discipline from the start.

When the case worker scheduled a visit for Monday, with anticipated news of prospective adoptive families, my heart began to ache. After twenty days of life with LB, it became difficult to imagine life without him; and then I realized that perhaps that wouldn't have to be, and mentioned as much to Stan. He however had not experienced similar thoughts and feelings and, I think, was rather blind-sided by my suggestion that we ask to be considered an adoptive resource for LB.

Respecting his well-thought-out perspective (as compared to my let's-just-take-everyone-in method), I refrained from making any sort of commitment to the case worker. Her visit centered around information about a potential adoptive family - their location, ages, interests and hobbies; it sounded like a wonderful match for LB. Then the case worker said, "There is one issue on which we need some clarification, and then we need the county to approve the family."

Those comments coupled with a conversation I had with LB a few days later, that went something like this:

Him: Ms. D, we'll have to drive two cars to get to Ocean City.

Me: Yes, anytime we have more than nine people in our family we have to drive two cars

       to go places together.

Him: Well, I think I'm going to be here until the end of the year.

Me: What makes you think that? You know that the case workers are working on finding a

       nice, safe place for you.

Him: I don't want to go.

Me: What if they tell you they found a great family who is really nice and really wants you
       to come and live with them.

Him: I'd tell them, no.

Me: Well, you'd have to say more than, no.

Him: I'd tell them that I want to stay here because I really like you guys.

Me: I really like you, too.

gave me the courage to approach Stan again about the idea of offering to adopt LB.    

This time the conversation quickly became more about the logistics of permanently adding another child to our family - finding another dresser, financing for purchasing a larger vehicle, tracking down school records for registration. My main arguments (not because we were arguing, but because we both deeply respect the strength of each other's perspective) centered around saving LB the potential heart-ache of being moved around again (and again...), how well he had responded to the expectations and structure of our home, and how well he interacted with our other seven kids. Stan and I agreed that the logistics were something that could be - that have always been - worked out.

This morning I contacted our agency case worker as well as the county case worker to let them know that we are committed to LB and to adopting him as our son, fully understanding that another family could be chosen to fulfill that honor.

This decision was not easy; anxious thoughts crossed my mind many times in the past few days. In the end though, there really was not much of a decision to make. A child needs a home, he is already living and thriving in our home, this is his home. 

Say Uncle

Two weeks ago we added another child to our family. An emergency placement, a child who had been picked up and packed up without much warning, and was sitting in the case worker's office, waiting for whatever came next.

We, me and MD, happened to be at the office that Wednesday for a visit with his mom (which never happened that day, by the way - but that is a WHOLE other post.) While we sat and waited, one of the agency case workers walked through, exclaimed that she was "so glad" to see me, and then asked to speak privately with me about a "favor" she needed; and she gave me the preceding information.

My first response was, "You know we're over-full already, right? We had to get a waiver for number seven child a few months ago." Her response was, "But do you have room?" Honestly, in my heart I already knew this child was coming home with us, but I had to say, "Well, it depends on the gender and age." When she told me that the child was an eleven year old boy, that clinched it; the only empty bed (without doing a whole house shuffle) was the bottom bunk in MD's room. MD is a twelve year old boy and we had joked a few weeks before that if we were to take another child, MD would have to share his room.

Of course the right response - and thank goodness I remembered it - was, "Let me call Stan first." He is, after all, the brains of our outfit.

After a short chat with him - in which he reminded me (like I had forgotten!) that we were leaving for a week of vacation at our cabin on Friday (that'd be in less than two days) and that we would have to drive both cars since the Suburban seats nine - I reiterated my initial positive response to the case worker, and we went about loading what we could fit of his belongings into our smaller car.

MD jumped right in and helped to pack up and then chatted with LB (littlest brother) on the ride home. He assured LB that we lived in a nice house, that he would empty some of his dresser drawers so that LB had a place to put his clothes, and asked if LB was okay with a night-light in the bedroom. Listening to one displaced child comfort and encourage another displaced child made my already tender heart even more mushy.

LB moved in, and true to the case worker's warning: there was absolutely NO honeymoon period. Her exact words to me had been, "With LB, what you see is what you get." And what we got was a very active and inquisitive little boy who had lost all control of his own life, and so was seeking and trying all kinds of creative (sometimes frustrating) ways to gain control.

Two days later our family of ten was happily unpacking both cars at our cabin and looking forward to a relaxing, family-fun filled week together. And it truly was that, due in part to LB just being himself -without pretense - from the start. Since we have had a moderate amount of experience with strong-willed and determined children who like to test boundaries, Stan and I did our best to lovingly discipline for that week. A few times LB became so frustrated with the expectations that he exclaimed, "I just want to move NOW!" After the third time hearing this, I firmly told LB that he would move just as soon as a safe place was found and that he should not think that moving would mean the end of his needing to respect rules, AND that he was not to say those words out of frustration anymore. Being the smart little guy he is, he respected my request.

Three days home from vacation and the novelty has worn off and the heat and humidity make it hard to be outside, and LB out of a need for control or just shear boredom has begun to be more disrespectful and destructive: yelling in peoples' faces, throwing toys against walls, tossing the girls' belongings down the stairs, picking at and ripping apart furniture. As these behaviors were addressed over the past few days, LB told me, "That's just the way I am."  The remedy for that is: if you can't control yourself, I'll be glad to help you, so you'll need to be wherever I am at all times. More frustration and today more acting out.

Earlier today I heard, "My uncle (with whom LB had apparently lived for a short time) always lets me act this way." And less than thirty minutes later, "I want to call my uncle!"

I can't and won't say anything negative about an uncle whom I have not met and one to whom LB will not return. I can and will stick by this hurting and broken little boy for as long as we are blessed to have him here.

It's you and me LB, which of us will say "Uncle" first?

Adjustments

Four months and two weeks and still no consistency for my LS. No one expects to hear from birth mom even after she's released from prison; and LS holds firm in her desire to never be with the person who has caused the most trauma and hurt in her young life.

Birth dad, who has only had sporadic contact with LS, but is someone who is stable - has a job, a home, a fiance' - is being considered the primary permanent placement resource. In order to establish a strong parent-child bond, visitation was increased from every other week to every week and the venue modified from an office setting to a more relaxed and natural community setting. Additionally, the location of the visits was changed to be more local to dad - about a ten minute commute from his place of employment - since there were claims that both location and traffic caused him to miss previous visits. All these adjustments were made to move toward a positive outcome of family reunification.

Increases in and variations to the visitation plan made it necessary to involve another team player - a visitation social worker whose sole responsibility is to schedule, facilitate, and supervise the visits. Because the distance between our home and the visitation site is now much greater, and the time has been modified to fit dad's schedule, and because there are other children in our home with appointments and commitments; it was impossible to adjust our family schedule so that I could be the transporter to and from visits (as well as have a bit of face-to-face interaction with LS's dad.) This was an adjustment that was unwelcome since I prefer to drive my children where they need to go and journey with them through whatever-the-situation.

Yesterday's scheduled visit was a perfect "case in point." After picking up LS and driving ninety minutes to the visitation location, the case worker called to say that dad was not going to make it to the visit; some reason was given, the case worker spent some fun time with LS, then put her back into the car for ninety more minutes to return home. This was another unforeseen adjustment, and one for which we hadn't planned. Removing the potential barriers - distance, time, location, travel time, traffic - (and in the process requiring everyone involved to adjust) was supposed to alleviate cancelled or missed visits, of which we had had many opportunities to contend with early on. At those times, I was there with LS; I was the one to hug her in the waiting room, the one to hold her hand as we walked to the car to head back home, the one to reassure her that her daddy would be able to receive the picture she'd colored "just for him" the next time, the one to stop for milkshakes to drown our sorrows.

This morning it became apparent that the bulk of the adjusting had fallen on the very small shoulders of our LS. Her usually perky and smiley self, was today replaced with a sulky and sad-faced little girl. Dressing, packing up, eating, teeth-brushing all took much prompting; her mind seemed to be somewhere far away. Behaviors - the mildest of which was finding her poking around two of her brothers' bedrooms (which are strictly off limits to the girls) while she was to be in the bathroom - unusual for her, and the equally unusual denial of poor choices and just flat out defiance, became obvious signs of distress.

While it is one thing to make changes and expect adults to adjust and function, it is an entirely different - and unacceptable (at least to this mom) - demand to place on a small child who has made uncountable adjustments already in a very short time.

This cannot continue. And if it does, if my LS is called upon to suffer any more, those in authority are the ones who are going to have to adjust to this irritated momma bear.

One For The Book

Eleven years ago today was one for the book, the book I have been told by some that I should write, the book that will most probably never be written, the book about our adventures and journey as a foster family.

Four days before Mother's Day 2002 we were called to take a placement of a young mother, fifteen years old; her six month old baby was placed with another foster family. We were told that both mother and baby had been living together in some sort of group home setting, but that since this teenage mom was struggling to provide necessary care for her infant while going to school the court decided that separate placements would be beneficial. Visits between mom and baby were to be scheduled to maintain the bond between them and to eventually lead to reunification in the home of a relative.

In our home, Little Miss Big (LMB) presented herself as a sweet and compliant young lady and during the first couple of days she found ways to be helpful: playing with our little boys (at that time we had four of them under the age of seven), cleaning up the kitchen, joining in family conversations and activities. Like most teenage girls, she also enjoyed talking on the phone, and since she was too far away to hang out with her friends, we allowed fairly liberal phone privileges.

The Friday before Mother's Day, Stan drove LMB into the city for a visit with her baby. I spent that time putting together a Mother's Day gift for her; how sad it would be for her to spend her very first Mother's Day without her baby in her arms. And she seemed very appreciative to receive the gifts on Sunday.

Shortly after walking out the door to go to work on Monday morning, Stan came back into the house and announced, "The car is not in the driveway." My first thought was, "Well, did you park it on the street last night?" Clearly I had not caught the meaning of his statement because his next words were: "Is LMB in her room?"

Hurrying upstairs and to the end of hallway, I don't remember knocking on the bedroom door before going in to find LMB missing.

While waiting for the police to arrive we continued to investigate and discovered that in addition to the Suburban, my wallet, money that we had been collecting for a fundraiser at church ($300), and Stan's entire key ring (with our house keys, keys for our other cars, and keys for the church) were missing.

Our foster care agency was also informed of the situation and they in turn contacted the Philadelphia case worker. It was only at that point that we were told that LMB had previously taken a car from her brother. Additionally we were told that the reason for her placement with us, "away from the city", was that she had absconded from the mother/baby group home with her son - twice.

As we pieced together the story for the police, we remembered that the phone had rung at about 1:30 a.m. that morning (which may have been some sort of wake-up call for LMB since we found the phone handset in her bedroom), and deduced that LMB had waited until we were asleep to gather our belongings (incidentally, she had left behind the Mother's Day gifts we had given her), slip out the back door, and drive into the city.

Since we were certain that LMB had driven toward the city, our local police contacted Philadelphia police. We were assurred that the Suburban would probably be found in good condition since it was so large and not likely to be stripped for parts. Sure enough, four days later it was reported to be impounded and after paying a hefty fee for towing and storage, we were able to drive it home since it had been found with only a dead battery - probably because LMB left the lights on after she parked it along the street close to a bus stop.

Recovering the Suburban was a blessing, but we also needed to recover other losses: the locks on our house and the church had to be changed, we had rented a van while waiting to see if the Suburban would resurface, money had been stolen, and it seemed unfair that we were responsible for costs of getting our own car back. Thankfully, our agency went to bat for us, wrote a letter to the city of Philadelphia explaining the situation and that, had we been provided with accurate and complete information, we would have taken reasonable precautions to protect ourselves, our possessions, and LMB. The city responded several weeks later with a check to cover all the costs we had detailed.

About a month later, Stan and I attended the court hearing. We sat in the back of the courtroom and were recognized by the judge but received no acknowlegment from LMB. The judge of course ordered her to make full restitution, which as far as we know, she never did.

We were able to move on, and even joke about the whole situation as a standard question, whenever we received a new placement, became: "Well, does she/he drive?"

While we've been blessed to not have to travel that particular path again, there have been many times that have qualified as "one for the book", and without a doubt there will be many more.

The Gift of Grace

Almost four months have passed since Baby H left our family and his space in my heart is still empty. The space in our home, however, did not remain empty for long.

LS (Little Sweetheart) who joined our family in December and MD (Mister Dee) who came on board in February certainly have helped to round out the crew and bring more life to our already colorful family.

In the past few months we've needed to settle in: registering for school, initial doctors' appointments, follow-up of any recommendations from the doctors, tracking down school records, assessments and evaluations for school placement, scheduling family visits, switching out bedrooms and organizing for a family of nine. All that busy-ness has helped to alleviate some of the grief of the loss of Baby H.

The true source of relief has been God's grace. He has allowed us to move forward - knowing that Baby H and all the children we've had in our home are in His care - and open our hearts and home to other children in need. Our family has been crafted in such a way to be available and open to whoever God chooses to place here; and sometimes that means we walk through hard times, but God always walks with us.

Taking the placement of LS was not something I personally felt prepared to do; it seemed too soon -  my heart still too broken, and the prospect of caring for a kindergartner did not appeal to me. Our family philosophy is: unless there is a clear reason to say, "no" to a placement, then the answer will always be, "yes." And so LS became my little girl and I am her "mommy" and would have it no other way. That's God's grace.

A few weeks into the placement, LS's mom was incarcerated which meant no visits for the length of her year-long sentence. The birth father was contacted and expressed interest in visits, and within the past two months has attended only three of these scheduled visits. Thankfully, LS has been blessed with a bubbly and optimistic personality and seems incredibly resilient - given what she has already lived through and witnessed in her six years of life - and has rolled with the haphazard visitation schedule.

Enter Grace - with a capital "G". Grace is the great-grandmother of LS, the grandmother of LS's mother; she cared for LS and her mom until LS was three years old. Upon placement, we were told that we were free contact Grace by telephone at our convenience. LS asked to call her "grand mom" and was thrilled when we were able to connect with her.

During our second phone call, Grace shared her story with me: She and her five siblings were placed into foster care when she was five years old, and she remained in the system until the age of eighteen. For most of those years, she and her siblings were able to stay together with one family who she still refers to as her parents. Grace married - and is still married to the same man - had children, grand children, and great-grand children. At the age of sixty-nine she works full-time and is raising one of her grand nephews.

Some of her first words to me were: "You are an answer to my prayers."

She had been worried about LS for the past two years, since she and her mother had moved away from Grace. Grace was concerned (and rightly so, it turns out) for LS's safety, but felt that there was nothing she could do except pray that LS be moved into a safe home. The fact that we are a Christian family was more than Grace "could have hoped for", as she told me later.

Phone calls between LS and her grand mom happen at least once a week, and Grace spends much of the time encouraging LS to be thankful and grateful, to always say "thank you", to help around the house, to be kind to her "sisters and brothers", to pay attention and do her best in school, and of course to remind LS of how much she is loved and treasured.

Grace also spends time talking with me, sometimes she calls just to talk to me. Every time she thanks us for taking care of and loving LS, she reminds me that we are an answer to prayer, that God will bless us for our obedience. When one of our boys was sick and I mentioned it, she called the next day just to see how he was doing. For Easter, she not only bought LS some Easter gifts, but also had gift bags for LS to give to "her sisters" (our girls) because she wants LS to learn that is more blessed to give.

In fourteen years of fostering, we have never been so blessed by a birth family member. We've been friendly and able to encourage birth families, we've felt positive about some of the situations in which the parents were sincere in their efforts. But we've not ever been blessed by grace.

After the difficult situation with Baby H, which in reality was made unbearable at times by his birth mother and grand mother - being accused of mistreatment and neglect, feeling interrogated each time we met at the office for a visit, ultimately being made out to be incompetent and uncaring parents - God's gift of grace and Grace have become so apparent and real.

Honestly

With six kids in the house there's lots of stuff. Stuff that belongs to someone else. Stuff that you shouldn't touch unless it belongs to you. At least that's how we roll, it just seems to simplify life a little.

Last week one of the kids brought to our attention that someone's stuff had been touched, in fact, taken and used. Since it's a given that we don't tolerate lying - which includes stealing (which equals taking something that doesn't belong to you)  - we expected the guilty party to come clean rather quickly.

That being a faulty assumption, we progressed to a family pow-wow around the table where they were subjected to a lecture about how our home needs to be a safe and secure place, that this is the training ground for "real life", and reminders that God has called us to live a life set apart and holy - to follow Jesus' example of a life of integrity. At least that's what I heard and hope came across to the kids in such a way as to compel someone to confess.

That hope was dashed as a trip around the table yielded no information, just a bit of blame-throwing.

It was close to bedtime for the younger set, so we sent everyone to their rooms for the rest of the evening with the charge to think and pray about the situation, and encouragement to answer honestly in the morning.

After lunch on Sunday the pow-wow resumed with the same results: no confession, everyone to their rooms for the day - or until one of them came to confess and apologize.

During the afternoon, two of the kids came to me to ask what would happen if someone took the blame for everyone, if one of them confessed even though he or she were not the guilty party. An interesting proposition that lent itself to a discussion about Jesus' act of love for us in taking on our sin, and a realization that if this choice were made an innocent sibling would be punished.

Since this was not the result for which they were hoping - the kids seemed to think that an innocent person taking the rap should be off the hook and no one would serve a consequence - those two returned to their rooms.

With a quiet house and some time to investigate, I was able to conclusively discern who the guilty party was. After releasing the other five from their bedrooms and thanking them for their patience, I went to the room of the sixth child and explained that we knew the truth. Fully expecting a tearful confession and not getting one, but rather a tearful defense, we moved onto the punishment which was a grounding to the bedroom for two additional days (since the siblings had spent two days in their rooms needlessly) and a week of performing each brother's and sister's daily chores (setting the table, clearning the table...) in return for the trouble that had been caused for them.

As far as making restitution for the item that was used - and here's where it gets kind of funny - it belonged to the child who took it. And this same child was the one that brought the issue to our attention in the first place.

Apparently the thinking went something like this: I know what I did was wrong, so I'll make it seem like someone else did it, and if I'm the one who brings it up and I'm the victim, I won't be suspected.

Honestly... my kids!

What's Your Name

Children come to our home from a wide spectrum of situations: living with one parent or both, a parent's friend, a grandparent, or other relatives; having been exposed to domestic violence, substance abuse, verbal, emotional, physical, or sexual abuse; neglect of the basic needs of food, shelter, and security - both physical and emotional; having experienced homelessness, a lack of consistency in parenting and discipline, large gaps in school attendance, learning disabilities, and behavior disorders. It's all trauma. These children have all suffered a great deal of trauma.

Amazingly, most of these children have an extremely strong loyalty to their parents. It's more amazing in some cases when the perpetrators of severe abuse and neglect are those same parents; and it's a bond which I have learned to honor.

Through the course of our journey, Stan and I have had various titles: Daddy Stan & Mommy Dawn, Uncle Stan & Aunt Dawn, Dad & Mom, Daddy & Mommy or Momma, (just plain) Stan & Dawn, and my least favorite - Mr. Stan and Miss Dawn. Whatever handle a child has needed for us is what we went with. And then there's the whole who-am-I-when-I-show-up-at-your-school question. Older kids have preferred to refer to me as an aunt, cousin, or friend.

In our current situation our little sweetheart (age 5), came from a situation of having a mother who she calls "mom" and a friend who she calls "mommy." Knowing this, we had a little discussion after I registered her for school that went something like this: "When we go visit the school, someone may point to me and ask who I am. What should we tell them? We could say I'm your friend, or your aunt." LS replied quickly, "You're my mom!" So we went with that.

We also had a conversation about what names she would like to use for us at home. She was given the options already mentioned or encouraged to come up with something she liked. With no pressure for a decision, I'm not sure that one was formally made

In the next weeks I would hear LS talking to the other kids and referring to me as "your mommy" and I knew that she was sorting through her thoughts and feelings about who I was and how I fit into her life. During those weeks, when she wanted my attention she would simply get in my space and face to talk to me so no "handle" was needed; a few times I was summoned with "Hey!"

As time goes along and LS hears the other kids calling us "mommy & daddy", as she receives love and care and consistency in our home, as her parents allow time to pass without entering into her life, LS has continued to process and has "slipped" a few times and called us "mommy & daddy" as she has been talking about us.

This past week LS and I met some friends at a park. At one point one of the other children called out to their mother with, "Mommy!" and LS echoed calling me also, "Mommy!" so that we could watch the fun they were having. My heart did a flip.

As we've experienced before, once we become "daddy & mommy" the names are used in excess for a little while. In the past several days I have heard "mommy" from LS for every.little.thing. And I bask in it!

We still talk about her "mom" and "mommy" and the rest of her family. The loyalty with which she regards her family is honored. There is hope that she will be reunified with them and those relationships will continue and grow.

For now I am thrilled to be mommy to my LS, and privileged to receive her love.
 

More and More

"And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best..."

Our pastor has been hanging out in Philippians these past weeks and has challenged us to be reading through it daily. That's a very lofty goal - for me - and so I have been doing my best to spend some time with some portion of it each morning. The above excerpt is from chapter one and came across especially poignantly today.

One of our children has intense struggles with oppositional behavior. People have asked me to describe Oppositional Defiant Disorder; after all, most kids demonstrate some level of opposition, they all want their own way. It's difficult to put into words exactly what it's like to live with ODD in our house. And it's difficult for me to paint a negative and bleak picture of our child; besides the ODD and other diagnoses, this child has so much positive potential.

This morning this child got up, showered, and dressed for school. Then the distractions began:

while packing up her snack she had to examine a package that had been delievered to our house by mistake and was on the counter waiting to be taken to the neighbor's house - Daddy prompted her to keep moving and she growled in response;

she moved on and began to pack up her book bag while I directed a question to her and her sisters about some missing gum - she was immediately defensive and started yelling that she "didn't take it!";

we dropped the issue and she chose what cereal she wanted for breakfast, and while I poured it she poked holes in the bagel bag and bagels - at which point I told her to sit at the table;

she went to the table sat down and kicked her sister and then shoved her own chair away from the table - I told her to stand up and took the chair away and set her cereal in front of her so that she could stand to eat it (this is routine for us), she sat on the floor and muttered that she "was not going to have breakfast anyway";

turning my back and holding my tongue, I waited for her to stand up. When - after a few minutes - she didn't stand or calm down, I removed the cereal and told her to go and comb her hair. She yelled at me and them stomped toward the bathroom;

a few minutes later, from upstairs, came the loud complaints of one of the other girls. For some reason my struggling daughter decided to not comb her hair, but rather to go upstairs and throw clean laundry around her bedroom. She was called downstairs and eventually - after banging on the newel posts and railing and much stomping, grunting and growling - presented herself in the kitchen where I told her to stand at the table. She responded by following me around the kitchen, demanding her cereal.

My unspoken, but known, expectation was that she would stand at the table and then receive her cereal. She refused to obey and went back upstairs where there was slamming of doors and various items.

Several minutes later it was time to put on coats, gather instruments, and pick up book bags. From the kitchen I called for my child to come and get her violin and music, which she did as slowly as possible. On a whim, I checked her pockets and found the contraband - a container of lip gloss. At this point the other three kids were out the door and this one was refusing to pick up her violin, book bag, and coat.

Doing my best to say nothing, I "helped" her out the door: book bag hanging by one shoulder strap, violin in one hand, coat dragging along the ground with the other. With muttering and groaning she made it to the bus stop just as the other kids were getting on the bus - thanks goodness because I was trying to figure out how I would have handled it if she had missed the bus.

Okay, so back to the verse from Philippians... here's what I read this morning:

"And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in KNOWLEDGE and DEPTH OF INSIGHT, so that you may be able to discern what is best..."

Being a woman, a wife, a mom, my bent is toward loving with my heart, my emotions, my feelings. Seldom do I consider that I need more knowledge to love more completely. This verse speaks to me today, in the middle of a difficult, negative morning with my sweet girl. With more knowledge and insight I might "be able to discern what is best" for her.

Mixed Bag

Since we began foster parenting it's been there, that internal wrestling: we are blessed by these precious, amazing kids, but only because they have been mistreated and marginalized. Our life is fuller and richer for having them in it, but their lives have been traumatized, filled with fear, sometimes neglect, sometimes abuse. In a few cases the situations have been minor - thank goodness - and the children have been quickly reunified with their families (as it should be.)

Several times we've witnessed birth parents work hard to remedy the issues and rebuild their families - find employment, get clean, secure housing, have evaluations and the treatment required, attend parenting classes, make sure their children have health insurance. All this happens while separated from their children - can you imagine the anguish? - which makes the process that much more stressful.

Honestly, at the beginning, when children would come to our home I did not harbor much sympathy for the birth parents. In my mind they had had their chance and had blown it and now it was my turn to enjoy and love their children. My focus was on my house, my family, our security and happiness. Interaction with birth parents at visits was civil (usually) and cordial.

That perspective changed about two years into our journey when our oldest son was reunified with his birth family - after we had been encouraged to begin the adoption process.
I will always remember the day that I stood in our garage and cried, my heart breaking over our loss.

The pain of the loss of Baby H in our family has brought to my mind those other very hard separations: River, Angel, Heather, Kriste, Laurisa, Haily. With each one my heart had to break and then heal - a fellow foster mom remarked that her heart is all chicken wire and duct tape due to all the heart-break through which she has walked. Each loss has brought with it more sympathy for the birth parents of our foster children.

In our current case, so far we have very little accurate information regarding the birth parents - including any allegations. And while we are enjoying this ray of sunshine in our family, my mind goes to what the birth mom of LS must be thinking and feeling - this is her only child. Does she worry that she's safe? that she's warm enough? that she's eating instead of crying and scared? With the loss of Baby H still so fresh to me, empathy lies much closer to the surface.

After her bath tonight, LS chose a child's devotional book as her bedtime story. The book had us go through our day and give thanks for the places we had been, the people we had seen, the things we had done; it was interesting to hear her recount her view of the happenings of the day. On the page where it asked if you were sorry about anything, she looked at me and said she was sorry for some trouble that she had caused this afternoon. What a blessing! I thanked her for that and reminded her that God helps us feel sorry about things so that we will not want to, and try not to, repeat them.

The next page prompted us to pray for other people. With almost no hesitation, LS prayed for her mom - that she would not hurt her anymore.

Just that abrubtly, my empathy vanished and my momma-bear protective mode kicked in. This child is mine - for now, for as long as God allows - and no one is going to harm any of my children.

Somehow we are going to sort through things, get the true story, and be able to move ahead. Somehow I will learn to love LS with my whole (broken, taped up, wired together) heart. Somehow I will find the strength, the desire to sympathize with her mother. Somehow God will once again prove faithful as we follow a path that only he has designed.

Always Prepared

All parents have seasons and situations that are more mind-boggling and confounding than others; at least, I hope I'm not the only one.

We've had children in our home with some unique and quirky habits; learned behaviors that required un-learning. The seven-year old who had yet to be fully toilet-taught sticks out in my head. While we struggled through that - trying all sorts of consequences, rewards, natural consequences - it became apparent three years later that we endured that situation so that we would be prepared for one of our permanent kids to face the very same issue. Since the second child was younger and required more time, energy, and patience it was so good of God to have us "practice" on the older child first.

One of our permanent kids prepared us for a little boy of four years old with an extremely strong will and boundless energy. If not for the preparation of the first child, the second would have suffered (not physically in any way, of course) needlessly as I would have fumbled my way through knock-down, drag-out arguments with a pre-schooler. Gratefully, by the time oppositional child number two arrived, I had learned not to lose to pip-squeaks, but also to carefully choose those small (but HUGE) childhood battles.

And God is faithful, he has provided us with a daughter who is gifted with dramatic flair which has obviously prepared me well for our current placement of our LS. At less than a week in, LS has been "upset" by a bumped head, a hurt finger, being hungry, and not getting to eat cookies whenever she likes.

With a new placement comes a new soft spot in my heart; this child has come from or through some sort of trauma and deserves to have an easy go of things - at least for a bit. Dealing with her "upset" tugs at my heartstrings - I just want life to be fair for her, to be able to fix whatever is wrong.

That is my heart. My head knows differently - that swooping in to fix it all and make it all right will not serve her well in the long run. We've all heard it before: children need - thrive with, even - consistency. What my head rationalizes as consistency, my heart often feels is harsh.

We had an opportunity to put it to the test today. Lunchtime was just me and LS and left-overs.

Opportunity number one: LS wanted a sandwich, not left-overs - which was a pasta casserole (think spagetti for supper, but all mixed together and baked with gooey cheese on top) that we had for her first dinner with our family and of which she polished off two servings with gusto. While I ignored her pleas for a sandwich and heated up the casserole, I asked her if she'd rather have a piece of candy or a cookie after we finished our lunch. This sort of distraction technique works well for the younger set; thankfully it did in this case and she chose to have a cookie, which we set out on a napkin on the counter for "later."

Opportunity number two: Round about the fifth spoonful, LS came across a piece of chopped green pepper. After asking about and getting an answer as to it's identity, she decided that she could not eat any more of her lunch. No comment from me, so she told me again how disgusting peppers are, that there weren't any peppers in the sauce on Monday, and that they tasted bad. My casserole tasted just fine, better perhaps, as left-overs, so I continued on with my lunch.

Opportunity number three: When I had finished eating and cleared away my plate, LS followed suit. Then she sat down again and asked (with a sweet little voice and a "please" on the end) for her cookie. Oh no, she didn't realize she had left herself wide open for the dreaded if-you-are-too-full-to-finish-your-lunch-then-you-are-too-full-for-dessert speech. She gave the distinct impression (pouty lip, forced tears down her cheeks, loud and louder wailing) that she didn't like my response. Thankful that I have had much practice with this exact circumstance I said, "Oh, my kids like to sometimes make that noise, too. And they can do it as loud and as long as they want... in their bedrooms. Good thing you have a bedroom, so you can go ahead and make those noises as much as you want."

Years of repetition must be paying off; she trotted off to her bedroom - tantrum and all. Because she and I are both new to this, I watched the clock for the five-minute mark so that I could go comfort, calm, and discuss with her. LS beat me to it - after three minutes (a world record in our house!) she was back downstairs with her face and attitude straightened out. Waiting to see if it would stick - and it did - we sat down a bit later to read a book, she curled right up on my lap.

This will not be the last or greatest challenge with LS. I only know that because God has prepared me for so much more - I almost shudder at what lies ahead!

What is it?

We make it last as long as possible, milk every minute, live in denial that we'll have to go back; but the unspoken reality looms over us... Christmas vacation is over. Tomorrow it's back to the school and work routine, wake-up times and bed-times. So tonight it's book bags and lunch boxes to pack, showers and scrubbing, heading upstairs earlier than usual (even for a school night) to make up for the late night festivities of New Year's Eve, as well as to compensate for how out of practice and inefficient we've become with the getting-ready-for-bed routine.

Add to this our little "extra" who came to stay on Monday, New Year's Eve 2012. She's a five year-old sweetheart who is bright and happy and polite and beautiful. Samara and Sierra took her under their wings immediately so that I have had but a few moments with her myself. After a full day with her, we know little about her family or the situation that brought her to us; she has not asked how long she might stay (although my girls have - I think they're worried that their new playmate will leave before the novelty wears off) nor when she can see her mommy. When I asked the case worker about phone calls, she gave permission, but little sweetheart has not mentioned it at all.

As us girls were making our way slowly toward bed-time this evening, and Sierra and Samara were eventually tucked into bed and reading quietly until lights-out, LS and I spent some time getting bathed, lotioned, and dressed in pajamas. Standing by her bed, partially pajama-ed, LS began to cry and then sob.

Gently gathering her into a hug, I tried to quiet and calm her by asking some general questions: "Does something hurt?", "Are you hungry?", "Do you want your teddy bear?" But the crying continued and she was not able to answer, only to shake her head no.

Without knowing much about her background, it seemed tricky for me to try to guess at what might have triggered her upset-ness; the wrong question may have brought more trauma rather than comfort. We just sat, both of us on the floor, she on my lap with one arm around my neck, and me offering hugs and soothing (at least I hoped so) comments: "You're safe here."; "We're glad you are here."; "Tomorrow will be a fun day."

With little progress made, and an obviously over-tired little girl on my lap; I whispered a quick prayer for some guidance, then went ahead with more probing questions hoping for wisdom to deal with what the answers might be: "Are you sad because you miss your house?" Head shakes no. "Are you sad because you miss your bed?" Another no. "Are you sad because you miss your mommy?" She answered, "No." And the crying didn't get worse and she was able to then tell me what was bothering her.

Thankfully her upset was caused by a simple and typical situation which we were able to talk through and resolve. She calmed down enough to choose a bedtime story and when it was over, crawled quietly into bed. She accepted my good-night kiss on one cheek from me and on the other cheek from her mommy.

When I peeked in on her a few minutes later, she was peacefully sleeping. The end of day two in a whole new place.

Tomorrow holds more new experiences as we register for school and visit her kindergarten class room. There may be more crying and tears, more questions that lead to dead-ends, more hugs and holding. And no matter what it is, we will be here for this little sweetheart.