From a Mile Away

This morning our littlest had an appointment with a specialist at the hospital. Since we had landed an early time slot, the waiting room was empty except for another mom and her little boy. After signing in, we took a seat across the way from the other pair and it wasn't long before we began stealing little sideways glances toward each other, and then exchanged half-smiles and friendly nods.

Her little boy was doing his best to weasel his way out of his stroller and she gently reminded him to "sit up like a big boy." When the weaseling didn't yield results, he commenced spitting; to which she replied, a little less gently, "That doesn't bother me, you're only hurting yourself." Looking at me, she said, "He's such a handful, I just don't know how he can be so bad." And in the next breath, "How old is your little guy?"

"Fourteen months," I answered, "how about yours?" "He's just about nineteen months, he's been this way since he was nine months old. I got him when he was only a month old," she says with a sigh of - what I readily recognize as - exhaustion. "How long have you had yours?"

I knew I recognized a kindred spirit even before the conversation started. Yes, the fact that she and her little boy didn't match in the exact opposite way that me and my littlest don't match was a big clue. Honestly, however, I have stopped noticing, or am too tired or don't care enough, or am not observant, or am just oblivious to non-matching families anymore. Maybe that's what tipped off my new friend, who knows.

For the next half-hour, while our boys' eyes were being dilated and the waiting room began filling, we shared our hearts and our struggles. We exchanged gripes about the system and case workers. She talked about how hard it is to watch her little one go back and forth to visit with his birth family every weekend and know that reunification isn't any closer. That she knows so many of his challenging behaviors are due to his uncertainty. Her agency is trying to convince her to have the little boy moved to another home because they think "he is just too much for her to handle." "What do they think moving him is going to solve," she asked me rhetorically.

All the while we were talking my littlest was content to squirm around on my lap and in my arms; her little was pitching a fit in that stroller, taking off his shoes and socks, and still spitting. Every now and then, when he calmed down, she would take him out of the stroller and hold him or follow him around the waiting area, until he refused to listen, and then back to the stroller he went. Those people who had filled the waiting room did their little sideways glance thing, too. But no one else struck up a conversation with my friend; and in fact, several of them remarked to each other about that "out of control, loud kid in the stroller."

It's hard to explain how much I wanted to stand up and shout, "But you don't even KNOW!"
Or how much helplessness and isolation I felt on behalf of that little boy, and frustration and maybe embarrassment on behalf of his foster momma. Or how much of a connection I felt with my new friend as she just focused on loving her little one. And it's hard to explain how foster mommies seem to be able to spot each other from a mile away.

For Now

It's been looming and lurking; inklings of ideas and bits and fragments of life. This task of a post when so much has transpired since the last post is daunting, but exciting.

For my own benefit, to put life in perspective, and to process the past several months this will be an up-date on the situations in our family and a synopsis of our journey through the foster care system recently.

A new school year brought transitions; one student at the high school - the first one we've not had to register mid-way through the year and learn how to do things on the fly, two students beginning middle school - our two who struggle with academics and/or boundaries and/or responsibility. It's going to be quite a year at the middle school.

At the end of the last school year, we requested of the district that one of our sixth graders be retained for another year of elementary school where the pace is slower, the teachers more nurturing, and the expectations familiar. Our rationale was based on the fact that, within the space of a year, this child lived in three different homes, attended three different schools, and was healing from the loss of birth family and the trauma of abuse, and the rejection from a disrupted (almost, but not quite) adoption. We thought it unfair to put this child through yet another change; all while functioning at the emotional level of a five-year-old.

We were denied that request and so this child faced - with incredible resilience - the prospect of middle school: lockers, changing classes, organization of notes and hand-outs, recording assignments, navigating the cafeteria, finding the right bus. At three weeks in, there have been some expected and manageable bumps; and I find myself needing to bite my tongue to keep the "this is exactly what I was afraid of" comments at bay and substituting with messages of "we know you can do this" and "we've got your back."

In addition to the frustration over the district's decision, the adoption of this child has been delayed and delayed again so that what we hoped would be completed before the start of the new school year - a new last name, an increased sense of security - has yet to finalize. Anxiety has thrown our child into some furious tailspins; just this week we slogged through a rough evening of temper tantrums, tears, upset outbursts, and cutting words. At the end of it all I simply told our child that this is it, the last stop. That the feelings of uncertainty make sense since the last family backed out of the adoption at the last minute; and since he had no control in that situation, we understand that he is desperately trying to get control now - trying to set us up to reject him, for this adoption to also fail. It's so hard to see him so afraid; but hopeful to know that he'll always be our son, that we have a lifetime to help to heal the hurt.

Our other new-to-middle-schooler has been with our family for twenty months. And in those months has had consistent visits with his birth mom for about half that time; and those only every other week for one hour. There is sporadic telephone contact with our guy prompting his mother to call the office to schedule visits - it's heart-breaking to hear, and even more heart-breaking when she never follows through.

Court is coming up and the petition to terminate parental rights. Our guy - of very few words, who is still very guarded with his thoughts and feelings - just needs to know what is in his future. He talks of returning home, but also of the upcoming holidays and the rest of the school year here. And then we still expect him to make academic gains - which he does with leaps and bounds, and function socially - everybody loves him, and identify himself as a member of our family - he is polite and kind and respectful and loves his Grammy and Pappy. We hold onto the hope that God has a plan for our guy, and that His timing is perfect.

Our littlest is also in limbo, but also gives us so much reason to hope. He is now fourteen months old and has made so much progress in the past six months that the therapists are having to continually change and up-date his goals. This summer, more quickly than was anticipated, his case moved toward adoption. This summer, with some back and forth, it became apparent that we are not the best choice to be his forever family.

When we adopted our girls, the limit that Stan and I settled on was that, due to our ages we could adopt more children but none younger than the girls; and that we could continue to foster the children God placed in our home. Each day brings joy as we watch this baby learn and interact with our family. Without a doubt he was placed here for this season, and we have hope that the adoptive family that has been chosen for him will love and provide for him in just the way God has planned.

This week I remarked to a case worker that there's not a whole lot of "intentional parenting" going on; it's more like running around and putting out fires ...for now. There are conversations with individual kids here and there, and I am aware of who is doing what activities and when and where to get them there - and that's all good and necessary.

As we pass through this season of "for now" there is hope for the return of those heart-to-heart talks - hearing the thoughts and feelings behind what happened during their days, and connecting with them in unique and special ways.