Who's Your Mama

We didn't get into this to adopt. We thought: If there's a need for a safe place for kids to stay while their families do what needs to be done, then sure, we can be a safe place.

We went through the classes and trainings and understood that the purpose of foster care is family reunification. Having just had our first born child, and knowing that there might be more on the way, we thought the timing was right. Our house was plenty big enough and Stan's job provided so that I was able to be a stay at home mom.

On December 1, 1999 our first placement arrived - a fourteen year old girl. And then two days later our second placement arrived - brothers, ages four years and nine months old. Going from one child to four in three days. We pretended like we knew what we were doing.

The initial weeks were spent learning - about the school system, how to shop with two non-walkers, to prepare meals for six instead of three, the schedules and needs of these new little ones, that the foster care system is complex and a challenge to navigate.

Birth family visits were eye-opening; not exactly how they had been presented in our neat and tidy hand-outs, in the bright and shiny, well organized binders, in the sanitized setting of the foster care training classes. Right away it became apparent that visits were anything but neat and tidy.

At first the two boys visited with their mother at the agency. That went okay, except for when we were accused of putting them in bath water that was too hot and burning their hands. That accusation came after we had provided various candid snapshots of the boys. The photo in question showed two little boys splashing in the bath tub. They were laughing and smiling, not crying out in pain or trying to escape the tub. That was the last time photos were sent along to visits.

After a year, the younger brother was reunified with his birth father. Having a different father, the older brother stayed with us and continued to have visits with his birth mother. As the plan progressed toward reunification, visits were moved into the community where she and I would meet and sometimes have a bit of conversation during the visit. While we were friendly and I hoped to appear supportive, I had nagging doubts that she would struggle to take care of her son for more than the several hours that comprised the visits. Her comments and reports to me about her social and home life were concerning; but not concerning enough to the agency to halt the plan. And so weekend visits started and quickly moved to reunification.

I clearly remember the day that the worker came to pick up this little five year old boy. He was so excited to be going home. I was so afraid of what he might face. We smiled as he climbed in the car; and then cried as the car turned the corner. My parting words to the worker were, "When, not IF, but WHEN he comes back into the system, please call us."

Our phone rang eighteen months later and he was back that afternoon. Visits started again, but since this was round two in the system the plan for reunification was less aggressive and moved rapidly toward the termination of parental rights. We were able to adopt our son about two years later.

Since he and his birth mother had a connection, we decided to enter into an open adoption situation - not legally binding, but rather a gentleman's agreement guided by what we all felt was beneficial for the child. Birth mother was permitted to visit our son at church at scheduled times and for various activities. We followed this plan for more than a year until her visits became inconsistent and caused our son to become anxious and worried - "Is she sick?" "Do you think her car broke down?" "Maybe she was in an accident." And the unspoken, "Why doesn't my mom want to see me?"

Contact was modified. We allowed our son to reach out his birth mother through letters and phone calls. Visits were ended and she was not to initiate contact. After a few months, our son opted to stop all contact. We continued to send her a card every Mother's Day and Christmas.

Last year our son moved out. He was tired of the rules and expectations of our family, and wanted to be more independent. After a year of trying and learning that all families have rules and expectations, he has recently had to move a second time.

During the past year, he has reconnected with his birth mother. He was very excited to tell me that he had "found her again," and also adamant that she is his mother and I am not. Hard to hear, but not hard to understand. As far as he is concerned, he was taken from his birth mother for "no reason" and made to live with us - the people who have unrealistic rules and expectations. On the very rare occasions that he did call me, he referred to me by my first name and his birth mother as "mom."

For the past few months there have been visits with his birth mother, and even opportunities for him to stay at her house for short periods of time. He called me a few weeks ago to say that he hoped to move back home with her after a meeting at the beginning of October. He made sure to let me know that I was not invited to this meeting.

This week I received a phone call - due to his choices he would need to find another place to live; and his birth mother has decided that he will not be able to move in with her.

So now my son, who does not want to live here and who does not consider me his mom, has moved yet again - not back to his birth mother as he had hoped. He spurns the support and guidance of this mom in favor of the friendship of his birth mother. A friendship that has not been healthy or helpful.

This is hard. That we have come through so much already gives me hope. There have been other hard times. We are still here.

Try Again

My heart hardly raced at all when I called the police this week. It has become almost freeing to be able to depend on someone else for a bit. 

One of the kids decided that somewhere else would be better than here, walked out of the house, and hopped on a bike. This kid indicated that they would be leaving the property, so I stood in the front yard and watched as they headed up our long driveway and then called the police.

God provided a neighbor to stop this kid as they were walking the bike along the road. The neighbor asked some great questions and got this kid to sit on their back porch and notified me. The police and I arrived at the neighbor's house at the same time. After checking in with an officer, I proceeded to visit with my neighbor and let the officers do the work. Several minutes later they informed me that this kid agreed to go back home and stay there. 

Once back our house this kid refused to go inside and insisted that they were going to stay in the garage "until tomorrow morning." Exerting verbal pressure only served to entrench their position further, and I had dinner to get on the table for the rest of us.

Several hours later this kid came inside and went directly to bed; got up the next morning and acted as if nothing had happened. Then after school made an apology something like, "I made a bad choice in how I acted." I agreed and thanked the kid for the apology (as it were.)

Later that day this kid refused to turn off the television when asked as well as flat out refused to follow the boundaries set down due to the police involved incident. As I reminded this kid of the apology that was offered just that morning, they countered with an argument that the apology "doesn't have anything to do with" respecting boundaries and our authority.

This is what attachment issues look like for us.

This was another in a string of events this past week.

On Sunday this kid came to me with a bead bracelet they had made and asked me to try it on, so I did. I remarked that it was a little loose on me so that it might need to be adjusted if whoever they made it for was smaller than me. This kid said, "I made it for you." I said, "Oh, thanks!" I haven't seen the bracelet again.

We went to a school sporting event this week. I took a blanket for us to sit on, and this kid and one of the other kids helped to spread it out over a sparsely grassy area - mostly it was dirt and rocks. Me and my other kid settled onto the blanket. This kid sat RIGHT BESIDE the blanket in the dirt. 

The connection that we have with this kid is tenuous at best. There's hardly anything there because this kid cannot handle it. This kid truly might feel better in another family because there are no expectations from a fictitious, unknown family. Whereas there are clear expectations here and it's hard for this kid to deal with the expectations of: boundaries, respect, genuine care and concern.

This kid doesn't understand remorse and consequences; or at least doesn't see the connection. This kid lives - I make a poor choice. I say sorry. I make a poor choice. I say sorry. I make a poor choice....

Expectations go deeper than this kid is able to go. Trust goes much deeper.

We expect an apology and a changed attitude. But this kid can't trust that we actually forgive and will show grace.

It's scary for this kid to risk giving me a bracelet. What if I don't like it? What if I laugh and make fun? What if am demeaning? What if I don't value their gift? Too scary, so they avoid it.

It's scary for them to sit on the blanket. That means that they are dependent on me. But if they depend on me that means that they trust me. This kid doesn't even trust me enough to sit on a blanket to stay out of the dirt.

It's not always like this. There are days and weeks at a time that seem blissful. Connections are made - rather superficial, but at least pleasant. 

Then some sort of a warning seemingly sounds for this kid and the tiny bit of trust and connectedness is shattered and sabotaged. And I am weary and wondering how many more times we will need to call the police and start over and try again.