Toughen Up

 A friend recently asked if I blog anymore... apparently not in the last ten months. There have been so many occasions and experiences that I could have, should have. Like everyone else living through this pandemic, life has changed in numberless ways and countless times. 

Here we've seen some hard times, again, just like every other person in every other family. So maybe I hesitated to write about it because what's the point of saying what everyone else is experiencing? And for sure there are families struggling more than we are.

And we've had some really great and unexpected good come of this time. But posting about that seems somehow callous to friends who are not feeling or seeing the positive.

Since I find writing cathartic and since I may be the only reader of this writing, and with the gentle prompting of my friend, I offer these thoughts.

My New Year's resolution is to pray for God to soften my heart. 

Right before Christmas our family was faced with a disappointing and concerning situation. I prayed about it, asked others to pray. And then I fasted - something I hadn't done on a personal level for a long time. During that time I heard God give an answer and was able to know his peace. Two days later the answer was confirmed and the disappointment and concern were lifted.

That answer to prayer posed a question for me: For what else should I be praying and believing?

And the answer was: For my heart to be softened.

We've quarantined seriously. We don't go out unless we have to and don't have anyone in our home. We don't go to church in person. Our college kids are not on campus. Our high school kids go to school from their beds. So we see a lot of each other. And we get tired of each other. And sometimes my brain and my heart close up and turn off.

Insignificant things irritate me. Messes made and left behind cause resentment. Tones and attitudes of teenagers grate on my nerves. My heart has hardened.

But holding onto my experience before Christmas, each morning (and usually every night; and often throughout the day) I am reminded to pray and believe that God will answer this prayer. If I would only get out of the way and let him...

Raising kids who have experienced and lived trauma is exhausting. And yes, it's a different kind of exhausting from raising kids who have had healthy childhood, infant, and even prenatal experiences. And the more years of trauma, sometimes, the more difficult and heart wrenching the growing up.

These past twenty-some years have taught me to believe little of what I am told and to question and be suspicious of the rest. For me, that is where the exhaustion sets in. My heart has been trashed and smashed many times because it's the mom's job to believe only the best about her children; to see past the behaviors to the hurt; to know that 'this time' things will be different, better, the child will finally feel secure enough to be honest and vulnerable. 

Currently we are working with one of our kids (well, all of them really, all the time, but for now focusing on this one) on earning trust and how easily it is broken and how long it takes to restore. Despite candid conversations about how "things were when I lived with my mom," and how those things maybe weren't good choices or healthy habits, our child uses this as a default excuse for lies and deceit. We acknowledge that there was a time when stealing was necessary for survival - to feed the younger siblings left in their care, and when lying was safer - it kept them from being beaten and abused. Our hearts break for what most of our kids have had to endure.

And so things have been rough and emotional as we walk through this; lots of tears and pleading and begging for things that have been lost and need to be earned back. Because "if I was still with my mom, she wouldn't care; she would let me watch whatever I want." And that is true. As sad as it is, it is true.

Yesterday the child was able to have a bit of freedom with an electronic device, and fifteen minutes later was found to be misusing it. Loss of freedom. Big attitude. God soften my heart.

In his infinite patience (and maybe humor) God reminded me of that prayer this morning directly after I had prayed it when my young friend came to me to request use of the school laptop (another electronic device) a full half hour before school started. My soft heart should have said, "Sure, here you go! Have a great day at school!" 

Instead, out of an abundance of suspicion, my toughened up heart said, "Why? School doesn't start for half an hour? Why do you need it now?" A pinch. God soften my heart.

Turns out the request was a ploy to get on the computer early to play games with friends. It gives me absolutely no pleasure to confirm my suspicions. And it gives me even less to know that we still have so much work to do. God soften my heart.

Day 17

I've had time to think. Some snippets in between calls for my attention to "do this," or "get that," or cries of "can I have another snack!" Bedtime is a glorious thing! Time to bask in quietness until the pull of exhaustion overtakes my will to linger in aloneness.

Fellow travelers, friends of Jesus, followers of God, this is where my scattered thoughts have been landing these last few weeks of isolation:

I have been longing for "back to normal." You, too? I and my household had a bumpy start to adapting to the "stay at home" rule; it was, still is, a burden, an uncomfortable and unwelcome twist to our very happy and fairly uncomplicated lives. Maybe you, too?

The longing I have for our wonderful regular rhythm and routine to our days and our busyness is at times an ache, at times an anticipation. Life before quarantine was far from perfect, but we were able to move about with freedom. Able to interact and visit and work and talk and see and do things that we enjoyed. Things that we are now strongly advised against; even restricted from. 

I wonder if this is the kind of longing I should have had all along for the things of God, of heaven. 

My own regular, comfortable life. Is it all that I think it is? Is there more? Do I become so consumed with routines and schedules and to-do lists that I forget that there is more?

My thoughts on this are still scattered, and the parallels are not perfect. But this has been a challenge for me. The challenge to realize that these government imposed restrictions
for this short season are not unlike the ones I place upon myself when in daily regular life I choose to be short-sighted and selfish.

The challenge is this: that whenever back-to-normal resumes, I will remember the deep longings for more. And that I will seek to follow those longings by following more closely after God's kingdom which is all more I could ask for or imagine - even more. 

Finished

Today was a snow day. There were kids playing outside, families enjoying time together, relaxing, cozy, warm and fuzzy. 

Then there was our house.

Warm and fuzzy, happy and positive days are at a premium. Kids who need consistency and lots of support to regulate don't do well with snow days. We operate under the premise that routine is our friend; unexpected changes are not.

Last night, in anticipation of a snow day, I didn't sleep well. Thoughts of what time the younger kids might get up and make "all that noise" and wake up the teenagers, and worries about whether I would be awake before that happened; grandiose ideas of activities we might try, trouble-shooting for the unavoidable sabotage; plans of games, and stories, and movies... and how to navigate the bickering and arguing that would be guaranteed. 

I am almost proud to say I wasn't too much off the mark, and that, therefore; my sleep deprivation was not in vain.

With one meltdown before breakfast - or what should have been breakfast but ended up being a stand-off of wills between me and one of them - the younger ones were able to move ahead with their day before most of the teenagers were rudely awakened. Upon completing the required daily twenty minutes of reading - YES, EVEN ON A SNOW DAY! - and the requisite pouting that accompanied it, the child with video game privileges enjoyed a hour of screen time. Two siblings desperate for that opportunity (because yes, even on a snow day the consequences stick) looked on longingly, offering unsolicited comments and advice. After repeated requests and reminders to move away from the television, three of them found a way to entertain themselves AND elicit the sought after attention. These kids are multi-taskers all day long!

About that time the teenager who lost phone privileges for twenty-four hours, wandered into the kitchen to scrounge some breakfast and badger me about the phone. Following a brief conversation, that child found somewhere to be away from the fray; only to appear soon after to vie for a turn with the television - to watch something on Netflix that was not rated for younger viewers. Somehow that became my problem since the phone was not available - which was also my fault. 

In between there was an accusation of "somebody touching my stuff on the top shelf in the bathroom" and a missing item. A real life game of Clue ensued. There were tears and denials, shouting and finger-pointing; and an hour later there were still four culprits and one disgusted victim. 

Then lunch. Leftovers. Seems simple enough. But there are kids who are keenly aware of how much food is on each person's plate. And when there are so many variations on plates - it's much easier when everyone has one hotdog, a handful of chips, and a scoop of baked beans - there's tension around the table. It's not a cozy, snowed-in kind of scene.

 Several of them asked to play outside. One of them is allowed to be outside without supervision, but of course wants someone to play with. In the process of gathering outdoor clothing and figuring out who could come out with my supervision, there came a revelation of the missing item from our earlier Clue game. One of the four suspects had found the item in the bedroom of one of the other suspects. Plot twist. Why would that child have been in someone else's bedroom when we strictly adhere to the stay-out-of-other-people's-rooms guideline? Oh, they were standing in the doorway and saw the item. Then why not come and get me to show me what you saw? Oh, you were afraid the other child would move it before I got there. Why do you have a way to rationalize every question? 

So... we never did get outside. Well, the one that was allowed out without me was... for about two minutes.

Someone has a math test tomorrow. Stan worked from home today, in the coziness of our bedroom, just him and his laptop.  Sounds blissful. Anyway, he and I have an unspoken agreement that he helps with math homework and I help with reading and english. Stan invited the math student to sit with him (as he worked) to review for the test. I'm not sure, but from the amount of fussing and pouting, the child may have also had to hand over his right hand and a kidney. We have several children who do not do well when held responsible. There is always someone else to blame, or something to throw at my head, instead of taking ownership.

Our working teenager went to work this afternoon. I was nervous. The driveway was a mess with the possibility of the road not being much safer. For a few hours I hoped for a reassuring text, but was able to relax when they walked back in the door for dinner. 

Which was late getting on the table because the assigned table-setting kid was busy pestering a younger sibling. And by this time in the day I was done putting myself in the middle of arguments and done settling squabbles. And good golly, only ten minutes later when the table-setter saw me sitting with my feet up, they hopped right to it.

The timing of dinner isn't usually an issue. But tonight one of the kids had earned a bedtime that was forty minutes early based on their level of cooperation last night. So even on a snow day, when we had done basically nothing all day and this child was "not even tired," we needed to get through dinner to get to bed. Since I've been writing, another one of the kids has come to tell me that the early bedtime kid has been in and out of bed for the past half-hour. That's okay, there's always tomorrow night to try again with the early bedtime. 

This is how it is. How we have found it needs to be. The best way we know how to help our kids find stability and regulation.

There are a few more to get to bed and then this snow day is history. There is hope that we will all sleep a bit sweeter tonight because in and around all of the busyness and blessings of today, all of the kids granted my request that they each wash their bedding. 

Another day finished.

This Life

This life. It's full. It's got all the feelings.

If not having been chosen to live life this way, I am entirely convinced that I would be only simply existing and missing out.

This morning was court. As usual there were vague ideas of what might transpire, mostly nothing. One parent might show up, the other probably not. While in the waiting area, Probably Not presented themselves to the child without warning. Bewilderment and confusion took over the face - and heart,  I'm guessing - of my unsuspecting little friend. What to make of this appearance after almost two years of absence; how to process the explanations and the stories we were hearing. Requests for visits and outings and parties and phone numbers. Too much, too late. Other parent also attended and is awaiting trial in criminal court, as well as awaiting the arrival of a sibling for my little - who knows nothing of that situation. Small sibling may be joining our family provided further details are obtained and the arrival is announced to the agency. Also, provided that parent is not incarcerated.

While waiting for the hearing, a chat was had with another case worker regarding our second little friend whose case will be heard next week. More news. Birth parent has Facebook-announced their brand new marriage - to someone with a criminal record. Hmmm. Married to someone who could prevent the reunification of this family. Not sure if my mind or heart twisted harder. Oh, and there's a chance that this birth mom could also be expecting.

This family had a visit today; our friend looks forward to this time with their family. At pick-up time today, birth mom was ready to end the visit early and told me about how out-of-control the kids were today. Oh dear mother, they are little and so very excited to see you and each other; they don't know how much longer this will last; they can't trust your promises that they'll be "home soon;" you are late to arrive and early to leave. Yes, out-of-control. Everything is out of their control.

In between visit drop off and pick up, we had time to get home to start dinner and check email - a message from a teacher informing us that our student has a 35% in class and is missing multiple assignments - one of which I specifically checked in with my student about just the night before. At that point, with full eye-contact and not a flinch, I was assured that that specific assignment had been completed and submitted. A bold-faced lie. Without flinching. No hesitation. From my child who just Monday convinced a school counselor that they are "being more honest and open with my mom." Tuesday was a missed bus and a call from the school nurse. Wednesday, a detention to serve. There's not a sigh big enough. How long will I have to watch my child face consequence upon consequence? When will they get tired of staring at the walls of our house while the rest of our same-aged kids enjoy freedom and friends? 

Within the space of an hour (between visit drop-off and pick-up, starting dinner, checking email, and attempted conversations about honesty) both of our moved-out kids called. One called to share two bits of exciting news: a new job and a recent honor and recognition. One called to say they would no longer be sharing anything with me; that I should consider myself out of their life; that choices had to be made and I had apparently been the lesser preferred option.

Confusion. Frustration. Excitement. Desperation. Hopefulness. Amazement. Hurt. Sadness. Helplessness. Protectiveness. Joy. Weariness. Guilt. Wonderment. Compassion. Loss. Overwhelming love.

Tomorrow's opportunities are endless.

Joy Comes

Some time ago someone commented to me that I seemed to always be weighed down and  to lack joy. While I don't remember the exact circumstances surrounding that time, the comment was probably not without validity. The truth is that I often feel burdened; but I also often feel, no, I KNOW joy. Perhaps knowing joy does not particularly result in a bouncy step or a radiant countenance. 

Today there is a burden. 

Just before Thanksgiving the phone call came: a Childline referral regarding our family had been submitted. The Child Protective Services worker gave a sketchy description of the concerns and proceeded to ask questions. At the time of the call I was in the car with three of the kids, trying to remain calm and talk in code. The call concluded with the worker informing me that we could expect to hear from our local police department as they had received the referral as well.

Later that evening I was able to share the burden with a few close friends. There is joy in knowing that God has provided us with precious souls who walk where we walk. There is joy in knowing that we have a Friend who sticks closer than even those friends.

But still the burden remained. Waiting for the detective to call, wondering who instigated the report, sifting through recent conversations in which I may have given a wrong impression, casting suspicion onto our children - several of them are off the chart attention suckers (yes, suckers; having blown way past the level of mere attention seekers years ago.) Living under a cloud, knowing that once again our parenting choices and skills may be called into question.

Five days later, the day before Thanksgiving, the detective does his duty and interviews us - the parents. Fortunately, I guess, although it's sort of embarrassing to reveal, this detective knows our family quite well. He's been in our house a half dozen times for this same sort of meeting; also for the handful of runaway situations we've navigated. After asking us the required questions, he discloses the source of the report. Another burden. Our own child has had a hand in it; because of that child's lack of judgement we are now having to demonstrate to this officer that we have a safety plan in place to protect our children.

Gratefully, the detective is gentle with us and affirms our efforts in being vigilant parents. He leaves with an assurance that he will communicate with the CPS worker that he has no concerns. Those words bring feelings of joy; although, even throughout the questioning I have known joy - a confidence that we have done our best and that truth will prevail. Not a smiley-face joy, just a peace and calmness underneath the burden because we had not yet been cleared of the allegations.

More waiting as CPS is swamped and our case is not urgent. More living in uncertainty. More burdens as we attempt honest conversation with our child who we now know is involved in putting us here. Conversations are very one-sided and run up against much denial and some anger. It is a heavy thing to realize that my reputation, my family could be jeopardized by some careless choices and hurtful words - by my own child. Where to find joy in that?

Today was the day of the CPS interview. This morning felt burdensome as I waited for this afternoon, playing and replaying how I anticipated the meeting to unfold. Wondering how closely we would be scrutinized. Hoping that the two little extras in our home - little people who had been removed from unsafe environments and placed in our safe home - would be shielded from re-traumatization by realizing the reason for this new and different case worker in our home.

With joy - a lightness of heart and peace of soul - I am able to report that the meeting went as well as it possibly could. Short and sweet, with grown-up talk behind a closed door; the little ones had not a clue. The worker left with words of encouragement and thanks and even a "God bless you." The case will be closed. No further action is needed.

So then, the burden is gone, lifted, dissipated... No. My heart is heavy. There is much rebuilding and restoration to be done. Relationships - already tenuous - have been shattered. Trust is obliterated. It must appear to those looking in that I am weighed down, without joy.

This is the way we live. The way God has chosen to remind us of how desperately he longs for reconciliation, and how heavy his burden must be when we willingly walk away from his love. Joy comes from being obedient through the burdens.

Learning A Lesson

Lately I have had some conversations with some of our kids about my job as a parent, and how I am doing at doing my job. At the top of the list of job requirements is safety; I point out that as foster parents we have been given the high privilege of keeping other peoples' children safe. So it frustrates me when it appears that I am failing at protecting any of our kids. 

What makes it even harder is when there is a need to protect my child from their own choices. The more they grow in independence and knowledge and wisdom, the harder my job gets.

Today one of the kids is serving a suspension. While in school, this child of mine was found to have contraband on their person. After initially being questioned by school security and then a principal, my student was assigned the consequence for this choice. Those are the undisputed facts. 

Here are the rest of the facts. 

My kid was not the owner of the contraband, but had gone into the bathroom with a group of friends. Another kid brought out the item which the group immediately realized was prohibited in school. The owner of the item is a long-time friend of my child and is a student who is already serving severe consequences for prior poor choices. In what seems like a split-second decision, my child put the item into their pocket so that when a security guard arrived on the scene, it was my child who had the prohibited item on their person. 

The decision wasn't haphazard or spontaneous; my child knew that if the friend, the owner, were to be caught with the item that student would probably face expulsion. When confronted by the security guard, my child said the item was theirs. When questioned further by the principal, my child relented and reported that the item belonged to a friend, but refused to give the name of that friend. According to the principal, my child was extremely respectful in stating why they were not willing to provide the name of the owner. The school had no choice but to serve my child with the consequence spelled out in the school manual of discipline. My child's response to the principal and to me was, "I understand, and I'll take the consequence."

My child sacrificed - their unsullied behavior record; perhaps their standing with that group of friends for being "stupid" enough to have this on their record; possibly their reputation with teachers as a respectful and responsible student; potentially the loss of a spot on athletic teams. 

My first statement to my child that day was, "I'm not angry with you, but I also don't agree with your decision." I wish I could take that back. 

That came from a place of wanting to protect, wanting to undo or re-do what seemed to me to be a snap judgment; not well thought-out with regard for the future - you know, as kids sometimes rush into situations first and think about the consequences later. 

My kid saw past the situation in a way that it took me a day or two to see. They saw a friend in need of more than just a spontaneous save or freedom from a school expulsion. They saw a person in need of hope.

That my child has been a friend to the student who caused this situation, speaks to their desire to respect and treat everyone with care. That my child did not just walk out of the bathroom that day, but chose to stay with his friend demonstrates their sense of loyalty. That my child is unbegrudgingly serving a suspension today for a 'crime' he didn't commit, is an amazing example of forgiveness.

Added to the parent job description is: always be ready to learn a lesson from your children. Thanks, kids! And to this kid - I'll be watching...

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.