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?