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.