I Hate Christmas as an Adoptive Family

Here's why:

One child has doting grandparents on both sides who spoil the child rotten with toys and with clothing beyond what one child can possibly wear in a year.  (Three brand-new coats within two months.)

The other child has... no one.

So I end up taking back the presents I bought for one child in order to buy more for the other to balance things out.  And I spend the week after Christmas taking things away from the first child who has turned into a raging brat.

Then, with myriads of extended families (my own, as well as theirs) I cannot keep everyone connected and happy during the holidays.  My school break ends up getting so carved up that I never get to spend time with my own small children building our own traditions.  I love all the extended families.  And I love all the half-siblings my children have.  But I can't please any of them.  I'm seriously considering going abroad for the holidays next year -- and not telling anyone!

Plus also (as Junie B. Jones would say), Christmas is all about family, and babies, and perfection.  And my little family is cobbled together from odds and ends.  Some very odd bits.  And loose, ragged ends.  And the complete inequality between the two children only emphasizes again that these children -- in spite of paperwork -- are not really mine.  And I am not really their real mom.

Merry Christmas.

Reasons NOT to do foster care

I keep hearing these from people who know I do foster care:

1. We're a really busy family right now.  Maybe later...  Later, after these kids age out of the system and produce more kids into the system.
2. I don't think I could ever give them up again!  So let's deny them that love now in order to protect ourselves from the pain.
3. Don't they come with a lot of problems?  Yes.  Some do.  Some don't.
4. I don't think we can afford another child.  They mostly are self-supporting, for one thing.  For another, what is a child's soul worth?
5. Our family is complete now.  We don't need another one.  But a child may need you.
6. We don't have a big enough house or car for another child.  This is tricky.  A car can only hold so many car seats.  But children can share rooms.
7. I have to consider my own children.  I agree; protect your own children.  But taking in children carefully might build your children's compassion and character.
8. I knew someone who took in foster kids when I was a kid.  She did it just for the money.  The system is corrupt.  The "system" stinks.  Wouldn't it be great to have a bunch of foster kids, foster parents, and low-level workers revamp the whole thing!  But the children inside this system can't wait for a perfect system.
9. I don't think I could do foster care.  Not everyone can.  But could you be a CASA?  Or a grandparent/aunt/uncle to a foster kid?  Or provide dufflebags for a foster kid so he doesn't have to carry his stuff around in trash bags?  Or teach money management to foster kids who are about to age out?  Or pray for the case workers who are overloaded with cases?
10. Bless you for taking in those poor kids!  Hmm... thanks?  I like taking in kids.  It must be my ADHD.  I don't think of mine as being "poor kids" -- unless I'm trying to get something more for them from the system! :)

There is no backing out now!



Happy 4 year old at her birthday breakfast

 I had a dream last night that I was in labor -- for weeks and weeks -- with no sign of any progress.  Hmmm... was that a reflection of how this adoption is going?

I met with B's case worker today.  (I'll confess that I forgot her name -- it's only our third worker in less than six months!)  Apparently, even though I see no signs of progress, my case worker and Brooklynn's case worker have both been checking off their lists.  Yay! I'm now designated as B's adoptive placement, which means birthmom can't change her mind about the relinquishment, and no other distant relatives can show up to claim the child.

Not that this post has anything to do with frogs (or more accurately: toads), but I think my little guy is so cute, and I needed a reason to smile about him.

Today I finally lost my patience with being compared to the "real mom", the mom he wants to go live with again, the mom he wants to see every day, the mom I "stole" him from... and so on.  And I told him the whole story:  about the baby left alone in a bathtub, about the toddler who clung to me rather than go to his "real mom", about the child who turned gray from lack of oxygen because the "real mom" forgot his medicine when she left him with random people, about the night I tried to peel his little arms from around my neck to return him to the "real mom", about the months -- years -- that he didn't want me out of his sight because he'd already lost me once...  And you know what?  None of it meant a thing to him.  Until I mentioned that if he went back to the "real mom", he'd have no more Papa and no more cousins!

Finally over dinner he commented that his birth mom made one good decision about him: she gave him to me.  (Truthfully, she made many good decisions about him, which I have told him.)

Now he's in bed asleep, looking angelic, and I'm wrung out from having a discussion (punctuated by screams from the other child who had to [gasp] clean up her dollies) that I had hoped to put off until he was at least 12.

A Red Metal Roof

a blurry shot, taken at dusk, in a windy rainstorm...

I had a total meltdown this weekend.  At our church small group, we decided to watch Courageous, a terrific movie encouraging men to step up and be dads.  Throughout the movie is presented the difficulties that boys growing up without dads face.  Well, that didn't do much to encourage me!  The movie ended, and I fled into another room to bawl.  I ended up crying off and on until 3 a.m. because of not being able to be ALL for my children, not being able to get all the "shoulds" done at home, not even being able to get all the "musts" done every day.  Finally, I lay there in my bed, worn-out and sleepless, and the Lord gave me a picture of me, struggling up this dirt path near my best friend's house, dragging each child by the hand, balancing a huge burden on my shoulders.  In that burden were all the titles I carry ("Mom", "Teacher", "Homemaker", "Counselor") as well as all the tasks I have to accomplish (car maintenance, home repair, cooking, cleaning, laundry, homework...) and the emotions that go along with never getting everything done (fear, failure, grief, worry...).  Then I saw in my picture, the Lord's hands reaching down to me, saying "Let me take that burden from you."  So I gave it to Him, and how light I felt!  (Unfortunately, the scales did not agree.)

The next morning I had to teach toddler church, so I dragged us all to early service, yawning.  We drove past this tiny green house with a red metal roof that I have always loved.  The doors have fallen off, the windows are gone, and the paint is peeling, but it's a beautiful little house!  That morning as I passed it, I wondered why the house was still standing; it's probably 70 years old.  Then I thought, "Oh yes, the metal roof protects the walls -- duh!"  And instantly the Lord said to me, "Let Me be your Roof, your Protector."  Wow!  I have often prayed for Him to be the Father to my fatherless children, but never asked Him to be my Protector.  I accepted the offer (of course!), and have had such a sense of safety and security since.

A little bit of paint goes a long, long ways...

I've decided that painting walls is easier than washing old spaghetti sauce off them.  The trouble with painting things is that it spreads.  I started out patching a small section of wall, then texturing, priming, and painting it.  But why stop there?  I textured several spots where the previous owner had patched the walls.  (Please don't patch your walls with caulking!  It might be paintable, but it's still shiny & smooth.)  Then I primed them and painted them.  I still had primer left, so I started in on some door frames.  Well, the walls looked awfully dingy next to the cleanly primed door frames, so I touched them up too...  Have you ever read If You Give a Mouse a Cookie?

While I was up on the stepstool painting, I decided it was a good time to replace the fan in Derrick's room with a flush-mount light that won't chop his head off or break when he bounces a ball into it.  Here's his new light on the left:

Then, not wanting to waste a perfectly good light-fan combo, I used his to replace the light-fan combo in my own room.  Mine was in good shape, but a little larger than the room needed.  Here's my "new" light on the right:

Well, my living room light-fan combo really did need to be replaced.  The light pull snapped off and could not be fixed or replaced easily.  So of course my light went into the living room:

 And the living room light-fan combo is on its way out to the ReStore.
Lest you think I did this all myself, I'll confess that Derrick washed all the blades and glass fixtures for me, Brooklynn collected all the dropped screws, and Buddy kept me company until I dropped a screwdriver point down by his tail the second time.  My dad helped with the final fan, lifting it up to me and all.

Now I'm working on the kids' rooms again.  January seems to be the month to do new things!  Derrick will be getting a football-themed room with blue sky upper walls, and green lower walls with yard markings.  And of course, a big O in the middle!  Brooklynn already has a sky blue room with a shelf full of my old Strawberry Shortcake collection:

I have a few more coloring books to frame for her walls.  I also found a vintage Strawberry Shortcake quilt for a wall hanging.  I'm painting an old greenish bookshelf pale pink.  After it cures, I'll decoupage some of the pictures from the vintage coloring books onto the bookshelf.  Just hope she doesn't grow out of pink too soon!



Old & ugly





Glistening pink!





Yore the Best Techer, and other notes from the Happy Files

I have a file of notes students and parents have written me over the years.  Whenever I'm discouraged, I pull them out, reread them, and think "Oh, yes, that's why I teach."  (Not that I'm discouraged now... I just found them all when I was reorganizing.)  Enjoy!

you are the best P.E. teecher. and the best therd grade teecher. frum J.

Dear Miss A., i'm sorry I argued with you.  I made a big mostake! and im sorry I have to argue about almost everything.  I will work on that!  K.  (included a picture labeled: "me & You Not arging")

Dear Miss A., I remeber the banna spilt party it was very fun.  Your student, Q.

Dear Miss A., The room is very small. [note: written by a fourth grader after leaving my class]  Every boady is being wild avcors.  But I gesus youw coruld have gested that.  Good bye you ancient thing yuo. A.

Dear Miss A., You are the Best teacher in the school! Ther are meny beuootefel wimen in the werld and youare one of them.  sind -- your secrit eadmiyerer

Dear Miss A., I am sory I acsudentely hit Mrs E. on the bottum with my recordr.  I was swinging it back and fourth wen she backed into it.  Sinseerly, K.

Dear Miss A., I have been working on math and you have help me so much.  bie the way your nefew Joshua is very handsome.  Your student, M.

Dear Miss A., I'm going to miss the class.  I will miss the cany jar.  It was the best thing in the class room.  Do we the FORTH grade still get candy in the morning or do you think it would make us very highpers.  Love, K.

Mrs. A good luke with all of the boys.  I am glade we stell get to come to your class and get jellie beans.  Jolly Good work!  Love, J.

Dear Miss A,  I miss you so much.  I'm at Camp and I'm having a great time.  (I'm lying a little) Love, A.

Miss A, Rember in third grade phonics class you said there was no word that had a q that did not have a u after it.  I found one!  Qartar  Ha!  K.