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! :)

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.

What single moms really need...

(I wrote up this list during a frustrating evening at a discipleship class.  The topic was on single parenting, but should have been more correctly titled "Divorce Care".  I understand that there are very few single-parent families that fit my situation, but the needs of ongoing single parenting are much the same.)

• to be part of an involved extended family
• to have close friends who will stop by and tell a son/daughter that their mom loves them and deserves respect
• trustworthy men who will take sons of single moms along on manly-man outings with their own sons (hunting, fishing, 4-wheeling, doing yard work, fixing cars, etc.)
• extra grandparents to pour on the love and the discipline; we won't resent you telling them not to take a fifth cookie
• married friends who will live out godly marriages (complete with healthy disagreements) in front of the children
• occasional financial/material assistance; the gift of a women's retreat can save a single mom's life
• a day or evening off without the cost of a sitter
• offers of help with car maintenance, yard work, home repair, cooking, homework projects, or any other overwhelming task; we're usually pretty independent and hate to ask for help
• 48 hours in every day
• acceptance when their kids are dressed funny (if at all), when their children's hair sticks up and they have Saturday's lunch on their faces at Sunday school, when they've forgotten crucial information, when they come in 10 minutes late, when the darlings are screaming, when the task of being both mom and dad 24/7 becomes too much for one person alone
• and last of all introductions to eligible, wealthy, handsome men who want an instant family!

The Gospel According to Brooklynn

On the topic of naps:
B. ~ Why do I have to have naps?
Me ~ So you won't be grumpy.
B. ~ I'm not grumpy.
Me ~ Oh?
B. ~ No, it's only the part of me that is grumpy.  In my bones.  But I am happy in my heart.  My heart is all full of happy.
Me ~ I see, so which part is the grumpy part?
B. ~ The grumpy part is all swept away from my heart.
Me ~ Where did the grumpies go?
B. ~ Far, far away when Jesus put all my grumpies in the sea.  I asked Him to.  In my dreams.

Random Thoughts

I got a new phone, which the kids think is top-of-the-line (it's actually pretty basic) because it takes pictures and records their voices.  So now my ringtones consist of, "I love you, Mom!", "Okay, Mom, you got a new message," "It's a picture!", and "Grampa's calling..."  I also have half of "I love you more..." sung in a wavering seven-year-old voice.  We played with it so much that we ran the battery down in an hour or two.

The kids started swimming lessons.  Derrick's class has two kids and two teachers.  He's on his fourth attempt to pass level 3, coordinating arms, legs, shoulders, and side breathing.  He is slowly learning not to flip vertical in the water to take a breath!

Brooklynn, meanwhile, has started Preschool level 1, beginning bubble blowing.  She has a boy teacher, which means she will try anything he asks of her -- even to releasing her death-grip on his arms.


I feel like a quitter this summer -- I'm finally giving in and seriously considering buying an air conditioner.  Until then, we've been spending most evenings at Cline Falls, with our wonderful water dog.  Buddy likes to chase sticks and things in the water, but he's at least half blind, so he usually misses the stick, and he almost never brings it all the way back.  Can a dog have ADHD?

I had a great workout the other day, hauling four children across the river so they could stand on the "big rock" and say they'd crossed the river.  (Barby wouldn't let me take the baby across, fearing, perhaps, a repeat of the Moses story.)  Then the girls made mud pies and the boys hunted tigers.

Songs of the Store

We took Brooklynn shopping while at the beach and lived to regret every moment!  I'm sure the folks in Goodwill were ready to call Children's Services:  "Mom!  You're hurting my hand!  Let go!  Waaahaaaa!  Mo-o-o-o-o-o-om!"  (Note to DHS workers who may be reading this blog: I was holding her hand loosely; the problem was that she was throwing herself on the ground while I was holding her hand.)

Once we got home, she had a cup of milk and went straight to bed where she composed her latest song:

"We went to the store,

And I cried, cried, cried.

And tomorrow we'll go to the store,

And I'll cry, cry, cry.

It doesn't matter,

I'll just cry, cry, cry.

When I'm hurt

I cry, cry, cry.

Sometimes when I'm not hurt,

I still cry, cry, cry."

Beach Vacation



An attempt at mass burial of the middle-sized cousins



After spending a week at the beach with nine children and eight adults, I've come to realize that adults and children have completely different definitions for phrases:

"trip to the beach"

Adults: leisurely strolling along the sand, watching the waves and seabirds, or simply sitting on the beach, soaking up the rays



Children: running wildly in and out of the surf, daring each other to go out further each time, flinging sand, lugging driftwood into the water to watch it trip unwary waders, and burying each other up to the chin in sand





"beach clothes"

Adults: swimsuit/trunks or sundress or beach wrap

Children: clothes?  at the beach?  why?

"soak in the hot tub"

Adults: relaxing in the warm bubbles, easing the knots in muscles, sipping a cold drink

Children: turning the bubbles on and off, plugging the nozzles to make all the bubbles come out of one nozzle, playing who can hold his breath the longest?, dunking each other, launching bodies off the adult who is trying to relax

"go for a hike"

Adults: trudge up a mountain path, avoiding the mud, enjoying the flora and fauna, rest at the top to enjoy the view and take photos

Children: run zigzag uphill near a mountain path, hitting every mud puddle on the way, stopping only to poke an unwary salamander, tumble around in the flowers at the top before running haphazardly downhill to smear mud on the interior of the cars

The unlucky amphibian



"play with cousins"

Adult: Sorry, catch, tag, Frisbee, Chess, etc.

Children: pick up the smaller cousins and use them as missiles to knock the bigger ones down the stairs

"go fishing"

Adults: bait a hook, cast, wait in silence, reel in, repeat

Children: pull worms to bits, bait a hook, cast, reel in 3 seconds later, complain about not catching anything, cast again, catch lakeweed, reel in with help, fight over who has the bigger worm, bait, cast, get help to untangle line from cousin's neck, cast again, drop rod in water, go wading fully clothed, strip down to beach clothes*, swim until lips are blue, cry about having wet clothes to put on

*see "beach clothes"

"bed time"

Adults: 8 o'clock

Children: We're on vacation!  What do you mean bedtime?!

Come here so I can yell at you!

Brooklynn sitting on her bed in time out for bossing me:  "Mom, I don't like you.  Mom?  Mom?  Mo-o-o-om!  Mom, I don't like you!  Mom, come here, I'm talking to you!  Mom, I really don't like you!"
I never did respond.  Poor thing!

Compliments from a three year old?

"Mom, your bruise is so pretty.  It looks like a vampire.  Vampires are black and purple too."

"Look, Mom," said in great delight, "I have rolls on my belly just like yours!"

"Your hair is so pretty like that, Mommy."  (My hair was greasy, pinned up loosely, and covered with weeds.  She liked the weeds.)

It's never really finished...

The thing with adoption is it's never really completed.  If you give birth to a baby, you go to all your doctor appointments, you eat right, take your prenatal vitamins, go into labor, deliver the baby, name him/her, take the child home, and fall into a sleep-deprived routine for the next 18 to 20 years.  And that child is yours, only yours, always-has-been yours, always-will-be yours.

Adoption is not like that, whether "closed" (very rare now) or "open" or somewhere in between.  My children, much as they are mine, will never be only mine, never be always-have-been mine, never even be always-will-be mine.  Yes, I am "Mom".  But they have first moms out there.  Those young women will never stop being my children's moms.  They were mom first.  They carried my children, felt them move, gave up overpowering addictions for a time to protect them, gave birth to them, parented the best they could, and then relinquished them.  I don't know what kind of pain, guilt, grief goes into saying, "Just take him with you."

I will never be my children's only mom.  There will come a day when they say, "You aren't my real mom!"  I've already heard, "I want to go live with my tummy mom!"  There will come a day when they want to meet their first moms again.  I don't dread it, any more than I dread them growing up, but I know it will be emotional and painful and messy.  I pray I will be kind and confident and loving and open -- and then back off and give everyone some space!

I am not my children's only mom now.  Their moms show up, now and then.  Sometimes sober, sometimes not so much so.  Sometimes in the news.  Sometimes on the inmate list.  Sometimes clean and happy with plans for a future.  And I never know what to do.  Do I "protect" my children by refusing contact that comes only sporadically?  Do I "selfishly" keep my children from building a relationship with their real moms?  Damned if I do, damned if I don't.  There's no easy answer.

Adoption is never really finished...

The Apple

The apple was mealy and bland.  The kind that your teeth press into a bit before they finally pierce the skin, the kind that mushes between your teeth.  It was the most delicious apple I’ve ever tasted.  I had hepatitis and could hardly eat anything.  All I wanted was an apple.  Every day all I could think of was how good an apple would feel between my teeth, how the juice would fill my mouth and run down my chin, how I would crunch each tangy bite.  But apples weren’t in season.  My dad spent all day looking for one and finally paid three dollars for the only apple in the whole city.  Thanks, Dad.

They're great for spotting mice





Little girlie announced out of the blue the other day: "Mommy, I have weasel eyes."

"Oh, do you?"  (I'm used to this kind of comment coming from Derrick, my seven-year-old.  He has hawk eyes, and is half dog, half cheetah, and half eagle.  He also has little understanding of fractions!)

"Yes.  I have big weasel eyes."  Then the conversation disintegrated into an argument between the two children over whose eyes were better.

These proclamations about weasel eyes went on for several days.  I could not figure out what she meant until one afternoon:  "Mommy, I do have weasel eyes.  Weasel is kind of like brown."
Weasel -- hazel.  Yeah, they do sound alike.

National Foster Care Month

May is National Foster Care Month, and I've been wearing my little blue ribbon faithfully.  Many people have asked about it, allowing me to (briefly) point out some of the needs of foster care in our state and county.  Tomorrow I get to share in our middle school chapel about how I came to do foster care, and how middle schoolers (and their parents) can help foster kids.

When I was seven years old, I went to a private Christian school in Hesperia, California.  My teacher's name was Mrs. Thompson.  She was rather large, and black hairs stuck out through her nylons on her legs.  But I loved her.  Surely there could be no teacher so caring as Mrs. Thompson!  And she read to us every day.  One story she read was Star of Light, by Patricia St. John.  The story tells of a fatherless boy who rescues his blind baby sister from being sold to a beggar.  The boy takes this baby to a city where a missionary lives.  The missionary opens her home every night to feed street children and tell them the gospel.  The boy, Hamid, sets his sister Kinza on the missionary's doorstep, hoping the lady will have pity on the blind girl.  Of course she does, and everyone lives fairly happily ever after.

This story was the first time I realized that there were children in the world who did not have parents caring for them.  I made a vow in my young heart that when I was old enough, I would run an orphanage for kids with no homes. 

One of the lessons in Toddler Boot Camp: how NOT to drown

Well, fast forward 21 years, and I realized that I couldn't actually start an orphanage single-handedly.  Foster care seemed to be a good way to get my feet wet.  So I signed up to take in school-aged children.  I got a call for a baby boy.  Isn't that how foster care works!  Of course I took him, and now he's my own son.  I gripe frequently about "the system", about children bouncing in and out of care, about never having a "settled life".  But the truth?  I love doing foster care!  I love taking small children through "toddler boot camp", where they learn to eat properly, talk, play in the dirt, bathe, and sleep through the night.

There are so many books to read

My computer was down for over a week.  I read seven books in four days.  Then I took my laptop to our wonderful computer girl at school.  Good news: I have a brand new Windows system.  Bad news: all my old documents and photos are gone.  I can remember most of the important documents (did I really want to hang onto my Master's action research project?), and the kiddos I have in front of me every day.  But I would have liked to keep the photos of them when they were tiny and round and cute.  It always helps to look at old photos when you can't stand your children anymore!

See, he used to be so dang cute!  Then he learned to talk -- I mean, really talk:  "Mom, why do you always...?"  "Always" usually means twice in the past year.  "You only want me to be slave labor!" I'm sure there are lots cheaper/easier ways of getting slave labor than raising an adopted child!  "I'm going to go live with my tummy mom!" Did I scar him for life when I told him they wouldn't let preschoolers live in the jail?

Part-time Parenting

When I first started fostering, I ran into an acquaintance at the store.  She asked me about my foster son.  When I explained that I was a foster parent, she responded: "So you're, like, a part-time parent?"
Really? Which part is "part-time"?  Perhaps it's the meeting with the case workers.  Or the certifier.  Maybe she meant all the phone calls with the CASA*, or going to the CRB* meetings.  Possibly it's the extra doctor appointments to catch up on missed immunizations.  Or the developmental screenings.  Or the WIC* appointments.  Or the sleeping outside a RAD* child's door so he doesn't get up and harm someone in the night.
Yes, it's like being a part-time parent, on top of being a full-time parent.

CASA -- Court Appointed Special Advocate, who speaks to the judge on the child's behalf, and is usually the only one who can really say how s/he feels about the whole situation.
CRB -- Community Review Board oversees the county foster care system; their main question seems to be "Has the child seen a dentist yet?"  (Ummm, no, we've ben working on getting the child to eat more than chicken nuggets, and getting her to say her first word at 2 years old.)
WIC -- Women, Infants, and Children, a program that provides nutritious food and training for low-income families with children under five; for years they provided peanut butter, but no bread, and frosted shredded wheat, but not plain.
RAD -- Reactive Attachment Disorder, when a child fails to bond with his first caregiver, and cannot bond with anyone after that; results in the child giving threats such as, "I'm going to burn down the house!" or "I'm going to eat grass and take off all my clothes!"  (The latter threat being somewhat ineffective, unless he meant to make us all laugh.)