From Two to Three

We’re expecting a new foster child to be placed with us soon. Baby B was born today and she’ll be arriving at our doorstep as soon as she leaves the hospital, probably tomorrow or the next day. I am so excited and scared. It doesn’t feel real yet.

When D and K came to live with us last summer, we were told that their mom was pregnant and that the baby would likely go into foster care as well, but there was so much uncertainty surrounding their case it felt like too much to hope for the baby to be placed with us. Over the last six months Adam and I have discussed whether or not we would foster the baby, but we weren’t certain until last month. We let the case worker know that we were interested, and she was very enthusiastic about it. Since then we’ve been trying to get ready.

I think we have all the essential baby stuff we need. We’ve been talking to the kids about it to try to prepare them. D is excited to have another little sister. Every time I bring it up he says, “I want Baby B here now.” He calls K’s doll Baby B and pretends to feed her. K is just two and has no clue what’s coming, so I don’t know what to expect from her. Hopefully she’ll adjust to having a new baby in the house without too much trouble.

I am worried about how we’re going to handle three kiddos. I don’t know how it’s all going to work. I’m worried about the kids’ visits with their mom and how they’re going to go with a new baby in the mix. I’m worried about how much more emotional the case will be–for their mom and for us–with a baby on the line. I’m worried about having my heart broken when I fall in love with this tiny girl and then have to give her back to live with a family that might not do a good job raising her.

Despite all my worries though, I’m so excited. I want a baby in our lives so much–even if it is only for a few months. I don’t know how it’s all going to work or what’s going to happen in the end, but I’m ready. I’m ready to put it all on the line, including my heart, and shower Baby B in love and affection for as long as we’re blessed to have her in our lives.

We can’t wait to meet you Baby B.

Wolf Mom

The first time I met the mother of my foster children, I was nervous. I was sure it would be awkward and I didn’t know quite how to handle it. If the roles were reversed I think I would resent the woman who was taking care of my children like they were hers. I don’t know if I would want to meet her.

This is one of the many aspects of fostering that I didn’t exactly anticipate. I knew foster and biological families sometimes met, but I expected it to be rare and mediated by a social worker. When D and K were placed with us, we were told their caseworker would be handling all of the visits but, like so many things we’ve been told about the case, that changed the very next week. We were asked if we could provide transportation for every other visit. I agreed and when I arrived at the DHS office with the kiddos for that first visit, I was on edge. As soon as Mom walked through the door, D raced to her and she scooped him up. K stayed at my side until Mom sat down and then she jumped in her lap. I introduced myself and Mom said, “I was hoping I would get to meet you.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

Since then my relationship with the kids’ biological family has been civil. I’ve met Mom and many of her relatives (Dad is not in the picture). Sometimes DHS representatives are present, but sometimes they aren’t. I try to always be polite and respect Mom’s role in D and K’s lives, but I have many conflicting feelings. My first instinct is compassion. I was raised by a mother who has such a generous heart for people and she taught me not to judge. My faith has taught me to believe that redemption is always possible, and I pray for the kids’ Mom often.

If I’m being completely honest though, I have other feelings about Mom too. I wonder, “How could a mom choose herself over these kids? Why doesn’t she ask me about how they’re doing or what they’ve been up to? When is she going to take this seriously? Why does it seem like she cares more about what her friends and family think than doing whatever it takes to get them back?” I feel guilty for being judgmental, but the more I fall in love with the kids, the more I turn into a crazy wolf-mom protecting her brood, attacking anyone who threatens them.

There is also a part of me that is jealous of their Mom sometimes–jealous of their attachment to her and the bond they have. I have to admit that sometimes I’m jealous that we don’t have biological children. It is impossible not to wonder why God brings children into a world where they won’t be taken good care of.

As if that weren’t bad enough, I have other thoughts that are even darker than the wolf-mom’s protective instincts or jealousy or questioning God. I tell myself, “If she doesn’t get on track soon, maybe we’ll get to adopt them,” and my heart leaps with hope. I don’t hope for her to fail (God, please forgive me if I do), but I do think about the possible outcomes and I do sometimes wonder if the case will end in adoption. What a terrible place to be in. Our hope to build a family through adoption is contingent on another family falling apart.

For now, I try to make compassion my first response. I readily talk positively about Mom with the kids, especially D who loves to ask when the next visit will be. And I try to remind myself that our only job right now is to keep the children safe and happy and let the courts decide where the kids belong. I pray to God that they get it right.

Parades

Our family’s experience with fostering has been tough. It completely turned our life upside down, but a lot of that goes along with simply becoming parents for the first time. We don’t have any time for ourselves, we don’t eat or exercise like we should, and our poor dogs, Amos and McMuffin, are feeling very neglected. Most of this was more or less anticipated though. We could have said all the same things if we’d had our first baby last summer.

However, there are some sneaky ways that foster parenting is not at all like raising biological children that we didn’t exactly see coming. The strangest one is that we are temporarily raising someone else’s children. I know that sounds like it’s just the definition of fostering, but it feels really bizarre at times. Adam and I spend twenty-four hours a day caring for D and K. I’m teaching D how to draw circles and how to hold his scissors and why big boys use the potty and why it isn’t acceptable behavior to fall on the floor crying because someone said it isn’t snack time yet. I clapped today when D tried to run K (now age two) over with his dump truck and K told her brother, “No D! Don’t hit. That is mean.” because it was the first time I had heard her put that many words together into coherent sentences. We are investing everything we’ve got as parents in these kids because that’s what they need and that’s what they deserve. We are so proud of them when they have even tiny victories. (Last week Adam practically threw a parade for D over an especially great potty break. There was hoisting on shoulders and a marching band and confetti and a fire truck with the lights and the sirens. It was quite a celebration.) But no matter how much we are raising them and taking pride in their successes like they are permanent members of our family, there is still the reality that we have to face that they just aren’t.

When it gets really tough and we are having one of those days (or weeks) with the kiddos where everything seems to be going wrong, we know that if we wanted to take it, we have an out. At any point in time we can give our ten-days’ notice. I could call up our caseworker tonight and say, “I need more time to read Montaigne and drink Sidecars,” and that would be it. That is not at all like other people’s parenting. And that’s part of the reason I feel so guilty when I think about taking the out. Experienced foster parents and social workers who have seen it all tell us to make sure our marriage and our well being and our happiness come first, but how do I make that call? All I can think is, “How would D and K feel to have to move to another home? What would happen to them? What if I realize we made a terrible mistake?”  We have to constantly weigh the good we can do for these sweet kids with the toll it is taking on our lives. And for the last six months we’ve been deciding (sometimes on a day-to-day basis) to hang in there.

Then there’s the even darker thought that haunts us: we might not get any say at all as to when they leave. We could just as easily be the one’s getting the call from the caseworker tonight. The children we’ve been raising for six months and teaching manners to and keeping clean and fed and throwing parades for could be gone from our lives as quickly as they came.

Of course we knew all this before we took them in, but it is so much different to be in the middle of it. And it is so hard to explain to non-foster parents how difficult it is to be parenting this way. We are investing all our time and passion and a lot of our money in raising someone else’s kids, and everything could change overnight. There’s a distant chance and hope that maybe someday we’ll get to adopt a child we’ve fostered, but there’s no guarantee that we’ll get to adopt D and K. So I’m trying to learn to focus on what I can control and I’m looking for ways to be happy right now–in the midst of all these conflicting feelings–and hopefully we’ll find a reason to throw someone a parade today.

From Zero to Two Kids Overnight

Six months ago tomorrow my husband and I became foster parents. It was the day after the July 4th festivities. We had been up late watching all of our neighbors’ firework shows. We were leaving the house to take the dogs for a walk when Adam got a call, so I went on without him. I didn’t even get to the end of the block before he was waving me back. He said it was DHS calling about a placement: a sibling group of two, a two year-old boy and an eighteen month-old girl. Their caseworker told us about why they were coming into care and described them as “a bit of a handful.” I knew I was supposed to ask more questions, but I was so excited I said yes before I even knew what I was saying.

A few hours later the caseworker showed up on our doorstep and introduced us to D and K, handed over several bags of new clothes and a few diapers, and then had us sign some forms. We were stunned. I didn’t sleep at all the first two nights. I just laid in bed thinking, “There are two children sleeping down the hall and I’m responsible for them.” It was surreal. Every cry or cough or mumble sent me into a panic. “What if something goes wrong and I don’t know what to do?!…What if they miss their family and I don’t say the right thing?…What if…”

If I was worrying at night, I was completely freaking out most of rest of the time. The kids were more than “a bit of a handful.” They had never heard the word “no” before or had any kind of limits set for them, and they were not keen on the idea. There were tantrums at every turn, violent outbursts, nightmares, developmental delays, food issues, attachment issues, serious potty-training problems, non-stop whining, and on and on and on. Suffice it to say we unwittingly jumped into the parenting deep-end with two toddlers.

Six months in and there’s no end in sight. We are still dealing with many of the behavioral and emotional problems (and will likely continue to deal with them as long as we’re fostering). We do have good days though. Today the four of us sat at the kitchen table for an hour or so working on construction paper collages. That was a nice moment.

My challenge is to find happiness in the midst of the chaos and turmoil of foster parenting. I do like the kiddos and we have a lot of fun together, but I am far from happy. Most days I’m getting by. And I know Adam feels the same way. Our marriage is rock solid, but I don’t want another month to go by where all we can say is “we’re getting by.” I don’t know how much longer D and K are going to be with us, but they deserve to be in a happy house with happy parents. I want to feel like a confident and capable parent, and I want to be able to find joy in this life Adam and I have chosen. I want to be able to look back on our first year of parenting as a joyful and fulfilling time. So I’m working on it. I’m determined to find a way.

Intemperance is…

Intemperance is the plague of pleasure; and temperance is not its scourge, it is its seasoning.

Michel de Montaigne, “Of Experience”

Key to Happiness: Whistles and Muffins

Sometimes I wonder if I know what it feels like to be truly and deeply happy. I had a dark childhood, and I occasionally let it overshadow my adult life. On bad days I think true happiness may be too much to hope for. “At least you’re safe now. You should be thankful,” I tell myself. But then I remember that there have been times in my past when I did experience something more than that. I have to remind myself that it was real happiness even if it didn’t last for long. How do I get back there though?

The first was band camp the summer of 1997. I’ve never laughed so hard or had as much pure fun as I did that week. It was like a dream world where I was suddenly the life of the party and, dare I say, popular. The dream carried right on over to my 9th grade year in school where I somehow came to rule my own little kingdom of band nerds. At home little was going right, but at school I was brave and I had admirers and my drum major whistle struck fear in the hearts of underclassmen. It was magical, but of course I had to wake up eventually.

It wasn’t until my freshmen year of college that I got back the feeling of all being right in the world again. This time was different though. I wasn’t the life of anyone’s party or the center of a clique. In fact, I kept all my friends at arm’s length so I would have more time to read. That was the year I was first introduced to Montaigne and the year I was first introduced to Adam, who would become my husband years later. That was also the year I became finally free of my family. It was the first time I had been on my own and I was finally able to breathe and shake off the feeling of never quite being able to relax. I focused on my classes and writing and finding myself and grieving a crap childhood and being quiet and introspective. I was really at peace that year.

Then in San Francisco the summer of 2002, I was there again. This time I got a tiny bit of band-camp-Whitney back. I didn’t have my drum major whistle, but I made do with a muffin tin. Baking is the perfect way to make friends in a hostel–especially one as strange as the Easy Goin’ on Haight–and I quickly became the favorite resident. I sat on the back balcony drinking Lady Grey and writing and hoping that the fog rolling in would block my view of the backyard neighbors’ skinny-dipping-hot-tub party. I had so many adventures that summer. One night two backpackers from the east coast recruited me to help them gain access to the roof (I bribed the front desk clerk with muffins, of course) so we could watch fireworks on the 4th of July from all over the Bay. Another night I was sent out for falafel sandwiches for the whole crew and forgot my key and ended up trading my midnight snacks for sidecars at the bar across the street. Barter was alive and well in the Haight. That was a fine summer.

The last great happiness of the first third of my life was Thanksgiving of 2006. I was in San Francisco again. This time visiting Adam. He asked me to marry him, and all I could think was how much I didn’t deserve it. I was blissfully happy that night and San Francisco became the perfect backdrop for another one my favorite memories.

Back to my question though: how do I get back there? Can I find that kind of happiness in my day-to-day life now?

Answer: TBD.

Expiration Date?!

A new year is the time for taking stock of one’s life. I’m 30 years old, so I’ve lived about 1/3 of my life (34.6%, to be precise, if actuaries can be trusted). That means I have 2/3 left until my probable expiration date in 2069. My mom’s response to this revelation?

“Well, you could die tomorrow.”

Wow. Thanks mom.

Of course, she’s right and this got in my head. I started thinking about how I ought to spend my last night on Earth.

“I probably don’t have time to learn Latin. I’m caught up on Downton Abbey, so we’re good there…what I really need to do is read Montaigne one more time and drink a sidecar and fall asleep next to Adam.”

Wait. That sounds amazing. Why am I not doing this every night? Well, that’s a lot of Cognac for starters, but that’s not the point. Maybe I should be spending more time doing things that make me happy. I get so caught up in planning for the future and shuffling kids around and trying to keep our house running and bills paid and everyone content, but that’s all useless if I’m not enjoying my life.

So, that’s my New Year’s Resolution: Montaigne and sidecars.