It's here.  The hard, difficult, don't want to do it part of foster care is here.  Transitioning a child who has lived in our home, as one of us, for over two years back home.  

People keep asking me how I feel.  I think sometimes they expect me to break down right there into a puddle of mush.  Sometimes they look at me like I'm crazy.  

I feel a lot of things, a lot of varying, even contradicting things.  

I feel hopeful that a family is being restored.  I feel sad that my family is shrinking.  

I feel some measure of relief as we will soon take a break from living under the microscope of case workers for a little while.  I feel anxious to know what our life will look like 6 months from now.   

I feel thankful that God saw fit to give me 25+ months of loving one child.  I feel heartbroken when I think of month 1,2,3 . . . Without this child. 

I feel helpless as I comfort a confused toddler during this transition.  I feel confident that God is sovereign even in the midst of circumstances that seem impossibly difficult.

I feel like smacking that person who said to me for the umpteenth time, "isn't this going to be so hard on you guys.". I feel thankful for grace when I say and think dumb things.

I feel confident that My God has a plan for our good and for His glory even when this is really difficult.  I feel envious that His plan for our family includes saying goodbye when His plan for others does not.  

I'm sure I feel a thousand other things.  Just stick around for a little bit, I'm sure something else will surface.  But here's the thing, how I "feel" is not to be trusted.  My feelings can be swayed, influenced, diminished, and changed.  What I cling to everyday are the things I know:

I know God is sovereign over joys and sufferings.
I know that we have been obedient to Him during this time.  
I know we have shown His love to this little one and little ones family as best we know how.
God works all things together for good.  Even hard things. Maybe even especially hard things.

What I hear

I'm not sure if I can explain this well, but I want to try.  We recently went to a family reunion with pretty distant relatives. I had an interesting conversation with a distant cousin's wife.  She doesn't know our story, but immediately started talking to me about her daughter's difficulty having children and their thoughts about trying to adopt.  (This is what happens when you have a multiracial family)

Anyway, I did not offer up my children's stories.  Maybe someone had told her we were foster parents, I don't know.  She kept saying that her daughter just couldn't do foster care because she just couldn't take it "if they came and took the baby".  It was a unique variation on the, "I could never do that, I'd get too attached"  comment. 

I want to write what it feels like to me at this stage of foster parenting when someone says they could never do that because they would get too attached.

1.  I passed too attached a long time ago, and it scares the snot out of me (thanks for bringing it up)

2.  So if I have willingly signed up to live this life, then I must be heartless because I will one day give them back (this is what foster parents hear when you say this to us).  

3.  I agree not everyone should be foster parents (particularly those still struggling through infertility.  Our life has had stages, we would have made terrible foster parents a decade ago.)

4.  What if it were you? What if your life was falling apart, you made some stupid decisions and as a result you temporarily lost custody of your children? (don't get on your high horse, there but for the Grace of God go all of us).  Wouldn't you hope for a second chance?  Wouldn't you hope your kids were treated well, loved , supported, encouraged to love you during that time?  This life is bigger than my comfort and needs.

5.  Not giving them back is called kidnapping.   

6. We signed up for this willingly.  We were trained, and are continually trained in caring for kids that are not our own from tough places.  No one lied to us, we knew what we were getting into.

7.  The pain of giving them back is a result of great joy of living with them.  If there wasn't a whole lot of good in living life with our kiddos it wouldn't hurt.

8.  If it doesn't hurt, I did it wrong.  We are talking about standing in for parents to kids.  In our current situation young kids.  Sometimes for a large percentage of the child's life. They only get one childhood.  They deserve to have a parent that adores them even if it's for a little bit.  Even if that parent is a foster parent .  Grief is a sign of a job well done.

9.  I (&you if you are called to it) can do all things(including letting go of a child I love) through Christ who gives me strength.  

Walking through it

Sometime in the next few months, our family will go through one of the things that scares people away from foster care.  We will have cared for a child for years and that child will leave our home.  When people list reasons that they feel they couldn't be foster parents, this one usually makes the top three.  "What if we have a child in our home for a year or even years and they still leave?"

So today, I'm writing from that place of knowing that we will soon face this reality.  I should preface this by saying that I have known of this reality for a little bit.  The place I am in right now does not reflect my immediate reaction to this news.  The place I am in now comes from much prayer and stepping back to remember why we started the process to become foster parents.  I have drawn close to God, and in some ways asked Him "why?"

I'm not a stranger to really painful circumstances related to children and my desire to have a family.  At 24 years old I stood alone with a surgeon and received heart breaking news about our ability to have children.  Several years later I received more heart breaking news about our attempts to adopt our now son from Guatemala.  Several years after that we were looked over and turned down many times over in an attempt to adopt domestically.  And all of those moments led us to and prepared us for foster care.   I know that.  If you have talked to me in the last three years about our decision to become foster parents you have heard parts of the circumstances I just listed.  They are the life events that step by step led us to where we are today.  God used the hard to bring us to His best. A life I would have never planned on my own.  I would have said, "how can I love and care for a child for years and then let them go?  It will kill me.  Especially after living through infertility, that's just crazy talk.. "

But I was wrong.  It wasn't crazy. It was our path that taught us to trust God, to trust His promises, His timing, His correction, His guidance, and His love for us.  Oh how I have questioned all of those things.  I have been sure that if God loved me He would allow me to get pregnant again, or bring my son home on my timetable, or have a surprise pregnancy against all odds, or not have a child stay in our home so long and still leave.  But the reality is His love for me is not based on my current circumstances.   That was settled a long time ago.  When he chose to send His son for a pitiful sinner like me.  When he chose not to spare His son the hurt and humiliation of the cross in order to reconcile me to himself.  God is good. God loves me. These things are not influenced by whether life is going my way at the moment. They are truth.

I'm not going to lie about this.  I have had a hard time adjusting back to my initial thoughts about foster care.  When a child lives with you for an extended period of time, case workers do ask a about adoption.  It has been an adjustment to get used to the way case workers talk in long cases.  Often the direction of things changes multiple times in a short amount of time.  I let myself dream when I probably shouldn't have.  We didn't become foster parents to adopt again (though my foster mom friends like to tell me that if you stay in this long enough someone is going to stay).  Somewhere around the 12-15 month mark I lost my foster mom hat.  Recently I have found it again.  That doesn't mean I won't grieve.  It will be similar to a death for us.  Our family will change forever again.  But, I believe that God created my family for this life.  I believe that when this little one moves on from us He will place someone else here because it will be their time of need.  He holds our future just as He always has. 

When we were dealing with infertility, people often told me to "just relax". What they didn't know is that I could have relaxed until I completely lost all muscle tone in my body and it would not have mattered.  We had diagnosed reasons that we could not conceive.  Unless God chose to work a miracle of healing we were not going to have a baby.  So when people said that, it just made me feel misunderstood and so very alone.  

I guess in a way He did work a miracle.  He changed our hearts and opened them to the fatherless children He needed us to care for.  

Now people say another phrase to me all the time.  They say, "it's just going to be so hard on you when _________ goes". Well, true, but what good does it do for us to dwell on that now?  How does that help me in being the foster mom that God has called me to be? Once again, it sometimes leaves me feeling misunderstood and alone.  

This time next week my family will be surrounded by hundreds of other families living in the trenches of foster care.  There will be fun and snacks and heat.  My kids are about to bust to pack up for camp.  All I can think about is that for a few days no one is going to point out how hard it will be when children leave. They are going to give knowing glances and laugh at the beautiful children that we all have "for now".  They are going to love all my children as if they were aunts or uncles.  And at some point we will all agree that we live a crazy life, but we wouldn't trade it for anything.  

Dangerous

A long time ago when I first started being the foster mom, I was better at remembering that this child has a family (not my family).  I was better at thinking of my core family as a unique unit separate from the whole of the family that included foster little.  It was a dance, but I had a mental separation that kept me in my foster mom role.

It wasn't that I didn't love, I did.  It wasn't that I didn't nurture, I did.  I advocated, loved, nurtured, investigated needs, fulfilled needs, loved, cared, and was the everyday mom.    But I kept a wall around the forever part of my heart.  It was there to protect me.  I felt safe with that wall in place. Like I would be able to survive being a foster parent.

Lately though I feel like someone handed the little one a pick ax or crow bar or sledge hammer and told him to whack away at my wall.  I can't find it anymore.  Forever, for now, it's all mixed up in my heart. Little one has snuck in and made a place in the forever part of my heart.  

Maybe it was the middle of the night stuff.  Maybe it was the passage of time.  Maybe it was watching the baby who came to me turn into a happy, healthy toddler.  Maybe it was when the talking started, and I became "Momma".  Maybe it was when the snuggles into my neck started, or the sloppy toddler kisses.  Maybe it was when the running hug began at daycare pick up time.  Maybe it was the soft dinner time prayers offered by a toddler again years after my forever kids left toddlerhood.  But somewhere around the 12 month or 15 month or 18 month mark my wall disappeared.  

It's gone. 
 (maybe it really always was, and I was kidding myself) 

This is a dangerous love.

The double life of a foster parent

Some days being a foster parent is about fielding questions for social workers, answering text messages, paperwork, packing the visit bag, preparing the child for a visit, advocating for the child's needs, logging Meds, and praying you are making a difference in a broken system.   

Other days foster care is about watching the child who was afraid of water run in the sprinkler.  Or the child who didn't know how to play with toys tell you an elaborate story of make believe.  Or watching the child  who was afraid of any sudden movement, being tossed in the air by his foster father with his head thrown back in a fit of laughter.  Or realizing the child who had little language is pretending to read his favorite storybook with expression.  

This is the hardest thing we have ever done (and we've done hard things). But I wouldn't trade the hard because then I would have to give up the amazingly wonderful.  

I have a ton of things I need to accomplish today, but I'm not getting much done because I can tell I need to write.  I am mentally writing while I'm trying to do laundry and clean out kid closets for the change of seasons.  It's not working, so I'm taking a few minutes to write in the hopes of a more productive afternoon.  

I'm tired.  This month has been one of those where you just keep waiting for the next shoe to fall.  Not the other shoe, because several shoes have already fallen.  Just the next shoe.

In the midst of this month, I have greatly desired to know what our family will look like this time next year.  I'm longing for some stability in the midst of so much upheaval, uncertainty, and change.  (I can only imagine how the children caught in foster care limbo must feel.)  

I have been through these phases during our time as foster parents already.  Times when I just want to know where in the world we are headed.  Times when I want to prepare my heart for the future.  Times when I let the uncertainty of this life grow into fear and heartache.  When I let the fear grow, I become irritable and easily frustrated with normal life with young children.  It's not pretty, and I know better.  I have got to let go of my desire to control this life (again, for the umpteenth time). If I don't, my children are going to be wearing sweaters in July because I'm never going to get these clothes changed out.

"Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." Matthew 6:34.

You might be a foster mom if . . .

You might be a foster mom if you go shopping for the Easter baskets and you make sure everything is even in all baskets just as you would if you had the promise of forever with all your children.  Taking time to make age appropriate choices with everyone's tastes in mind.  Enjoying day dreaming about the excitement as the kids discover the treats that you picked out.  Sometimes getting to be the mom is really fun.

 And then the sadness as you remember that there is another who either cannot, will not, or is currently unable to participate in these joyful times as a mother. You wish she was in a place to hear those squeals on Sunday morning.   And in your own joy as a mom you grieve with her, and hope one day a healthy relationship can exist.  

Field trip and a little education (or I'm proud I didn't hurt a 7 year old)

Today I had the pleasure of going on a field trip with my middle guy.  He's mine forever so I am allowed to tell stories about him without breaking foster care rules.

My son is hispanic with shiny dark brown hair, gorgeous skin, and almond shaped eyes.  He's full of personality and kids are drawn to him.  As we toured the zoo together it was obvious lots of kids know him.  We gathered back with his class for a picnic lunch near the end of the trip.  I was helping make sure all lunches were passed out, hands sanitized, etc. About that time, my son called me "mom" because he needed help.  When I came to help him, one of the little girls took notice.  We had the following conversation in front of my son's class and several parents.  

Little girl: Are you his mom?
Me:  Yes. (notice I do not offer more information)
Another little boy:  "my son" is adopted.
Little girl to me: is he adopted?
Me to my son: are you adopted? (I gave him the control here so I could read his comfort level)
My son: yes! (completely confident, no hesitation)
Little girl:  oh so that's why you don't look alike.
Me: that's right, but I'm still his mom.  I still do all the mom stuff even though we don't look alike (as I'm peeling his orange).
Little girl: so where is is REAL mom.
Me:  I'm right here, I am his real mom.
Little girl: no I mean who gave "my son" away. 
Me (fully aware that every child and adult present is waiting for my answer): no one gave "my son" away. 
My son: I've got two moms! One in "place where he was born" and one right there! (said so proudly and with great love for both of us)
A few kids did try to argue the point, but I assured them that he does in fact have two mothers.

Another mom later told me she thought I handled their questions well.  I was just glad that I reigned in mama bear when sweet precious child asked who gave my son away.  But it got me thinking.  I have had many conversations about adoption with my children.  We pray for all birth families represented in this house every night at bedtime.  This is our normal, and we have done our best to prepare our kids for the curiosity of this world.  They typically handle themselves very well in these situations.  I was glad to hear my guy share a tiny bit of his story with confidence, love, and pride.  

**Here's my quick request for families who are not built by adoption.  When your children ask you questions about how my family is built can you please not use the words "real mom" or "give away".  I am real.  My son's birth mother is real.  No one is fake ( the opposite of real).  He has a first mom, a biological mom, a tummy mom, a birth mom - any of those names will do.  He also has me.  He has two REAL moms.  No one gave my son away.  He needed a family due to difficult circumstances in his birth family.  Thanks.  That would help us adoptive moms out a bunch.  

Eleven years

I'm a date person.  I can tell you the date of significant events in my life.  For instance, I know the date of my senior prom.  Wish I had those brain cells for something a bit more current.  

Because of this tendency to remember dates, I will sometimes write a date and feel like it looks familiar.  Last week, I realized that it has been eleven years since we got the first indication that we were not on the easy path to parenthood.  Eleven years.  I can see things so much more clearly now when I look over my shoulder back over those years.  It reminds me that one day it will be eleven years from today.  I will be able to see a more complete picture of today.

So if I could tell my eleven years younger self a couple things I think it would go something like this.

1.  One day you will thank God for your inability to build your family like you planned. I promise.  That sounds crazy now, but it will happen.

2.  Right now you cannot imagine loving a child you did not give birth to, but one day you will find out that you are capable of loving lots of kiddos.

3.  God is not punishing you.  He loves you, but He doesn't love just you.  Giving you what you want right now would leave some kiddos without the mom that He prepared for them.  They are the children of your heart.  They need you more than you need to be pregnant.

4.  One day it will mean more to you that others see your Father in your journey than any dream you ever had.

5.  Most of the kiddos in your home in 11 years will not have blue eyes.  I understand that you and your husband both have blue eyes and therefore so should your children.  Just trust me on this.

6.  Infertility will teach you that you are not in control.  You're going to need that lesson in order to trust God with your family, your children, and your future.  It will make you a better mom than you would have been without infertility.

7.  That step you cried on the other night when you just didn't understand how and why this was all happening.  One day you will have a picture of you and your children together in that same spot.  It will be a precious reminder that God is faithful.  

Wonder what  I will want to tell myself eleven years from now . . . 

Broken, but made new

Last night I had to run an errand that was more driving than errand. The errand part only took about 5 minutes, but the driving was more like 35+. I took the oldest and youngest with me because the daddy was with the middle.

My girl chatted away from the backseat about several topics in her middle elementary mind. As we neared home, she needed to relive the story of the youngest's entry into foster care. This happens sometimes because we are open with our kiddos about why a child would need to be in foster care. We also are very open with them as the case progresses, always emphasizing that the little one has a family who is working to bring them back home safely. We always emphasize that God has a plan for everyone in our home. Sometimes my kiddos need to work some of their thoughts and feelings out by asking questions.

I answered her questions to the best of my ability, and then she blew me away. I thought we were done, and started focusing on what we would need to accomplish when we got home in order to get everyone to bed on time. From the back seat my girl says, "Mom, one day our family will break because ________ will leave. It will hurt, but I know that God will put it back together again. We just need to love ________ today."

Oh to have the faith of a child.


You know people ask me sometimes if I worry about my forever kids growing up with foster siblings. If I worry that it will be too hard on them. The most honest answer is sometimes I do worry about them, but the truth is I should not. God has a plan. My daughter trusts him with her family's life because He is the only one who holds our future. She trusts that no matter what hurt may be ahead of us, that God loves us, He has a plan for us, and he will bring beauty from ashes. She believes these things because she is seeing them lived out in front of her little eyes. My children have benefitted from this road in ways I don't think we will fully comprehend until they are much older.

And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. Phillipians 1:6

What's in a name?

There are a couple of conversations I seem to have fairly often.  One of them involves why foster children call me, the foster mother, "mom".  The scene typically goes something like this: I'm at some event for my big kids while wrangling a little one.  Most of our acquaintances in our community know that we are foster parents so I do not have to explain why little one is there.  At some point, I will be talking to someone, and little one will call me "mom".  Then I get the surprised question, "your foster children call you mom?"

Yes, they do.  I refer to myself as "momma my first name", but really our age range is 0-4.  What toddler wants to have to say "momma my first name" every time they need something?  Do you realize how often toddlers say "momma" in a day?  So typically they shorten it to just momma or even mommy.

Why don't I just call myself by some other name then?  A couple of reasons.

 Number one, I have two forever children.  I am their mom, forever.  They have always called me mom.  Even if I referred to myself as some other name the volume of times I am called mom far outweighs the number of times I refer to myself.  Toddlers learn to talk based on what they hear.  In my house, they are going to hear me being referred to as "mom" often (sometimes much too often).

Number two, in this house my job title is "mom".  I do the mom stuff.  I make the home, I snuggle scared kiddos, kiss boo boos, help the bigs with homework and friend drama, I pack the lunches, I sign the school folders, I make dinner, I am the mom.  Therefore, I do not have a problem with kiddos who are here temporarily calling me mom.  It's my title here, it's what I do.   It is appropriate if a child wants to call me mom for them to be allowed to call me mom. (I would never require a for now child to call me mom).

Number three, I have no desire to differentiate my kiddos based on their current life situation.  I have forever kids and for now kids.  The whole world does not need to know which is which when we are walking down the street.  I have no problem with a child calling me by my first name or another name they are comfortable with, but if they prefer "mom" I will not try to change it.  Kids in foster care already have to deal with so many things that are not typical in childhood, I'm not going to add one more thing to that list.

Number four, it may even be beneficial for the relationship with whoever becomes the permanent mom (whether they go home, go to family, stay here, or are adopted by another family).  When my son (the forever one I'm allowed to talk about) came to our family he had been calling several women "mama" for nearly two years.  They filled the role, and he called them by that title.  The first night he was with us he called me "mama" because he recognized the role.  He had been well cared for and kept secure.  He learned to trust his caregivers, and because of that he was able to transfer the bonds he had with those first "mamas" to his forever mom.  It took an adjustment time, but the gift they gave our family by teaching my boy what a mom does is invaluable.  They were his "middle" moms.  As a foster mom, I now fill the middle mom role and yes sometimes the for now kiddos call me "mom".  It really is okay.

(I should probably add that I do refer to the biological mother as "mom". I never refer to myself as just mom so it does not seem to confuse kids. Adults, yes. Kids, no.)

Where's your buddy?

My daughter has been a part of girl scouts for the last three years.  She has a wonderful troop and an incredible troop leader.  I love those girls and their moms like they are part of our extended family.  Her troop leader demonstrates a really great balance of keeping the girls safe while fostering their individuality, independence, and  curiosity.  A big part of girl scout rules is to always have a buddy.  For safety reasons obviously, but our girls have gained so much more than safety from our constant insistence that they have a buddy.  They have learned to be compassionate and patient with one another, and learned to get along with personalities different  from their own.  I love to hear the call when we are on outings, "where's your buddy?" because it reminds me that my girl is not alone.  She is learning to look out for others and lean on others as well.

For nearly the first year of this foster care journey, I really did not have other foster mom friends.  I really didn't have anybody in my life who fully understood what my life was changing into.  I have sweet friends who have supported me, and listened to me share the few things I was able to share.  Privacy issues prevented me from truly baring my heart and concerns.  It was incredibly isolating.  I felt like my heart was screaming, "where's your buddy?"

So I started to pray.  I needed someone with tangible arms and a real understanding of life as a foster family.  

My husband and I went away for our anniversary in the fall.  For the first time we used respite, and I really got to know one of the other foster moms at our agency.  She turned around and introduced me to several others.  

Over the past several months I have been able to get to know those foster moms better.  I have been able to reach out in the tough times to people who have more understanding of the things we are facing. I have been able to share in more detail what is going on with cases because I am talking with foster moms from our agency.    I have been able to listen to the testimonies of God's faithfulness even when dealing with very difficult circumstances.  I have heard folks who look like they have got this foster mom thing down say, "this stuff is hard and it's okay to need help".  I have felt less alone.

Right about the time that our journey is picking up speed on the roller coaster, God has given me my buddies.  To Him be the glory.


9 Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil.
10 For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up!
11 Again, if two lie together, they keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone?
12 And though a man might prevail against one who is alone, two will withstand him-a threefold cord is not quickly broken.  (Ecclesiastes 4:9-12)

Trading forevers

I remember my first night as a real foster mom.  The first night I tucked in someone else's child, and tried to make them feel safe.  There were lots of emotions that night, but I remember leaning over the crib praying that no matter how long this little one lived in our home that we would spend eternity praising our heavenly father together.  I remember praying for God to draw that little soul close.  

That night I had no idea how long our first placement would last, but I remember desperately wanting to impact this little life in such a way that a seed might be planted. That one day he might be drawn to Christ because of what he experienced here. That the Gospel might feel familiar and known, trustworthy and for him.   

Days turned to weeks, then months, then over a year.  Sometimes emotions can play tricks on you, and distract you.  I kept my first prayers of wanting this little one to be able to know God and to trust God, but some selfish prayers started sneaking in.  I began to want the "forever" we speak of on this earth.  The forever of family, the "till death do us part" kind of forever.  

Lately, I have had to reevaluate my motives and feelings (I am after all the FOSTER mom).  After much prayer and trying to just "be still" and not worry, I have decided I must focus on those initial prayers.  I want this little soul to spend the real forever as a child of God. I cannot control what happens on this earth for any of my children (the for now ones and the forever ones).  But I know that God is faithful when we fervently pray for things that are according to his will. 

(I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God that you may know that you have eternal life.
And this is the confidence that we have toward him, that if we ask anything according to his will he hears us.
And if we know that he hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have the requests that we have asked of him. 1 John 5:13-15).  

So I will pray for the eternal forever.  I will trust God with the rest. 

(and I will come back and read this to myself when this life gets crazy overwhelming again and I start to worry). 

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. And he who was seated on the throne said, "Behold, I am making all things new." Revelation 21:4-5

It's not all rainbows and unicorns

There are moments when I don't feel like being the good foster parent.  There are moments when I get angry at the stuff that foster parents deal  with.  When I want to get off the roller coaster, and just go back to our quiet life without case workers, home visits, and foster care limbo.  

Sometimes when I'm dealing with night time kid issues or tough behaviors  I think the horrible thought, "where is your mother to deal with this".  

Sometimes when caseworkers seem reluctant to move toward a permanent plan for a child I find myself frustrated. So much so that I have to be careful not to pull away from the child involved.  It's difficult to love a child like a mom, and still guard my heart.  

People tell me a lot how great I am because I am a foster parent.  I'm not great. I am very very human.  All of those things that you might list on a con list for becoming a foster family, well those are all real.  Some days those cons feel heavy.  

Love is a choice. Even when I don't feel like continuing on this road I can choose to love.  It stinks sometimes. Lots of times really, but I still believe it is worth it. Even when I don't feel like it. 

Unnatural

Five years ago this month we were making final preparations to go pick up our son in Guatemala.  For 25 months we had been working on an international adoption.  We hit some delays and experienced the heartache that is so typical during a long adoption process.  In January of 2008 we knew that the adoption process was complete in Guatemala, and we were just waiting on immigration paperwork.  We finally knew that the little boy we hoped would be our son, was our son.  It was a very exciting time.  

During that time we met with our agency several times to make sure all paperwork was ready for us to carry with us.  We needed to make sure all was in order so we could bring him home without issue.  At some point during one of these meetings, the director of the program stopped and spoke to us from his heart.  An adoptive dad himself he wanted to encourage us as we started on a new journey.  

I remember very clearly what he said because at the time I found it almost offensive.  He encouraged us for having completed a very difficult adoption process, and then he said, "you need to know that what you are doing is not natural".  He went on to talk about the work that would be required to make us a family and that most people would not understand what our home life was about to look like.  I was offended because in those moments it felt so very natural to me.  It felt like I was finally going to get my son whom I loved.  But he was right.  My son did not know I was coming.   He didn't know anything but living in a children's home.  He didn't understand family.  So we had to work really hard to learn how to be a family.  Five years later, it is so obvious that the hard work, and lots of answered prayers, have made us a family.   

This week I was reminded of the "unnatural" part of foster care several times.  First, when I picked up a foster child's medications.  I was called Ms. "child's last name" by the pharmacy.  So I sent a message to my husband that Ms. "child's last name" had picked up the medication so he would know he didn't need to pick it up on his way home.  This was his message back to me after he joked that he was glad I did not have to show ID: "just another sign really of how absurd the idea of non relative fostering actually is. No one in their right mind thinks naturally you'd be doing that sort of stuff for kids not your own. . ." 

Later in the week, I had one of those scary mom moments where for two seconds I wasn't sure where a child was.  Turns out said child was standing so close to me (right behind my legs) that I couldn't see them.  I panicked. For two seconds I was about to go into crazy mom mode.  The adrenaline was already dumping into the blood stream.  This child is not my flesh nor do I have the promise of any future, but I was in full mom mode when I thought there might be danger.  

So I guess what I am describing is the miracle that has happened in our life.  God has opened our hearts to love in an unnatural way.  To love closer to how He loves.  It is only through him that this capacity exists.  I fail at it every day, but I am so thankful for what he has taught me through this process.  

Foster mom rebels

Rules. It is what it is. Foster care has lots of rules. Sleeping rules, space rules, safety rules, childcare rules, travel rules, documentation rules, size of fire extinguisher rules, post tornado plan in your home decor rules. You get used to it while still acknowledging those rules can be aggravating. Most are there to protect the foster family as well as the child.

I have a plan for the day our family is foster care free (if we go back to our core family at some point or if we adopt a child in our care.). That plan has to do with breaking a few rules because I will have the appropriate authority over all children living in my home. Imagine the freedom.

So last night I was with some incredible foster mom friends. One of whom had signed an adoption agreement that day. At one point in the evening, she realized she could go home, give her child medication, and NOT write it down!!! Imagine the freedom!

Foster moms are such rebels.

I have struggled with whether or not to publish this.  I have written, rewritten, and deleted several times.  Today, I'm calling it done, and just sharing a thought from my heart.  I'm okay if you don't agree.

I don't understand mommy wars. You know the ones where we line up on our favorite side of a first world mommy issue.  None of them being life and death issues.  Most of them being issues that are individual family decisions based on the needs of that particular family. 

 If we were parenting robots all built in the exact same factory with the exact same parts and history then maybe. But really, we are parenting children.  Not a one of whom is the same. They all have a different history, and are being parented by parents with different backgrounds.  It is never going to look the same and that is okay.

I have three kids living in my home right now. Both genders.  Three ages. Three VERY different histories.  They give and receive love differently.  They think differently.  My word, they sleep, sit, and walk differently.  

One parenting strategy does not fit all here.  

It grates on my nerves when we judge each others parenting choices.  I think part of it is because if the me from 9 years ago could see me now she would judge me.  She would not approve of some of the things I do now.  I have changed my mind on some things. Some of the things I did when I only had one child will not work with three.  Some of the things I thought could only be done one way can be done several ways.  Some of the things I could use to parent my biological child will not work in foster/adoption land.

I am now parenting children with trauma and loss histories.  It's a different world altogether than typical parenting.  I'm also parenting someone else's children because of very real parenting missteps (I'm being soft in my terminology here).   Choices were made, a child was in danger, and the decision had to be made to REMOVE that child from its birth family.  Mommy wars are silly in light of what some kids are dealing with every day.

And finally, mommy wars are based on judging others.  I get judged every day because of the look of my family.  People make assumptions about who we are and how our family has been built based on our appearance.  They make assumptions about my kids that may or may not be true.  It's overstepping.  And at times it gets on my nerves.  

So I refuse to participate in mommy wars.  I trust that most moms are making decisions based on what is best for their family, their children, and themselves as mothers.  I have stared into the face of situations where mom doesn't know how to parent, is unable to parent, is unwilling to parent, or lacks the environmental supports to parent.  This is not the breast feeding vs. bottle debate, the vaccination debate, the working debate, or the schooling debate.  This is serious stuff with serious consequences for the whole biological family. Cycles of abuse continue when this mess is left unchecked.

I was blessed with a family who taught me how to parent by parenting me.  I have a husband who supports me and my children.  I have family and friends who encourage me in my daily life. I am doing the best I can, and I am extremely blessed.  Most of us are.  If we would take our eyes off of our own lives for a minute, maybe we could make a difference for someone who has not had the same blessings.

Fix It

I am a fixer by nature.  I have spent the last 12 years working as a physical therapist.  My job is to try to help my patients regain as much function as possible after surgery, after  injury, or from deficits due to a chronic condition. My job is to help "fix it".  

And then I became a mom.  Talk about a chance to be a fixer. I kiss booboo's. I fix dinner.  I fix hair.  I fix broken toys. To my kids I can fix most anything (they get really frustrated when I cannot).

Then I became a foster mom.  I can help fix some stuff, but I cannot fix the big stuff.  I cannot make home safe.  I cannot go back in time and fix what happened that lead to a cycle of abusive and neglectful behavior. I cannot take away the pain.  I cannot  fix it.  Lately I have had to come to terms with my limitations in "fixing" things.  I've had to face my own pride in being a good "fixer".  Only God can restore broken hearts and lives.  I have to trust Him.