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 . . .