There’s No Winner Here

Friday evening 14yr old Emma* arrived on my doorstep. My friend, her foster mom of 5 1/2 yrs, brought her when things went from bad to worse at their home.

Having fetal alcohol syndrome and some intellectual delays, life is hard for Emma. Often her emotions spin out of control. Bringing her to me is a common occurrence. Usually she calms right down. I keep her overnight and her foster family has time to recover from the upset.

This time that didn’t work. When her foster mom left, Emma kept right on with the outburst she’d begun a few hours ago at home. She stomped the floors and slapped the walls. I tried to settle her in Raine’s room (normally there’s a spare room devoted to Emma, but we also had a visiting 2yr old boy who was occupying that room.) No doubt putting her in another bedroom fueled the fire raging inside of her. But there wasn’t any other choice. I’d already set up a crib for the physically delayed toddler. With Emma carrying on I couldn’t change everything around.

Refusing to go to the room assigned to her, Emma opted to sit in the living room while I put the other kids to bed. It took me a few minutes to realize the silence downstairs meant she was gone. By the time I untangled myself from the three little ones and got out the front door, Emma was no where to be seen.

I called her foster mom, who had a pretty good idea where she’d gone. Piling the very tired children into the car, we headed over to a nearby church. A friend of Emma’s had brought her to the youth group there a few times.

Thankfully there Emma was, outside the church because the doors were locked. She refused to get in the car. I pretended to drive away. Startled, she changed her mind and got in. Her attitude remained. During the drive home she repeatedly swore at me and spewed all kinds of hatred. “Because I don’t want to be at your house!” Emma explained. It’s not like I wanted her there either – at least not in that state.

When I told her not to swear at me. Emma responded, “I will. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” True. There’s nothing I can do. It’s a frustrating sense of powerlessness. This child is not mine. Nothing I say matters to her.

Back at my place, Emma settled herself in the front garden – refusing to come inside. At a loss, I called her foster mom. Normally I’m quite capable of managing Emma or any other child in my care. But this time it was all completely beyond me. Some stern words from her foster mom got Emma inside the house.

Then the real battle began. I put the other children back to bed. Emma stomped her feet in the hallway and punched the wall with a violence that made my pictures shake.

When I was done with the little ones, she got up in my face screaming about how much she hated me. This went on for over an hour. In the midst of it, I did get her into the room she would be using that night. Emma kicked the door so ferociously I was sure she’d put holes in it. But it remained in tack as did the walls she poured her anger out on.

Normally I just walk away, but with this being completely unlike Emma’s normal behaviour at my house, I kept close. Fear for the other kids mounted as she her anger increased. At this point she’d been raging for nearly 5hrs (mostly at her own home), breaking briefly for her walk to the church. It was late. I was worried and tired. I needed the noise and the violence to stop. But it didn’t. Emma kept going strong – coming out of the room and again aggressively confronting me.

My patience wore out. I couldn’t endure being bullied in my own home by a 14yr old. My voice was no longer kind nor were my words. Eventually Emma retreated to the bedroom.

She’s on a fair bit of medication which is supposed to save her from these moments. Perhaps the pills aren’t working, but I still wanted to get her nightly does in. That didn’t happen. Emma was wielding every bit of power she had.

While on the phone with the emergency after hours worker, Emma kicked my door in. I’d gone into my bedroom and locked the door. Her screaming and kicking was making it hard to hear the woman on the phone. Having access to my room, the girl just stood in the hallway shouting and punching the walls.

My door frame is broken. My nerves are shot. And now Emma’s saying that I attacked her which of course I did not.She, however, did slapped me during my initial retreat to my room. This is warranted in Emma’s mind. She’s completely beside herself with rage and panic all rolled into one big, ugly mess.

This is the result of a life in foster care. Arriving at the age of 2, Emma’s moved countless times. My friend is trying to keep going. It’s been 5 1/2 yrs. That’s miraculous for a child with FAS. The long term goal is holding out until Emma turns 18. But things are unraveling quickly. Not long ago, the teen ran away and called the police saying she felt unsafe in her foster home.

She’s safe. It’s those around Emma who aren’t safe. Her accusations could land my friend in jail. At the very least, it may lead to Emma and the two other foster children in the home being removed. The two sisters – 14 & 10yrs – have been with my friend nearly 4yrs and are doing well. The plan is for them to remain until 18. Emma’s antics could put them all in jeopardy.

I’ve told my friend it’s time to let go – especially after this weekend. Emma awoke Saturday with an incredible sense of triumph. She’d gotten away with leaving my house, speaking to me in a deplorable manner, slapping me, breaking my door, and refusing to take her pills. As far as she can see she’s won.

What Emma doesn’t realize is how much she’s loosing. For 5 1/2yrs she’s been part of our family – I’ve been like an aunt to her and her foster mom has been the same to my kids. Emma’s foster family, while not perfect, have cared for her with generosity and grace. They’ve welcomed her back after many such outbursts. But she doesn’t want to be there. Eventually Emma’s behaviour will get the result she’s seeking. She’ll be moved into a group home until she ages out of foster care.

It’s a tragedy. I am heart broken. At the same time, I’m encouraging my friend to make that move. My prayer is for Emma’s complete healing – that the Lord will restore her mind and heal the wounds tormenting her. I know that’s possible. I want that for Emma. How long can we wait for the miracle before we have to make choices based on the reality of here and now? It’s becoming impossible to have Emma around.

*name changed

The Fun of It All

This weekend my friend’s three foster daughters were with us. Two are 14, one is 10. Overall it was a really great time – perhaps the best we’ve had. There were two minor meltdowns. Raine and one of the 14yr olds were able to pull themselves together after small setbacks.

I didn’t bother questioning if 14yr old Emma* had all her belongings before leaving. That avoided a lengthy battle. Inevitably she always leaves something behind. Last time it was her curling iron. Me pointing out the overlooked items fills her with rage. Though I see it as doing her a favour making sure she has everything, Emma disagrees.

The new plan is to ignore any forgotten items. But that didn’t quite come together. The girls departed without me checking their rooms or the bathroom. Then I discovered Emma had taken my toothbrush and left hers. I text. My friend called and we had a conversation including Emma. The girl pulled a toothbrush out of her bag. With certainty she claimed it as her own. It was orange. Emma’s is green.

“What did you use when you brushed your teeth this morning?” my friend asked.

“The green one,” Emma answered.

“Then why did you bring the orange one home?”

“Because it’s mine.”

Oh the fun of it all – trying to understand her muddled mind.

“I have an extra. I don’t need it back,” I told my friend. “But just thought I’d let you know so she doesn’t use it.”

Thankfully that conversation wasn’t mine to have – why using someone else’s toothbrush is not a good idea. I’ve had my fair share of those types of conversations with Sabrina* (foster child with me for 5yrs) and Megan* (foster child with me for 2yrs). Like Emma, both of them suffer from intellectual limitations. No doubt I will have similar conversations in the future as I prepare to again foster special needs children.

Off the phone I had to laugh. I’ve resolved to start finding the fun in it all. Not at the children’s expense. I expect when she she fully realized the situation, Emma was laughing as well.

*name changed

Having-funn-Quotes-work-hard-have-fun-make-a-difference

Our Table is Full

If you’ve been keeping up with my saga – you’re aware that I began fostering with a private agency 6yrs ago. This past summer I decided to try working directly for the local children’s aid. That didn’t pan out. The experience confirmed I’m no good at short term relationships. I’m a long haul kind of person.

So now I’m officially back with the private agency. Generally, sadly, the children in our agency aren’t going anywhere. They won’t be returning to birth family nor are they likely to be adopted – for a wide variety of reasons.

It may be a while before any new children join our home. However, I am back doing relief for my friend. (With the private agency foster parents have a weekend off every 6wks. The kids go to another foster home during that time. This is called relief.) Although we’ve seen my friend’s three girls regularly it’s been 9mths since they’ve been able to sleep over.

Raine and Athena are thrilled to have them here this weekend. Even after a lengthy separation, they settled in without any issues. It’s wonderful to have them here again. Once more our table and home are full – along with all of our hearts.

ready for dinner

ready for dinner

Why Wonderfully Unusual?

Wonderfully unusual pretty much sums up my life. The unusual is pretty obvious. I intentionally pursued motherhood as a single Christian woman. A good portion of my friends are single Christian moms. Not one of them intended to be, it’s just how things turned out. Marriage has yet to come about in my life. Still I knew God called me to be a mother. So that’s what I became. Adoption burned on my heart since childhood, but first I became a foster mom. Then went through the process of adopting. My daughters came to me 3yrs ago as foster children. Now they’re mine forever. Everything about becoming a mom – foster/adoptive – has been unusual.

I began with a nearly 13yr old. Sabrina* had been in foster care since the age of 5. I wasn’t her first foster mom but I was her last. This past summer she turned 18 and is now forging her way as an adult. Starting off parenting a teen with fetal alcohol syndrome and intellectual limitations is unusual. And it certainly was a unique experience.

The adoption hasn’t been typical either. I had to fight to keep my little ones. Their social worker was sure they’d be better off with a married couple unable to have children of their own. In no way am I opposed to infertility being a factor in people deciding to adopt. Nor am I against couples adopting. I’m all for that. But after having my girls for 1 ½ years I knew they should stay with me. A formal hearing confirmed that was the best option.

That’s not how most foster care adoption stories go. Usually a social worker calls to say, “We have a child that might be for you.” Then you hear all about them, you make a decision, you see pictures, you fall in love, and meet. Then after a month or so of visiting you take your child home. With the arrival of a letter by courier it was decreed that I would get to parent Raine & Athena forever. Not what I was expecting when I started my adoption homestudy. For some reason I thought it would be somewhat typical.

Wonderful is where we’re at now. It was a rocky start with Raine. The adoption didn’t sit well with her. That and beginning school caused her to unravel to a certain extent. Homeschooling, cutting wheat out of her diet, and some herbal anxiety medication has gotten us back on track. She’s still somewhat tightly wound, but that’s just who she is. The place we find ourselves at now is by no means perfect. But I’d venture to say it is wonderful. Through an amazing turn of events, I’m able to be a stay at home mom. My kids are my primary focus – though I am working on another dream as well (www.believebistro.com).

So, to sum up our life: it’s wonderfully unusual. Hence the new title of my blog.

Thanks for stopping by. Come back tomorrow to find out why I shouldn’t blog and cook at the same time.

*name changed

The Games We Play

Lately my girls have been playing “I’m a New Foster Kid”. The game goes like this: one of them pretends to be a foster child who has just arrived at our home. The other shows them around and explains our life. This past weekend it was Raine’s turn to be “our special guest” (which is how I refer to the foster children who come to us). She decided to call herself Kara. Most of the game was spent correcting Athena who was forever calling her Kiera. During dinner on Saturday, Raine – pretending to be Kara – said, “When I go to my grandma’s tomorrow, I won’t be coming back. I’m going to live there. That’s what happens with some foster kids.”

“You can play that in the game,” I permitted. “But in real life you’re living here.”

“I know,” she answered. “I’m not a foster child.”

This declaration is a small miracle. It’s taken time for Raine to see herself as adopted and a permanent resident here. There are still times she threatens to leave, but most often she’s happy to stay. Never again will Raine or Athena be a new foster child in someone’s home. That is a really big miracle.

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