Category Archives: fostering

Love is Important

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One of the reasons I left the private agency I was fostering for was the hope of easier children. Some days Sloane* is fun enough for this single mom. It was nearly three weeks before I got a call after the boys left (see From 2 to 4 and The End). A message was left while I picked Elise* up from school. By the time I called back the 3yr old boy had been placed elsewhere. “Just as well,” I thought, still hoping for a tiny baby before Christmas.

The next day the same worker called to say, “It’s not going to work where we put him. Would you still be interested?” The initial report was: his speech is delayed and he’s not toilet trained. The current foster mom complained he hadn’t slept that first night, refused to talk though is able to, and won’t keep his clothes on. It was his first night in a strange home, so I wasn’t too put off. I said yes. Later another call came to say he may be mildly autistic. Still I said yes.

Joseph* arrived Friday afternoon. If it’s autism he has, it’s certainly not mild. He’s happy, engaging, and affectionate. But seems to be in disconnected from the world. Communication is limited to single words repeated, sometimes connected to what’s going on or in his hand.

Sloane, who doesn’t get along with anyone, instantly fell for him. At dinner the first night, she said, “Love is important. And I love Joseph.” Three days in, her love continues to expand. She speaks kindly and quietly to him (a miracle in and of itself) and is consistently eager to help him. Elise isn’t feeling quite as warmly towards our new arrival. Mostly she stares asking, “What are you doing?” His actions confound her because they lack any logical sequence or explanation. Joseph responds to her with a smile.

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fast asleep with a teddy bear – one of my greatest triumphs thus far

The first night bedtime was a struggle. He cried and quickly jumped out of bed when I put him in. While bathing the girls I let him play in his room with the door closed. Tonight when I told him to go upstairs after dinner, he happily hurried into his bed. Pretending to be asleep I hated to explain it was bath time not bed yet. I still have to stay in his room, encouraging him to remain in bed for him to fall asleep. Thus far it’s been about 20mins, which gives me time to check emails and write this blog. Asleep by 8pm and awake by 6:30am has been the pattern. Once asleep, he sleeps right through the night. This morning he even remained in his room until I came to get him after my shower (the rule for everyone in my household). I’m incredibly happy with the sleep component.

During the day he amuses himself, playing and climbing onto to my lap. A trip to Superstore (since he came with nothing) was challenging. I put him in the cart, but he recognized a multitude of yummy treats. Joseph screamed and grabbed for cookies and sugary snacks as I whizzed past them. Again I have an oversized child. The size 4 plaid shirt I bought him for church couldn’t be buttoned this morning.

Church, like the shirt, wasn’t a good fit. Everything went well until a teachers arrived with a muffin in a McDonald’s bag. Joseph really wanted the bag and whatever was in it. Concerned about allergies, the teacher didn’t give it to him. He became increasingly inconsolable. I was called to help. The problem is I have no idea what to do. He hardly knows me. Even a piece of the desired muffin didn’t pull him out of the state he was in. When I tried to pick him up things got worse. Finally I calmed him enough to leave. The teachers were very gracious, encouraging me to have him stay when settled. I worried about another melt down later  and didn’t want to be stuck trying to get him through a crowed foyer. If at all possible, I avoid causing a scene. I gathered Sloane and Elise from their class. Joseph wept when I suggested he put his coat on. He continued in the parking lot and the car. Five minutes out of the parking lot, he was ok. Back home he was great the rest of the day. Hopefully with time (and if there are no McDonald’s bags) Joseph will settle into the routine of church.

Inside I keep screaming, “I think I have an autistic child!” This is not the easy I was looking for. Sloane getting along with Joseph eases the strain. He’s really happy at home.  The fact is, he needs to live somewhere right now. Why not here?

*name changed

The End

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7wks after arriving, it was time for the boys to go. Their maternal grandmother came forward to claim them. Normally when a family member is able to take foster children the process is quick – much faster than seven weeks. For whatever reason, there was a delay in this situation.

The fear of heartbreak when children leave is something that keeps many people from fostering. At first I was like that. And there were some heartbreaks along the way. This time it wasn’t too bad. In their short time with me, Deshawn* and Tyson* made great strides. I did what I could in the time that I had. Sloane* fully committed herself to their spiritual education. At home with only Tyson on week days she made up songs for him about the imminent return of Christ. Despite her constant fighting with Deshawn she burst into tears when they drove away. Elise*, who got along wonderfully with both boys, didn’t seem to care much. Being the more sensitive of the two, I expected her to shed some tears.

Foster care really is a terrible place for children. Even the most loving situation is unnatural and confusing for kids. The driver who transported the boys weekly to their visits was crushed when I told her they would likely be leaving. “But they’re so loved here with you,” she exclaimed. I pray that’s the impression they take with them.

Just before the move, the boys’ grandmother wrote me a heartfelt note. “We are truly grateful to have such a thoughtful, attentive care giver to watch the kids. Sometimes foster care isn’t the best situation but we couldn’t have asked for a better family in the situation present.” I know not all birth families will be able to respond likewise. Foster care is wildly challenging for everyone involved – birth families, kids, foster families, social workers, judges, etc.

When the boys came, I knew they were expected to go to grandma’s. Maybe that’s why the departure didn’t devastate me. Maybe there’s an extra grace on me for this season.

In the time since they’ve left (this blog was delayed due to a broken computer), I’ve painted and rearranged my entry way. I went on a crazy spree and completed all my Christmas shopping (minus any new foster children, though I do have a variety of extra gifts for boys/girls of any age should kids arrive at the last minute).

The time with Deshawn & Tyson was hectic. My body is thankful for the end of that chapter. (Tyson, a typical baby, wanted to be carried most of the time. However his weight and size in no way mirrored a typical 16mth old. Not able to refuse him, my arms grew weary to a degree I never imagined possible.) It was a good chapter in my life as a foster mom, but I’m ok with the ending. And, having caught my breath, I’m ready for the next adventure.

*names changed

 

My Act of Worship

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Life with four children under the age of 6 is challenging. (For more info on how that happened see From 2 to 4.) Adding to my own obligations, I’m using cloth diapers and continually baking since Sloane* can’t have wheat. Store bought items are pricey and often unimpressive. I’ve also decided to take up sewing again. The foster children’s clothing allowance is meager. I like all the kids in my care to look their best. At a clothing exchange in August I picked up ample girl’s clothing without any idea I’d soon have boys. Recently more girls’ clothing came my way from lady at church. It seems a little girl is in the future. But for now I’m making cute plaid jumpers in blue and green. I’m exhausted.

A few days into this adventure, baby Tyson* stopped sleeping through the night. His cry – resembling a furious roar – began just as I climbed into bed. Fearing he’d wake his brother, Deshawn* (the two share a room), I hurried to get him. 4hrs later we were still up. Tyson would slip into sleep while I held him. Whenever I tried lowering him into the crib, he’d start and let out an ear piercing howl. Back we’d go to my room and try it all again. Finally I got him to settle in the crib. There are two things I need to function – three to do well. 1. A good night’s sleep. 2. A shower first thing in the morning. 3. A creative outlet. Tyson robbed me of all three. After a fitful night, he’d be up for good by 5am. And there was no convincing him to keep quiet while I showered. Exhausted all day he’d want to be held continually. Completely depleted myself, I wasn’t doing anything beyond the bare minimal to keep us going – which included 3 meals and 2 snacks a day, at least 2 loads of laundry a day (one of diapers, the other clothing because it’s a given that at least one child will soil themselves any given day), dishes, sweeping/moping the floor, coaxing children to tidy up, getting 2 kids to school 5 days a week, getting the foster children ready for visits 2 days a week, buying groceries, and trying to stretch my clothing allowance to get everything the boys need.

In the midst of my exhaustion, I’ve been dealing with increasing hostility between the three older children – one 5yr old and two 4yr olds. Deshawn is quick to tell my girls, “I’m telling my mom on you,” when they do anything at all he dislikes. For instance if they won’t give him something they’re using. While using their toys, he says, “I’m taking this home with me when I go.” This results in an explosion from Sloane* and Elise*. “You can’t do that! It’s not yours!” There are limits to their generosity especially since they’re both battling their own sense of loss. Being adopted does that to kids. Being a foster kid is hard. I feel for Deshawn. There’s so much turmoil and confusion for him. While struggling to complete necessary daily tasks, I’ve been dealing with continual arguments.

A dear friend – and former foster parent – stopped by the other night with her husband and their son. During our brief visit, I lamented Tyson not sleeping. While leaving, she put her hands on his head. The prayer was simple, “Peace. We pray peace for you.” Since then there’s not been a sleepless night!

Yesterday I was with another friend and mentioned the conflict with the three kids. She prayed peace into my home. When my herd assembled after school, there was no hostility. We made it through the evening with very few incidents. All three were much more subdued. At dinner Deshawn said, “This is a good house!” (Instead of using the word family I tend to say things like, “At this house we…..”) And this morning he commented, “Your girls are really beautiful.” These compliments weren’t rolling off his tongue previously.

Prayer. It really does change things. I’m ashamed to admit it isn’t always my first response. Before I started fostering I’d spend hours in prayer – often for the children the Lord would one day bless me with. Now that I have them, everyday care seems to overshadow that communion. I used to despair at my lack of prayer. Then the Lord assured me, He understands. I’m a single mom. I don’t have hours to spend in worship or prayer. For now taking care of these children is my act of worship. The Lord faithfully causes others to pray for me. In addition to the two friends already mentioned, often someone from the church – a friend or acquaintance – will say, “You and your kids have really been on my heart this week. I’ve been praying for you.” At times the Lord has woken people in the night to intercede for my kids. I’ve not always been able to track the results of those prayers, like I can with the two recent declarations of peace, but there’s so much more than what I can see. To everyone one of you who pray when the Lord prompts – thank you. Your prayers make my worship possible.

*name changed

from a fellow single adoptive/foster mom (check out her blog: www.seeingjoy.com

from a fellow single adoptive/foster mom. Check out her blog: www.seeingjoy.com

From 2 to 4

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I jump through hoops. That’s what I’ll tell people when asked what I do. This season without any foster children has given me time to think (see Progress Report). Deciding to homeschool Sloane* (see Back to School) revived my dream to foster babies. Since I have one child at home during the week, I might as well have more.

So I made the switch to babies with the local Children’s Aid I’m working with. Let me tell you, this was no small feat. The cribs I recently bought from IKEA were, apparently, not up to code. Nor was the gate I just got from Canadian Tire. The curtains covering my patio doors were not permitted to touch the ground. I tried safety pinning them shorter (my social worker suggested duct tape) but it looked ridiculous with the glass showing at the bottom. Really, who puts up curtains that don’t cover a window? Not me. So I had to take the curtains down. Now, at night, I try to convince myself there isn’t anyone beyond the black cavern of exposed glass. There were many more seemingly small things which amounted to a great deal of stress for me. This was exasperated because just after my social worker left my home with a failing grade for baby prep, she called me with a possible placement. Ideally, I’d wanted to have one little baby (preferably right from the hospital) and two older foster children – say 10 & 12. But that wasn’t possible. Teens and babies can’t be together. So my age range became 0-8yrs. And I nervously wondered how I’d manage so many young ones. Now I get to see.

The placement was a 4yr old and 14mth old. “Oh, these are boys,” my social worker said, somewhat surprised. “You’re only down for girls.” I don’t know why she even thought of me – since I am only down for girls. After two months of waiting for foster children, I decided not to let the opportunity pass me by.

I got everything done on my list – new crib, new gates, etc, etc, etc. My social worker came out early Thursday morning to inspect the place again. This is what I get to do – jump through hoops so I can bend over backwards caring for someone else’s child. The child comes with issues and challenges you would not believe. My entire life revolves around caring for a child that doesn’t even belong to me. Working through the list of things I needed to do, I kept wondering, “Why am I doing this?” Misty Edward’s song answers me. “It’s gonna be worth it,” I can hear her sing. “It’s gonna be worth it all in the end.” The end will be when I get to heaven and meet my maker. I know He’ll say, “This is what I created you for – to love Me by loving these kids.” I must admit I don’t always do it flawlessly or with an abundance of grace. But I’m still here. I’m still trying.

I now have a 5yr old, two 4yr olds, and a 14mth old. And I’m on my own. A baby and two older kids is what I was planning in addition to my own 5 & 4yr old. But this is the door the Lord opened. I’ve chosen to walk through it. Expecting to encounter Him in this new place.

*name changed

at Superstore looking for hair products and shoes for a very large 14mth old

at Superstore looking for hair products and shoes for a very large 14mth old (with a random shopper in the shot)

 

My Baby is 4!

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Today Elise* turns 4. She arrived three months before turning 2, so this is the 3rd time we’ve celebrated her birthday together. I had about 1wk to prepare for her arrival, which is unusual in fostering. I carefully decorated the nursery in birds, praying Psalm 124:7-8.

We have escaped like a bird
from the fowler’s snare;
the snare has been broken,
and we have escaped.
Our help is in the name of the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

Her older sister, Sloane*, had been with me three months when the social worker decided to move Elise to my home – against doctor and supervisor’s recommendations. I do believe everyone has been pleasantly surprised by the success of that decision – me most of all. I’ve seen my little one transform from frightened and fragile (for more info see Only Prayer) into a confident ray of sunshine.

I must admit she still sleeps in a crib – by her own choice. Up until a few months ago she still needed a bottle to fall asleep. Going without she struggles to lull herself to sleep. And she still needs a diaper for bed. Those are the biggest challenges. The fact that she continually wants to be picked up and carried is something I’m willing to indulge. As I put her to bed on the eve of her birthday, despite being nearly 4 and attending school, Elise still insisted I call her a baby. “I’ll always be a baby!” she’s decided. Not so. But I’m happy to pretend – holding her close and kissing her a million times.

As a single mom, I’ve told my girls Jesus is their dad. He’s the one who birthed them in my heart long ago. He also moved heaven and earth so I could keep them (see Adoption). He’s the one who provides for us in so many unexpected ways. When Sloane started wondering about a dad (she remembers her birth father), I casually informed her she had Jesus. It wasn’t something I went out of my way to tell Elise because she didn’t ask. But she’s got it. Recently when Sloane commented, “I don’t have a dad.” Elise piped up in sincere conviction, “Yes! We have Jesus!!!” Praying she always knows His love and protection as she grows.

*name changed

Elise at 2

Elise at 2

Elise at 3

Elise at 3

Elise at 4

Elise at 4