Category Archives: prayer

Back to School!

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I was 10yrs old when God dropped the dream of adopting on me (see Adoption). 25yrs is a long time to dream. I imagined bringing tiny babies home, naming them, loving them, and knowing they were mine. Of course reality hasn’t been like that. I got a 3yr old and 21mth old. I was able to give them middle names. And I’m immensely happy with their first names. I loved them slowly and not completely at first, aware that up until the adoption was legalized in January I could lose them at any moment. That’s the reality of foster care. It’s taken all of us quite a while to come to terms with permanency.

I dreamed of traveling to Europe, tea parties, blissful evenings spent reading classic literature, and home schooling. Owing to immigration issues our travel is limited to visiting family within Canada. Several years ago, when I began fostering, I gave up tea in favour of coffee. The blissful evenings may come as we work on building attention spans within the diagnosis of ADHD. I’m not sure how, as a child, I planned to be a single parent and home school…….. Oh, right! I was going to be a writer – penning celebrated novels while my children frolicked in the yard behind our Victorian home. Though that hasn’t happened, the Lord has opened doors for me to be a stay-at-home mom. Between a government subsidy and fostering, we live comfortably in a spacious home circa 1980. There is a yard. Maybe one day the children will frolic so I can write the books running around in my head. In the meantime, one thing on my list is within my grasp – homeschooling.

Sloane* began Junior Kindergarten last year. It was a tumultuous time with the adoption taking place simultaneously. Having been with me over a year, the girls were “placed” with me for adoption the day after school began. This year has been rough to say the least. Sloane began mourning the loss of her birth family. Despite seeming continually angry at me, she hated being away from me. In protest, she took to soiling herself. At different points, once the adoption was finalized with the courts, I debated taking her out of school. It was, after all, only JK. But the thought of having her home full-time was terrifying. School was clearly detrimental but I couldn’t take the endless power struggles, tantrums, and hostility. She did generally come home furious at me but at least I had a few hours of peace.

Elise* is set to begin JK in September. I could, conceivably, be without children most days of the week with a full-day 5 day a week kindergarten program at the local school.

As mentioned in my post, Progress Report, I’ve been thinking. Here’s what I’ve come up with: I’m going to homeschool. Since Sabrina* moved out Sloane has become significantly more receptive

Sloane is excited about biking when school work's done

Sloane is excited about biking when school work’s done

(this past week being an exception). Her heart seems to be opening to me once again. This dramatic and unexpected shift has made homeschooling possible. At first I was going to keep both Sloane and Elise home. But after a few trial runs, thought otherwise. There’s still a lot of animosity between the two. Besides, maybe what Sloane needs is me all to herself for a while.

A fellow foster mom recently shared a quote with me, “The kids who need the most love will ask for it in the most unloving way.”

Praying I’m able to saturate Sloane with love in this season of homeschooling.

* name changed

One Week

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In order to foster with the local Children’s Aid I needed a landline. The idea is so archaic, I decided to kick it completely old school – a corded phone and answering machine. Thursday, August 15 my handy pad of phonepaper was finally filled with details of a child. At first she was 11 – then suddenly almost 14 (the social worker’s math is clearly as bad as mine since she was determining age based on year of birth). A one week respite placement. The child came into care a week ago. Her foster parents had already booked this week off. Nearly 14 with some history of drug use and a tendency to sneak out. Maybe not a problem at my house since she’d be far from friends. It was my first call. I took the risk.

Carlin* arrived Sunday afternoon. Her foster mom was guardedly positive when we spoke on the phone the day before. “I have two 16yr old foster girls and they love her – want her to stay.” The other girls were off to camp. Carlin ended up with me because it was too late to register her for camp.

Sloane* and Elise* welcomed her with exuberance. After lunch we made play dough. Carlin was quietly helpful. Copying my actions, she kneaded the dough. For a while she played – cutting out pink hearts. She remained eerily quiet. This, no doubt, was exaggerated by the fact that I’m unaccustomed to quiet people. Her foster mom said she was quiet and just wanted to text all the time. That evening I left Carlin on her own.

The next day, with Sloane & Elise at daycare, we went to Starbucks. Somehow this always ends up being the first place I take kids. I didn’t get any pictures of Carlin, but do have one of Sloane. I bought Carlin a Caramel Macchiato. She’d never been to Starbucks and was overwhelmed by the adjoining Chapters. “There’s so much stuff,” she whispered.

1st outing with Sloane

1st outing with Sloane

Later that evening, with the little ones in bed, I suggested we watch a movie together. Carlin agreed, informing me “I don’t really watch movies.” I wanted to make an effort. It’s not like we could sit around talking. Conversation didn’t go anywhere. She was quiet and guarded. I’m no good at small talk. My questioning pulled out a disjointed family history. Carlin’s mom had only been 14yrs old when she had her. Later she married, someone other than Carlin’s father, and had the two little ones. Their paternal grandparents rescued them from foster care that day. But no one came forward for Carlin. She had to be sad. Normally people share with me quite freely. “I’ve never told this to anyone” is a phrase I commonly hear followed by a number of revelations from childhood abuse to secret dreams and desires. I was getting nothing from Carlin. She answered my questions with facts, no feelings.

It was a week of first for Carlin. After her mom didn’t show up for a visit we went to Fabricland (memories of my sister demanding candy for accompanying me fabric shopping flooded my mind). Then we went out for Vietnamese. “Thank you,” Carlin said as we left the restaurant. “That was really good.” Her manners were impeccable. She seemed sincerely grateful for my meager offerings.

Later in the week, it was Ikea. “It’s big,” was all she had to say at the end of it. The silence is something I never got used to.

On our final evening, I introduced her to Wes Anderson – whom I love. We watched Moonrise Kingdom. “It’s weird. But I like it,” she said. “When you’re older, you must watch the other films,” I implored.

By the end of the week she was humming along to Jon Thurlow as we drove around.  IHOP Kansas City was playing continually in the background at home. I resisted the urge to launch into prayer counselling. But I did bless her spirit using Arthur Burk’s book at night while she slept.(If you’d like a copy, let me know. I just got a shipment in.) Sloane tried to convince Carlin to stay with us. Even when her foster mom came to get her, Sloane pleaded her case.

Shortly after she left, Carlin text me. “Thank u for having me!!!”

“It was my pleasure. Feel free to stay in touch if you want. Praying all goes well for you!” was my response.

“okay I will and thanks 😀  u cook really good food too I never ate like that before”

I can’t recall most of what I made – teriyaki chicken with rice, apple cinnamon bread for breakfast one day, peach pie that turned out below par.

“I’m sure she means it,” a fellow foster parent assured me. “She didn’t have to text you. She’d already said goodbye.”

Goodbye –that’s the hard part. Some kids you’re happy to see go. Others burrow deep into your heart. I doubt Carlin will ever return to my home. But, for now, she remains on my heart. I’m still praying for God to break in on her situation. I’m blessing her, via Arthur Burk’s exceptional prayers, to move past the pain and into the Father’s love. But, sadly, this is where the story ends.

*name changed

Ready? Set? Go!

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June 27, 2008 I began my career as a foster parent. Over the past 5yrs, with a private agency, I’ve had a total of 8 children come to me. The first, Sabrina*, has been with me since day one. For the past two years I’ve had the same 4 children in my care – two, Sloane* and Elise*, I managed to adopt. With Sabrina turning 18 and moving forward in life, now seemed like the time to change directions. I’m still fostering, but with the local Children’s Aid instead of the private agency.

Megan* never did recover from her trip across the border . Things continued to deteriorate, which made my decision somewhat easier. June 28, 2013 Megan moved to another foster home within the private agency. Since then Sabrina’s been a bundle of nerves, knowing her turn is coming. Years before I knew her, Sabrina was diagnosed with Attachment Disorder – which means heartfelt relationships are generally beyond her capacity. The amount of stress and tears she’s shedding is a testimony that I did somehow land in her guarded heart. However the hours Sabrina spends screaming that she hates me and wishes we’d never met doesn’t leave me warm and fuzzy. This is how she copes with the impending loss – trying to quench her emotions with hate.

So, in the midst of all this emotional upheaval, I’ve painted two bathrooms and two bedrooms (one somewhat voluntarily, the other because a weekend visitor trashed it….maybe more on that in a future post). I’ve rearranged my living room. I’ve built a wooden walkway in my front garden. I’ve bought two cribs (hopefully to be used in about 6mths time). Furniture and pictures have shifted from one floor to another. This is how I deal with loss. I decorate. I try to make it all beautiful. I change my surroundings so the absence of an individual isn’t as predominant because everything around me is different. That chair you used to sit in is no longer there, so maybe I won’t notice that you’re not here. Grief, loss, trauma. These are the hallmarks of my career.

And now, today, I start anew with another agency and a fresh batch of kids. I’m listed as being available for up to 3 girls between the ages of 6 and 12. In working directly with Children’s Aid there’s more uncertainty about how long the kids will stay (the private agency tended to have long term/permanent situations). So I may get to redecorate soon – but, depending on the turn over rate, might need to find a new coping strategy.

Here are the rooms as of this morning, my first official day with Children’s Aid…..praying for the little ones soon filling them!

ready for two

room for two

 

 

room for one

room for one

 

 

*name changed

Baby Birds

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bird's nest

bird’s nest

three eggs

three eggs

two babies

two babies

Misinformed robins built a nest on the railing of our deck. In early spring the skeleton vines had the potential to offer shelter. However, they were annuals I hadn’t cleared away yet. I’m sure the couple regretted their location once my children began occupying the backyard. Still three eggs appeared in the nest. We watched diligently waiting for them to hatch. One Saturday morning two babies appeared in the nest. That weekend three extra children were with me. They all came into foster care before the age of 3. Two are now 13, the other 9. They’ve been well cared for.

Panic spread through my troop of children when they spotted the baby birds. One of the 13yr olds was sure the robins couldn’t care for the babies. She quickly convinced the five other children. Having been disappointed by their own birth mothers, they believed the lie that these birds would abandon the babies. Despite my reassurance, they spent the entire day placing worms in the nest. A resounding cheer went up whenever the mother robin returned to the babies.

Mother issues? Turns out years of care doesn’t cure that. These kids have been raised in foster homes where the parents have biological children. That example hasn’t penetrated the lie that biological parents abandon their children. Maybe this is how foster care ends up being a generational pattern.

Praying the cycle stops with these girls. Praying their testimony will be:

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.

Psalm 124:7-8

My Legs Are Tired!

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After a play date at the park, we headed over to the pharmacy. Sloane*, normally a bundle of energy, wanted to go in her sister Elise*’s stroller. Instead

of asking she just shouts in a menacing way, “MY LEGS ARE TIRED!” Sloane says this several times before I can jump in with, “There’s a proper way to ask for things.  Screaming at me does not get you what you want.” My words fall on deaf ears. Sloane has her own way of doing things. She continues screaming with a frightening amount of rage, “MY LEGS ARE TIRED!” Respectable retirees are out tending their gardens. I’m sure none of their children ever behaved this way. With Sloane’s voice reverberating through the quiet neighbourhood, I struggle to keep my composure. Finally, I bend down to face her and say, “That is enough. If you want to go in the stroller stop screaming and say, ‘mom, could I please go in the stroller.’” She doesn’t. The screaming continues. Tears stream down her face. A friend calls to see if we’re still going out for lunch. I stop walking and encourage Sloane to sit down on the sidewalk to rest her legs. She won’t. The screaming gets louder now that my attention is divided. Off the phone, after declining lunch, I give her a stern talking to. The point being we’re far from home and need to get her medication from the pharmacy. The behaviour meds (see Happy Birthday to Me) help her focus but her rage and frustration have been strong lately. It could be the medication or just Sloane processing more of her struggle. Recently we had a small adoption party and private dedication ceremony. Her birth grandparents came to bless the girls and got to meet my parents. It was challenging for Sloane to have her two worlds collide. So the recent rage could be about that or it could be depression caused by the medication. I don’t know.

Nearing the pharmacy, I tell Sloane she can sit down while I’m getting the medication. This doesn’t appease her. I’m ready to forgo the request that she ask properly to sit in the stroller. “If you’re quiet in the pharmacy you can have a turn in the stroller when we leave.” I’d like to promise her the whole way home, but I know Elise’s little legs won’t make it that far. She lacks Sloane’s stamina.

The screaming doesn’t diminish in the pharmacy. “MY LEGS ARE TIRED!” she shouts as I grab a few things we need before heading back to the

Sloane practicing her growl in the mirror.

Sloane practicing her growl in the mirror.

prescription pick up area. “You should sit down and rest your legs,” I say, indicating the row of chairs. An elderly woman occupies one. “My legs are tired so I’m sitting down,” she says kindly. Sloane growls at her then me because that’s what she does. She has a habit of growling – not in a cute cuddly way but barring her teeth and releasing an absolutely frightening sound. “No,” I say, picking her up and putting her on a chair. She immediately slides off still screaming, “MY LEGS ARE TIRED!” I try the chair again with the same result. I pick her up. But need to put her down a few minutes later to steer the stroller out of the store. The screaming continues.

Next to the pharmacy is a local bakery which Elise loves. I’d promised she could get a cookie when we first left the park. I’d like to skip it and hurry home, but then she’s missing out because of Sloane’s behaviour. Before going in I make the same offer, “If you’re quiet in the bakery you can have a turn in the stroller when we leave.” This time it works. Elise has discovered they give out free cookies at the bakery so she asks the lady working there for one. The only sound out of Sloane’s mouth is her asking me if she can have a cookie as well. I say yes. I buy buns, two cream horns, and a small rhubarb pie for myself.  This is why I’ve gained so much weight since I started fostering, after being assaulted by screaming I encourage myself with the likes of pie. Out of the bakery, I tell Elise to get out of the stroller. Sloane gets in. To entice her to walk, Elise gets a cream horn. Sloane is furious that she doesn’t get one. I try to explain screaming doesn’t warrant special treats but she can’t hear me because she’s screaming again.

Sloane in a happier moment

Sloane in a happier moment

My message that screaming doesn’t get you what you want isn’t being absorbed. Sloane still prefers to employ this approach. What she doesn’t get is that I’m just as determined as she is. It may take me a cream horn and some pie to get through, but I’m not going to give into these tactics. You’d think this lesson would have been learned after 2yrs together. I fairness to her, she does get it most of the time. But there are times Sloane’s emotions overwhelm her. Once she starts the screaming it’s hard for her to stop. Praying for a deeper level of healing and a complete harvest of self-control in my little girl (and myself!)

*name changed