I Eat Cake Alone

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Yesterday I turned 38. It was supposed to occur without much fanfare. I’m looking forward to celebrating my 40th in a significant manner. But 38 didn’t seem to warrant much notice. I went to a meeting to figure out some next steps as a foster parent. The girls and I went out for lunch with my mom.

While eating a light dinner, my friend called asking if her foster child could come over. It’s a common call. The teen with FAS often finds life challenging. Usually she’s able to calm down when removed from the situation and brought to my house.

Last night that didn’t happen. The girl was especially angry about being with us. Everything in her wanted to make me feel the pain she was carrying.

“You’re fat,” she yelled at me several times. With no response from me, she decided to hurl a greater insult. “You eat cake alone! I know you do!” she spit the words as if this were the most vile accusation imaginable.

I wanted to laugh. “Yes,” I replied in all seriousness, “I do eat cake alone.”

“I know you do!” she repeated. “I know you eat cake alone!” There was a triumphant smirk on her Chocolate cake and coffeeface as though she’d caught me in something disreputable.

Having been in my home on a regular basis for 6 1/2 years this was the most damning charge she could bring against me.

I must confess, I eat a great deal of cake and – whenever possible – do so alone. It’s my reward after a long hard day. And most days are both long and hard. But I show up and most of the time do my very best. I think that deserves a continual celebration involving cake.

Things with our visitor unraveled further. The words she’d meant to wound me with, only made me laugh.

“It’s your birthday,” Raine cried as we sat in the dinning room while the teen threw books and toys around upstairs, “and she’s wrecking it.”

Eventually, when our visitor came downstairs and began throwing chairs and anything else she could get her hands on, I called 911. This was my first emergency call in 38 years. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen with Raine and Athena behind me, I felt there was no other option. The teen backed away from us a little. I could hardly spell my last name to the 911 operator. My hands were shaking and I was crying.

A fellow blogger criticized me because of my post about saying no to a child who needed a home. Her words played through my mind as my daughters and I ran to the car in pouring rain to wait for the police – no coats, no shoes – “some people just opt for the easy life”. This is not easy! I shouted at the unknown stranger who passed this judgment. As I told the woman in my response, which she had not approved, to say I’ve chosen an easy life is laughable.

I chose this. I decided to become a foster parent who specializes in caring for older, special needs children. Because of that police cruisers are parked in front of my house on my birthday when all I wanted to do was put the kids to bed and enjoy another piece of cake on my own. Easy is not the right word.

Nor does it sum up the decision I made to not let the teen back in my home again. The officers calmed her down. She took her medication and went to bed. In the morning she remained incredibly hostile towards me but did head off to her school down the street. I closed the door, having resolved she will never be with us again.

In the end her foster parents have had to make the same decision. As this girl tells her life story, no doubt there will be outrage when people discover after 6 1/2 years her foster parents and I, sort of her foster aunt, “gave up” on her. That’s how it will look to the casual reader of this child’s life.

As I sit alone tonight, eating cake, I am assured that’s not how my Heavenly Father sees it. He understands the full picture, something a single blog or solitary fact can’t capture.

Remember My Love

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Four years ago, I knit Raine a hat for Easter. She’d arrived, a boisterous 3yr old, a few weeks

Easter 2011

Easter 2011

before the holiday. I had a dress that I picked up from Target in the US months before I knew Raine. Sometimes I would do that – buy potentially useless items because the longing for a couple little ones wouldn’t leave me. In fact, at that point, I bought two dresses one a size 4 the other size 2. They were in a box in my room along with some other clothing someone had given me in those two sizes. Even with a generous monthly clothing allowance for the foster children in my care, I found myself preparing for what might be.

I pulled the size 4 dress out of the box and some shoes I’d bought ages ago for a friend’s foster child who spent most weekends with me. In the end that little one returned to her birth mother. And I kept the shoes in my growing stash of things for a girl between 2-4yrs.

Raine was mildly impressed with the hat I made. She wore it on Easter and many days afterwards. Over the years, the hat has become one of her prized possessions. Somehow, it’s grown with her. This Easter, being incredibly chilly, she grabbed it to wear to church on Good Friday.

It was deeply significant to Raine that, in addition to the dress I made and the necklace her sister made, she had the hat from her first Easter with me. Being who she is, Raine told nearly everyone she came into contact with.

Easter 2015

Easter 2015

“Somehow the hat keeps growing with her,” I explained. It truly fit perfectly when I made it four years ago. And it fits perfectly now.

“She remembers and that makes it special,” said the church’s pre-school director, a former foster parent. He’s witnessed Raine’s growth from a defiant 3yr old into someone more at peace.

There are many days I fail as a parent. But these reminders of my love remain – growing with Raine.

The Gift of Concentration

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Although Athena has not been formally diagnosed, I’m certain she has attention deficit disorder 012like her sister – and practically every child who has been in foster care. Sitting still is not becoming common as it should the older she gets. So we’re using a light weight (bean bag neck warmer) to keep her from jumping around during meals.

The early learning kindergarten program perfectly masks Athena’s lack of concentration. She moves from one activity to another without much investment in anything she does. Next year, I plan to homeschool her. But this year it’s nice to send her off to school on occasion so I can work with Raine.

Still, Athena ends up staying home at least one day a week. The main focus is on concentration. Shortly after she came to me at 20mths of age, the pediatrician said Athena needed to be taught to concentrate. “Put her in a high chair and give her some toys to play with for a little while.” I did. And did things like putting her in the high chair when meals were not quite ready. Athena would have to wait. She also stayed in her high chair when she was done and the rest of the family still ate.

Now, she stays in her room playing Legos each morning while I shower and dress. She’s making necklaces as part of her at home schooling. In addition to concentration, this helps with her fine motor skills which I wonder about sometimes.

I’ve been reading The Believers by Janice Holt Giles. It’s a novel about the early Shaker movement in America. Living communally, each member is given a monthly task – working in the garden, laundry, meal preparations, etc. For a month they devout themselves to this job. Then move on to another posting.

I worry I’m not up to the task of teaching concentration. I bake cookies while doing dishes, watching Dr Phil, and giving instructions on how to create button art (in hopes of occupying the kids for a few minutes). My house is a series of started projects. My room is forever turning into a disaster. I’m not overly organized or great at concentrating.

The Shaker lifestyle is becoming increasingly appealing as I evaluate my own way of doing things. There’s a great deal I disagree with in their theology but I enjoy the concept of being fully devoted to a single task. It’s something I’d like to incorporate into my own life.

Fail as I may, concentration is still a gift I’m working on giving my children and myself.

beading

Everything’s the Same

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As mentioned yesterday, I’m still not over the call I got for four children – 3yr old twin girls, a 7yr old boy, and 8yr old girl. On the heels of that disappointment, I agreed to meet a 15yr old girl with intellectual delays. The child had been in care for some time but the past year had been spent in an institution which sounded top rate. There she’d finally received a formal diagnosis and started on medication that actually helped. Her time there is at an end so the social worker is touring her around to select a foster family to settle with. The goal is that she’ll remain with said family until she ages out of foster care in 2 1/2yrs. They left feeling quite happy. But I left dreading having her here. The hour she’d visited felt like forever. I couldn’t imagine having her here all the time. I tried very hard to figure out life with her but I kept failing. No amount of positives – like her being at her birth mom’s every weekend and being in school full-time – could alleviate the sense of dread that had settled on me the moment I saw her. And so, I had to say no to that placement. And, after the flurry of excitement, everything’s the same. Hopefully not for long.

Placement Calls

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three bedsTwo and a half weeks ago, I was moving beds around – because that’s what I do with all my free time. Athena ended up with three beds in her room, not including the trundle bed that is ready in a matter of minutes. As I made the beds and looked into the future, I found myself thinking, “I’d love to have 3yr old twin girls and maybe a 7yr old or 8yr old.” I went to bed dreaming of that configuration.

In the morning, I received a call from the private fostering agency I work for. The case manger was wondering if I’d be interested in a placement of 3yr old twin girls, a 7yr old boy, and an 8yr old girl. The sibling group was set to be apprehended that day. I was certain this was the situation for us. It was exactly what I’d thought of the night before. Of course I said yes.

Since it work for a private agency, my yes didn’t make anything certain. My employer presented me to the children’s aid that contacted them. Usually at least two homes from my agency are offered as options. Sometimes children’s aid has involved several private agencies. That means there are many homes being looked at. The social worker combs through the choices and picks one that will hopefully be best suited for the children.

In my years of fostering, I’ve said yes to many situations that never came about. But I’d never had such a specific thought as I had while arranging Athena’s room. I could see the 3yr old girls and their older sister in the room even before I got the call.

All day I waited. The case worker called many times – but not about the four children. There was a set of boys, aged 7 & 9, and a 15yr old girl she wondered if I’d want. What I really wanted was those four children. But I said yes to the boys and that I’d be willing to meet the 15yr old who was being transferred from an institution back into foster care.

The boys went to another foster home within my agency. And, at the end of the day, I found out that children’s aid hadn’t gotten a warrant to apprehend the four children. They weren’t coming to me after all. I nearly cried. Normally, I know not to get my hopes up when I get a placement call. But this one had seemed so sure. I had everything for that exact situation. I would have just needed to run out and get another vehicle that could transport six small children and myself.

I’ve left the three beds up in Athena’s room and made matching duvet covers. The extra bed was supposed to be temporary until I took it down and delivered it to someone else. But now I can’t bear to part with it. Those four children might still come. Even now, I can’t get them out of my mind. Praying the Lord continues to move on their behalf wherever they are.

And then I was still left with the prospect of the 15yr old………..(more on that coming tomorrow)