Opportunity?

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After bathing the two little ones, I came down to see the three older girls applying my black nail polish to their fingers and toes. When questioned, Ainsley* was discovered to be the culprit.

“I thought she asked you,” Dana* insisted.

“Even if she did, you know your foster mom doesn’t like you wearing black nail polish.” All three of the girls are with me for the weekend only. Ainsley is a new addition but Dana and Natalie* are regulars. They know not to touch my nail polish. And they know their foster mom has forbidden black or bright red nails.

Ainsley, on the other hand, had a few things to learn. This was the second time she’d been with me. The first, last week, came unexpectedly when her foster mom called wanting to drop her off late one night. Things are falling apart in Ainsley’s world. She and her three older sisters have been in foster care nearly a year. It’s a complicated situation I lack the details of. I do know recently, surprisingly, all the criminal charges were dropped. The girls are set to return to their mom. Attempting some sort of continuity, Children’s Aid has decided to wait until the end of the school year. Ainsley is deeply torn between wanting to go home, because she loves her mom, and dreading it because she knows what it will be like. There were days without food. Times when no one cared for her. And likely so much more. Since finding out she’s going home, Ainsley’s been out of control at her foster home. I’m not sure what that looks like, but I know it resulted in her seasoned foster mom wanting to drop her off with me late one night.

Ainsley pouts at the kitchen table. I begin making the bedtime snack (a special treat of s’mores). Do I want to confront her on this? No – my evening will be much more enjoyable if I just let it go. If I do confront her will Ainsley have a melt down? Probably. Will I be able to manage that? I don’t know. Is it fair to lay down the law when she’s going through so much right now? No, but life really isn’t fair.

For foster kids parenting is like a patch work quilt. There are many influences molding these kids. Shirking my responsibility in this moment isn’t doing Ainsley any favours.

“As a guest in this home, you do not go into my cupboards and take things without asking,” I begin.

She shrugs and offers an excuse. She was in the cupboard looking for something else……not sure how that ended in applying my nail polish.

“Ainsley, as a foster child you will be in lots of different houses. Do not use or take things without asking. I’m telling you this to help you. I want things to go well for you here and anywhere else you go.”

She turns away, still pouting. Generally the children I encounter don’t know how to respond. I tend to tell them, in case they’re wondering.

“You need to say, ‘I’m sorry for taking your nail polish without asking. Next time I’ll ask if I want to use something.’”

Her back remains to me. While putting chocolate and marshmallows on graham wafers, I’m bracing myself for an onslaught of rage. This spirited little girl came into foster care with a tendency to steal. I don’t know if her birth mother addressed it. Certainly Ainsley’s foster mom has.
The screaming doesn’t come. Ainsley refuses to apologize. Silently tears stream pulling mascara down her cheeks (something else I’d warned her against earlier that day. Her older sisters tend to put makeup on her. I said, “Not at my house. You’re 8yrs old!”) Tears are a completely normal response and show some remorse! After five years of interacting with extremely volatile children I have to refrain from gathering Ainsley up in a great big hug. When she finally looks at me, Ainsley appears to understand. I pass out the s’mores. Everyone’s happy. Glad I took the opportunity to speak to her. Hoping it’s truth she’ll apply. Because really, taking things out of people’s cupboards isn’t going to endear her to anyone.

*name changed

my weekend tribe at the beach earlier that day

my weekend tribe at the beach earlier that day

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

Living with Limits

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I work for a private fostering agency providing care for special/high needs children. Usually by the time kids enter our agency they’re older and quite damaged. My greatest frustration is that most of their “special needs” are preventable conditions. A great number have diminished mental capacity from being exposed to alcohol while in the womb. This is usually coupled with extreme neglect, trauma, abuse in their early years. Add to that moving around in and out of a broken Children’s Aid system and the end result is anything but pretty.

In five years, I’ve gotten used to a lot of things but the term “acquired brain injury” still makes me cringe. (Meaning someone did something serious enough to cause a permanent brain injury.) Often the kids themselves are cognitive enough to resent the state they’re in. Mostly they try to hold it together, navigating a world beyond their understanding. As a caregiver there are times the limitations trip me up and I fall short. Like the other day when Sabrina* was putting the canopy on our gazebo. She had it all turned around – the long end of the canopy going along the short end of the frame. My clear, simple explanation of the problem when she asked for help left her completely confused. At a loss, I walked away. Twenty minutes later Sabrina joyously informed me that she figured out the problem – the canopy was on the wrong way. “I told you that,” was my response after congratulating her. “Well, I didn’t know what you were talking about.” This is the daily grind we’re accustomed to.

Last weekend my friend’s 13yr old foster child was with me. Since the last time Natalie* visited – about three weeks ago – she’s fallen in love with India. A streetwise little spitfire her passions have been dominated, thus far, by pop stars. In the three years I’ve known her, Natalie has never expressed such sincere affection for anything or anyone. Eating dinner in a Greek restaurant, she wishes to hear some Indian music. At home I put on an animated film from India that comes up in my search of Netflix. Watching her watch it my heart breaks. I’m mourning who she could have been. Without the limitations inflicted upon her by alcohol and abuse who could she have been? If things were different, would India have played a key role in Natalie’s life?

I know God is able to bring redemption to any situation. I’m still believing for these kids to be healed mentally, physically, and emotionally. In the meantime I’m grieving the loss of what God really planned for them. This pain and frustration certainly wasn’t His intention. Most of the time my thoughts fail to extend beyond, “How can I get through this day without anyone breaking down?” I don’t think about what God really wanted when He created these kids. Today I’m painfully aware of the deposit of divine design. How do I help my kids bypass their limitations in order to unearth what God’s deposited? How can I connect Natalie to India so she can catch even a portion of God’s plan for her?

*name changed

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