Tag Archives: foster care

Not What I Expected

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Tonight I asked 6yr old Sloane* to sweep the kitchen. It’s a chore she’s been dreaming of since she arrived three years ago. But actually doing it

spunky Sloane

spunky Sloane

didn’t hold her interest for long. After running upstairs to deal with another situation, I came down to find only half the room done. Sloane had moved on to something else.

I called her back and said, “You only swept half the kitchen.”

“Yeah,” she answered, “I didn’t know what you were expecting.”

“I was expecting it all to be done.”

“Well, that’s not what I was planning on.”

This exchange sums up my life in ways I can’t begin to explain. As mentioned in my last post (March Madness), we had a 3yr old foster boy with us for the past ten days. The social worker and his foster mom described him as very shy and withdrawn. I worried how he’d fare in my boisterous household. Turns out he was anything but quiet. He dominated the atmosphere of our home. In a negative way he changed everything. For the first time I was at a loss. I had no idea how to curb all the behaviours. Most importantly – for me – I had no idea how to get him to sleep. He simply wouldn’t most nights. His foster mom said bedtime was easy. It was not so for me.

We muddled through then something shifted on Thursday. After another difficult visit with a foster mom friend, things got better. A comment she made changed my perspective. “He’s too young to have that scary look.” There were moments the look in his eyes struck terror in both of us. It was frightening.

I must admit I’m not always objective. Once I had a 13yr old pregnant foster child staying with me. Doing her laundry I was at first appalled by the lacy lingerie. Then I remembered, someone had bought this for her. Probably it was her mother who obviously wasn’t doing a very good job watching over her.

With everything thrown at foster parents sometimes you, or at least I, forget the kids are the victims. They didn’t choose this. Eric*, the visiting 3yr old, didn’t invite that level of anger into his heart. Someone else put it there. So I started praying it off. His temper tantrums became less prevalent. Joy began overtaking him. There were still trials – especially when we went to visit another friend of mine. Like Sloane, social settings seem to be a challenge for Eric.

In our final days together, he followed me around saying, “What are you doing mom?” I’d tell him and he’d chatter away. Apparently he doesn’t talk much at his regular foster home. “Every once in a while he’ll sing and I love hearing it because he’s happy,” the foster mom said when dropping him off. He sang, laughed, and smiled lots. In the end he was very happy.

Nothing about him was what I expected. But, in my case, life rarely is what I expected.

those eyes

those eyes

He left a few hours ago. I kind of miss him. Maybe we could have made more progress had we been together longer. I don’t know. But at least, in the midst of all the anger and chaos, I found his heart. Praying as he’s loved and cared for at his regular foster home, Eric continues to move past the inherited anger fighting to keep him. Praying he finds the courage to love.

*name changed

 

March Madness

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March madness has nothing to do with basketball. In my house the mayhem this year beats all others. Marcus* and Flora*s mother is expected to regain custody of them March 18th. The kids are excited but with that comes heightened anxiety. For Marcus it manifests in toileting issues and a need to control. Perhaps in anticipation of being back with an often absent mother, he’s attempting to parent the children in our home. That doesn’t go over well with me. I like being the boss. When I tell 4yr old Elise* to pick up a banana she dropped on the ground Marcus need not reprimand her for being off her seat at mealtime. What he really needs to do is start using the toilet.

Added to this excitement is an ornery 3yr old. His foster mom is on vacation this week. That’s what people do over March break. As a rule I’ve always taken in extra children. It’s not much of a break. The social worker described this little boy as, “well behaved but very shy.” His foster mom agreed, adding Eric* doesn’t have much of an appetite.

Monday night Eric was up until 10:30pm. His bed time is 7pm. “He has no trouble going to sleep,” his foster mom assured me. That’s not been the case. Since his arrival Thursday evening the earliest he’s slept has been 9pm. For reference, I’m an introvert. The time after 8pm when all children are in bed is something I deeply covet. It helps keep me sane. Five nights with little to no alone time is not making me a happy camper.

Tuesday morning, Eric was up at 6:30am. I must add that Sunday the

Eric & Elise picking out some cars to play with

Eric & Elise picking out some cars to play with

mainfloor toilet became clogged. Contents from Eric’s diaper refused to flush. Despite a few attempts I’ve not been able to fix it. This necessitates me hustling everyone into the upstairs bathroom to pee before I shower in the morning.

At the breakfast table Eric’s muffled speech became crystal clear as he shouted repeatedly, “I hungry!” Since arriving he’s hardly left the table. All day long he demands to be fed. His foster mom mentioned he generally won’t eat meat. But he’s definitely a carnivore here, gobbling up second and third helpings of meatloaf at dinner on Saturday. He has toast while Elise, sitting beside him, has cereal. When Eric’s done he shouts for more. I’ve not yet served the other children. He must wait. This doesn’t go over well. He becomes enraged. Eric whips his cup of juice at me. This isn’t the first time he’s thrown dishes at me because I’ve given him something he doesn’t like or don’t move fast enough for him. I decide it better be the last.

“That is not allowed,” I say. Picking Eric up, I take him to his room. He screams. Better there than at the table. Downstairs I have a hard time pulling myself together. I’m annoyed and letting everyone know.

Somehow I get us all dressed and out the door for a 10am dentist appointment. Marcus assures me his pull up is clean and dry. But my nose says otherwise. The stench furthers the bad mood I’m already in. Since we’re in the area, I stop by WalMart with five children. There are a 1,000 things I have to say no to. All I really need is something to unclog the toilet and butter. I buy an excessive amount of frozen pizzas for dinner. Then remember I must feed them lunch. Back home that becomes overwhelming. Marcus really has soiled himself. He refuses to change his pull up. Eric needs to be changed. Children are arguing all around me.

It’s a beautiful day. I should take them to the park. Another snow storm is due tomorrow. Marcus has again soiled himself. We go through the usual routine. Just before lunch I discovered a recently discarded pull up under his bed. Again he denies needing to change. I insist pointing out the incident before lunch. Marcus is not convinced. This exchange goes on far too long. Time is getting away from us. The lawyer is due at 3:30pm to meet with Flora and Marcus. I give up.

Sloane*, Elise, Flora, and Eric go into the backyard. I try to rid Marcus’ room of the horrible stench that’s settled upon it. Sloane’s hardly out the door before she’s stirring up trouble. I give a warning from Marcus’ window. Then I have to go downstairs to bring her in. It’s not without a fight. I win but am covered in mud. With her squared away in her room for some “quiet time”, Eric decides to come inside. I get his boots off, but he isn’t happy.

Flora comes in. She pretends to go the bathroom, but it’s already too late. She leaves wet undergarments on the floor and goes back outside like nothing happened. I find the items. While debating what to do, Eric lets the dog in (did I mention we’re dog sitting this week? Let me also tell you the dog keeps waking me up at 3am for no apparent reason.) Eric retrieves his muddy boots from outside. Eric and the dog run about the mainfloor making parallel tracks of mud.

Sloane decides she can “really fly” with the wings from her butterfly costume. She’s climbing on tables and attempting to jump off. “Maybe I’ll try from on top of the house!” I don’t have time to explain why she can’t. The answer is simply, “No! And get off the table.”

I mop the floor. Marcus then Flora shower. They’re not fully dry when the lawyer arrives. But I do have the other kids quietly watching a movie upstairs. I’ve bribed them with chips.

Eric comes down wanting more to eat. I give him a banana. He devours it. When I refuse him more chips he throws the bowl and banana peel, narrowly missing the lawyer. “He’s a visiting foster child. I don’t know what to do with him,” is what I’d like to say to everyone who encounters us.

When the lawyer leaves I lay on the couch for 5 minutes checking facebook hoping to find something interesting in someone else’s life. Giving Eric another banana and a piece of bread I tackle the toilet. Locking myself in, I ignore his cry for more food. Eric throws shoes at the bathroom door. He overturns chairs. He continues to shout, “I hungry!” I continue working but to no avail.

On a brighter note, Eric was asleep by 8:40pm! Mind you, it wasn’t in his bed. But I did get him there. Thank goodness there’s an end in sight. By this time next week, it could be back to just Sloane, Elise, and I.

*name changed

sisters early in the morning

sisters early in the morning (too early for Elise to put on a smile)

Open Adoption (Part 2)

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My last post explained the great relationship I have with my daughters’ maternal birth grandmother and step grandfather (Open Adoption Part 1).

Because of that connection, I do have access to Sloane* and Elise*’s birth parents.

There were a lot of mistakes and shortcomings that led to them loosing their children. Kids in foster care are there for a reason. In this case, addictions played a part. Possibly that’s no longer a factor.

The birth father is far away in the US. For the past two years, the birth mom has been living relatively close by. There’s a bit of guilt that passes through me when I think about that. Just over a year ago, Sloane and I met with her (for details on that see We Belong Together). I said it was a one time deal. In some ways the visit helped. In other ways it hasn’t. Knowing her birth mom is accessible keeps Sloane asking for more contact.

Her birth mom was amazing in explaining Sloane can never return to her. But that doesn’t keep the child from hoping. There’s a strong bond between the two of them that isn’t there with Elise. Sloane came into foster care just before turning 3. She’s as sharp as a tack and remembers so much from the past. Elise, on the other hand, was in foster care from birth. She returned to her birth family just before turning 1. It was a brief reunion that ended in her and Sloane coming into foster care together. There’s a big difference in the way they’ve attached to me and how they see adoption.

It may be right. It may be wrong. But for now I’ve decided to keep the door closed on contact with the birth parents.

Before Christmas I compiled several pictures and wrote a summary of the girls’ year. This package was passed on to their grandmother, Sandra*, to give the birth mother, Becka*.

Recently while talking with Sandra, she mentioned planning to visit the birth father. Sloane and Elise have older siblings who are living with him.

“Would it be ok if I copy some pictures of the girls to give him?” she asked.

“Of course,” I answered.

“I didn’t want to do anything without asking you first.” That right there is why our openness agreement works so well. Without me ever having to say anything, Sandra sees me as the mother of her granddaughters. She respects my position.

When Sloane sees Sandra or speaks with her, she’s drawn back into the past. Her heart begins to bleed all over again for the birth parents and siblings she’s living without. With prayer, love, and time I expect that wound to heal to a greater degree. As she grows, Sloane will gain perspective. At 6yrs old she’s still wishing for a life where, “I always got lots of candy and Lucky Charms.” That’s what she recalls of being with her birth parents. It’s not so with me. Candy is a limited commodity and now that Sloane’s completely off wheat Lucky Charms are out of the question. Maybe it wasn’t so with her birth family, but that’s how she remembers it.

As a parent everyday I make hundreds of decisions that will impact my kids now and in the future. With that responsibility comes a great deal of insecurity. “Am I making the right choice?” I wonder all day long. In the case of contact with birth parents, I don’t know. But I appreciate the opportunity to chose. Openness to any degree can be an amazing gift to children and birth families. For now the extent of our openness with the girls’ birth parents will be pictures and letters I’ll send through their grandmother. In the future that might change. It might not.

*name changed

Wonderfully Unusual

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Flora*, my 9yr old foster child, has a hard time telling the truth. Having met her mom last week, I understand why. Often the truth isn’t all that pretty. So why not dress it up? Why not?

It was a simple fact that only Elise* brought her bowl down from snack on Saturday. I was busy creating a website for my lasted endeavor (stay tuned for a big announcement). The kids got to eat popcorn while watching a movie in Flora’s room. Sunday I wanted to send them up there again but didn’t have enough bowls for snack.

Flora offered a detailed account of how she brought down her and her brother’s bowl. “Only Elise didn’t,” she concluded.

Prior to that my spiel began with pointing out only Elise had returned her bowl. Sometimes I’m forgetful, but this I knew for sure: I was short three bowls. Flora didn’t bring two down.

There are things I’ve let go. Flora insists that her mother once owned a bakery. Seems unlikely. In another conversation Flora began by saying her mother was born in Canada and ended insisting she was American, from the exact spot my daughter, Sloane*, was born. Pointing out the transition got me nowhere. Flora denied saying her mom was Canadian (which she in in case you’re wondering).

It’s hard to bring correction. Children who come into foster care usually have a well-established pattern of lying. It’s a survival tool. Since Flora and Marcus* are expected to return to their mother, I’m not winning them over to my way of thinking.

Their mother paints a beautiful picture of their life together. Maybe it’s true. I doubt it. But maybe.

Monday there was a good chance the judge would rule in mom’s favour. He didn’t. Another court date is set in 3 weeks. Flora and Marcus were picked up from school to attend their weekly visit. They were hoping to be taken home instead of to the office of Children’s Aid. I don’t know what was said to explain the situation.

A lady from church asked me to dog sit. The children came back to a tiny white dog who was very excited to see them. For the moment their disappointment is kept at bay. Once again the Lord has shown up in a wonderfully, unusual manner. A dog at just the right moment.

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*name changed

The Weekend

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Saturday morning Marcus* stood in the doorway to his room covered in dried barf. Shortly after he went to bed the night before, I heard a cough that sounded like throwing up. Seems I should have investigated further. Wrongly, I figured if Marcus threw up he’d let me know. In the week he’s been here, I’ve established myself as the one to come to when he needs anything or there’s any conflict with the other kids. Sitting in my room, trying to catch up on emails, I overestimated the connection we’d made.

Marcus threw up in his bed then went to sleep.

“Is that barf on you?” I ask in the morning.

“I don’t know,” Marcus answers. His cute, innocent face makes a lot of appearances – especially when I ask about using the toilet. That was an issue before he arrived. This week I’ve kept him in pull ups. When I ask if he’s wet himself, Marcus answers, “I don’t know,” with a cute, innocent face.

“You do know if you threw up.”

“No, I don’t,” he sincerely replies.

“Yes, you do. You threw up and slept in a bed full of barf.” I must admit my tone wasn’t pleasant. Years of working with special/high needs kids I’ve discovered even the slightest positive tone is an invitation for behavior to continue. I really don’t want Marcus sleeping in barf again, so I’m serious when I say, “That is not allowed.” I explain what should have occurred – telling me right away so I could clean him and his bed up – before sending him into the shower.

There is barf on the floor, walls, and bed. It’s gross. Laundry begins before I get breakfast on the table and continues throughout the day. Elise* pees her pants while playing outside in the snow. Sloane* pees shortly after that. Of course she waits until her sisters’ clothes are nearly done in the washing machine. Another load of laundry goes in. Owing to Marcus’ toileting issues my own girls are becoming lax.

I didn’t shower Saturday which always makes me feel a little less cheery. Flora*, Marcus sister, who arrived with him last Friday is turning 9 on Monday. In the midst of laundry and making meals, I tried very hard to tidy the house. We’re having a small party to celebrate Flora’s birthday. It’s Family Day, the kids are off school. My friend will be coming with her three foster children and I’ve invited the girl next door. I worry about making this special enough for Flora. She was expecting a big party at a nearby indoor playground. Her mom made a lot of promises about this birthday before she came into foster care and since. Twice a week the kids get to have a 1hr supervised visit with their mom.

So I go all out. The kids will make their own personal pizzas – will even get imagesto roll out the dough. I’ve made and iced cupcakes. Flora decorated. She desperately wanted to be involved in the preparations. My friend, the one with the three foster girls, stopped by today.

She asked how Marcus and Flora like living at my house. Being lunch, their mouths were full of food. Their heads bobbed and thumbs popped up before they could swallow to exclaim, “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! We like it!”

Another foster mom friend pointed out the possibility of this being a honeymoon phase. I’d not thought of that. In the past with special/high needs foster children there never was a honeymoon phase. I always found the first few weeks the hardest. Whatever the case, I’m glad the children are happy with me. And that Flora is looking forward to spending her birthday here tomorrow.