Tag Archives: foster child

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

 

These Days

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Please don’t confront me with my failures,

I had not forgotten them.

These Days by Nico

I’m part of a prayer ministry at my church. Most Mondays I listen to people pour out their hearts. My job is to facilitate dialogue between them and God. It’s incredibly exciting. I love partnering with Holy Spirit. In conjunction with a conference at church ministry appointments were being offered this past Friday. We had a trusted team visiting to help cover all the requests. Two people who’d booked appointments didn’t show up. That led to myself and another team member receiving ministry from one of the visitors.

Sloane - November 2011

Sloane – November 2011

The struggles with Sloane* were my focus. Sometimes it seems like we’re making progress then it all comes apart again. Our prayer model took a back seat. “The fact is you’ve purchased damaged goods,” said the woman ministering. Strange as it sounds, relief washed over me. I’ve been falling into the trap of comparing my child to other 5yr olds. Children who weren’t exposed to high doses of prescription drugs in the womb, didn’t spend the first 6wks of life in hospital being weaned off drugs, weren’t neglected, mistreated, abandoned, or any of the other things Sloane’s experienced are much more well adjusted. Sloane is struggling. She is damaged.

Though not biologically connected, Sloane and I are immensely similar. In school work, she won’t even attempt writing a word or letter unless sure she can master it. Anything she might fail at is avoided. It’s been disheartening having my perceived failure on display every time Sloane tantrums, speaks harshly, or acts inappropriately. I read other adoption blogs and hear about how well kids are doing.

Stores used to have a damaged rack (not sure if any still do, I don’t get out much these days). Being crafty and a bargain shopper, I used to peruse these spots. The range of damage went from a small water spot easily removed in the wash to massive unraveled holes in sweaters. Seems Sloane’s on the far end of the continuum.

“Because of all that’s happened, her heart is hard,” the woman went on. “All the love you pour on her isn’t going to get through.” We discussed the necessity of healing for Sloane’s heart. I’ve tried applying some of the strategies I know. “You’re not the one to do it,” was the insight given. “It’s not going to work when you try.”

We prayed through a few things. That night, with the other kids asleep, I prayed with Sloane.

The next, a rainy Saturday, had all the kids out of sorts. After some early morning shopping, we were home. I was trying to dish out cheesies (a terrible impulse buy while out). Sloane had been stirring up trouble over the treat. After several warnings I gave her rice crackers instead.

“You idiot!” she screamed her new favourite word. “I’m not having this!” Slamming down the bowl some crackers tumbled to the floor. Sloane jumped up, ran from the table to the counter and deposited the bowl with the remaining crackers. On her run back to the table, amidst ongoing screaming – things like, “You better get me what I want right now!” – her foot landed on a shard of cracker. It lodged in the bottom of her foot. In slow motion I watched as blood began shooting out. Mildly distracted from her rant, as though a fly had landed on her, Sloane looked down at the floor speckled with blood. I rushed over, trying to pick her up. Her body went stiff. Remembering her rage, she resisted. Pushing and kicking she vehemently told me to, “Get away!”

Not my shining moment as mother, I said, “Fine. Handle this on your own. I really want to help you, but if you don’t want me to I won’t.” Looking away, I got the first aid kit. She sat on a kitchen chair trying to scoop up the falling blood with her hands. Wailing, eventually she admitted her inadequacy. I pulled the cracker out and will spare you the gory details. As I worked, we remained at an impasse. Sloane’s body was rigid and her tone harsh. I must admit, she wears me down. Too often there’s an edge in my voice. As her mom, I want to pull her close. She’ll have none of it, so I point out the fact that she wouldn’t have cut her foot on a cracker if she hadn’t been freaking out.

The other children ate their bowls of cheesies, watching the show. I let them have more and more to keep them quiet and settled. They ate Sloane’s rejected crackers. They begged for more food. Snack was shut down when the blood was cleaned off the floor (they weren’t really hungry but trying to cope in their own way).

Her foot is fine, though she brings it up when I ask her to do something she’d rather not. This is not the result I was expecting after my ministry time and the prayers I prayed with Sloane. As always, I’m confronted by my own failures. After such ordeals I spend senseless energy thinking of how I should have done better. Still I keep failing to be the demure, compassionate mother I want to be.

"All mommy's necklaces!" July 2011

“All mommy’s necklaces!” July 2011

All the children in bed, I’m lamenting with the song, These Days. I’d like these days to end. I bring my inadequacies to the Lord. He’s the only one who can break through and repair the damage.

Though currently true, damaged is not Sloane’s permanent state. My daughter is one who overcomes. There’s a new name for her. No longer damaged or out of control. These days will give way to the glory God has planned for her.

 “He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes I will give some of the hidden manna to eat. And I will give him a white stone, and on the stone a new name written which no one knows except him who receives it.”’

Revelation 2:17 (NKJV)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

determination - July 2011

June 2011 – Determination! Sloane believed the only place to be was on top of her play house. Despite my discouragement, she scaled the plastic walls.

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