We Have Decided to Become Foster Parents

     It was not an easy decision to make. We have two great kids. They are a handful. Seriously. If you know me or have followed this blog, you are probably questioning either our sanity or our ability as parents--possibly both.  That is fine. Jerry and I questioned the same things. Here are some answers to the most common questions we get.

What do you have to do to get a kid?

No, is not an easy process to complete, nor should it be. You are signing up to take care of someone else's kids as though they are your own. Even though some of the kids' biological parents are questionable (um, hello? The kids are in Foster Care...it's a fair statement), all kids deserve a safe and loving home. So, we've gone through an initial screening (they say its to check for space and safety; I think it's to rule out the crazies...we made it through anyway). We had to fill out 12-page questionnaires detailing our childhoods, educational experience, child rearing philosophies, state of our marriage, and career situations. Truthfully, they ask about EVERYTHING. How do we tell our kids when we're sad? Seriously? We say, "Hey kids, we're sad."

We had to take 10 hours of training. They call it PRIDE class. I'm sure it's an acronym I can't remember. It was incredibly long and incredibly not long enough. What would be really useful would be a psychology degree, a behavioral therapy certification, early education training, and some very basic medical training. There is SO MUCH to know and for which to prepare. When you have your own kids, the learning curve is pretty slow. If something is going on with your kid, you learn about it. You observe it, report it, research it, treat it, whatever. It's very learn-as-you-go. With foster kids, it seems like it's going to be a lot of guess work. You never know what you're going to get, and you may find you need to deal with something RIGHT NOW. No learning curve. Do something. DO SOMETHING!!!! So, anyway, yes, the classes are long, but I'm not complaining.

We are in the middle of a home study. You invite your agency into your home to examine every tiny detail of your life. I was suddenly very aware that our furniture was shabby. When did that happen? How can anyone expect me to take care of a baby if I can't take care of a couch! Oh wait...I HAVE kids. That's WHY the furniture is shabby. Right.

Why don't you just have another one? You still can, right?

This one is my favorite. Yes, we could have another baby. Our two kids are healthy, and I had pretty easy pregnancies. That does not mean we're ready to do it again. Child growing and birthing is insanely stressful. There are thousands of unknowns and risks for loss... why push our luck? We were blessed with two beautiful and healthy kids. We appreciate what we've got!

But somehow, we feel like our family is not quite done, and there are kids out there who need a safe place to live. As a matter of fact, there are more than 6000 kids in foster care in Florida alone. And our place is pretty safe. It's Wes proof, so....we're probably good.

You're just going to give the kids back?

If their parents follow their plan, and work out their issues, then we will have been part of reuniting a family. I'm not trying to pretend it won't be awful, but won't it also be a little great? We had a hard time with this, too, when we first started examining our decision. But then we learned that an incredibly high percentage of children who are entering the system today are children of parents who, themselves, have aged out of the foster care system. Those parents have no idea what a functional and healthy family looks like. I may not either, for that matter, but what we have works for us, and we'll share with the willing. 

IF, on the other hand, a child in our care becomes available for adoption, then we will adopt!

Aren't you scared the foster kids will hurt your kids?

Have you ever met our kids? No. They'll be fine. Also, we're only fostering kids younger than ours. 

The Second Call I Never Wanted to Make

You know how parents describe the moment a child wanders off by saying "I turned around and he/she was gone"? They say that because it really does describe the instant it takes for a kid to haul butt. Especially if the kid is Wesley.

It was a great Sunday afternoon. We were all playing outside; the weather was awesome. The kids had just finished taking turns rolling down the hill in an old plastic wagon, and it was time to go inside for baths. I walked to the trash barrel to throw away the debris created by two kids and a couple of popsicles. I turned around, and he was gone. GONE. I immediately circled the house and scanned the field next to our house. Jerry took the front of the house. No Wes. At that point, something inside me snapped. I just knew I wouldn't get divine intervention twice. I felt like I had wasted my second chance. Externally, I was calling 911 (again); internally, I was praying (again).

So, then, Jerry was in his truck, checking the canal side, then circling the neighborhood. At some point someone (me?) called neighbors down the street to walk in our direction to see if they could see Wes. I'm sketchy on the details.  Grace was inside. The dispatcher was counseling me to look under beds and in closets. My neighbors were all out looking. I was still on the phone with the 911 dispatcher and the dispatcher next to her got a call. Someone found a little blonde boy on Alabama Road. I must have asked 17 times if he was Ok. He was.

Five minutes later, a non-phased, happy little boy is delivered to my arms. "Mom!" he yells, "I rode in a police car!"

He reported he went for a run. I had been taking him with me on runs; he would follow behind on his John Deer PowerWheel. The cop suggested that was probably not a good idea. I concur.

A first (and hopefully a last...): I called 911

When Grace was six weeks old, she scratched herself in the eyeball, and we brought her to the emergency room. That is the end of emergency treatment for our daughter to date. The rest of her treatment from healthcare providers and emergency personnel is limited to run-of-the-mill ear infections and chicken pocks. She had the Flu once...

Wes is in an entirely different category. I have called the on-call nurse with questions about head injuries sustained while climbing. I have called poison control TWICE (once for some homeopathic thing I don't remember, and once for ingesting CAMPHOR that had been in the humidifier on the TOP of his dresser). Last Spring, we brought him to the ER for "labored breathing." A breathing treatment, two popsicles, and a chest x-ray later, we were $2000 in the hole. Whatever. Today, this boy reached a new level of mayhem.

I took Wes and Grace with two of my friend's kids to the water park in our community. Wes is turning 3 in 15 days. Grace is 4. The other boys are 5 and 7. The water park is fenced--one of those "Water Feature" things that has various ways to squirt kids in the face with water and give parents a break. I had just given the "5 minute warning" to all kids. I was talking to Grace, looked up and couldn't immediately spot Wes. This is how it went down.

Minute 1: Internal voice, "don't panic. He's in this fence. The place is fenced," while I stalk the interior of the water feature.

Minute 2: "he's not in here. Don't panic. He can't be far," while screaming at the other kids to STAY PUT, sprint out the gate and survey the landscape while chanting to myself "Orange shorts...look for orange shorts"

Minute 3: Internal voice: "Dear heavenly Father, please help me find my son." Dial 9-1-1. External Voice "I'm at Veteran's park near the water feature. My two-year-old son is gone. His name is Wesley. He has bright blond hair. He is wearing Orange swim trunks with no shirt. I haven't seen him in three minutes" while running toward the playground where he may have gone...

Minute 4: Plead with 9-1-1 operator to send someone quickly (she's assuring me several people are on the way)...

Minute 5: Blubber as coherently as possible to the nicest police officer I've ever met exactly what happened and that I have no idea how tall my son is but he weighs 40 pounds. Call Jerry and explain to him that Wesley got away from me, I have called 9-1-1, and police are searching the vicinity.

Minutes 6-five zillion: Wait at the water feature with the other 3 kids for whom I am responsible. External voice, "Dear God, I know I don't deserve any favors, but please, please, please, please, please, protect my sweet boy"...

Then kids were yelling "They found him!" and I was running. The police officer I met initially was carrying an incredibly happy Wesley, whom a good Samaritan helping search had found on a nearby baseball field playing in the sand. Wesley said to the police officer, "There she is! Mommy!" then to me, "Mom, I'm so, so dirty! Hey, did you hear the firetrucks?" I laughed. Those weren't firetrucks, buddy...they were police looking for you...

So, I guess I'll wait

Sometimes when I sit to write, the words just pour out of me. The ordinary event turns itself into a story. The details manifest themselves, and the plot and humor unfold. But not today.

My brain is full of the ordinary tasks of the weekend: the laundry, the dishes, the sweeping. It is not to say that I didn't enjoy myself. I took the kids to the water park. I enjoyed a gathering with friends. I watched a movie (readers with small children who don't go to bed appriciate this as a great feat). But I have no stories. So, I'll wait for one to come. I'm enjoying myself too much to go looking for one.

Smutty Summer Reading

Ok, I admit it. I am reading Fifty Shades of Grey. I have also covered the book in funky black and white covered contact paper, because I would DIE if I were seen in public with it. If I read parts of it outloud to my husband, HE would die. I don't like the main character...she's too....perfect. She's PERFECT. Anastasia Steele, no one is "too lanky." That's code for tall and thin. Seriously. If you want to create a character I can relate to, make her short and pudgy. Don't give her problems remembering to eat. Make her constantly struggling with at LEAST ten pounds (ok, ten pounds she'll admit to, ten more she won't).

So, why then, you may ask, am I reading it? In a nutshell, it's because I don't want to be left out! People everywhere are commenting on this book. It's a pop-cultural phenomenon. If I want to make sense of the non-sense, I have to read it, right? RIGHT?

Our Little Guy

I just wanted to take a post to brag on our little W. Last year at this time, we were working with Early Steps because his vocabulary was right around four words. He had chronic ear infections when he was tiny. When, at nine months, he had pretty much had an ear infection for 12 weeks straight, we made the decision to insert tubes in his ears. It made all the difference in the world, but we were warned that he missed out on a lot of hearing in those weeks.

After three months of intervention services in speech and occupational therapy (they had him lick food, move food around in his mouth, and make faces in a mirror), his speech exploded to more than 50 words. This school year, we were able to work with a fantastic preschool who really helped him work on his pronunciation and vocabulary. Now, at almost 3, I feel like his vocabulary is spot-on, but he might need some additional speech therapy. He is just a charming and handsome little guy. His new catch phrase is, "Hi mom, Guess what?" And he loves to wear his batman shirt with the cape. I call him Batman, and he calls me Princess. He loves to sing "Old McDonald" but his favorite animal is an elephant. He does a pretty good imitation.

Keeps getting better and better...

I am not a morning person. Never have been. I will be the first to admit that early AM punctuality presents a great challenge to me. Now, take into account that I have two little babies, one of whom is also not a morning person, and it is a wonder that we ever make it anywhere before noon. But even though it is regularly difficult to get our show on the road to make it to the sitters then to work by 7, this morning was ridiculous. I have to write about it. And yes, it's true; I couldn't make this stuff up.

The alarm goes off at 4:45 AM. (It used to go off at 4:30, but as I rarely got out of bed until 5 anyway, I bumped it up.) It wakes me and Wesley (who has somehow ended up in my bed, although he is only 6 months old, so he doesn't walk, and Jerry was at work all night, and I don't remember moving him although I am certain he went to sleep in his crib on the other side of the house). Wesley's eyelids are linked somehow to his stomach--he thinks if he's awake, he should be eating, so I feed him. And feed him. And feed him. This takes almost 30 minutes, and now I'm going to be late.

What happened next is somewhat of a blur. I know that I am washed and dressed, my lunch and bags were packed and put in the car, and that during this time, Grace was still asleep (How'd SHE get in my bed, too?). I had made coffee and laid out the kids' clothes. I dressed Wesley. He was exceptionally squirmy, so it took a little longer than normal. I put him on the floor and then went to get more toys to occupy him. I was in the process of distracting him with said toys when I noticed a smell. I picked him up and noticed a warm sort of ooze on my arm. Yep. We were both covered in poo. Nice. Two changes of clothes (mine and his) and he was happily playing on the floor.

Time to wake the Gracezilla. She was in a pretty good mood for the morning.

Me: Rise and shine.

Grace: OH! Good morning, Mommy. Good morning, Hesley. Peek-a-boo, Hesley! Peek-a-boo!

Me:OK, time to get dressed to go see Grandma.

Grace: NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! (wagging finger)

Me: Want to watch TV?

Grace: Yes. (Pronounced YYYYYesh.)

I plopped her in front of the TV and began to change her diaper.

Grace: NO! No no no no no! NO DIAPER! Dora Panties! Gracie JUICE! Gracie SAMMICH! EAT! EAT! EAT! (signing "eat" for effect)

At that point, I made an executive decision. We would be late. I was not going to stress about it any more. The kids were getting grumpy because I was trying to hurry them and I was getting grumpy because they wouldn't be hurried, so I just let it go. The mood IMMEDIATELY lightened.

Somehow I managed to dress the child and convince her that we would eat in the car. She refused shoes, shouting for her dinosaur slippers. FINE. Once in her dinosaur slippers, she screamed because Wesley was following them around, fascinated, and he's really, pretty fast for a crawler.

Finally we are ready to go. My usual goal is to get out of the house between 5:30 and 5:45. It was now a FULL HOUR LATER. Thank goodness for first period planning.

We made it out to the car. Everyone was in their seats and buckled up. I started the ignition and the low fuel light came on. Seriously.

OK, deep breaths.

Grace: GRACIE WANTS SAMMICH!

I handed her the sausage, egg, and cheese on whole wheat muffin I defrosted and cut into quarters for her . She began picking out the egg and sausage and throwing the pieces of muffin at her brother. Whatever.

I stopped for gas, only putting a quarter tank--enough to get me to work and back. I got back on the road and called Grandma Martha, the sitter. When she asked what happened, I stopped and considered what HAD happened. "I have no idea."

I called school and explained that I was WAY late. They were understanding. Would I be in time to teach my 2nd period class? Of course I would. Or so I thought.

Things were fine on the way out of town. Grace was occupied with her "sammich" and I can only presume Wesley's massive evacuation of his bowels followed by dinosaur-chasing had exhausted him because he was OUT. When we got to the two lane part of our commute, we got stuck behind a school bus. Between stops, the bus was only going 35 (IN A 55 MPH ZONE). Later and later, still. As the bus turned off of the highway, I breathed a sigh of relief and FLOORED IT. Approximately two minutes later, I saw the flashing lights.

Always the strategist, I reached into the back seat and plucked the pacifiers out of the kids' mouths. By the time the young officer got to my window, the sounds from inside my car were ear-splitting.

Officer (slightly raising his voice to be heard over the roar): Everything OK?

Me (smiling sweetly): Yes, sir.

Officer: You were going kind of fast.

Me: Was I? Sorry. I'll slow down.

Officer: OK, well be careful.

Me: Thanks.

ZOOM! I was out of there, and yes, I slowed down. Pacifiers back in place, we were on our way, again. We were almost there. I heard a smacking sound from the back seat.

Grace: Mmmmm....good toes.

I turned to see my adorable daughter pretending to eat her toes, like her brother. Both kids had taken off their shoes (OK, dinosaur slipper OR shoes) and socks. But Grace was also now dressed ONLY in her diaper. HOW IN THE WORLD? She's like Houdini.

Minutes later, I showed up at Grandma Martha's: Grace in only a diaper, upside down, feet over my left shoulder, smiling like mad. Wesley, with bare feet, slung over my right forearm. Their socks and Grace's clothes in a ball under my right arm.

I made it to work only 5 minutes late for my 2nd period class, which, by the way, is an HOUR AND TEN MINUTES LATE FOR WORK. So, what am I teaching my kids? Certainly not the importance of punctuality, I guess. But as this does not happen often, I hope I am teaching them, that occasionally, it is OK to slow life down for a second and to not be perfect, as long as you can live with the consequences.

Thanks to Pocahontus Fauss at http://www.reddaisyphoto.com/ for the Pics.