Jendoop

RAD family

2012-02-11T13:33:00.000-05:00

Last night a family from church invited us and a few other families over for game night. I've been hoping for an opportunity to get better acquainted with this family, so we happily accepted. They are frequent attenders at church, a Midwest raised caucasian couple with blond hair who look young for their age with tawny skinned barely teen children with silken black hair. The mother speaks Chinese and often is found studying her Chinese scriptures during church, and the father serves others with gusto. This is a family constructed when the childless couple adopted 7 and 8 year old children with disabilities from China. Red flags just flew in the minds of my foster/adoption friends.

Adopting a child so late in their life means that the child comes with baggage. Depending on the child and the circumstances the amount and severity of baggage varies. The daughter of this couple never stood alone until she came to the US and was fitted with proper braces, she has many health concerns but I never seen her without a smile. Severely limping through life, long black hair swinging with every step, her zeal for life is irresistible. My somewhat somber teenager is in awe of her optimism. Her mom tells me that she doesn't mind her disabilities, even the embarrassing aspects, she likes how it makes her different and special. She's never met a stranger and was friends with her brother in their Chinese orphanage. His situation is much different.

This family invited people over on a Friday night because they don't dare leave their son at home alone while they go out to dinner. Their lives have been drastically altered to accommodate the storm their son is weathering. He was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder from the beginning and he also has physical disabilities, though less severe than his sister. Even though they've sought therapy and help every step of the way, it has only been a temporary band-aid. They feel betrayed by an "expert" in RAD that they found had little professional experience to back up the self-proclaimed title. Now their son is going through puberty while still battling his demons after 5 years of family life and is increasingly violent.

The cyclone of emotions going through this family can be difficult to witness. As they talk about their son, his parents alternate between proud paternal glow and downtrodden victims of nonsensical hurt. They are proud of his intelligence while also frightened of the misuse of it to hurt others. They have seen glimpses of who he is beyond the RAD, but it's difficult to hold that close when they find matches hidden in his things and foul language in response to their brave declarations of love.

It's hard to know what to say to them or about it all in general. Platitudes ring with a hollowness as basic ideas of reciprocation and childlike love do not apply. This is parenting on the doctoral level, without the advantage of having a bachelors or masters. I tried to show them that I understand, by saying that her greatest moment of weakness in response to his constant baiting for a fight is not proof of her failure but testament to her humanity. Encouraging that despite the unorthodox way they've had to set up their household it is not wrong. What is right is what they are doing, throwing convention and outsider expectations to the side and creatively coping with what experts say is an un-winnable battle. I encouraged them both to seek support from other RAD parents who know better than I do what it is like to live with a child who is unconsciously bent on emotional destruction for himself and anyone who dares get close.

I share this not out of tawdry fascination or to mount guilt on you if your family life is a bit smoother than this. I hope we can be more understanding of each other and compassionate about what we quietly deal with inside the walls of our homes. Those who are working the hardest and succeeding in non-traditional ways may outwardly appear to be greatly failing.

For personal experiences with RAD visit these blogs:

Welcome to My Brain- Christine is a liberal with dreadlocks, but her ideas about dealing with RAD children and her personal experiences are beyond all that. Her regular blog has some things that could be offensive so the link goes directly to her therapeutic parenting pages.

Gold to Refine - A religious woman raising three children, two adopted from Russia with RAD. She even has reviews of movies with possible triggers for traumatized children.

If you know of any other great ones please leave a comment!

Randomness

2012-02-10T10:29:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I invited people over to start a bookgroup. More than half of the women have never participated in a bookgroup before, so it will be fun! It was a good turnout, 7, you get much larger than that and its hard to have a good discussion, everyone breaks out into smaller groups. I made a really great Blackberry Lemon Cheesecake, the best one I've ever made, and easy. We read These Is My Words, everyone liked it. We discussed the reality of the protagonist- can a woman really be that strong and that tender-hearted? We liked her, so it was hard to say no. But at the same time we couldn't see where some of her maturity and balance came from, since it seemed that her mother wasn't strong and didn't teach her much. Anyway, it was a good lesson to me about the need for character balance in my life. Can I be strong enough to protect my family while also being loving enough to nurture them?

I finished my Statistics for the Social Sciences class with an A-!!!!!! Isn't that amazing? My sister can attest to how amazing that is! I've never gotten an A in a math class in my whole life. Huge thanks to my husband, he's a stats major so of course he was my tutor and cheerleader. It was interesting how the math concepts started clicking in my head about halfway through, like the tubes in my brain had to warm up.

As a reward for finishing Stats I bought new boots, I haven't seen many in stores that I'm happy with so I bought some online. Anxiously awaiting their arrival, I hope they fit! My husband also promised a chocolate shake so I'm ready to collect on that anytime. Now on to more classes, Intro to the Theater and Abnormal Psych. Theater is a an easy elective and I'm actually very interested in Ab Psych. I'm thinking about another writing class after that.

As for what's going on in my brain, lots of writing and thoughts spinning, just not sure what to share here. In editing my essay for Segullah an editor suggested that I use more scenes to set a picture in the readers' head while they think about the ideas/concepts. It is something that was itching at me, an issue that I couldn't put a finger on, something I don't do well here on the blog, and something that needs improvement in my writing so I was very grateful for that point. Sometimes scenery seems superfluous, but it is what makes reading not just informative but also enjoyable.

So to set a lingering scene of what my life is like in closing, I had horrid diarrhea (or runny poo, as my kids descriptively call it) one day this week and I'm crocheting an afghan. Yes, surely TMI but maybe my mother will be happy to know those details. Bring on old age, I'm developing the habits for it.

"Unnecessary" Technology

2012-02-02T23:48:00.000-05:00

After this week I've decided that there is no such thing as "unnecessary technology". As far as I'm concerned every single bit of it should be used for whatever purpose eases your life and lifts you to a better place. Let me explain how a challenge meant to foster the exact opposite feeling imploded.

About a month ago I received the happy news that my personal essay is going to be published in a literary magazine. After doing the happy dance (Yippee!!!) I returned a message to the editor saying that their schedule for editing would work. The first edit of the essay is due Friday, Feburary 3.

I never vow to loose weight on January 1st. My daughter and my husband have birthdays in January, so making that commitment when I know good and well that I will be eating not one, but two, birthday cakes within 24 days is foolhardy. Last Thursday, the Thursday after my husband's birthday, I decided to step on the scale. Well, yeah, that was dumb because who ever gets what they want when they step on the scale, especially after Christmas and two birthday cakes?! I decided that getting up early and going to the gym was a pretty dumb thing to do if I was going to have chocolate milkshakes like they are green veggie shakes (No one should put spinach in a blender with perfectly good berries). So I committed to eating better and started up the 'Lose it!' app on my phone.

The next day I laid in bed sick as a dog with strep throat (is that what healthy resolutions get me?). Except the doctor said it wasn't strep throat. While I manged in bed all day I forgot to do one simple thing, request the final exam for my Stats class. An exam that I planned to take ASAP so I could complete the class by the end of January. Monday comes and I kick myself and request the exam, paying for expedited shipping so I can take it soon, very soon. Today I am prepared to take the exam, not kick it's butt, but merely sliding out of the class grateful that its over. Only to find out that they sent the exam to the wrong place. They will send a new one free of charge so that I can take it on... Friday, Feburary 3.

That's the same Friday, February 3 as the edited essay is due.

Now, I've got to backtrack to last Sunday. After church I receive an email that states,

"Today in youth group we taught about the benefits and pitfalls of technology. We have challenged the youth to join us in a week long experiment...TURN OFF to TUNE IN. We are asking the youth to go without all non-essential technology for the week. No Facebook, TV, excessive texting, Pinterest, Twitter, Video Games, etc.
We recognize that much of the curriculum at the schools is online, which they need to access via the internet and we support that. We are encouraging all families to work together on this challenge...to set boundaries that will work for them as a family and join us in this challenge."

No warning whatsoever.

Did I mention that I have a final for a 4 credit hour Statistics class AND I have a 4 year old daughter at home with me?! Do you know that in my last math class I got a... Well, you don't need to know that, but let's just say that I didn't major in Psychology because I'm ready for the Math Olympiad! I needed the Babysitter (AKA television) to get in study hours!

After some serious consideration, and too much confidence in my abilities, Paul and I decided that we would support the challenge by not watching TV, not playing video games, and not using the internet unless necessary (email is necessary). We took away the Leapster, 3 DSs, and an Ipod. Paul and I kept our phones. What? We need them for emergencies, we don't have a home phone. We let our oldest daughter keep her phone too, as she hardly texts. (I know, it seems impossible but it is true.) At first I even shunned the MP3 player.

Day 1: Sunday, a quiet day at our house anyway. We did watch a religious movie that lasted an hour, so shoot me.

Day 2: Today was the first day. I felt calmer today. The only difference I can see from other Mondays is no Facebook, TV, etc. It feels as if technology fills in the quiet spaces in my day that could be meditative or restful. We had a nice night as a family, making cookies, reading Book of Mormon and just hanging out. Jon kept saying he missed TV and video games, and Paul read a video game magazine so the topic of conversation was video games, but it went well. It helps that today was a beautiful day, mid 50s, so Jon and Sara played outside a lot.

Day 3: It’s going fine. It was hard today because the older girls were home from school, sick. We played games a bit in the afternoon and evening. Tonight I realized how ridiculous it is to think I can start watching what I eat, not use any unnecessary technology, and take a final exam in Stats. Today we decided that no music was taking it too far, better for Rachel to listen to her music on the bus than hear the foul language and miscellaneous crap that she'll hear without something to block it. Music soothes this savage beast too.

Day 4: I’m going to take the final for my Stats class tomorrow and I have the first edit of my essay due on Friday. Oh, and registration for Kindergarten is tomorrow night. And I’ve been trying to watch what I eat. Add this dumb 'no technology' on top of everything else and I have completely lost my mind!
No technology is driving me crazy because I have lost my usual disciplinary tactics. Usually I threaten Sara that she’ll be grounded from TV or computer. Now I can’t say that and I haven’t found anything that works remotely as well. Which makes me wonder what it is we’re doing in our lives that we enjoy besides TV and computer? Earlier today I felt the peace of less technology, tonight it just feels like empty space in which to regurgitate the day’s stresses and examine them ad nauseum... (insert long rant about various personality difficulties with people outside the family and then we end on this sweet note:) Dear God, for earth’s sake open our cloudy, ignorant, denying eyes. (Happy times, eh?)

Day 5: This is day 5. And I'm over it. I've had heartburn for two days in a row and that hasn't happened since I was pregnant. I'm one giant nerve ending about to explode. Tonight I said that I felt like punching something and Rachel laughed. It wasn't a joke. I feel isolated from my family and friends from not being on Facebook. There is a major storm heading our way and we can't get agreeing weather reports on our phones. I want distraction from my stress, please just one episode of Big Bang Theory so I can get a good belly laugh? How about 15 minutes of Brian Regan?

Tomorrow, Friday, is day 6 and my dear husband is going to a restaurant to hang out with his fantasy baseball league buddies in the evening while I stay home with the kids and no technology. Under normal circumstances I would be happy for him to go out with friends, it's just the thought of another night, no TV, no internet....

I've realized that technology is a blessing from God, like modern medicine and airplanes. We shouldn't use them every minute of the day, but to ignore them completely is just as ridiculous. I thank God for Facebook, Portal II, Bubble Guppies and the Lord of the Rings extended edition. Pass the remote control!

Overwraught and Offended, AKA Get Over It No One Died

2012-01-26T13:43:00.000-05:00

People skills are not easy to come by. It's not like you can just pick up a book about etiquette and be ready to take on any crisis, real or imaginary. At times I think I have great people skills, other times I realize that I have absolutely no tact and should keep myself locked away for the betterment of society. Like the time I accused a nice woman of being prejudiced against Latinos in a planning meeting. Yeah, not what either of us expected when we woke up that morning.

At the grocery store I parked next to a car with all kinds of pet love stickers. You know, "Who Rescued Who" with the local animal shelter on it, or "My Cat is Smarter than your Dog and your Honor Student." My not so nice thought, as the woman took her sweet time getting into her car, was that she loves animals because she's got no people skills- thus exhibiting my own lack of people skills. I think that's called irony.

What's also ironic is that a lack of people skills usually erupts when we're trying to help each other. If we were not engaged, making an effort at being a part of society, then we wouldn't be close enough to another person to stick our foot in our mouth. We can't learn it from a book, we learn by trying. And these unwritten social rules are complicated! They also vary greatly by country, region, and family.

In the South it is rude to not invite people in and offer them a drink when they knock on your front door. In the Northeast US, especially in the city, it's considered crazy to invite people into your house just for knocking on the door. So much so that apartments have buzzers and you often can't even get a chance to knock on their door.

So then imagine what happens when a Southerner moves in next door to someone from the Northeast.

Our unwritten and usually unspoken cultural expectations get messy. All too often we aren't willing to graciously allow for differences, when we know that we'd like more latitude when we foul up. Sometimes it's not even a matter of fouling up, it's just walking to the beat of a different drummer and not knowing why.

This reminds me of a conversation with my sister, whose son has Aspergers. She talked about how subtle social cues are, it's a wonder any of us catch on to them. With her son, he doesn't notice them one bit, doesn't learn them, doesn't interpret them, nothing. There will probably be times in his life that he offends people, but chances are he won't even care!

We moved from a church that had a lot of Latinos. Open-hearted chatty Latinos. My daughter never lacked for someone to talk to in the youth group because someone would always be happy to talk her ear off. Because all but one of them had moved, they also knew what it was like to be the new kid. They always warmly welcomed new people, there were even times I asked if they already knew someone from school because they we laughing and talking like they were old friends. My daughter spent a third of her life in that cultural situation, at a time when learning social cues is at its peak, adolescence.

Where we live now the social cues are different from our heavily Latino populated Northeast community. It leaves my daughter wondering what is going on. It leaves me wondering what is going on too. I'm trying hard not to take anything personally, to give people latitude. I'm trying hard to learn the social cues here, but I miss open hearts and loud laughing, Spanglish and church activities that go too late in the night because they start an hour late.

People get offended so often it is a wonder that we have any set social rules at all. In the end I try really hard to keep these things in perspective. It isn't like someone died, it's not even like someone is sick. It's a misunderstanding, not a threat against your manhood that should turn into a community duel.

Open Letter to Women Who Hate Their Bodies

2012-01-21T20:36:00.000-05:00

A few days ago a friend admitted to me that she hates her body. This is my response to her and any other woman who feels the same:

I hate to hear such a great woman being so hard on herself! Thank you for trusting me with your feelings.

If you can't appreciate the way your body looks right now, at least appreciate it's function- it gave you healthy children and a good life. Your body allows you to serve children at church, in the community and the ones in your home. It allows you to feel, taste, hear, and see the beautiful things God has surrounded you with- the taste of a juicy orange, the touch of your sweetheart's hand or a piece of sea glass polished soft by the ocean nestled in the sand, the sound of birds and the hymns of Christmas, or seeing the smiles on your children's faces or the world made pure with freshly fallen snow.

Start there and then believe me when I say that I think you are beautiful! Each woman has something special in their countenance: a wonderful smile, bright beautiful eyes, or gorgeous skin tone. If you can't see anything, ask someone close to you what they see in you. It isn't vain, it's a reality check because everyone is beautiful. Not to mention who you are inside that makes you beautiful!

The world has so distorted the meaning of beauty, making it all related to money and waistline.

Don't listen to it.

Hold your head high knowing that you have at least one thing that makes you beautiful. If you can't see it right now, trust me, as your friend, when I tell you that it's there. No amount of starvation, self-masochistic workouts, overpriced cosmetics, or elastic underwear that squishes your gorgeous curves will change your true beauty.

It's been said a million times before but that's because it's true- at the very least know that you are beautiful because God don't make no junk! As his daughter you are made in his perfect image, with a heritage of the best things a woman can be made of.

You are beautiful.

Embracing the Sinner

2012-01-20T10:00:00.000-05:00

I'm not even going to try to be coy, the sinner I'm talking about embracing is me. And you.

Oh, this is kind of a given in Christian circles: "We're all sinners!" But after my last post about becoming a saint, I've been struck by how much admitting my lack of sainthood opens me up. I feel like a can of tuna when the opener plunges into the aluminum lid with a freeing hiss. It releases a good amount of stink into the air, afflicting everyone around me, but it sure feels good to me. Admitting to myself that I am a sinner, that without Christ I will never get to heaven, lightens my burdens and frees me to love myself and others.

Honestly, that last sentence made me uncomfortable. I bristle under the cliche phrases of Christianity. They are over-used and largely ignored, falling into trite repetitions. Sometimes I even wonder if the most wonderful and well meaning Christians push agnostics a bit closer to atheism. So how do I express myself in a way that doesn't sound trite and insipid?

While I think about this for a while, here are a few links to share what I'm thinking about:

Perfect People Not Allowed
Still reading Flunking Sainthood
And I'm practicing charity by visiting friends with these thoughts

I'm especially thinking about this quote from the last link:

"Charity is born of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and is an effect of His Atonement."

So if I don't access His Atonement by repenting (confessing my sins), will my charity be less?

Uncomfortable

2012-01-18T14:55:00.000-05:00

Flunking Sainthood - I thoroughly appreciate the title of this book. It especially drew me in because the name of my church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

So yeah, it sounds like we're calling ourselves saints. Which we are, but not in the way most people define saint. Not as in: Saint Peter, St. Francis of Assisi, or Beatrice- Catholics seem to own the lexicon when it comes to saints. This is the way my church defines "saint": "Holy; Free from blemish, whether physical or moral. In the N.T. the saints are all those who by baptism have entered into the Christian covenant."

No matter which Christian church you belong to, we're all supposed to be striving for holiness, for sainthood. In fact one of the Catholic websites about saints has this as it's tag line: "God calls each one of us to be a saint."

Sure, I'll cleanse myself of all blemish, then run right out and heal someone, so I can check that whole "sainthood" thing off my list of to do's. Sometimes I think we make it sound like that. In the book Flunking Sainthood, Jana Reiss gets into the dirty details of it, even trying out intense religious practices as she reaches towards sainthood. What is really great about the book is that she fails.

This, from the month that Reiss devoted herself to scripture reading, won't leave me: "One 'benefit that comes with the regular reading of the Bible is that we are brought face to face with the superficiality of our existing committment. It is easy to believe that our lives are inspired by the Gospels if we keep the Gospels at a distance."

We can say that we're living up to the standard if the standard is 100 yards off. That far away we can't see the details, the true height and depth of what God is asking at that distance. That distance is much easier, more comfortable, than getting up close and personal with the details of sainthood contained in the scriptures. Without regular study of the gospel, our faith becomes more of a caricature of the Gospels than an actual reflection of them.

This thought led me to the reason we find it so difficult to read the scriptures. I know, we all say we don't have time, that's the pat answer. The real answer for many is deeper and more telling- the scriptures make us uncomfortable.

"Be afflicted, and mourn, and weep: let your laughter be turned to mourning, and your joy to heaviness. Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up." James 4:9-10

God wants us to be uncomfortable, even at times to the point of affliction. That kind of inspired discomfort leads to change, to humility, to sainthood. God isn't calling for self-flagellation, but a reminder that we are not what he created us to be, that we have much more to do and to become than we are now.

Which leads me to this next quote, about another way that discomfort is a good thing:

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness...The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell." - C. S. Lewis

(Such a great quote for fostering!)

These are only two examples of discomfort, the word of God and loving, but attempting to be a saint is full of discomfort. The discomfort of loving without reciprocation - only the world in all it's selfishness teaches that love is always reciprocated. The discomfort of learning God's laws and ways - when you aren't capable of obeying them all now. The discomfort of obedience - trusting God more than your own desires or wisdom. The discomfort of failing - which we do often because we are not perfect (the reason we need Christ).

The miracle of being a saint is that despite all this discomfort, I am full of hope and often feel joy and peace. Somehow I'm happy to be so downright uncomfortable!

Why the Children of Israel?

2012-01-11T21:01:00.001-05:00

I've always wondered why God talks so much about the Children of Israel. Why is Abraham and his family so important? If God loves all of us, and wants us all to return to Him, why is there a "chosen" people? These were questions I asked myself in the middle of Sunday School, or when reading scriptures privately, but not questions I ever spoke aloud. It wasn't something that my faith hinged on, just a little spiritual itch.

A few days ago I was listening to a talk by David Bednar about families. I'm doing my thing on the eliptical machine, listening,... ya famlies good, we have a responsibility for our families.... yeah, i get it. Then one little phrase answered my question, the question that wasn't even crossing my mind at the time but it was like lego pieces fitting together so perfectly I knew it was my answer!

"Elder Russell M. Nelson has taught that the Spirit of Elijah is 'a manifestation of the Holy Ghost bearing witness of the divine nature of the family.'"

Ok, so to you this has nothing to do with my questions about the Children of Israel and God's preferred people, but to me it became so obvious that I felt dumb to not realize it before.

If God tells us continually that our families should be of the utmost importance in our lives, don't you think that he would exemplify that by making His family His most important thing? Only, how could He show this example unless He had a specific family? We know we are all spirit children of God, but He needed a specific group to be his family, so we could see through His example how to take care of our families, differently than we treat everyone else. The Children of Israel, the family of Abraham (because he is the prophet that God made a covenant with) are God's people. His relationship with them is our example of how to be a family, or how not to be, depending on the incidence.

One neat thing about all of this is that God's family is full of adopted children!

"For ye are all the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus. For as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all borne in Christ Jesus. And if ye be Christ's, then are ye Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise." Galatians 3:26-29

This gives me much to think about, and I will listen more carefully when they talk about the Children of Israel in Sunday School, realizing that through God's rocky relationship with his children I could learn a little about how to be part of a family.

The Modern "Christy"

2012-01-06T17:00:00.000-05:00

A while ago my PA bookgroup read Christy. There was a movie and TV series based on the book, none of which I've seen before. Everyone liked the book, but I didn't have time to read it that month, I put it on my to-read list. I picked it up from the library recently and started reading it. Just when my ache for PA was fading, every time I read a chapter of this book the ache resurfaces with intensity.

If I had read this book with the bookgroup it would have been great to discuss it with them. Now, more than 6 months later I'm trying to decide if I should set it aside to read when the memories aren't so painful. Or should I let the book bring those feelings and memories to the surface?

Pennsylvania isn't obviously like Appalachia. It's the overall situation Christy finds herself in and the changes that take place that are similar. My experiences there could be the modern day Puerto Rican/Dominican version of Christy.

"You see, Christy, evil is real - and powerful. It has to be fought, not explained away, not fled. And God is against evil all the way. So each of us has to decide where we stand, how we're going to live our lives. We can try and persuade ourselves that evil doesn't exist; live for ourselves and wink at evil. We can say that it isn't so bad after all, maybe even try to call it fun by clothing it in silks and velvets. We can compromise with it, keep quiet about it and say it's none of our business. Or we can work on God's side, listen for His orders on strategy against evil, no matter how horrible it is, and know that He can transform it." Christy by Catharine Marshall,pg 96

Many of you know what I mean, what Catharine Marshall means, by this quote. It isn't about some great axis of evil in the world that atheists mock. This is about real horrors in everyday life. Anyone who's done foster care understands evil. Anyone who has served a mission for their church likely understands evil. It is about rescuing souls - body and spirit.

There was a point that this kind of work was frightening, overwhelming. My response, propped up by my strong husband, was similar to Christy's: "I did not want my prime consideration to be thinking of myself, protecting myself. Nor did I want to be a quitter." I would add to that, I didn't want to leave more work for someone else. I didn't want someone to suffer one minute longer because I was a little bit scared.

There is a synergism with God that happens when you devote yourself to His work. I felt that in my church service in PA, also while doing foster care. I miss that feeling. God is still very much a partner in my life, in keeping me going and in raising my family, but it is less.

Accepting God's offer to step into the open battle for good was... good. I'm not on the front lines anymore. I feel that I will return. I have a plan to get there, to be a helper with better abilities to add more to the fight. In the meantime I miss the power of being on the front lines for God. It must be how military clerks safely in the States felt about their service when compared with someone who spent months on the deadly front lines. We're all fighting the same battle, and we are all needed, but this sure feels a lot less. The really tricky thing is to stay engaged in the battle while comfortably away from the front lines - I don't want to live for myself and wink at evil.

The Worth of My Swirling Water

2012-01-05T21:44:00.001-05:00

Coming off of Christmas and New Years this is a time to get yourself together, to have your beliefs and pursuits aligned like no other time of the year. Unlike the distracted Christmas preparations of December, where I hardly cracked a textbook after my Stats test (87% thank you very much!), now there is very little excuse for not hitting the books. Especially with everyone talking up the New Year's Resolutions and I'm just re-setting last years' goals.

There is a habit from my December that does seem worth holding onto. Well, two, if you count the enlarged capacity for sugar. For the last few weeks before Christmas my daily routine was on overdrive. With the Christmas deadline approaching and secrets to be kept, I used most of my spare time for more than spare pursuits. If you couldn't tell by that elaborately produced Harry Potter trunk from a few posts ago, I made a lot of gifts. It was fun and I don't regret it, but what I'm having a problem with is finding the "norm" in down time. I sit to watch a movie or relax and I can't. I'm starting a new crocheted scarf, looking up patterns online, busying myself in all kinds of ways but not relaxing. It seems like I'm stuck on overdrive and its wearing me out!

This is more than a habit though. It reaches into my core values, one that is not necessarily likeable, but one I must truly believe to carry around so long. Do you have any of those? Inner values that rise to the surface even though you've tried to convince yourself that they're not true? It's like having an intellectual understanding that something isn't valid, like water going down the drain different directions in different hemispheres of the earth. But it isn't until you make a trip to Ecuador and watch it swirl away in a clockwise direction that you realize that you needed to see it to believe it. It does more than all the lectures and explanations in science class ever could.

That is how I am about the concept of my worth being measured by my productivity. One of my "stuck" values is that my worth is connected to my work, to what I produce. I am internally, emotionally but not logically convinced, for good or ill, that the evidence of my existence should be irrefutable in size, if not importance. Think about it in the opposite direction and maybe you'll get what I mean - There isn't a distinct image of your true self that glitters and shines when you don't take a shower, don't eat a real meal or produce anything but bodily secretions all day. Do you see and smell what I mean? There is something good about productivity.

This core value makes every day, every goal, every expenditure of effort something to account for. That is what makes me crazy. "I'm just sitting here? I could relax and watch TV and crochet!" It takes effort to let it go and really relax.

After not doing as much over the holiday break (although I read 3 novels in 3 days while sick), I realized while studying today that I feel better, I feel like my true self, when I am using my abilities. I get just a bit of that 'in the zone' feeling, a feeling that my life and specific personality is of worth when I understand a poem enough to write a paper on it, or hold up a finished scarf that someone wants to wear. Cleaning the kitchen sometimes has the same effect, but not as much because the results don't last long.

So until someone shows me the evidence, I'm still convinced that my worth does have something to do with what I do. Yes, I've got some seed of worth even as a waste producing bedweight. But for that seed to produce anything more, to develop into it's true identity as a mature productive tree, I've got work to do.

“Life is too short to waste any amount of time on wondering what other people think about you... What's important to me is not others' opinions of me, but what's important to me is my opinion of myself.”
― C. JoyBell C.

In the long run I think that the reason we have such a hard time dealing with what others think about us is because we don't think much of ourselves. We don't believe it until we see some glimmer of our own wonderful reflected back to us in another person's eyes, like watching the toilet water swirl. But, like the above quote says, it starts with self. For me, that starts with doing something worth feeling good about. I don't know what a psychologist would say about that (hello Emily, are you reading?) but it is one of my personal truths and until you show me that the water swirls the other direction I'll have a hard time believing otherwise.

Oh, and funny thing is, water doesn't swirl down the drain in a different direction in the southern hemisphere.

"Yes, say, what is truth? 'Tis the brightest prize
To which mortals or Gods can aspire;
Go search in the depths where it glittering lies
Or ascend in pursuit to the loftiest skies.
'Tis an aim for the noblest desire."
-John Jacques

Water for Ashes

2011-12-30T12:28:00.001-05:00

The world is in great upheaval at this time, with constant uprisings in the Middle East, financial instability in Europe, all overshadowing famine in Africa. Then there are the tumults at home, economic instability, political infighting and finger pointing, cancer taking young lives... I'll stop there. It is horrid, seemingly too much to bear.

As I sat looking out the window that was replaced in our home yesterday I am amazed at how the new window fits perfectly, there are no signs of the hammering, pounding and shaking of the house that took place yesterday to replace the window, as I languished in a sick bed. Much in the same way that my little Sara's eyes are bright and her legs bouncing today after a quick and dirty (literally) flu bug pulled her down yesterday. All those things converged yesterday: powerful rattling with the sound of splintering wood, the whimpering tears of my 4 year old daughter echoing through the reeking bathroom, while my head spun with mucusy illness.

Today the window is perfectly in place. I went to the gym this morning. Sara runs around playing Star Wars with her older brother.

In the midst of it we feel as if it will all fall apart, not seeing a way through what buries us in a moment.

Looking through the new window I thought of how little I have to mourn over as I thought of a friend that is having a difficult time. It seems very unfair, not that I believe in life being fair anyway, but the scales seem cruel. I don't believe that for one person to have peace it means that another must suffer turmoil. But in the moment of peace our senses are pulled to the seismic disparity.

Far away friends came to visit us a few weeks ago. It was such balm to my soul to see them, to remember that those we've left aren't gone. But it was one of those times that disparity left me heartbroken and feeling as if I wanted to cry out for her, "This isn't fair!"

Our move and job change fell into place so seamlessly and my friend's husband lacks a job for years. We sit here in Iowa in a bigger house than we had in Pennsylvania because of the luck of circumstance, not because of any merit of ours. While my friend wonders where she will live in coming months. As I told her of how my extended family is doing, mostly happy news, her eyes filled with tears. As she opened her heart I found that the situation in her family is opposite, powerful rattling is bringing down her family.

Even though the weeks since I've seen her have distanced us physically, I still pray in my heart that God will lead her through it all. And I know he will, and yet how difficult will it be before then?

Through the clear glass of my new window I see fine sturdy houses with brown grass and cloudy sky, and no snow. There are no sinkholes, abandoned lots or dilapidated row homes. Looking past the sky I think of how my heartaches are changing to victories and wonder how this is?

"Tears are a river that take you somewhere. Weeping creates a river around the boat that carries your soul-life. Tears lift your boat off the rocks, off dry ground, carrying it downriver to someplace new, someplace better."

-Clarissa P. Estes

I remember the river of tears that I've shed. Now that I am someplace better the river has dried and it could be easy to forget. What makes this destination so valuable is the endurance and pain that came before. Without tears to carry me downriver there would be no better place.

Harry Potter Trunk

2011-12-26T13:07:00.001-05:00

With Christmas quickly approaching and money dwindling I decided to get creative for Christmas. It took a while to put together, I'm posting about this now because the kids now have their gifts and there's no chance of spoiling it for them by publishing details.

My inspiration for this idea was this sewing kit/Clue trunk
Most of the links on her site didn't work though, and I wanted more bottles and variety so I set off searching Pinterest and the Internet.

I bought a Harry Potter Clue game from Amazon. In the product details section it gave the dimensions of the box, so I knew how big the trunk needed to be before the Clue game arrived. I found the trunk at Hobby Lobby on sale 40% off! It fit perfectly into the trunk when it arrived!

While at Hobby Lobby I also bought various empty glass bottles. Later I printed potions labels and used Modge Podge to attach them to the bottles.

For Wartcap powder I used baby powder, the label says 'for external use only'. Pepperup potion was a bottle of green hotsauce: I used GooGone to remove the original label. Essence of Dittany was in a tall blue bottle, it was chewy Sweetart balls. I didn't use all the labels, I ran out of time and bottles. There was also another set of labels, which I used the Phoenix Tears label on a bottle of multicolored popcorn kernels, I thought they looked like little dried tears. And of course a large jar of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans (Jellybellys). This site has additional labels and miscellaneous HP signs and a fun potion class tutorial for a party!

I also attached Butterbeer labels to bottles of cream soda with modge podge.

Then I made wands and feather pens. Both were easy, although the wands required patience for each layer of paint and hot glue to dry. My daughters were amazed by the wands, they turned out wonderfully.

At night while watching TV with my hubby I crocheted a Gryffindor scarf. There are tutorials available online, but I simply made wide stripes of gold and maroon, finishing with tassles.

The chocolate frogs were the biggest challenge for something so small. I bought a chocolate mold of frogs on Amazon for just a few dollars. You can buy almond bark at the grocery store, or chocolate for molding at a craft store. When I molded the frogs I first put a thin layer of chocolate in the mold, then placed a small marshmallow in the chocolate and let it harden in the fridge. Then I added enough chocolate to fill the rest of the mold. After a brief stay in the fridge they popped right out. I used a knife to trim off the extra chocolate, being careful not to leave fingerprints on the shiny chocolate surface.

Next- the pentagon boxes.

I had a few pieces of pearlized cardstock left over from another project and they looked great printed on that. It takes a little bit of time to cut out each box, score the fold lines and glue. It makes life much easier if you use a ruler and scissors or bone scorer to score the lines before folding. I used rubber cement to glue - apply the cement to both surfaces to be glued together, allow it to dry, then press the surfaces together and they stick instantly (a great trick I learned in commercial art class in the days before virtual cut and paste). I did print out small wizard cards from the Harry Potter Wikipedia site. It was complicated to cut and paste each one to size on my photo editing program. The girls weren't overly impressed by them so it wasn't worth the time.

There were also Dumbledore's Favorite Lemon Drops:

Then there were a ton of miscellaneous printables that added to the fun. I placed them in an antique cheese box (about $5), along with the feather pens and wands.

I printed a ton of small books, posters and stories on parchment cardstock and rolled them into scrolls, tore the edges, or bound them in aged brown paper. (Use a brown grocery bag without printing, cut it to cover the booklet, crumple it in a ball to wrinkle it, apply watered down black paint, wipe off the paint. The paint stays in the wrinkles and gives the paper an aged/leather look.) I even made an envelope out of an old book page and sealed it with candle wax.

Owl Post Printables

Tiny Tales of Beetle the Bard

Marauder's Map

Harry Potter Prequel

There are many more ideas out there, just search on Google or Pinterest for Harry Potter Printables. When I could I linked to the original sites, I didn't intend on making a blog post so I didn't save all of the links. Links age out and move, so not everything I found is available now. I am not claiming any of this work as my own.

Have fun and leave a comment telling me what you're going to make or what else you've found!

My Meaning in "Merry Christmas!"

2011-12-21T12:32:00.002-05:00

When I say, "Merry Christmas!" it doesn't mean enjoy your cookies, presents, and a day off work.

Merry Christmas means realizing and full-heartedly receiving the gift that this season celebrates. The greatest gift in my life is Jesus Christ. I am grateful for a season to celebrate and more openly rejoice in Him.

The past two weeks have been very stressful for our family. My oldest daughter had high school final exams, which includes tying up any loose ends with her classes. Then there are song practices for church, and performing, which she hates. There are also concerns about making friends, it's hard to fit in when so many have lived here their whole lives and don't know what it's like to be the new kid.

Yesterday night as I made dinner I listened to Christmas music, the more religious type like Charlotte Church, Josh Groban and Amy Grant. The songs brought tears to my eyes as I thought about the real purpose of life and meaning for this season.

I cried out of gratitude - my daughter's math grade will not matter in least to Christ when she meets him again. He will simply ask if she tried her best, and she will answer, I'm sure with tears in her eyes, that it was so difficult and she did her best.

He is her friend forever and always, no matter where she moves.

The song performance is something Christ will appreciate as her small gift to him on Christmas. Even though it may not be worthy of recording, He will accept her willingness to do something uncomfortable for him as though it were a performance at Carnegie Hall.

Sometimes it's easier to understand and measure what Christ means to us when we look at it from another person's perspective. When I see my daughter's struggles in the light of Christ, I don't see a lonely teenager who nervously sings less perfect than others, who submarines her future college ambitions because of a bad math grade. Instead I see a daughter of God who valiantly faces each day with hope, dedicating herself to whatever challenge she is faced with, pressing forward when others cry defeat. This is the difference Christ makes!

That is why when I say, "Merry Christmas!" it means so much more. It means that I want you to see yourself in the light of Christ- knowing that his way is sure, his love is never ending, and his plan for you is beyond worldly expectations.

Merry Christmas! Enjoy your cookies, presents, and day off also!

Santa Steals Christmas

2011-12-11T19:26:00.001-05:00

***SANTA SPOILER ALERT***

The past few weeks I have been frantic. Running around shopping instead of studying when Baby is at preschool. Not making a list of which gifts I have, or which I still need, because I'm afraid the kids will find it. While also worrying that if I don't write it down someone will be heartbroken Christmas morning because of a glaring disparity. I catch spare minutes after the kids are in bed to handcraft gifts because the Christmas budget doesn't go very far. Not to mention trying to buy gifts for a husband that every year refuses to give me gift ideas because, "We shouldn't spend the money." All while trying to keep the Santa secret.

I have a piece of a memory floating in my head from the year I discovered that Santa wasn't who I thought he was. It was the year I was old enough to think about what Santa, a perfect stranger who is none the less a very nice man, gave me for the Christmas and what my parents, who had given me life and spent everyday with, gave me. Santa scored with multiple presents and a goodie filled stocking. Parents, one present.

Suddenly, I stepped into the realm of reasoning about Santa and something wasn't right under the Christmas tree. I thought that my parents had seriously dropped the ball. Those who ranted about giving being more blessed than receiving and complaints about greedy children apparently kept their own gift giving to a minimum. (I was not far enough into the realm of reason to consider the economic conditions in a household of 6.)

This issue of my stingy parents bothered me much of Christmas day, until I finally asked my older, and smarter, sister why Mom and Dad only gave us one gift. Didn't they love us? Shouldn't they practice what they preached? As I remember it, and it has been about 30 years so this could be sensationalist recall, my sister looked up from her book and said, "Mom and Dad are Santa dummy," and went back to reading her book.

You might think it broke my little heart to hear that Santa wasn't real. I was not. In fact, I was thrilled as I thought about all the years of Santa that my parents had lovingly provided. I added up what this meant, that my parents secreted gifts, stayed up late (which explained how grumpy my Dad was Christmas morning when we wanted to open presents at 4 am.), and charitably took none of the credit when I hip-hoorayed over Santa's bounteous generosity and all-knowing wisdom at providing just what I wanted, and sometimes better than what I wanted. It also explained how Santa could bring expensive electronics and designer clothes to my friends homes while none of those things appeared at mine. (I accepted that Santa had favorites.)

Now I'm Santa. Despite the love I have for my children and the joy it brings into my heart to see their happy faces and eager eyes on Christmas morning, I don't like being Santa.

I alone am Santa. There is no Mr. and Mrs. Clause in this North Pole operation. No little elves either, and how I wish for some on December 24th when I'm making a huge dinner and contemplating running to the store during the TV showing of midnight mass to get the gift that I thought I already had. Ok, Mr. Clause does help me carry the loot down to the Christmas tree, I'll give him that.

I don't like pretending that Santa is spying on my little children. Isn't that a bit creepy? I don't like trying to fabricate a lie to cover how Santa gets into our house, or how he knows what size they are, or how he knows what they wanted even when we forgot to mail the letters.

I didn't like watching the new Christmas movie, Arthur Christmas, with my four year old. All I could think of is that now I have more complicated details of the Santa story to remember. This may make you sad, but I was very grateful that Santa didn't make an appearance at our church Christmas party.

Let me be clear, I am not anti-Christmas. I love Christmas! Everything about it is great, except for Santa and increasing commercialism. I love giving gifts to my children, I enjoy making something that is unique for them. This year I'm making gifts that are things they can experience, do something with, and it's been very fun thinking things up!

I enjoy seeing how excited my children are to give presents to others. My oldest daughter didn't give gifts to her friends much until a few years ago when we made scrabble tile pendant necklaces. She said it was so neat to see her friends' thrilled with their personal gift that it changed her attitude on gift giving. That may have been the same year that the kids made gifts for each other. Christmas morning was a whole new experience as my children were as anxious to see their sibling open the gift they had given, as they were to find out what Santa brought.

And of course I love the increased reminders to think about my Savior Jesus Christ during this time of the year. Which makes me wonder what Christ thinks about Santa. There's the view that surely Christ is happy that good little children are receiving gifts from someone who loves them (even if in popular culture Santa seems to crush the manger scene on his way to the sleigh.). But how could it change families if children knew that those bounteous gifts were from their parents? Especially those children who live on the poverty line and don't get grand gifts from their parents? How wonderful it would be if a mother could say, "I knew you wanted those gloves so I went to the store every week until they were on sale!" Or if parents who went without presents so they could give more to their children could claim the gift they sacrificed to give?

Gifts aren't everything, and people are more important than things. But at this special time of year I can't help but ask what kind of magic could happen in families if we shoved Santa out the window and claimed the family love that this imaginary man has been stealing?

Here's an even harder question to answer: Would there be a Christmas without Santa? Because it sure seems that there can be one without Christ. I saw that in Arthur Christmas too.

3 Gratitudes

2011-12-07T21:44:00.000-05:00

The worst part of my day is waking up at 5:30 am. All too often I lay there thinking about how cold it is outside, wonder what the kids will whine about that day, dreading my stats homework and making dinner - basically considering how impossible a task it is to make it through the day. With thoughts like those it's no wonder I can't get up!

So after reading an article about gratitude, I decided that every morning before I get out of bed instead of dreading the day I will think of 3 specific things I am grateful for that day.

Today my 3 gratitudes were: snuggling with Baby, who is 4 and my most cuddly child; that my daughter has an early morning church class, taught by volunteers, that drastically improves her mood; and that I am able to buy good food for my family.

This morning by 7 am I was doing much better than my usual dragging attitude. Then my son whined that there was nothing to pack for his lunch, my oldest daughter was late getting out the door (yes, she'd already been up since 5:30 too) and my arms were noodles from lifting weights. So the ray of sunshine didn't last, but it helped enough that I think I'll keep trying this.

What are your 3 specific gratitudes today?

New Christmas Song - Shawna Edwards

2011-12-06T21:32:00.001-05:00

If you're looking for a new Christmas song I have the perfect one, especially for those called to foster parenting or adoption!

Shawna Edwards, wrote a song called "Do You Have Room?" Over the course of the past couple of years, she's interacted with probably 3,000 different people who have personally shared with her the impact this song has had on them. She is sharing it freely, letting people get a free MP3 or copy of the sheet music if they share how they are making room for the Savior.

Many of us involved in helping children feel that the reason we can make room for a child is because first we made room in our hearts for Christ.

Here is a beautiful video that was made of the song. I'm warning you, have Kleenex's handy.

Do You Have Room? (Christmas Music Video) from shawna edwards on Vimeo.

Vital Creativity

2011-11-26T10:13:00.001-05:00

This morning I read some really great stuff in Women Who Run with the Wolves. I believe that all of us needs more creativity in our lives and I love what Estes teaches about nurturing our creative "wild" side.

"Gifted women, even as they reclaim their creative lives, even as beautiful things flow from their hands, from their pens, from their bodies, still question whether they are writers, painters, artists, people, real ones. And of course they are real ones even though they might like to bedevil themselves with what constitutes "real." A farmer is a real farmer when she looks out over the land and plans the spring crops. A runner is real when she takes the first step, a flower is real when it is yet in its mother stem, a tree is real when it is still a seed in the pine cone. An old tree is a real living being. Real is what has life." p. 340

Too much we determine what is a "real" product by money. We try to put a dollar value on it to assess it's value. I thought through what would happen if I told people that I am a writer.

They'd ask, "Oh, what have you written?"

"Short stories, personal essays, I have a blog too."

"Neat. Have you published anything?"

This question means, have you gotten paid? Has someone with money determined that your writing will make them more money?

Why would I, or you, ever determine what the value of my writing, painting, creativity is by the dollar value someone places on it?!! But I have, I think at some point most creative people do and it is a major roadblock to sharing our creativity with the world.

Yes, we need money to feed our families, to care for ourselves, to live. Do not let that be the sum of your existence. Let creativity be as valuable as money, or more.

"Creativity is the ability to respond to all that goes on around us, to choose from the hundreds of possibilities of thought, feeling, action, and reaction that arise within us, and to put these together in a unique response, expression, or message that carries moment, passion, and meaning." p.343

Being creative doesn't have productivity as it's end goal - to produce something worthy of a price tag. Creativity is a power within us, a vital part of our natures. It is not a commodity to be mined for financial gain.

"Initially censor nothing... To create one must be willing to be stone stupid, to sit upon a throne on top of a jackass and spill rubies from one's mouth."

This is exactly how I felt yesterday when I read my Thanksgiving story aloud to my family. And again when I posted it to the blog and did not receive any comments. I hear crickets chirping.

"It is not the failure that holds us back but the reluctance to begin over again that causes us to stagnate. If you're scared, so what? If you're afraid something's going to leap out and bite you, then for heaven's sake, get it over with already. Let your fear leap out and bite you so you can get it over with and go on. You will get over it."

I'm over it.

I'm a writer!

What are you?

A Thanksgiving Story

2011-11-24T18:30:00.001-05:00

Today I woke up with the idea for this story, a modern day fairy tale of sorts. Enjoy!

(Mom, don't you dare say a word about where I got the inspiration for this story!)

Dorthea stared at the raw thanksgiving turkey. In this dim light it looked grey, almost blue, as if the skin reacted to the cold refrigerator. Lifting her head she saw the crusty mounds of snow through the kitchen window, they had the same tint as the turkey in the early morning light. She felt the same, grey.

She hadn’t been able to sleep past 6 am in over a decade so her irritation over getting up early to put the turkey in the oven might seem irrational, but to Dorthea it was perfectly justified. For her children’s entire lives she’d gotten up early to make the turkey, now they were grown with their own children they should be getting up early to do this. Shuffling around the kitchen banging pots and pans in her frustration she once again started listing the reasons she hated the house. It was the biggest reminder that Bill was dead, memories in every corner and cubby, waiting to attack her when most vulnerable. The house was old too, things falling apart, appliances out of date, yard overgrown and too much to care for. Now this house held her captive, she couldn’t leave behind the weight of all the years, the loneliness, the pain until the house sold and she had the money to move closer to her children.

Gritting her teeth she looked outside again to see the bright yellow “For Sale” sign in the yard. Over 6 months ago when the realtor placed the sign Dorthea thought the yellow was hopeful and inviting, a sure sign that she would be moving to California in just a few weeks. Now here it was Thanksgiving, snow on the ground, and she was still stuck in North Dakota.

She never wanted to live in North Dakota, her husband William, everybody called him Bill (which was funny because he was a tax accountant) thought that North Dakota was surely in need of a man good with numbers. So they moved up there after he graduated from college, into the very house she was standing in on this cold Thanksgiving day.

Mostly Bill helped people, who Dorthea thought were the dregs of society, find a way to get even more government handouts than they were already receiving. Bill wouldn’t hear her complaints; he said that his infrequent wealthy customers more than made up for his poor clientele. They never wanted for anything. Not that I ever asked for much anyway, Dorthea thought to herself.

Now she wanted this ramshackle, memory-filled house to sell! It was the weight around her neck, keeping her down in the depths of depression that started when Bill died. She didn’t know how much longer she could take the cold dark weight of North Dakota. She sat at the table to eat breakfast and stared at her orange juice, wondering what the weather was like today in California.

Dorthea’s thoughts about California turned into an unintentional prayer. (It couldn’t be intentional, Dorthea was still too angry at God for taking Bill away to start up a conversation.) Hadn’t she been a good person? A good mother, a good wife? All these years she’d cared for everyone, even neighbors? Through Bill’s declining health she stood strong, took a job so they’d have money and health insurance. Now that she finally wanted something for herself, all of life refused her.

In a mixture of tears and anger Dorthea shouted to the empty house, “I would give anything to sell this house!”

Suddenly the grandfather clock in the hall struck 8. It seemed to echo her last words as it chimed, give anything, this house, give anything, this house, give anything, this house, give anything, this house.Dorthea angrily pushed away from the table, remembering that no one ever answered her pleadings to save Bill’s life, why would they answer now?

The phone rang. Dorthea answered it, thinking it strange to have a phone call early on Thanksgiving.“Mrs. Stoundy, this is Jeffery, your realtor.”

“Yes, Jeffery. My memory is fine, I know who you are.”

“I am sorry to bother you with business on a holiday but I thought you’d like to know. I’ve just received an offer to buy your home for the full asking price!”

Two hours later Dorthea’s house was full of her adult children and what seemed like innumberable grandchildren. She couldn’t remember all their names today, it was too much mental effort. It just seemed like every time she tried to take a step a child was there to trip her up. Her friend and neighbor Margarette had broken her hip last year and swiftly declined to where she was barely able to leave the house. That was the last thing Dorthea wanted, she shrieked at the children to get away, “Don’t get underfoot, you’ll hurt someone!”

As her son-in-laws and daughters talked and snacked on the veggie tray they talked about their memories, reminiscing about the house that had always been home and soon would belong to someone else. Christmases by the fireplace, with the Christmas tree always so close to the fire that Dorthea worried about it catching fire. One day, just as Dorthea predicted, it did catch fire. Thankfully it was after Christmas and Bill was quick with the fire extinguisher. You could still see scorch marks on the brick.

The window seat on the landing of the stairs was a favorite with all the girls. They grew up readers, following Dorthea’s love of books, and they raced to be the first to the seat by the stained glass window. There the light always shined through the colored glass to warm the cushion, no matter the time of day or year.

Then there was the old claw foot bathtub. It was older than the house, who knows what possessed the original owners to use it. Dorthea’s family rarely used it, preferring quick showers to long soaks in an iron tub that cooled quickly. One winter their daughter Amy convinced her father that they should keep the koi fish from the backyard pond there over the winter. By the time Dorthea found out about their plan, it was too late to object, the fish was already happily habitating his winter home. The bright orange fish swam laps around the tub all winter.

During a lull in conversation Dorthea was struck with amazement for her daughters. They had grown from little girls that whined at the simplest request to do a chore, into grown women who ran their households and families with more joy and capability than she remembered having during those intense days of motherhood. For Thanksgiving her daughters brought everything but the turkey – mashed potatoes, succotash, green bean casserole, homemade rolls and pies. One of her daughters even brought Dorthea’s favorite, German apple pie.

She had one son, the youngest, Sam. He was a graduate student, at a university several hours away. It was too far for him to visit often, but not too far to come for Thanksgiving dinner. Despite his promises to come, he had not arrived yet. Which ate at Dorthea, he wasn’t usually late, this was disrespectful on such an important family day.

Later they began to worry. No one could reach Sam on his cell phone. His roomates said he left the apartment in plenty of time to reach home before dinner. Dorthea considered the possibility that Sam may not make it home. He was so young and vibrant, it never occurred to her that he could be taken from her.

They planned to eat at 11:30 and Sam was still not at home or answering his phone. Dorthea finally gave up her composure and said, “I would give anything to have my son home safe for Thanksgiving dinner!”

With that, the grandfather clock struck 12. It chimed again, repeating her words- son home safe, son home safe… Dorthea remembered when the clock struck 8:00 earlier in the day and her pleading had been answered. In all the busyness of the day she hadn’t told her children about the sale of the house, the clock chiming reminded her. But then she wished for her son more, his safety and place in her life more important than selling the house. She also realized that selling the house would mean moving far away from him. Dorthea regretted the For Sale sign in the yard.

After phone calls to the local police and highway patrol found nothing. The family gathered for Thanksgiving dinner. The children were hungry and getting grumpy or the adults would have put if off longer. Dorthea, being the senior member of the family, offered the prayer. She thanked God for the house that had sheltered her family for so many years, and for her family. Then she pled with God to bring her son home safe. She ended the prayer, forgetting to ask a blessing on the food, and stared at the front door through the doorway of the dining room.

Sam walked in the door. He walked to his mother and fell into her arms. “I’ve never been so glad to be home!”

After hugging everyone and sitting down to settle himself Sam said, “My car slid on a patch of gravel, I went off the road and was stuck in a snowbank for hours. My cell phone was dead and I couldn’t get my door open because the old icy snow was blocking it. At noon a highway patrolman came along and got out to inspect my car. He found me there, shoveled me out and brought me home!”

With her son home safe and Thanksgiving dinner over, Dorthea was exhausted and a headache was creeping it’s way around the left side of her head. Glancing around the room at her happy family she quietly snuck off to have a nap. Laying on her bed, drifting off to sleep Dorthea felt heavy, as if her body were sinking down through the mattress. She tried to lift her right arm to itch her nose, but nothing happened.

Her headache increased and she realized that she couldn’t get to sleep without pain relievers. When she tried to sit up her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She felt like her thoughts weren’t connected to her body. At the same time her head spun and ached like no headache she’d ever had before. Panicking Dorthea tried to call for help, but the muffled sound that came out of her mouth wasn’t loud enough to summon anyone. Trapped in her own bed the headache eventually caused her to black out.

The next day she awoke to an annoying beeping noise. Thinking it was the alarm clock she tried to turn it off and couldn’t. It wouldn’t stop. She opened her eyes to find the alarm and saw that she wasn’t in her bed. She was in a hospital room, and the beeping wasn’t her alarm clock, but a heart rate monitor.

Her daughter Melissa sat in a chair next to her bed. Dorthea tried to speak to her, but only mumbled noises came out. It was enough to catch Melissa’s attention and she looked up to see her mother’s eyes were open. “Oh, Mom! It’s wonderful that you are awake! Don’t be scared, you’re being taken care of. You wouldn’t wake up from your nap so we called 911. They brought you here, the doctor says you had a stroke.”

Dorthea wanted to cry, but wasn’t even sure if she could. She couldn’t feel the tears running down her cheeks. She must have though, because her daughter pulled a Kleenex from a nearby box and dabbed at her face. “Don’t cry Mom. Now that you’re awake the worst is over. We were so worried, but it’s going to be Ok. The doctors have some medications that they’re hoping will restore some of your physical abilities, but they don’t always work. But it’s Ok, whatever happens it’s Ok, because you’re still here with us!”

Melissa kissed Dorthea’s hand, hugged her limp body and cried tears of relief.

After several days Dorthea had enough of lying in a bed unable to do anything but think. She’d awoken early in the morning and thought about everything possible to think about. In all those thoughts two things stood out as important. Dorthea had innumberable things to be grateful for – her home, her children, her life among the most significant. Since Thanksgiving morning she had seen her life differently, instead of wanting to escape her life in North Dakota, she wanted to back to what it had been Thanksgiving morning.

The second important thing was the chiming of her grandfather clock on Thanksgiving. She remembered that she had said she would give anything to sell her house. The clock chimed and the house was sold. Later she said she would give anything to have her son home. The clock chimed and her son returned. She did not appreciate those generous blessings until they were taken from her. Her health was something that had now been taken from her, she wondered if the grandfather clock could chime again at her voice and give her what she most wanted.

There in the stark white hospital room, just a moment before noon, Dorthea, in her mind because she could not speak, shouted, “I would give anything to return to full health!”

In the end it seemed that the fates were letting her decide what she would pay for her desires. As she thought over her possessions, her friends, her very self and all the richness and wisdom contained from her 72 years of life, she realized that there was not a single thing she could loose that would not cause her heartbreak. Her life was full and blessed, even after losing the love of her life, Bill.

The day Dorthea returned from the hospital her phone rang. “Dorthea, I have some news you aren’t going to like. But before you get angry please remember that I’ve worked very hard for you, this isn’t the end, there will be another buyer.”

“Oh, Jeffery you sound as scared as that day you broke the window in my car when you were 6 years old– what is it?”

“Mrs. Stoundy, the buyers for your house have backed out. They don’t even care that they’ll loose the deposit, they have completely changed their minds. I’ve never had this happen before, I’m sorry.”

“Jeffery, that’s wonderful! I have changed my mind about moving anyway. Take the sign out of the yard as soon as possible!”

With that Dorthea hung up the phone with a grateful smile spread wide across her face.

Copyright, 2011

Carrying Burdens

2011-11-20T23:49:00.001-05:00

A few days ago I talked with my new friend (with fost adopted kids) about attachment disorder. She said how difficult it was to find any kind of help, psychologists, doctors, social workers, anyone who knew more than what they'd read out of textbooks to help her children.

It reminded me of one of the supervisors at our foster agency. He'd worked in foster care for nearly 20 years and had his own private counseling office as well. He admitted that he specializes in teens with Reactive Attachment Disorder, and then said, "I'm a masochist."

He went on to explain that so few kids fully heal that it is a never-ending battle. As a professional, you don't get the payoff of a "cure." Then he told us about one of his success stories that derailed after a year of great behavior. This patient broke every piece of glass in his home and was on his way to an inpatient facility, and would likely be there for a long time because his parents were scared of him.

I told this to my friend, explaining that there just don't seem to be many people that are willing to go into a career path (specifically treating RAD) that doesn't have great hope for success.

Then I got on my soapbox and said that because of my beliefs in the healing power of Jesus Christ I felt that children with RAD can be healed.

My friend said, "I see what you are saying and I don't discount the power of Christ, but I think it is about helping each other get through it, even if it never goes away. Just like those with mental illness may never be 'cured', or many other situations in life that don't have a fix. Christ can help us get through every day even when we aren't relieved of those burdens."

It was a lightbulb moment for me, I had heard this before, but there with her, I really understood it. Not everything can be fixed today or even tomorrow. Sometimes the best we can do is hang on for another day and reach out to others. Asking God, not just to take away the burden if possible, but also for strength to continue carrying it and hope for tomorrow. That facilitates another kind of miracle from Christ, the kind that builds relationships, compassion, and many good lasting virtues in our soul - which we will carry with us after this frail body and harsh world are left behind.

Receiving a Gift

2011-11-15T09:51:00.001-05:00

"For what doth it profit a man if a gift is bestowed upon him, and he receive not the gift? Behold, he rejoices not in that which is given unto him, neither rejoices in him who is the giver of the gift." (Doctrine & Covenants 88:33)

Who would not receive a gift? It seems a little strange doesn't it?

I think about how children receive gifts when I read this scripture. How their eyes light up, their whole countenance is filled with excitement. They rip into the gift and immediately begin playing with it. Children really know how to receive a gift!

Often when I read this scripture, I think of the greatest gift that The Giver, God, has ever given- his son Jesus Christ. That gift is infinite and eternal, truly gifting to us that which we cannot provide for ourselves.

As is often the case with scripture, there is another way to interpret this verse. If we look to the verses following it, we get another indication:

"And again, verily I say unto you, that which is governed by law is also preserved by law and perfected and sanctified by the same."

The gift we have been given is law. Most of the time we refer to God's laws as commandments.

Do we see the commandments as a gift? Are we like a child, excitedly delving into them, ready to use them?

We should be as excited as a child when receiving the commandments. As the above verse says, if we are governed by law, we are preserved. Preserved means protected, it also means to keep in reserve for a special use. God can better use us for his special purposes, the unique purposes for which we were born, when we are keeping the commandments.

If we are governed by law, we are perfected. I have an interesting quote for this concept:

"There is negative perfectionism and positive perfectionism. The negative sort often revolves around the fear of being found inadequate. A positive perfectionism gives best effort, stays with something productive for mastery's sake. Positive perfectionism urges the psyche to learn to do things better; how to write better, speak, paint, eat, relax, worship better, and so on. Positive perfectionism makes certain actions consistently in order to recognize a dream." (C.P. Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves, pg. 532)

This quote illuminates the idea of perfection. It is a positive state of progression, of betterment. It is not about negativity, being found out or scolded. It is not any one moment or state of being, it is a constantly occurring state of progression that occurs when we consistently keep the commandments.

If we are governed by law, we are sanctified. Sanctification can be a confusing concept, and may even differ between schools of thought or religious ideologies.

"The Apostle Paul describes the process and end result of becoming holy as “sanctification,” from the Greek verb hagiazõ, meaning “to make holy,” and solemnly bears witness that sanctification can take place only through the Atonement." (David R. Seely and JoAnn H. Seely, Paul:Untiring Witness of Christ)

Why might we desire sanctification, or to be made holy?

"A holy person meant one who held a sacred office. The Israelites were a holy people because they stood in a special relationship to Jehovah. Under the guidance of the Prophets it was seen that what distinguished Jehovah from the gods of the heathen was his personal character. The word holy therefore came to refer to moral character." (Bible Dictionary: Holiness)

This points me back to being preserved, held in reserve for special use. There are some things that I have come to understand about being used by God -
-It increases my individuality and richness of character (Not decreases!)
-It gives me the opportunity to feel joy as I find the unique purpose of my life.
(Who would know better how to enable my life's purpose than my Creator?!)
-I am able to help others and feel great love.

These things are what struggling people throughout the world wish for in their lives. We can realize these blessings when we accept the gift that God has given us in his commandments. God's commandments are a wonderful blessing that I am so grateful for!

How Big is Your Bowl?

2011-11-13T22:44:00.001-05:00

My daughter showed me this picture-

That's a big goldfish!

Yeah, it could be photo shopped. But what if it's not?

How can a goldfish get so big?!

From what I know about fish, and I don't know much, it isn't from feeding. If you feed fish too much they'll die. Fish get big based on the size of their bowl,

and how many other fish they're sharing it with.

So to get a goldfish that big,

you'd have to have a really big bowl.

What if a goldfish had an infinite sized bowl?

How big could a goldfish get?

How big do you think your bowl is?

What if you knew (not just guessed or hoped)

that your bowl is infinite?

And because it's infinite, sharing with others doesn't mean any less for you.

Fasting - Not as Weird as You Might Think

2011-11-05T21:10:00.000-04:00

In my church we're taught to fast. Which is not having food or drink for 24 hours, combined with spiritual focus, including prayer, mediation and study. Usually this happens the first Sunday of the month, designated as "Fast Sunday". (Just in case you hear a Mormon say 'It's fast Sunday' and you wonder where it's going so rapidly.) Traditionally the fast begins after dinner on Saturday night and ends at dinner on Sunday, so it's skipping two meals, not 3.

This isn't something that I often share with my friends who aren't members of my church. In some ways it sounds a little wacky - to think that going without food or water is going to influence God in some way. Like a showdown between a spoiled child and their disciplining parent, "If you don't give me a new toy I won't eat!"

It isn't like that at all. This week I fasted for my husband to do well on a professional exam. Instead of fasting on a specific Sunday, I fasted on the day of his exam. It seemed a good way for me to: help him through petitioning God on his behalf, be mindful of my husband's ordeal, and recognize how much he had given up in preparation for the exam. I fasted for him, but in a weird way it benefited me in a different way.

I have been thinking a lot about eating and drinking, struggling to find what is right versus what the world tells me is good or OK. Really I don't want to go into details, but it involves Halloween candy, Coke zero, grocery shopping for a large family, and munching constantly while studying. It isn't about looking a certain way, I want to be healthy and treat my body as the gift that it is. Although, my taste buds often overwhelm my healthy intentions.

During this fast something happened to my mental outlook and my cravings. It seems as though it re-calibrated my body. I'm not pining for a large Coke, in fact when I got a small one the next day I couldn't finish it. The Halloween candy isn't as tempting either, I maxed out yesterday at 3 pieces, which was a serious downgrade in my consumption (embarrassing!).

This brought home what fasting is - reminding ourselves that we are more than our physical appetites. We are more than a frail and faulty body. We are eternal spirits, children of God, capable of overcoming the difficulties that face us. It gave me hope.

All in all, my good experience with fasting was helpful for my husband. Because of my spiritual renewal I was prepared to comfort and be patient when he came home from his exam feeling defeated. Instead of needing a break from taking care of the kids, I was able to happily be with them on my own for a while longer.

We won't know for a few months what the results are on my husband's test, whatever it is I am hopeful for the future.

Day of the Dead (a day late)

2011-11-03T12:53:00.001-04:00

Yesterday was the Day of the Dead, a day in which many Latino cultures celebrate their ancestors. For some reason I woke up at 4 am yesterday, with thoughts of my extended family, specifically my Mom's family. Wishing that I had more personal stories from my family, I decided that if I wanted personal stories and remembrances, I should start with me. Providing my stories and remembrances for my own children.

Here is a bit of what I've written, it is history according to my imperfect memory. Feel free to share your remembrences, even if they're different or you're not family.

Grandpa's chair was the heart of the home, his soft leadership lingering there even when he isn’t present. The chair seems bigger than he was, but without him it has no meaning. His blue eyes were the real center. He quietly watched chasing grandchildren, a busy ranch wife, and the weather report while the beautiful soft blue in his eyes reflected his love and heritage. Great Grandma Tina had eyes like those, I can barely remember.

Grandpa was the youngest in his family of three children, looking the most like his mother – named Tie-na because at birth she was so tiny. She remained so throughout her life, and so did Grandpa. His brother LeGrande, named so because people remarked at seeing him, “What a grand boy!” looked more like their father, Ray,with a hearty squarish body and head, seemingly more suited to the hard labor of rural northern Utah than Grandpa’s.

In memory, Uncle LeGrande and Grandpa Ray are stoic, because the pictures echo it back to me unceasingly since they’ve gone. Really though, LeGrande was often smiling, teasing like Grandpa does. The one visit I remember with Grandpa Ray, he was happy, jubilant and welcomingly so.

Grandpa’s teasing, he so often did it that I grew to expect a tease in welcome, asking if my 5 year old self would be making dinner, or if I’d go milk the cow for him. I’m sure that I willingly agreed to milk the cow, and he laughed and had a tag along. First we’d stop at the grain shed to get feed for the milk cow. Inside it was thick and rich with dust, earthy and musty, the wheat and corn so full of life that a breath would fortify my lungs. They wouldn’t let us into the dark sun-streaked shed, saying they had to keep the door closed to mice.

After a tub of oats was scooped, we kids would stop twirling the saddles hanging in the open saddle barn, and follow to the milking barn. A row of cousins would stand at the gated door to the warm brown building, cobbled together from odd cast off lumber, patched here and there to keep out the wind and snow. I don’t remember the manure smell, I’m sure it was there, but for me manure meant Grandma and Grandpa’s farm, nothing negative. Instead the barn was filled with the sweet smell of alfalfa and leather while Grandpa milked inside.

“Now, don’t spook the cow,” he’d say sternly with a smile, as our small dusty bodies tussled for a good view. Grandpa would deftly drop the milk bucket under the golden round flank of the milk cow, with her upward protruding hip bones contradicting her girth, and place the one legged stool under himself as his head pushed against her.

I remember Uncle Brian pushing her around a bit before milking, as if she protested to his inexperience even though he’d been milking for decades, just not as many decades as Grandpa. Whether Grandpa or Brian, they would squirt milk at us as we lined up at the door. Alternatingly telling us to settle down because we were scaring Bossy.

The full and sloshing milk bucket would be carefully carried back to the house, to Grandma in the kitchen. Grandpa always brought the milk back clean, but Brian was often scolded by Grandma for getting little bits in it. Brian would duck out of the kitchen, with Grandpa's sparkling eyes and sly smile. Grandma would forcefully pour the milk into the waiting strainer, later separating the milk from the cream. Cream for butter and to pour on cereal, and pure milk for drinking in cold metal cups, as much as we wanted.

Funny Halloween!

2011-10-30T20:29:00.000-04:00

Today is our town's trick or treat night, they call it Beggars' Night, the night before Halloween. The tale goes that Halloween night was becoming violent and rambunctious so a woman sent her kids out trick or treating the night before to avoid the shanigans. It stuck and now the kids go on the 30th. Except the town north of us, where we will be trick or treating tomorrow night. We're doing it for religious reasons, it feels odd to mix the Sabbath with trick or treat so we're opting for another night. It's nice that we have the option. We didn't want to be un-neighborly in our new community so we did hand out candy tonight. I really stocked up on the candy, expecting a lot of kids, but we still have tons of candy left and the doorbell stopped ringing 15 minutes ago.

It's my brother's birthday today, Happy Birthday David. I don't know if he likes having a birthday the night before Halloween or not. Every year I think about the time he dressed up as a girl for Halloween as a kid, a very young kid. It was probably my mom's idea but he'll hear about it for the rest of his life if I have anything to say about it.

Just to be fair I'll show my Halloween face:

Last night was the church trunk or treat. I decided to make it a redneck Halloween - decorating the van with a dead potted plant with a pink flamingo sticking out of it and sign that said, "If you mess with us, you're messin' with the whole trailer park." Then me in my loveliness, long johns with shorts, cut off hunting t-shirt (there weren't any Nascar shirts at Goodwill, what kind of town did I move to?!) pigtails, camo hat, and fake teeth sitting in a lawn chair with a 54 oz soda and a slim jim.

I thought it was a thorough success but not everyone got the joke. I even had one guy point at the sign and say, "I would laugh at that except I grew up in a trailer park." My fake teeth prevented me from telling him that I've lived in a trailer park too. If we can't laugh at ourselves then this world is goin' down the tubes! I would have loved to add a toilet with flowers growing out of it, but I left my spare toilet in Pennsylvania. It was even pink!

Hope your Halloween has a little humor!

Katniss Everdeen (Hunger Games), Jesse (Toy Story)
and the Grim Reaper, who won the costume contest!

Foster Care Kits

2011-10-23T21:50:00.000-04:00

More than a year ago, when we were merely considering becoming foster parents, I suggested to several church leaders in PA that we do a service project for foster children. I also mentioned that it would be great to have more awareness about adoption and foster care. None of it amounted to anything. I don't have sour grapes, there were just other priorities.

Fast forward more than a year, to Iowa.

Today in Relief Society (a women's Sunday school class) a woman began to announce a new service project in our area. She went on about how excited she is, how great it will be. I listened, hoping we'd do something close to home so we'd feel more motivated to participate. Then she said, "We're making Foster Care Kits!"

I was so surprised by the announcement of something so close to my heart that I cried. It has been so hard to step away from fostering, feeling that there are children out there who could use a safe home like ours, but it's just not possible right now. This was an answer to my prayers about what I could do.

The kits will include a bag, hygiene essentials (toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, etc.), sleep essentials (pjs, blanket, underwear/diapers) and comfort items (toy, crayons, book, etc.). These kits will be perfect for a child going into foster care, as most children arrive with nothing. This will at least get them through the first night with something to call their own.

In addition, there is a special meeting next week with a guest speaker from LDS family services, which is our church agency that coordinates adoptions. I look forward to that meeting, but I also fear it a little. I'm sure that it will tug at my heart.

Times and seasons, when it's the right time, it will happen and it will be good.

Train of Thought

2011-10-23T21:25:00.000-04:00

Ever have two images converge in your mind that bring up a third related image? Then that image sets off a chain of thoughts leaving you preoccupied and unable to do the dishes?

This week for Creative Writing I'm reading personal essays. One of the essays I read was "On the Rez" by Ian Fraizer. It was an enjoyable read and taught me a lot about how I can improve my writing. (Dad you should read it, when I finished I thought of you. Parts of it reminded me of Alice's Restaurant.)

Frankly, it makes me embarassed by most of my past writing- what I've submitted for competitions (with no result, and rightly so) and blogs, including this one. It's like the journals I wrote in Jr. High - they would be very entertaining and enlightening if they were written by someone other than me. But they aren't, so they aren't. Honestly, I have such a huge revulsion to my past diaries that I might burn them all if not for the feeling of accomplishment I get from reading them. Growth is hard to measure day by day, but take stock of a year and it seems that you've moved at least a small hill.

The morning after reading about the modern culture of American Indians in "On the Rez" I walked Jon to school. It was the first time that we've been able to see our breath, the biting cold telling you in no uncertain terms what is coming. When the wind would blow in addition, I felt like biting back. Then a comforting image presented - thick Indian teepees snuggled in a snow covered pine valley, with smoke curling from their long upright poles like a sweet storybook house. Images of heavy animal skins complete with the smell of leather warmed me even though the only piece of tanned hide in my house is shoes, and even that is probably fake.

Recognize the image?

One of the later scenes in Dances With Wolves.

Then I started thinking about how Indians may have spent their winters. Hibernating like bears was my conclusion. They probably had little food to last the winter and rarely went outside their teepees, especially the Sauk, Mesquakie, Sioux and Winnebago Indians that lived in what is now Iowa. My ignorance is probably showing now because I don't even know if those tribes had teepees, they may have used some other form of shelter.

Every bit of this is sad. The treatment and eventual denigration of American Indians is sad. Sending my kids off to school, where they spend more of their day with people who don't love them than they do with their family is sad. My writing is often sad (as in pathetic).

Anyway, that's my train of thought, running off the tracks into sad. Maybe the next post will be better?!

They Need Not Depart

2011-10-17T10:03:00.000-04:00

Yesterday in church one of the lessons focused on the second coming of Christ. While I do not believe in The Rapture, I do believe in the general idea of the conditions of the world getting worse and Christ returning (Jen's hugely edited version). Usually this topic scares me and I feel like stocking up on Ramen noodles and locking the family in the house for a month.Yesterday I saw it differently.

While talking about the scary things that will happen and I what I need to do to be safe and keep my loved ones safe, I thought about children. Starving ones in Africa suffering from the pestilence of AIDS to the child in a foster home with no idea of stability, love or commitment. The bad things that will happen, will happen to children. They will happen to people who do the best they can but fall far short of success and prosperity. Those things will happen to people with mental illness or emotional pain so great that they self medicate. The bad things of the last days will happen to my brothers and sisters on this earth and how dare I call myself a Christian if I do not go into the trenches to help them.

God didn't give me a head's up about the bad things that are coming so that I could buy a bunch of food and hide underground. He told me, and many of you, so that we can prepare to help others; and not only with physical needs. If it's foster care, sharing grocery buying tips, or giving a weekly pep talk to a friend with depression, the way to prepare is to strengthen yourself - then use that strength to help others become strong.

Now is the time to prepare and to work- if that means having extra food on hand, so be it. I hope you're prepared to share though. Because if I remember right, Christ didn't bring loaves and fishes, he used someone else's to feed the 5,000.

"They need not depart; give ye them to eat." (Matt. 14:14-21)

All Work and No Play

2011-10-14T09:02:00.003-04:00

Wanna know my first thought as my eyelids pried open at 5 am? I can't remember the last time I sat down on my daughter's bedroom floor and played with her. Somehow I've allowed life to become vastly utilitarian.

Last night I worried because she had 3 time outs yesterday. Which is a lot for her. Through her frustration and misbehavior she was trying to send me a message: "Our days are all work and no play and I'm sick of being dragged around on your 'to do' lists!"

Ironically enough I saw a video clip a few days ago that explained that things that aren't valued as vital, such things as beauty, play, rest, are really integral to our lives. I agreed with the point, but then went on with all my work.

This is Easy but I'm Still Overwhelmed!

2011-10-12T22:55:00.001-04:00

Some days I think about how easy it is to not have a foster kid. I have no idea where the parental visitation takes place in my town, not to mention I don't have to take time away from my family to go there. I don't have crazy behaviors to deal with because of what a child went through. I don't have a clue where my WIC card is and that's just fine. I have normal children and a normal schedule and still I couldn't wait for this day to end.

My son is having a hard time fitting in at school because he's not interested in sports. According to him that's what everyone does at recess. Today the cherry on top was someone calling him a horrid name on the playground. Email to the teacher.

Baby and I went to a building that reminded me of my PA foster agency waiting room and waited for 30 minutes, reading books that were smeared with something gross, torn, and scribbled on. They reminded me of a comment I heard once, that they don't replace books in waiting rooms like that because someone would steal nice ones. I'm ready to take a few of my extras down there because that's ridiculous to say you're all about helping children and you provide them with that.

After waiting I was told that her appointment for a speech assessment wasn't on the schedule. Checked my voicemail, it was the right day and time. This would be the second appointment with this agency that has been cancelled by them. I left two 'assertive' voicemails for those responsible. It irritates me incredibly that I have no choice, they are the only provider of this service in town. Gotta love government agencies.

Came home to an email from my teenage daughter's math teacher. Due to possible privacy infringement I'll just say it wasn't good news. Upon close inspection of assignments and tests, she's not doing well in Chemistry either. So it looks like she'll be giving her parents mini classes in both subjects on a nightly basis.

"Can I have jello?"
"Can I have jello?"
"Can I have jello?"
All day.
"Can I have jello?"
Finally after dinner I said, "Yes, but you better eat it all!"
Guess which mom got to eat a three year old's leftover jello for dessert?

Didn't do school work today either.

Middle child is doing great, OR she's just waiting a few days to drop her bomb once the smoke has cleared.

After so many years...

2011-10-08T22:49:00.000-04:00

In a room full of people I still want to sit next to the person I've known best for 20 years.

Today my husband and I were in a church meeting. He had to sit across the room from me. Even though it was a good meeting and I tried hard to focus, every 15 minutes or so I'd think about how nice it would be to sit next to him.

It's funny that people who are afraid of marriage think that you'll have nothing to talk about and be sick of each other after the first year.

What sizes?

2011-10-05T15:29:00.004-04:00

My daughter is helping with a children's activity at the Battered Women's Shelter tonight. They mentioned that the shelter is always in need of underwear and socks. I got them in two different sizes - Bobby and Vince's.

Giving Up

2011-10-04T22:44:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was another day that I tortured myself with being happy. Oh, it's a special kind of crazy.

When I recognize that things are going well here, that I'm doing well in my classes (94% on my stats test!), the kids are happily settling in to school, I have a handle on making dinner and keeping the house clean (that doesn't mean that you can stop by unannounced) and that my husband is bringing home enough that I can buy groceries any day of the month, I feel guilty.

Seeing what I've seen, knowing what I know, how can I sit here all fat and happy?

That's what I asked God last night. How could you put me here after teaching me about foster care, the inner city, life on the margins, the ins and outs of the system, how to deal with and be around the mentally ill without being scared, how religion applies, how to encourage without being demeaning, how to love even when I know it's going to hurt, and more?

This was his answer and I cried as I turned off the light and went to sleep:

"And it came to pass that the voice of the Lord came to them in their afflictions, saying: Lift up your heads and be of good comfort, for I know of the covenant which ye have made unto me; and I will covenant with my people and deliver them out of bondage.

"And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs, even while you are in bondage; and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter, and that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions," Mosiah 24:13-14.

God says, "my people." This told me that God is well aware of the problems of his children. The adults and children that are in need that I left behind are His. He knows them better than I do. He also knows me, better than I know myself. If he put me here, there is a purpose. My skills and understanding will not be wasted.

Just as God provided for Bobby in a specific way, details of how his case worked out- Bobby was not only cared for, but I gained a great friend. That's how God can work things out, for me and for other people in need. God can ease their burdens. He does this so that we can see how He works, that He does work for our good. There is no other way to explain how things worked out with Bobby than God's hand. He can do that for every child.

I cannot single handedly take responsibility for all of this, for every abused child, for every messed up family. I must lift where I stand, and be humble enough to wait for God to show me what to do. For now that means not doing foster care, not even being a CASA.

I'll work on enjoying happiness instead of questioning it. I accept this gift God has given me. I am giving up on feeling guilty.

Women in the Center

2011-09-29T12:35:00.000-04:00

A few days ago I heard a thought that brightened my perspective on women in religion. It really has nothing to do with women being "ordained". What I mean is the place of women in the life of Christ and in the Bible and what that implies.

It was from a radio interview with Elder Jeffery Holland and his wife Patricia. He said (and I'm paraphrasing), "Women have always been at the center of the gospel of Christ."

What? Where did he get that? My ears were anxious.

He went on to explain, 'The greatest event in the world's history started with a revelation to a woman.'

What he meant is that Mary was the central to God's plan to have His son born on the earth. She was not 'just a vessel' any more than I was 'just a vessel' for my children. Being a mother is more than that. No doubt God chose Mary especially for this role because she would be central to Christ's life on earth. She was also the only person to know him from the start of his life to the end. She must have known Christ so very well.

This also teaches me something about being a woman. I won't preach about what that is, it's personal and your life is different than mine so no reason for you to know what it means for me. The important question is - What does it mean to you?

Elder Holland also pointed out that Christ needed a father, even though his real father was God. I see that God knew it was so important for a child to have both a father and a mother present in his life, that he wanted Joseph to be Christ's earthly father. A foster or adoptive parent even. Unique family situations are nothing new to God.

Another thing Elder Holland said was in relation to the womens' rights' movement. He explained how he watched it unfold while in graduate school in Connecticut. Then with keen insight he said (again paraphrasing), 'We went the wrong direction though. Instead of women looking to get out of the house, it should have been more about the men getting back in.'

But I'm just paraphrasing. You should listen to what he says for yourself.

Would You Foster Again?

2011-09-25T23:12:00.000-04:00

I just listened to Fosterhood in NYC on a radio show. When the interviewer asked if she would ever foster again, without skipping a beat she said, "No."

After hearing the emotion in her voice I interpreted what that one little word meant.

It said, "That hurt too freaking much, didn't pay off for me or the child, and the system is so likely to screw us over again, I just can't take it."

For the first time since we stopped fostering I admitted to myself that there is a tiny place inside me that feels that way.

Organized Religion

2011-09-25T11:51:00.000-04:00

There are many people in the world today that don't believe in organized religion. I can see how a person might come to that conclusion. A lot of horrid things have been done in the name of religion, or while hidden under the cloak of religion. There have been wolves in sheep's clothing, destroying humanity's hope of good religion.

For me organized religion, or church, is a way for me to receive all the help I need to live the gospel. By "the gospel" I mean the truths of God. Yes, you can try to have a relationship with God without organized religion. But that's like pushing a car instead of turning it on and pushing the gas pedal. You can do it, but it's much more difficult and you are very unlikely to reach your destination - you need a vehicle to help you get there. And by destination I don't just mean heaven, I mean being on the path which gives happiness, peace, and progression now.

Actually, my analogy should be even more intense - it would be like trying to walk through the desert without food or water. It may rain a little, or you might find a sparse bit of vegetation to nibble on, but it is very unlikely that you'll survive. Yes, it's that important.

These are my feeble attempts to explain why I am so happy and excited that my friend Anne, and her daughter Katie, were baptized yesterday. They have committed themselves to following Christ and being active participants in His church.

That's my hubby Paul standing next to them. He has been ordained to hold the priesthood, and lives worthy, so he was able, by Anne's invitation, to baptize her yesterday. She asked another great man to baptize her daughter. Because of the sacredness of the baptism itself I didn't take pictures of it. In my church we believe in baptism by total immersion (explanation here). Which I think is wonderful in it's symbolism and application.

I met Anne my first Sunday in our new Iowa congregation. It was also her first time at our church, but she's lived here almost a year. We've become friends while she's been asking questions and talking with the missionaries. It has been a amazing thing, to watch the change in Anne. At first she doubted God's existence and love for her. Now... well, just look at her face!

It has been a great experience for our family too, watching Anne and Katie search for faith and find it. They both are so strong and hopeful for the future. It reminds me that God's love is for everyone, even those who doubt him and/or themselves. It reminds me that we have a responsibility to love everyone, like He does, regardless of how they feel about us.

As part of the service accompanying the baptism, I was asked to talk, or give a short sermon, about the Holy Ghost. This sums up what I said- "When you do good, you feel good, and that is the Holy Ghost speaking to you.” -Ezra Taft Benson.

This has been a great thing for me as I've adjusted to Iowa. I have a new friend in Anne, my kids have a new friend in Katie, and we all support each other in living the gospel. That is just one of the wonderfully good things to come out of organized religion.

Recognize Weakness to Be Strong

2011-09-23T10:04:00.000-04:00

I'm still thinking of my last post, and the comments. It helped people that I love, that's even better than just helping myself with learning!

After reading those comments, I thought about how much we torture (too strong a word?) ourselves with pressures to accomplish, perform, to BE some certain thing. Yes, I know that we become something by acting as if we are that. But we are also human. God recognizes this, yet we somehow think that we are the one person in the world who is not allowed to be human. We expect too much of ourselves. And at the same time, not enough!

For me it goes something like this: Getting up at 5 am only to be tired in the afternoon. There are days I refuse to give in to being human to allow myself a nap, thinking that people who go to a 9 to 5 job don't get a nap, why should I be lazy and take a nap? All afternoon I drag and get grumpy because I'm tired. I think that I am a stronger, better person to refuse the nap- when in reality I am the opposite. Therein lies a misdirection. Misdirection which leads to the lessening of abilities when the true goal is to increase in ability.

When I recognize my weakness, which in this case is being tired, and realize that to be strong I must address it, by taking a nap, then I am really better.

When I'm misdirected to focus on being tired all day, I am not directed towards some better thing that I could have accomplished if I had taken a nap; playing with my children in the afternoon, inviting someone over for dinner, or something as simple as kissing my husband and saying, "Welcome home, we're glad you're back!" when he gets home at the end of a long day.

It is a difficult line, to know when we are weak and when we are strong. Far too often we get them confused. The thought, 'I'm strong enough that I don't have to consult God on everything in my life, I can handle it' - is a misunderstanding. The thought, 'I'm too weak to call someone I don't know to help them' - is a misunderstanding. I'm sure the enemy of light loves it when we are confused in this way. He tells us it is self-sufficiency to not call upon God, or that it's humility to think we can't help another person. Half truths and lies.

When we are weak, then we are strong.

Yesterday after a painful study session I had the tearful realization (again, because it's really nothing new) that God is merciful. I do need to study and apply myself, but I don't need to nag myself with thoughts of failure. I do need to take a nap, I don't need my inner dialogue to be, "You're so lazy." I need God's mercy and he's willing to give it if only I would accept it.

So even though I work out every weekday morning, I ate a Snickers bar yesterday. It was good sweet mercy, not a sin.

"You are doing the best you can, and that best results in good to yourself and to others. Do not nag yourself with a sense of failure. Get on your knees and ask for the blessings of the Lord; then stand on your feet and do what you are asked to do. Then leave the matter in the hands of the Lord. You will discover that you have accomplished something beyond price."

(If you like that quote, read the entire address here. It will inspire you!)

Day, Night, Day

2011-09-20T19:02:00.000-04:00

Isn't it kinda amazing that after decades of life there's still more to learn? It can be overwhelming, but it's also exciting (if you're not being graded on it). There's the book learning, math, science, how to make and follow a budget- not exciting. What gets me excited is the kind of learning that is like a crack in your own soul, showing you something that was always there but somehow didn't see.

Being a religious person who also studies psychology and has a family I think I'm fairly knowledgeable about people and life. I read my scriptures, listen in church, pray, apply those things I learn, and keep moving forward. Still, I can't seem to think beyond the literal often enough.

Emily introduced me to a book, "Women Who Run With the Wolves," by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. (It's not as wild and rebellious as the title sounds, more insightful and intuitive.) The book is so deep and rich in symbolism and meaning that I can't read it all at once. On Sunday I read a section and I'm still soaking it in, amazed at the symbolism I've been missing all this time.

A day, a night, and a day. It echoes the pattern of life: Life, Death, Life. Yet our modern society is so wary of death that we ignore the pattern, forgetting the cycle that repeats throughout life in big and small ways.

"Much of our knowledge of the Life/Death/Life nature is contaminated by our fear of death. Therefore our abilities to move with the cycles of this nature are quite frail. These forces do not 'do something' to us. They are not thieves who rob us of the things we cherish. This nature is not a hit-and-run driver who smashes what we value." (pg. 143)

Clarissa goes on to explain that Death is necessary if something else is to start anew. It reminded me of my move. How difficult that was, a death of that part of my life, yet it was necessary for this new phase to begin. Yes, it is sad to loose, but beautiful to see what is created.

A good friend of mine will be baptized on Saturday. She has been through a lot, I mean A LOT. It seems as though it took the death of her dreams for her to start anew. I don't know if she would have ever opened herself to a new possibility (which in this case is religion) if she had not already lost so much.

This pattern is repeated in nature- Day/Night/Day, Summer/Winter/Summer - and even within our relationships as we go through cycles where we are close to the ones we love and at other times distant. We go through cycles within ourselves as well. Sometimes the darker, egotistical side of ourselves reigns, only to be conquered by the hopeful light side. One is not without the other.

Previously I saw this as vacillation - inconsistency and weakness. An imperfection to be rooted out of my relationships and myself. Now I see that cycles permeate life, and are a pattern of growth, not of failure. The important thing to remember is that this is a cycle which always returns to life. The night always brightens in the East and becomes day. If we are devoted, after the darkness our relationships are closer, faith more bright, and character deeper than before.

The truly amazing thing in all of this is what it tells me about God, creator of the world and thus, the creator of this pattern.

From the first chapter of Genesis:

"And God said, Let there be light:

and there was light.

"And God saw the light, that it was good:

and God divided the light from the darkness.

"And God called the light Day,

and the darkness he called Night.

And the evening and the morning were

the first day."

God created patterns so that we can be comforted and learn. We can trust Him because he's already shown us in all the world around what the pattern is. Although we start out innocent, we will fall, and can be redeemed through Jesus Christ.

Day will always follow night, so we can believe that life will always follow death.

"Why seek ye the living among the dead?
"He is not here, but is risen."
Luke 24:5-6

That Dog

2011-09-17T11:33:00.000-04:00

People in the neighborhood had problems with that dog longbefore we came into the neighborhood but no one had the guts to call animalcontrol.

First there was a pissing incident- at 7 am I was doing yard work whenthe dog came running over, barked at me, and pissed at my feet. Not the 'I'mmarking my territory' pee (which I wouldn't appreciate either), but the 'I'vebeen cooped up in the house all night’ long drawn out dousing. Ah, the smell ofdog piss in the morning. The neighbor just stood there and said, "Sorryabout that," and made no move to control the dog.

That explains the dead spots on the front lawn.

A few days later, as I walked up the driveway after taking my sonto school the dog raced up to me, closer than he's been before, barked,growled, and beared his teeth. I thought I would be bit. I stood myground and after 30 seconds he turned and ran to his owner.

Our landlord left a few magnets on the fridge, with important local phone numbers. One of the numbers listed is Animal Control. I called it, scared that if the dog came after one of my kids like that things would not turn out well.

In this smallish town Animal Control is the Sheriff's department. They were happy to take my minor complaint and take action. I thought they'd probably brush me off. When we lived in PA and our car was egged, which resulted in damage because of the cold temperatures, the sheriff's office had no interest. I didn't think this little neighborhood issue (relative to robberies and drug dealing) would very much interest law inforcement.

But oh, how different Iowa is from Pennsylvania!

The dispatcher informed me that it is against code for an owner to not be in control of their dog, even on their own property. The fact that their dog had been out of control and on my property was a big deal. They were sending an officer over to talk to the owners right away.

Long story short, I went over and talked to my neighbor after the sheriff stopped by. She wasn't completely willing to own that what her dog did/does isn't right, but she did concede that she doesn't want us to be scared of him. She asked me not to call the sheriff again because they'll put the dog in the pound and they'll have to pay to get him out. There was also a promise to keep the dog on a leash. There was mention of a fence too, which would be great.

The next day the dog was in the neighbor's yard on tethered leash, barking at every person that walked by or that came to my house. During Cub Scouts on Wednesday the dog ran into our yard, obviously not on a leash, and barked at the Scouts. My son was surprised and screamed. I have a feeling that this isn't the end of problems with that dog.

Making Plans and Friends

2011-09-15T09:14:00.001-04:00

Hi.

I haven't been posting.
I've written post-length comments on other blogs though (here and here ). And there's this one that I left on the Patch for my town:

Our family just moved here from out of state. I'm surprised at the overscheduling of children here. Overscheduling often distracts from what is most important in life. Family first, not sports and activities - that is what will make a strong community. Kids can begin to think that life revolves around them when the whole family's schedule is focused on their events. Overscheduled children don't have free time to develop creative skills, imagination, or know how to manage down time - they can't sit still because they never get a chance to. Not to mention how it robs our homes of peace. That time can be spent with extended family members, neighbors, or those less fortunate, and the money too for that matter.
Little Billy will not fail in life if he doesn't play Pee Wee Football. What is the larger purpose is to all of these activities? The measure of a good life isn't how crowded your calendar is.

Yes, a soapbox moment.

Bobby's change of goal hearing was continued (postponed). Why? Because his birth dad showed up wasted and was arrested. So of course, they rescheduled so Dad could be present when he gets out of jail. Did I mention that Dad had only been out of jail a week? It makes no sense! All case workers, CASA, everyone, is ready for Bobby to be adopted, yet the only person that was important to the court was the parent who has only seen him twice in the last six months.

One of my followers skeedaddled. Not that I keep an eye on my followers, because I'm not at all needy like that. It's probably because my blog has been a lot less about fostering and more about the horrors of moving as of late. So here's an update for all of my fostering friends - I'm looking into becoming a CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate).

There is a boy in the Cub Scout troop who was fost/adopted (was in foster care and eventually adopted by the family that fostered him). He was in horrible situations before he was 4 years old, so he has a few issues. There are adults that are scared of this boy, which baffles me! Some of it is that suburbanites in semi-rural Iowa don't know what a troubled kid really is. This boy is happy, isn't intentionally hurting anyone, and has no symptoms of ODD, ADHD, RAD or any of the other letters in the alphabet. Yes, he speaks out of turn, doesn't have proper boundaries, has problems reading, is loud, and doesn't pay attention. Welcome to the land of 8 year old boys.

I called the sheriff on my neighbor's dog. Yeah, way to win friends and influence people. I'll tell you that long story another time. Have a great Thursday friends!

Life Is Not Difficult

2011-09-11T12:32:00.000-04:00

We're finally falling into a rhythm here. School started a while ago but the early morning scripture study class for my teenager didn't start until this week. While she's at that class I'll go to the gym, I found one and signed up. Early in the week I got a call saying that a spot opened up in the public school preschool for Baby. She was already attending a private preschool, but we decided that the public preschool was the best way to go. It's free, has a more rigorous curriculum, and is one additional day a week. I need that extra day a week to increase my study time.

Last week I panicked, feeling that I'd never complete my classes on time. I have 10 classes remaining with a deadline in two years. I prayed for some way to not waste all that I've worked for. (In my degree program the credits aren't transferable with a time limit of 8 years- which sounds like forever, but when you move 3 times, add a baby to your family of 5, and do foster care for a year - 8 years isn't long enough.) Two days later I got a call about the preschool with more days a week.

I'm making the best of the 2 1/2 hours each day that Baby is in preschool by going to the library to study. It isn't the most comfortable place, but that's the point. If I study at home it's too easy to take a nap, eat junk food, and waste time on the internet. So when I don't post for a week and you wonder what is going on, picture me in the library writing a short story for Creative Writing or sweating equations for Stats.

The kids' morning routine goes from 6-8:30 a.m. then I take a shower and have a couple of hours until Baby goes to preschool at noon. The afternoon routine goes from 2:30-4, after which I usually crash watching TV or get a short nap, except on Wednesdays when I help with Cub Scouts, until it's time to make dinner. Most evenings have something going on, youth, school, or social activities.

Despite all that is going on, yesterday I went to sleep feeling like life is lobbing me a softball, and woke with the same feeling. Which is an odd feeling considering all that is happening. After the morning grogginess wore off I realized that today is the tenth anniversary of 9/11. Which is why my conscience whispered that my life is not difficult.

Thinking about all I've been blessed with in the last ten years I reflected on the almost 3,000 people who had their blessings of the future taken away. There are also those who lost loved ones. Hearts were broken, marriages didn't take place, children were not born. Our whole world lost the future that those who died could have given us, their collective contributions could have changed the world. Maybe the person with the inventive solution to the world's financial crisis died in the World Trade Center or a diplomat who could have improved the relations between the Middle East and the West.

Good things have come because of the tragedy of 9/11, but far more was lost. Hopefully we let the loss of that day spur us on to give a greater contribution to the world and to appreciate each day we are given.

Block Party

2011-09-03T12:19:00.000-04:00

This morning I wrote something in the second person for my Creative Writing class. It describes my adventure last night, although I didn't include the part where my kids were a little freaked out by the drunk adults as we were leaving. Hope you like it.

So you’ve lived here 60 days. “Nice to meet you,” and “welcome to the area” echoed through your head innumerable times and filled up the lonely place in your gut, but not with anything satisfying. In the meantime the friends you left behind are doing their own moving on and your friendships wither in the dust of the moving truck. You’re in between.

The neighborhood block party has only been a myth in your world before now. Coming from a both tightfisted and uptight East coast neighborhood, your first thought upon receiving the invitation was “What do they want? There's no such thing as a free lunch.”

Plate of cookies in hand and family in tow you make your way down the street on a balmy Friday night. The garage door is open wide with welcoming empty chairs; an already full buffet is laid out. No campaign signs yet, no one standing at the curb glad handing. The door to the backyard is thrown wide, new faces and mingling voices pour through. You put any lingering social phobias to the back of your mind and walk through.

“Hi! I’m Stacy... Matt... Deanna... Mallory... Nate... Di... Sarah... Tom... Camille…”

The names pour out onto the ready surface of your memory like the crab legs, potatoes, sausage, shrimp and corn cobs from the boiling pot. Pot after pot after pot. With the first pot everyone but the teenagers are reserved, not ready to get their hands dirty. As night falls more people are drawn to the table.

At the end of the night you realize why the table called to you. Not only because it tastes good, but because as the steam rises and the people gather it smells like the beach you visited with your kids every summer back East.

A Bed Day

2011-08-30T23:02:00.000-04:00

You know, one of those days that you just should have stayed in bed?

-Raining and overcast- that will make anyone head for the sheets.
-Two daughters sick- just give up on accomplishing anything.
-Everyone is adjusting to school and trying to make friends, feeling lonely and awkward.
-Three females with concurrent cycles- for fear of humiliating my daughters I won't go into detail. I will say that for me there are a few days out of each month that cracking a smile feels like a Herculean task. Today was one of those days. Multiply that by 3.

Add to this my first major meeting as a cub scout leader. I'll be brutally honest because no one in Scouts here knows about this blog. I am not a fan of Scouts. My husband didn't do Scouts and is not a fan. Our son did Scouts in PA because it was the same time as our girls' activities, we thought his leader was a wonderful guy, and the whole giving him some time with other boys thing (he is surrounded by girls at home).

I am now a Scout leader because I was asked to be by my church leader. This means that despite my personal feelings on the matter I will try, and perhaps there will even be a point at which I enjoy it.

I began to write the ugly details of this evening but I'll spare you the depressing play by play of Pack meeting. It was not good. I was not happy or friendly. I felt awkward and tried to smile as I introduced myself to the group but I felt more like crying. I feel like crying now. I have all day. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know that life is good and that this will all get better. Right now I feel like crying but I don't because things will still suck when I'm done crying.

Feel free to tell me your inspirational stories about Scouting. I might actually believe them if I wake up on the other side of the hormone curtain tomorrow. Meanwhile pray for my husband. Can you imagine what he's dealing with?

Bobby's Progress

2011-08-25T15:33:00.000-04:00

Today someone anonymously asked a question on one of my old posts- Too Many Mommies. It's from about six months ago when Bobby's new mommy and I were feeling out our friendship and dealing with the changes in our roles in Bobby's life- she as a stay at home mom to a traumatized foster child and me as a former foster mom.

Looking back I am overjoyed to say that Bobby is doing wonderfully!!! He is calling only new mommy "Mom" and new daddy "Dad". It is such a great thing! It took far less than the year I predicted. Bobby has also been receiving speech therapy and talks so much! He is saying "Please" and "Thank You" which melts NM heart. He shows signs of his past trauma but is moving forward with love from two people who couldn't be better suited to adopt him!

Thankfully NM and ND are a step closer to being mommy and daddy forever. Next month the case worker will request a change of goal at court- which means the termination of parental rights isn't far away. Bobby's birth mom hasn't visited with him in 6 months and has since had a baby in another state (#6 for her, none of which are in her custody). Bobby's birth dad didn't visit for 5 1/2 months, and just shy of the cut off point he appeared. He is in jail again and requesting visits. The case worker seems to think that his appearance won't disrupt the change of goal at court because birth dad didn't have any interest in visiting his son until he had nothing better to do but rot in jail.

NM and ND decided to open up their home to other foster children since Bobby has been with them. I won't say any more than that though because that is where their story diverges from mine. Maybe I can talk her into blogging about it?

NM and I remain friends, talking on the phone weekly and texting. It is hard to be far away from such a great new friend and the whole family misses Bobby. The feelings I get when I see Bobby now are wonderfully complicated. I'm proud of NM's transition to stay at home mom and foster mom. I'm proud of Bobby's happiness because I had a little something to do with it, if only filling in the gap for a short time. He is a different boy than the dirty sad toddler that splashed around my bathtub over a year ago. He is older, healthier, more vocal, and safe with a bright shine to his eyes.

Save Us From Your Followers

2011-08-24T00:57:00.000-04:00

Kind of connected to my last post about misunderstandings and confusion - At Bobby's new mommy's recommendation my husband and I watched the documentary, 'Lord Save Us From Your Followers' tonight. It was so good! It made me closely inspect my actions, my heart, and my true desires. It also made me long to be a foster parent again. I think it should be required viewing for every person who calls themselves a Christian.

*In other news I've been told that there's a problem with the comment process. I'll work on it, in my own special technically ignorant way. I love hearing from you so don't be deterred.

The Answer Is: It Depends

2011-08-21T19:32:00.000-04:00

While preparing to talk in church last week about obedience I had a hard time getting into the rhythm of it. No matter what I tried it wouldn't work. Somewhere along the way it dawned on me that I couldn't get it together because I was leaving out a huge piece of the equation- We can't be totally obedient to all of God's commandments. Not really, as imperfect creatures we can't, we constantly make mistakes. Which is why we need the atonement of Christ, he redeems us from our sins. Does this mean that we can ignore some commandments because we aren't capable of obeying so many? No, we should do our best to obey all the commandments. But wait, we just agreed that it isn't humanly possible.

This kind of reasoning was going round my head and ultimately I handed it over to God, realizing that my puny brain just can't make those high level distinctions. Christ makes it all work out, that's what I know. I couldn't fit the pieces together, but I still know that being obedient is important.

A few days ago a friend posted a quote on Facebook. It's a quote that is fairly popular. It is also one that I intensely dislike down in my bowels. I feel that it uses failed logic and can lead to failing behavior. It sounds good, but when you really think about it, nothing fits. So I shared my idea of why the quote didn't work. My friend and I had a private conversation back and forth very respectfully about how differently we viewed the quote. I could see his point that there were certain situations where the quote could be true, but the quote isn't always used in those contexts. So to me the quote still remains false. Agreed to disagree, but I still couldn't understand how we were both so stuck on opposite perspectives.

Then today I stuck my foot in my mouth at church. Oh, I open my mouth and start jawing at the drop of a hat. It is truly baffling that I don't get myself into trouble more often. A large group of adults were discussing the details of a class for our children. I felt strongly that my daughter needed one thing and another family felt strongly that their daughter needed the opposite. After it was over I went up to the mother to apologize. I still felt differently than she did, but that didn't mean that I wanted to be offensive. Despite my attempts to set things right, I still feel that things aren't OK. Not to mention that this disagreement took place in front of other teenagers and their parents, the ones in our new church family that we're supposed to be making friends with. Ugh.

So here I sit sad, humbled, tired, and still confused. It's one of those days that watching Looney Tunes is great because the Roadrunner always gets away and if it makes sense or not Wile E. Coyote will be smashed by the same anvil that he pushed over the cliff.

I'm an Assistant Master!

2011-08-19T14:58:00.000-04:00

So funny, three days after posting about not being a master of anything, I was asked to be the Assistant Cub Master for my son's cub scout troop. It makes me laugh because I am especially not a master of anything cub scout related! I don't know the difference between a pack and a troop, who is in charge of what, or what anyone expects of me. I supposedly got the low down from someone, but that basically consisted of passing off a tablecloth, an arrow, and a three ring binder. Now everyone expects me to know what to do, AND worst of all - what not to do because it's against the rules, is someone else's job, or 'isn't the way they've always done things'.

Doing fun stuff with the boys will be a blast, but I am used to dealing with girls. With girls, especially teenagers, everything takes a long time because they can't make a decision about pink or green markers, and they have to talk the entire time. With 8-10 year old boys everything has to move along quickly or they get into trouble. They are also more physical with each other, playing harder than we do at our house (3 girls to 1 boy, he is told to sit still and be quiet a lot). It's a little difficult for me to know where the line between playing hard and bullying is with active energetic boys.

I suspect that in this group of boys I'll have a chance to use some of my foster parenting muscles because some of the boys have issues. Getting all those issues together could result in bigger issues, but I refuse to stress about it before it happens because it may not happen at all. This is only one hour every week, no big deal and it's all fun!

Life is quite an adventure, something new around every corner!

I'm Not a Bright Girl and It Has Me Spinning

2011-08-16T18:28:00.000-04:00

I read this article - about Bright Girls - take a moment to read it, I'll wait.
....
...
...
If life has taught me nothing else it has taught me that you live to see another day to learn. If I threw up my hands at every task I found difficult I would still be sitting in Mrs. Hewlett's 4th grade classroom crying over triple digit multiplication.

I moved to a new school in 4th grade and did horribly in math. I listened in class, applied myself, did the homework and got lousy grades. One day when I got yet another math paper back with red marks all over it I was upset. My teacher came over and said, "OK, I'm going to watch you do the problem every step and we'll figure this out." She found as she watched me that I wasn't moving the numbers over for place value. It was an easy solution and suddenly I was getting everything right!

It was a small victory out of a lifetime of battles. It taught me at a young age to stick to it and ask for help. So I guess, according to the article, this means I wasn't a bright girl, and that's just fine with me. Not being bright taught me to work hard and that I can learn to do things even if I don't know to start- which means it's OK to not know everything!

The flip side to this is that it opens a world of possibilities! There really is so much opportunity in our world that I get overwhelmed by the excitement, beauty, and incredibility of it all. I will try just about anything. Each day has such potential that my mind spins trying to decide. I worry at times that taking bites out of things here and there makes me a jack of all trades and a master of none. Right now that's how I feel.

I made a new friend on Sunday that is an artist. My husband told him that I'm an artist, and that I'm going to school, and we have 4 kids. Oh, and I was just asked to help with cub scouts. As he asked me about art, psychology, motherhood, and which art medium I work in (any? all?) it reminded me of trying to get IB credit for an art class in high school. Overall they liked my work but felt that it lacked focus, I did not get a passing score. I was 17 years old, what a sad thing if I had determined my life's focus so early!

Today it occurred to me that its OK to still be in the process of becoming. I don't have to focus in on one thing right now. I need to trust God that somehow all of the different areas of my life that I'm working on will one day come together to produce a master of something. Even if it's only mastering myself.

That Wasn't MY Experience

2011-08-16T00:44:00.000-04:00

What do you do when someone has been through the same thing as you, but has polar opposite feelings about it?

I had a friend who went to the same university I did and hated it. It could have had something to do with her roommate committing suicide... To this day she has a seething hatred for that school.

Now I've found a foster/adopt mom who has been so battered by the system that she's soured on the whole fostering experience. She implied that she was guilted into adopting and said that she could be done with parenting now if she hadn't given in.

In one way I would love for us to become buddies and share experiences and I could go to her for help in this new area, but the negative vibes I get when approaching the subject scare me off. It's just awkward when we're trying to be friends and have a discrepancy in experiences. I think she's great, just don't quite know what to do.

As I write this I wonder if she's dealing with a RAD-ling....? That could explain a lot. In which case she needs major support.

And So It Begins

2011-08-14T23:13:00.000-04:00

School starts tomorrow. We're ready. Although the kids deny it, especially my oldest. Her worry bone is getting extra use tonight. Their schools are rated as excellent, the buildings are new, and everyone seems lovely. I'm optimistic.

The busing policies I'm not so thrilled about though. It would be almost $500 for my middle schooler to ride the bus. I think we're far away enough that the high schooler will get free busing, thank heavens. My elementary age son is close enough to walk, hopefully he'll be responsible enough to walk. So really, I only have to run around for my preschooler and middle schooler, and be home for my elementary age, and find a ride to an early morning church class for my high schooler. It makes my head spin.
Hopefully somewhere in each day I will get in some exercise (probably before hubby leaves for work) and a few hours of studying while the preschooler is away. That's all I ask for. It's not too much, is it?

In other news, I gave a talk in church today. (This is a common occurance in the LDS church.) The topic: Why we should listen to and obey the Lord. I wrote and rewrote my talk 3 times. In the end I decided to include personal details. That is always what helps a talk strike home for me, and what makes the talk uniquely mine. If God just wanted someone to spout scriptures and quotes then individuals wouldn't be asked to speak. What I have to share is how the principles apply in my life. So... I spilled my guts about foster parenting.

Not that I violated the boys' privacy at all, but I let the cat out of the bag. It feels awkward to do that. Like you're saying, 'Look at me, I'm so good, I'm a foster parent!' That isn't what I was saying and I even made it a point to say that I'm not more special than anyone else. The whole point was that I didn't think we could be foster parents, but God prompted us to follow that path so we did and the blessings were greater than... than... there's no way to describe how great the blessings are/were.

I wanted to use it as an example of where God can take you if you listen to his voice and follow with faith. If people were more willing to go out of their comfort zones, to have a little faith in themselves while they hold God's hand this world would be transformed.

"Men and women who

turn their lives over to God

will discover that He can
make a lot more out of their lives

than they can.

He will deepen their joys,

expand their vision,

quicken their minds,

strengthen their muscles,

lift their spirits,

multiply their blessings,

increase their opportunities,

comfort their souls,

raise up friends,

and pour out peace."

Ezra Taft Benson

The Shifting Ice

2011-08-10T01:41:00.000-04:00

If you grew up in a cold climate then at some point you played on the ice. One winter it thawed and froze so much that a large part of the field at my elementary school was a skating rink. Water was trapped under the thick layer of ice and as it began to thaw we kept playing on it. The day we broke through the ice to the water it was like a victory. Instead of staying away for fear of getting wet we reveled in the frigid water and broken ice. (It was only inches deep.) At one point I stood on two small pieces of ice, because there weren't any large enough pieces remaining to fit both of my feet. If I stood on one foot I could stay in place, but if I tried to stand on both feet, on separate pieces of ice, the ice would slide apart and I would fall.

That's how I feel now, except one piece of ice is in Pennsylvania and the other is in Iowa. I can focus on my friends, house, and memories from PA or I can focus on my life in Iowa, hanging pictures, trying to make friends and keep my chin up. It seems impossible to focus on both. For now it seems that I am happier if I focus on Iowa, to the detriment of my PA friendships. It is very difficult to talk to friends on the phone, I feel my feet sliding apart when I think about calling. If I focus on Iowa then I can focus on the kids, an art project, cleaning the house, and my creative writing class. I keep busy to avoid being lonely. It seems that Iowa and Pennsylvania can't exist at the same time in my emotionally fractured world.

In my reading for Creative Writing I came across a theory from Einstein applied to writing, specifically about creating a setting. Time and place are the same thing. If you describe a time, you're describing a place. If you describe a place, it also describes a time. I applied this to my IA/PA dilemma.

At this period in my life, at this time, PA and IA are too close. Iowa is the summer of 2011 and so is Pennsylvania. But there is so much about them that is different. The weight, importance, and value of PA overwhelms the scant amount of experiences and value of IA. Before you decide that I left my marbles in PA- this is all just a way of saying that I have to lay PA aside for a while if IA is ever going to work. I've done this before, I know how it works. I can't hold hands with people in PA or I won't have empty hands for someone to grasp in IA. If those PA hands are still outstretched after I've settled in, then we can regroup.

I must also say that this moving over and over again sucks. After doing it so many times I think I may be getting a complex. Why can some people learn all they need from life while living in the same place while others get kicked about the world trying to figure out what the heck happened and why?

Body Worlds Exhibit, or, Happy Anniversary Let's Go Look At Dead People!

2011-08-06T07:32:00.000-04:00

This week is our 19th wedding anniversary. Time flies! What a crazy year it's been. In the last year we jumped into the world of foster care, loving and caring for two great boys, gained a wonderful friend in Bobby's new mama, learned a ton about life, troubled children and the families they come from, and moved halfway across the country to experience new adventures. Around this same time last year my husband and I took a day trip to New York City. In the last few days as we considered what to do for our anniversary I missed all the great things we were close to in the Northeast. Eventually I did find something- the local Science Center had an adults only night and they have the Body Worlds Exhibit.

I will admit that many years ago when I first heard about this exhibit, with it's truly naked models (they aren't even wearing skin!), I felt mildly shocked. How could someone disgrace a dead person by putting them on display? After seeing photographs of it and considering it over the years I decided that it was something I wanted to see. It interested me from an artistic perspective, learning anatomy aids in drawing the human figure. It also interested me on a personal level- what does the inside of my body look like?!

Before the exhibit begins there is a statement about the dignity and respect we owe to those who donated their bodies for display. I appreciated that. It was also good to understand that people voluntarily donate their bodies for this specific purpose, plastination and display. The man who developed and patented the plastination process, Gunther von Hagens, uses the exhibit to educate the public about the fragility of our health, the wonder of our bodies, and to familiarize us with death. Which is a topic we too often try to avoid. He said,

"The anatomist alone is assigned a specific role-he is forced in his daily work to reject the taboos and convictions that people have about death and the dead. I myself am not controversial, but my exhibitions are, because I am asking viewers to transcend their fundamental beliefs and convictions about our joint and inescapable fate."

It was amazing! I enjoyed seeing what the inside of my body looks like, especially things such as reproductive organs (incredible how tiny a uterus is considering how large it grows during pregnancy), nerve paths, the digestive system, the circulatory system, the brain, the heart, joints, and how the different body systems are integrated into the skeletal structure.

There were informative signs and inspiring quotes about the beauty of the human body and our individuality, even on the inside. It gave me a renewed respect for my body and I recommitted to taking good care of it. It is a beautifully complex gift from God which allows me to experience all the abundance that life offers.

One of the sights I will never forget is a fleshy pink heart encased in the charcoal black lungs of a smoker. I knew that smoking turned lungs black, but to see that destroyed tissue next to the otherwise healthy tissues of the body, knowing that it was a willful action that had that effect... it was an instant visceral lesson in choice and addiction.

The exhibit was tasteful, never at any point did I feel that it was pornographic or inappropriate. Even though the bodies were unclothed it was respectful and unprofane. We did not take our children, and may not take them in the future. The combination of nudity, which they may make them uncomfortable, and morbidity could negatively effect them. We feel it is better to wait and allow them to view it as adults, when they can be sure to appreciate and respectfully view the exhibit. There is an exhibit of plastinated animals which my kids would appreciate and would be far enough removed from their own mortality to view comfortably. Who doesn't want to see the insides of a shark, the neck of a giraffe or the trunk of an elephant?!

Missing Things

2011-08-02T11:21:00.000-04:00

At the end of most days I feel sad. I think it's a feeling of loss. There is so much to be grateful for that it is difficult to acknowledge that I've lost things through moving. My last post is a good example, I don't like to complain, but this is so difficult, in seemingly silly ways, that I had to get it out.

When I'm in a crowd I get nervous now, because the social rules are different here. In PA people are more assertive and sometimes downright rude. People in Iowa are more mannerly and I could offend someone with PA assertiveness. In fact I think I have. Waiting in the line for popcorn at the movies, I told teenage kids that they couldn't get refills in front of me and they looked like I smacked them and went to the back of the line. I felt like the wicked witch of the West. Then yesterday at the pool a kid teased my son and I told him that he was rude. He was shocked and I realized that he was just being playful.

In the Northeast when you go out in public people largely keep to themselves, here all the salespeople say "Hi". I want to be a positive influence in the world but all the friendliness is difficult to return after getting used to PA aloofness. (I think this comes from NYC - People are shoulder to shoulder with so many other people that it is overwhelming so people ignore each other.) The bank teller even asked what my Saturday plans were. I was so caught off guard that I lied and said I didn't have any.

This polite friendliness also causes confusion because its difficult to tell when someone is being polite and who genuinely cares about you and wants to be friends. So far there are few. Everyone says "call me" which I take to mean 'if you get desperate and want to slit your wrists I can call 911 for you, but I don't care enough to break out my calendar to plan something with you'. I mentioned this "call me" trend to my friend JoAnna who moved to St. Louis last year and she agrees that it's a cop out.

So you might be saying to yourself that I'm doing very little to help myself. You'd be wrong, I reach out, but no one returns phone calls! I began calling a preschool for my daughter 3 weeks ago, after many repeat calls I finally got a call back yesterday. The teacher lamented that they only have 6 kids in the afternoon class - maybe it's because they don't return their calls! This trend continues when I call people from church about events and questions. It may just be a trend of modern society with emails and texting, but it is very off putting and rude to a new person. (There I go again calling people rude.) I guess when someone finally returns my call I'll know that they are not anti-phone and are potential friend material.

Iowans are very into sports. My children are not into sports. I'm not a fan of overscheduling children, it seems if I want to continue that we'll be a lonely family. Even church activities are cancelled and changed to accommodate activities like marching band practice. (Most of the teens are in band, my daughter doesn't play an instrument, it's not like she can start playing the tuba now to be included, nor should she.)

All the back to school activities are starting and I have no idea what they are. There is a parent orientation, a new student orientation and a parent/child picnic for my middle schooler all within two days. High school pictures are on a day two weeks before school even starts - weird. My elementary school child had his class assignment posted on the school doors yesterday and we don't have a clue how to pronounce his teacher's name. Having 4 kids in 4 different schools doesn't simplify things.

Really, I miss being comfortable. I miss the comfort of a home we'd lived in for 5 years and made our own. I miss talking with friends who know my history and why there's a child in the family picture who isn't here (Bobby). I miss a church family who knows of my devotion and value, and doesn't question me when I volunteer to go on the church youth trip. I miss my children's friends whose parents I knew and had proven themselves as good friends over the years. I miss knowing the good restaurants and parks. I miss my gym and the cheap monthly fee. I'm tired of the relentless heat that the AC can't keep up with. I miss my old life.

This is Where It Gets Difficult

2011-07-28T17:20:00.000-04:00

In the beginning there's always so much to do, new things to see, adventures awaiting. Now we're trying to save money, adjust to a home that isn't ours with neighbors who know we won't be staying long, be inside with each other all day long because it's so freaking hot, and find a new normal just in time for school to start.

This is totally the Wendy Whiner coming out in me-

It is driving me crazy to rent this house! Everything is brown or a pastel green. Those colors are fine, but when my yellow dresser and white bedspread move into the bedroom with brown walls and darker brown curtains, accented with cardboard boxes, it makes for a lot of blah.

The baseball wallpaper with stripes in the basement is nearly enough to make me gouge my eyeballs out. So I go down there when it's dark so I don't have to see it. I can't even stand to hang pictures on the walls because what looks good surrounded by red, blue, and tan stripes?

The girls bedroom is not tiny, but there's no where to put two beds. One wall is a bay window (which they never look out because opening the windows makes it sooo hot in here!), one is a closet with double doors, there is a bathroom door, a hall door, and another closet door. It's the weirdest thing. Also the movers must have eaten half the hardware to Baby's bed because I can't find it anywhere. Of course it's IKEA and they refuse to sell extra hardware. So adding this up means new bunkbeds for the girls.

All this as my husband kisses his flatscreen TV goodbye - it died just before we moved and a bed for our children seemed a slightly higher priority than seeing the little dots on Guitar Hero clearly while sitting 5 feet away. He doesn't ask for much, but in this situation it's beyond our reach to replace it. (I'll hold back on how ridiculous it is that we bought this magnificent TV 4 years ago and it's dead, but our old analog we bought with wedding money 19 years ago is still goin' strong!)

Last night I lamented to my husband that there is nowhere in this house, or even the garage, to make a mess. I would genuinely love to exercise my demons by painting a picture, or attacking a dresser with a can of spray paint, but I can't. The kitchen floor is hardwood! What kind of stupidity is it to put hardwood floors in a 5 bedroom house? We've already scratched it with our chairs at the kitchen table.

There is a large bathroom so I thought about making messes in there.. nope! It's ceramic tile, paint would stain the grout. Even the garage floor has a beautiful paint job that I'd hate to mar for fear of giving our uptight landlords a heart attack when they return. Hubby's solution is to use a tarp. Okee Dokee. Giant blue tarp being moved into the kitchen.

Our bedroom is the hottest room in the house, and that ain't no euphemism! This poor air conditioner is purring it's heart out but it is not cut out to cool this house when it's above 90 nearly every day. As a result the basement is a meat locker (Coincidentally that's where we're keeping the cat until she calms down and promises not to pee in all those places that aren't mess friendly). And our bedroom, on the top floor furthest from the A/C unit, is baking at night. The ceiling fan is going constantly and as a result my red eyes are back. Know of any vampire movies being made in Iowa? I could land a role in a second with these bloodshot peepers!

I'll spare you and stop there. The moral of this tale of woe is - a bigger house doesn't make you happy, it's only more room for problems. Maybe in a year we can buy a little house where none of our stuff fits, we're sitting on top of each other, with no fancy appliances that sing songs when your laundry is dry. But at least I can paint my bedroom blue, let the nervous cat roam freely, and banish all wallpaper!

Did I mention that I really hate wallpaper? If you really love me you won't use the stuff, it's just mean.

2011-07-20T07:20:00.000-04:00

Everyone must be out having a fun summer - I didn't hear from anyone about my last post. We ended up having a nice little family talk focused on Luke 6:41-45. The scripture helped us talk about the issue without singling anyone out and/or hurting someone's feelings. I tried to focus on the ultimate goal of having more love in our family. They all seemed to understand.

As a result of our discussion we decided two things:
-That every time Mom or Dad hears someone being critical or trying to "help" someone else we point it out and ask them to pay the person a compliment instead.
- We will have a treasure box on the kitchen table with blank notes inside. When we see something positive happening in our family (service, kind words, a big accomplishment, etc.) we write it on a paper and put it in the 'treasure box'. Once a week on family night we read the notes in the treasure box. (I got this idea from here.)

This has already helped us think about the feelings of others before we speak.

Now, on to other parenting issues, they pop up quite frequently these days. With this next one I would be interested to hear if other foster parents have this problem.

Where we lived in Pennsylvania there weren't many stay at home moms, so there weren't many kids at home to play during the day. As a result if the kids went to play with someone it was the one someone available on the block, who was a more worrisome parent than me; so I knew the kids were safe. Also, we lived there for 5 years so I knew people fairly well. Now we're in a new area with tons of kids to play with and I don't know them or their parents. I'm grateful that children are coming over to our house to introduce themselves, but I'm not sure what to do beyond that. Last night two little girls brought over a basket with two brownies, three freshly picked daisies and two welcome to the neighborhood notes. After I introduced them to my daughter we all just stood here staring at each other.

Last night I went out with a friend and while I was away my son went to play with a neighbor boy (whose mother I met). He came home a short time later saying that they boy kept trying to get him to play Call of Duty. I am happy that my son made the right choice by not playing the game and then telling us about it. Now what do I do about this particular friend, or more specifically, letting my son play at his house? This is the second incident with this boy that raises my parenting hairs. We are on the conservative side when it comes to what we expose our children to, so I know that this isn't the last time that my children will deal with this type of issue.

After my husband told me about this last night we talked about our play-with-friends parenting philosophy. He feels it's time for our middle children (9 and 11 years) to play more at friends homes to see what other families are like and begin standing up for themselves like our son did yesterday. In theory I agree with him. The problem is that we've been foster parents.

After having that discussion with my husband we went to sleep and I had a nightmare about a horrid incident taking place in our backyard. It's not so much being a foster parent that changes things, it's knowing what horrid things some people on this earth, specifically parents, are capable of doing to children.

So here I am at 6 am, not able to sleep and worried about my children. Worried that I'm turning them into social misfits by being happy to keep them home with me. Worried that I don't really know what my neighbors are like and which homes are safe for them to play in. Worried because I know that I can't meet all of their needs, but I don't know who to trust to help meet those needs.

I've realized several things while writing this post- 1. My concerns and behavior aren't cuckoo considering everything. 2. Having children into our home to play, instead of my children going to theirs, seems to be part of the answer. 3. I need to ask for playdates for my kids from the few people I have met that I trust.

Building a Happy Family

2011-07-15T17:19:00.001-04:00

I just spent far too much time on Pinterest. Do you know Pinterest? It's visual gluttony! Now I'm here and ready to say a few things.

Last night my oldest daughter and I went to the Harry Potter finale. My only complaint was that I wish our theater had assigned reserved seating. Nothing like buying a ticket a month in advance to sit front row far side.

The movie was a great conclusion to the series. No, it's not everything in the book, no movie ever is. I liked getting to the end of it all and finding the jewels that JKR was communicating. Redemption, forgiveness, personal power, to see things in a micro and macro way (globally and personally), the power of words, etc. It is an epic coming of age!

Being at home with kids more (settling in and no school) I have become painfully aware that our family has a problem with criticizing. More accurately nit-picking. It's not like we sit around all day calling each other names and yelling. Our kids actually fight very little. This is more the tone of it:
Me: Sara, put your shoes away.
Child #1: Sara pick up your shoes.
Child #2: Sara stop singing that song it's driving me crazy and put your shoes away!

Or the other day we were in the grocery store...
Child #3 is innocently touching cereal boxes on the shelf.
Child #1: Don't touch that, you'll break something.
Child #2: Yeah, you'll break something.
Child #4: I want a barbie!
Child #2: Mom said no gimmies!
Child #3: Yeah, stop asking for stuff you're driving me crazy!

Somewhere in here I tell them to stop and relax, that I'm the mom and I can take care of it. At times it seems like a non-stop barrage of picking at each other. Someone is constantly talking and often they talk over each other not listening, and I can't pay attention to anything anyone is saying. Maybe it's just the summer and being each other's only friends because of the move but it's driving me crazy!

Actually, it's more than that. I fear that my children are turning into critical people. It is unlikely that they're critical of their siblings and nothing else. A critical person is not likely to criticize selectively, rather it permeates every part of their thinking. Most damaging is probably the criticism of ourselves, but it can also ruin relationships and the enjoyment of experiences because it's a thought process of looking for the negative in everything. I know this because I am a recovering negative thinker.

I have little doubt that my children picked up this bad habit from me. Sins of the fathers, or mothers, as the case may be. While I have been trying for years to improve, and feel that I've made some progress, it can still be an issue, especially when I'm under stress (like moving). It also seems to be inherent in mothering that some amount of correction is tendered towards children everyday. If it were a matter of shutting it off all together, like when I'm out with other adults, I'm pretty good at reigning it in. Being with my children and trying to parent, it is hard to know where to draw the line.

After talking with my husband we decided that this is definitely a matter for family counsel. The thing is, I don't want this to be a lecture - making them feel bad about it could make it worse. I know how hard this habit is to turn around, I've been working on it for over a decade. How do I help my children turn this negative into positive thinking and improve the expression of love in our home?

So Much and Nothing

2011-07-12T23:10:00.000-04:00

There is so much happening. The move has just been crazy. As well as the first half went, the second half went that badly. Just today, 10 days after driving away from Pennsylvania, all of our belongings arrived. Today the insurance company finally decided to repair our van- it took 8 days. (Not 8 days to repair it, 8 days to make the decision. Do not get Esurance.) I registered the kids for school, without their birth certificates because I lost the box that I didn't trust the movers with.

We are in a nice suburb of Des Moines. It feels so good to be back in the Midwest where people are so friendly and families are welcomed. We've gotten goodies from two neighbors so far and J. loves to tell people that he made 4 friends in 4 days. The corn crop is regularly discussed on the evening news and it's easy to buy local groceries. Our home is the nicest we've lived in. So much so that I feel a little awkward in it, that the neighbors might find out any minute that I don't fit in here. We have been given and blessed with so much I feel an urge to share, to do something.

Our new church family has been wonderful. They brought us food two nights and we had dinner with a family another night. Church on Sunday was nice, I even met a fellow foster mom. She mentioned how great the need is here, how often they would get calls for placements. It reminded me that they aren't placing many children in PA. It made me wonder if one of the reasons we are here is because we can be more useful.

So my heart is saying, 'Get to work, love a foster child!' While my life circumstances say that the next year is a time of discipline and hard work to prepare for the future. I have to make major progress in my college courses, and my husband has professional exams that will be strenuous as well. It will be difficult to keep myself on task, balancing family, church, play and schoolwork.

Before the Move: A Cave, A Promotion, Roller Coasters and More!

2011-07-06T12:45:00.000-04:00

We packed a lot into our final days in Pennsylvania. Although it's been less than two weeks since these events I would have forgotten many things about them if not for the photos. Either that's a sign of stress or my advancing age, probably both.

My 11 year old daughter completed elementary school and will be moving on to middle school. The school had a simple promotion ceremony that provided their rite of passage.

That was the quiet ending to the school year, and the kids' PA school experience. We've hardly had a chance to notice school being out because we quickly jumped into fun adventures!

We went to the Reading Terminal Market and Natural History Center in Philadelphia. It was our last hurrah with the Purdy family, our good friends. They were great to go with because they knew the best places to eat at the Market.

A few days later the kids and I went to a fun older amusement park. We like it because it's free to get in, you can pay by the ride. Baby made the day fun, she had no fear and was willing to go on the kiddie roller coaster with me. During the whole ride she alternated being scared and laughing!

My oldest daughter went to a church youth conference in Buena Vista, a beautiful area. Because of the length of the drive we stayed overnight in the area and took in a few sites before heading back home. We visited one of the many caverns in the area, Natural Bridge Cave. (I hoped to go to the Grand Caverns, but it would have added 2 hours driving.) It was a very used cave, with too many improvements and too many touchy visitors. The kids loved it, but it left me wishing I could take them to Carlsbad Caverns - I remember visiting that astonishing cave as a child (And crying about my feet being tired. In that same trip I also remember crying about being hot at Mesa Verde - another place I would love to take my kids.)

To begin our drive back home we took the Blue Ridge Parkway for 20 miles or so. It was a serene and beautiful drive on a quiet Tuesday morning. The kids were astonished by the heights, all of 3000 ft at the highest point. It made me realize that we are in desperate need of a trip to Utah if they think that is high!

Moving Isn't So Bad, and other lies I tell myself.

2011-07-05T21:22:00.002-04:00

We hit a deer in Illinois. We thank God that everyone is safe, absolutely no injuries. It did make life even more complicated. On the bright side I now get to drive a Jeep Liberty, a vehicle I always thought would be fun to drive. It would be more fun to drive if my stir crazy kids weren't in the back. We're waiting to see the insurance company's decision about repairs. I lean towards thinking it is totaled because the passenger door doesn't open and the radiator is pressed up against the engine.

See the engine and radiator spooning?

When I got out of the van just after it happened I had to hold back the tears - what amazing technology to save us from any injury when we were traveling at approximately 50 miles an hour when we hit the deer. Which literally flew off the hood into the woods at the side of the road. Meanwhile the kids, the cat in her kennel, my husband and I, along with all of our luggage remained safe inside.

Before our exciting wildlife encounter we spent Sunday in Indiana, where we lived for 7 years. It was fun to see the old house, visit our church congregation, and hang out with good friends. It gave us a break from the road and an opportunity to play.

Traci, Jen, Sally

While moving isn't fun, it has been fun to realize the friends that we have made along the way. Good people are everywhere and it's wonderful when we retain those friendships.

Moving Days

2011-06-29T06:55:00.000-04:00

What ever happened to 'Moving Day', singular? It's taking the moving company three days to get us out, I think they overestimated. Ugh, let's just burn it all and I won't have to worry about it. This day has seemed too far away for too long, and now that it's here I just want to hide in a hole. There's just so much to do and all I want is to relax in my house for a few more days.

The movers really stress me out, you know they'd never pass a foster parent background check! Here they are poking through all my earthly belongings while my husband is still in Iowa. Praying so hard that I they don't sweep the streets behind the bars for packers this morning. I'm keeping the kiddos here for the first day of packing, I need their help with a few things and I don't want to be alone with creepie creepers all day. Hopefully since it's the first day of packing the movers will be in the basement and garage all day. (This irrational fear of movers stems from our last move, shudder.)

I still have many things to do - marking the "Do not pack, Do not move!" items, cleaning out the freezer and fridge, suitcases are mostly packed, finding that box of scrapbooks and heirlooms that I don't trust the movers with, and the bag for the van luggage rack, mow the lawn, milk the cow, slop the pigs. Sigh.

Yesterday was my Mom's birthday and I didn't call. Sorry Mom. I did send a card, I hope that keeps me in your good graces. My excuse is that I drove 5 hours with 3 children (home from taking my oldest to EFY youth conference), packed suitcases, took the kids to their activities, formulated a plan for moving the cat and bought supplies ($60 dollars later...), and made dinner because I'm already sick of fast food, and kept myself from having a nervous breakdown.

Yes, I know, I'm so blessed to have someone else packing and moving us, that I don't have to do it myself. Blessed to have a job, blessed to have so many belongings, blessed to have a house to put them in.... I'm trying.

Quick Foster Update

2011-06-23T19:17:00.000-04:00

Vince's court date was at the beginning of June. Vince's brother, who was also in foster care with my agency, is in my daughter's class at school. He stopped attending school a few weeks ago. I hope this means that at court they were sent home with Dad. It's what I've got to believe.

Bobby's new mommy put their family on the wait list for another foster child. She is used to caring for many children from her work experience (which she quit to take care of Bobby). On Tuesday she got a call for a 1 month old boy to foster. She said yes and things seem to be going well. (That makes it two boys under three!)

Bobby is doing extremely well with their family. His new daddy has great contacts in the social services community in our area and so Bobby has a new speech therapist and is seeing a podiatrist. They are great advocates for him. He calls new mommy "MOM!" and freely hugs her and turns to her for comfort and safety. They have a great relationship. His birth parents continue to be no-shows for everything. A family resource was denied. At court in August the case worker anticipates a change of goal- a big step towards permanency for Bobby.

Last week I saw a friend that I haven't seen in a long time. She lives among people who often find their children in foster care. Their community sees foster parents as bad people who take in children for money, don't really care, and even abuse children. I showed her a family picture that included Bobby and said, "We've been foster parents!" Her eyes got huge, she was so surprised. She knows me well enough to know that I don't fit that negative view of foster parents. I was very happy to bunk that stereotype!

In preparing to move I'm thinking about telling Bobby's new mommy about my blog. She and I are great friends and she is one of the people I most regret leaving. My blog could keep us in touch... but I worry what she will think of it, specifically the posts about Bobby. What do you think?

Winding Down

2011-06-20T21:45:00.000-04:00

The part of my story that takes place in Pennsylvania is coming to a close. Less than two weeks until we leave. This winding up process has taken long enough that I'm ready to go.

Every day flies by with too much too do. Last weekend we celebrated my daughter's birthday and mine, as well as Father's Day. Thankfully my husband was able to be home with us. I largely took a break from cooking which means we ate too much rich food. I may actually enjoy eating a peanut butter sandwich tomorrow. The remains of a fruit topped cheesecake, 4 pints of Ben & Jerry's, and dinner from an Italian restaurant linger in our refrigerator.

My birthday was a very nice day, thanks to an early morning attitude adjustment. I never quite know how to feel on my birthday - keep expectations low so as not to be disappointed or shoot for the moon because everyone asks what you want? So early in the morning I woke up wishing that the world revolved around me and knowing that it didn't. After feeling a spiritual kick in the pants, I picked up my scriptures to read. This was the first verse I read:

"Yea, for thus saith the Lord: Have I put thee away, or have I cast thee off forever? For thus saith the Lord: Where is the bill of your mother's divorcement? To whom have I put thee away, or to which of my creditors have I sold you? Yea, to whom have I sold you? Behold, for your iniquities have ye sold yourselves, and for your transgressions is your mother put away." (Isaiah 50:1)

That first line was like a slap in the face! God was telling me right at the beginning of my birthday pity party that He was right by my side. That He would never leave me, that it was only my proud and self-centered attitude that pushes Him away. I felt God's love for me, while he was being my stern parent - to tell me not to mope around but to open my eyes to the many ways that He shows love to me.

Then the closing verse of that chapter:

"Behold all ye that kindle fire, that compass yourselves about with sparks, walk in the light of your fire and in the sparks which ye have kindled. This shall ye have of mine hand - ye shall lie down in sorrow."

This reminded me that I cannot provide a light for myself, that my light must come from God. It tells me that I may be able to make sparks (not true and lasting light) but they will not provide enduring happiness for me. Again, a reminder that life is not all about me, even on my birthday.

I'm grateful for that good start to my birthday so that I could enjoy the rest of the day. My husband spoke in church about this. Then we saw lots of old friends at church, from the time we spent in the Spanish congregation. They even gave me a piece of cake, not even knowing that it was my birthday! Afterwards we had a nice family dinner and I took my husband to the airport. It was easier to let him go this time because he'll be back in 10 days to see the movers load the truck!

My posts may be slim for the next few weeks. I hope you won't forget me when I leave PA.

Secondary Wave of Attack!

2011-06-15T16:43:00.000-04:00

(Read yesterday's post before this one!)

Last night, only about an hour after I published the "Attack!!!" post, I heard crying down the dark hallway. My little girl, Baby, that I put through so much yesterday, had a major 'bowel incident'; in her bed, down the hall and all over the bathroom.

I'm glad I wrote that post before this onslaught because writing it gave me the perspective to take the secondary wave of attack in stride. As I searched for hidden splatters of poop, I even chuckled to myself. Of course something like this would happen - no attack has one wave!

An hour after the Jackson Pollock-like bowel attack came the waves of vomit, two separate incidents. Baby and I survived and went to sleep for good around 2 am.

During it all I was also able to see past my discomfort and remember that it was more difficult for Baby than it was for me. I even had happy thoughts about how convenient it is that the laundry room is nicely situated in the hall between Baby's room and the bathroom.

Today Baby is doing well, I think last night was the result of ice cream and lactose intolerance. Sometimes we can get away with ice cream, but things are too stressful for her little tummy to cooperate. So for the rest of the summer we'll have to resort to Slurpees, popsicles, sherbert, and italian ice instead!

Steady yourselves for the second wave my friends, it's a doozie!

Attack!!!

2011-06-14T23:20:00.000-04:00

This morning I produced a horrid scene. Such an ugly scene that I made my little girl cry. Twice.

My head was stuck in a dark cloud, and I don't mean the cute little dust cloud that follows Pig Pen around. It was the depressing, devoid of hope, overwhelmed, humiliated, 'I want to give up', kind of cloud. I think describing it as a "mist of darkness" would be appropriate.

The interesting thing is that I have been doing everything to combat the dark. Writing in my journal, talking to my husband on the phone, prayers, scripture reading, exercise, all of the usual things to keep the darkness away. Still it came and settled around my heart and eyes. All I could see or feel was 3 shades darker than reality. It stayed for so long that I began to worry, the last thing I want is for the big "D" kind of depression, to come and stay.

I planned to stay in motion, knowing that interacting with other people and hard work sometimes helps exercise my demons. Nothing seemed to go right though. So I'd chalk up another tally in the hopeless column and move on to something else that wouldn't go well. All the while my little girl chattered away at me.

She's at that age where language is fun and she wants to use this new toy all the time. Asking why over and over and over. For people who aren't around her 24/7 it's adorable. To me, her sole present parent, it took on the feel of bugs crawling over my skin.

In the hardware store parking lot I admitted defeat and called a friend, asking if she would please take my daughter for a playdate tomorrow. It was my cry for help and I'm so grateful that my friend not only said yes, but she thanked me for calling her when I needed something.

Baby and I went to pick up some mulch. The darkness still hung on my head like wet hair, but at least now I admitted that it would eventually go away. When we arrived, Baby was asleep and I begun shoveling mulch in silence. I think that's when the darkness parted and I started to feel better.

I thought of my mind as a battleground. I own the land, but the boundaries are permeable. During better times this darkness would have been pushed from the field before it had a chance to take hold. But this foe is smart, he knows that attacking when the opposition is strong will result in sure defeat. So he waits until the defenses are exhausted and then fights hard to get a foothold.

Why is it that when life is hard we are bombarded with the most damaging weapons? Because that's how the enemy wins. I realized today that my every day preparations for strength and success aren't so much to win the battle on a good day, but to keep my lows from becoming the enemy's victory on a bad day.

Tonight I apologized to my kids and hugged them goodnight, getting things back on track.

I Love My Husband

2011-06-07T23:18:00.000-04:00

I do.

I don't talk about my marriage much on the blog because I think that's #1 recipe for disaster. Every marriage has it's bad days, and I'd hate to make a bad day worse by making it public. So I have a 'no blogging about marriage or spouse' rule. I'm glad I have this rule, mostly because if I wrote about my bad marriage days you'd all know what a jerk I am and never read my blog again!

In the last six months our marriage has evolved into a place that is genuinely GOOD. It is weird though because we've also dealt with some very difficult issues. Foster parenting - not a surefire way to solidify a marriage- yet somehow it helped. I think it made us work as a team. It also humbled me, helping me see that I need my husband every day to keep up with the lifestyle we've chosen. (Watching him change a foster child's diaper melted my heart - that he would do that for another person's child reminded me that I married a very good man.)

Being humbled was also necessary in making the decision to move. My husband felt the need to move for more than a year. At first I said "no." Now here I am, moving to Iowa, and I'm not kicking or screaming!

Two people together make more good than two people apart.

Which is why it made me sad to see the moving truck at my neighbor's house a couple of days ago. It was a little truck, it was here for a short time. The baby's bed didn't go out, their bird feeder remains in the tree, and my neighbor still comes home from work at the same time. But his wife's car hasn't been in the driveway since that moving truck stopped at their house. It seems that my neighbors are getting divorced. It's sad.

Any time a marriage ends it is worth mourning the good that those two people could have done together. It's heartbreak all around.

I understand how divorce can happen, marriage is the hardest thing I've ever done. It pushes me to my limits in the areas that are most sensitive. That's the good and the bad of it. Those sensitive areas need to be pushed so that I can grow into a better human being.

What I'm trying to get around to saying is that I like marriage. It is a good thing even when it is a bad thing, and it's not bad too often.

I love my husband and I miss him when he's gone. I'm not the same person without him- I'm boring, grumpy, restless, confused, less intelligent, and lonely. As much as I miss him, I am grateful to have a reminder of what a difference he makes in my life. It also gives me a chance to look back on the bad and realize how good I was at making things bad for him, when I thought that he was making the good, bad. So for better or worse, he's with me through it all and that makes all of the bad, GOOD.

Telling My Story

2011-06-05T19:36:00.001-04:00

"My story is important not because it is mine, God knows, but because if I tell it anything like right, the chances are you will recognize that in many ways it is also yours. Maybe nothing is more important than that we keep track, you and I,of these stories of who we are and where we have come from and the people we have met along the way because it is precisely through these stories, in all their particularity,as I have long believed and often said, that God makes himself known to each of us most powerfully and personally."
-Frederick Buechner

(I stole this quote from Christine's blog. I like checking out her blog because she is so accepting, loving, and into promoting the things that make her life good - sharing all that love.)

I'm not sure I'm doing a very good job of telling my story. I want to though. In an article I read recently I made the connection to my literal life path through various states to who I have become, and will become in the future. How much time and place can effect who we become. Not that we can't become someone great no matter where we are, but that time and place do influence us. How we react to those influences result in who we become.

I want to remember my time in Allentown so that I can hold onto the lessons I've learned here. Not that I can even put them into words. I have changed, and not because of an isolated event. Looking back, I see it as an orchestra of trials and joy, prayer and sacrifice, meditation and junk food, anger and compassion, and more, more, more.

Maybe I worry that as I leave the place and time, and all the wonderful people, that I will leave part of myself too, the good part, the interesting part, the part I'd like to build on.

------------------------------

A few days ago Bobby's new mom and I were being therapists to each other, when she gave me a little gem.

I explained that I was hurting over leaving behind the young women I've worked with over the years. Talking about the way God imparts his love for others to me, when I serve them. It is an amazing thing in helping others, the love you can develop for them. At the same time, that love can be painful, especially when those people I love hurt themselves with poor choices. I told her how torn I am about that pain, wanting to avoid it, but wanting to love and help them too. She simply said, "You're loving them like Christ would, so of course it's right."

amen.

How am I supposed to leave that kind of friend?
Even though Bobby is now so devoted to her that he won't kiss me goodbye anymore! (That is the way it should be.)

Parenting Fail?

2011-06-02T17:58:00.000-04:00

Some days are just like that. Isn't that what Alexander's mom says when he has a horrible, no good, very bad day? I've had too many of those type of parenting days. The parenting bar has been raised and I'm not meeting the challenge. The whole family is stressed so I'm not in the best state to deal with everyone's issues constructively.

My second daughter gets silent when stressed/unhappy/cornered. She won't answer and eventually just leaves the room. Usually this is OK. To do it consistently throughout a day is not OK. My husband and I spoke at length about how to deal with it over the phone, in the end deciding that my method of dealing her in these situations usually isn't the best because it pushes my buttons. Which is why she does it.

I freak out, try to back off, and usually give in or reward her in some way just to make it all better. I get lost in deciding if I went too far in addressing a stressful situation, or if she's over-reacting. So I decided my new method is to leave the room when she refuses to talk to me. That way I can't make things worse. Either I'm beating her at her own game or I'm showing her that this maladaptive method works for me too.

My oldest daughter had a disappointment today, something that wasn't really her fault and I felt bad. I still feel bad for her disappointment. I think I dealt with it well, but I still felt like a parenting failure. Sometimes when you do something right it still feels bad.

My son has been saving his allowance for several months to buy a Ninetendo DS. Sometimes it was a voluntary saving, but usually it was my refusal to hand over the cash that resulted in him racking up $80. (I wanted him to learn to save, he was spending his weekly $5 on things he only cared about for 10 min after he got home.)

He was so helpful with painting the deck and other household things for home showings that I thought I'd give him enough to get a used DS now. Turns out used DSs cost more than I thought. We went to the store and he was heartbroken, begging to buy a very old Gameboy for $24 instead. He was sitting on the floor in the mall whining. I said no, he needed to wait, and walked out. I explained that it would only take a couple more weeks for him to save the additional money and that he'd be much happier.

Two days later I bought it for him. This is a kind of a half fail, that feels like a full fail, because I didn't wait just a little longer for him to have the satisfaction of buying it completely himself. But then again I did reward him for helping.

Several days ago the kids and I were talking about some detail about the move, schools or something. Out of no where Baby (now 4 years old) starts to cry. It took a few minutes, but eventually I got her to tell me the problem, "I don't know who will be my mom and dad when we move!"

It took my breath away and I assured her that I would be her mom forever, and dad will be her dad even though he's far away now.

Last night when I told my husband about it, he connected it to being a foster family- something I hadn't considered. When we talked about our foster sons leaving we called it 'moving'. It didn't occur to me that we use the same term to talk about taking our whole family to Iowa. Baby is trying to understand what is going on but it's all new. I don't know how well I'm explaining it either, she picks up a lot from listening to my conversations with everyone else.

It is very hard to watch for my children's needs during this tumultuous time, while trying to figure out what mine are as well.

While I've been writing this post Baby took an empty laundry basket from my room, pulled the wet laundry out of the washing machine, pushed the basket into my room, and folded half of it before I realized that it was wet. Such good intentions that didn't quite work out.

Sounds familiar.

Great Article

2011-05-31T16:37:00.000-04:00

As I read this article I thought, 'this is a great article for foster parents too!' Then he directly referenced an experience with one of his foster children. I've figured out how to spot a fellow foster parent!

"Making Love Real In Our Children's Lives"

Random Family

2011-05-30T09:31:00.000-04:00

Fosterhood in NYC recommended a book on the day I finished my remaining class, so I rewarded myself by picking it up. Random Family by Adrian LeBlanc, it's 400 pages and I finished it in 3 days. I wish someone would have handed this book to me the day I moved to Allentown. Then again I might have felt so overwhelmed that I would have never jumped in to help.

Two weeks after moving here five years ago my husband and I were asked to head the church youth group, which included mostly teens from the rough inner city. Many of them moved to Allentown from one of the five boroughs of NYC, or from New Jersey, and were Puerto Rican or Dominican. There were others from Equador, Ghana, Mexico, along with my daughter and one other girl who were 'Anglo' (a nice way to say "white").

Reading this book brought up a lot of memories, situations that I couldn't wrap my brain around at the time they happened, but now in retrospect with the perspective I gained from this book I understand a little better. Not that I agree with the choices that were made, but I see how the influences of family and culture led the girls to do the things that they did.

"A lifetime assault of contradictory messages - to be sexy, to respect, that all men were dogs but that without them women were nothing - reinforced her sense of powerlessness and futility."

When the girls would first come to youth group they were 12, and largely were still seen as children in their culture. They were responsive to fun and games that didn't include boys. Then as the girls aged everything was about boys, when we did an activity with the boys we had double attendance. When we'd talk to the girls about dressing modestly it was a foreign concept, they thought that my clothes didn't fit because they weren't skin tight. Some even admitted that they would like to dress more conservatively but their few items of clothing didn't make it possible, and when they would shop their moms would encourage tight and revealing clothes.

When we talked to the girls about marriage, with the goal to stay married to the same man forever, they thought we were nuts. "What about when he beats you? You just gonna stay?" That's what marriage meant to the girls, a period of bliss followed by beatings or cheating, and a protracted kick him out, let him back in, after which they'd finally separate- getting a divorce if there was money for it. Then again, most of the time these relationships were never made official by marriage in the first place, and always marked as 'the real thing this time' by a baby.

Because we had missionaries working in our area, we often had new people at church - you never quite knew what you were going to get, it kept Sundays interesting! I was often surprised at how the new girls seemed to thrill at telling me how bad they had been, the things they had gotten away with or their time in Juvy (Juvenile Detention - like jail for kids). The book finally explained this behavior to me, it was the girls way of testing another Anglo woman who was trying to save them. Was I really there to help them, as bad as they were? Or was I doing it to pat myself on the back and score a few points with God? I think the fact that I smiled and tried to understand their antics, telling them to be safe, helped me with a few of them.

Regardless of the good things I might have done for the girls, in large part I feel that it was like this scene out of the book where a probation officer instructs a mother and daughter:

"That's right, listen to your mom. You're old enough to help a little bit. Set the table. Do the laundry." Mercedes' house had no table; she ate on her lap on the floor; Coco thought her daughter helped too much.
Miss O'Connell quickly ticked off a checklist of questions she was supposed to ask Mercedes. "Drugs," Miss O'Connell said. "Drugs, hopefully, that's not a problem at eleven. Curfew?"
"She's barely outside," Coco said.
Ordinarily, Miss O'Connell saw her charges weekly, but since it was summer, she suggested every other week: It didn't make sense to Coco. Summer streets were the worst, and without school, the children had less to do than ever.

I'm grateful that my husband and I shared many of these experiences in serving the youth together because we understand in a way you only can if you've been there. That understanding led us to decide together to do foster care.

The book helps me see the cultural attitudes that allow a girlfriend and a baby mama to live with a man at the same time, as happened with Bobby's parents- how a woman could see that as a respected and appropriate situation, instead of the way I saw it, as totally demeaning and ridiculous. I still don't see their way as good for anyone, but at least I understand it a little more.

As I try to process my Allentown experience in preparation for moving, there are still people I care about who are in situations I see as unacceptable, that mirror things from the book. Yesterday at church I cried a deep cry for the people I love that remain in Allentown, that remain stuck in the fallacies of their culture and situation. I wish I could take them with me, I even feel guilty for leaving them. There's even a part of me that wonders if I've been influenced so much by Allentown that I won't fit in in Suburbia anymore.

Someone who knows me well, and works with inner city youth so he knows it all so well, asked if I were OK when he saw me crying at church. I explained to him, even mentioning names of some he might know (because they are in the juvenile probation system where he works and because of his work at church). He talked with me about their situations for a moment and then as we began to walk away from each other he said, with tenderness in his eyes, "You know you can't save them."

I said, "I know," knowing that I know it with my head, but not my heart. And the tears started again.

Two Down

2011-05-28T23:49:00.000-04:00

Two major goals have been accomplished. I took the final exam for a class and feel that I did well. We found a renter for our house. Great things that should really lighten my load. Instead I feel like it just opens up the floodgates.

Being busy allowed me to put off dealing with how I feel about everything. There was too much to do to stop and think about how I felt about what was being done. Instead I focused on gratitude.

There are a lot of things to be grateful for: continuous income through a job transition, securing a nice home in a good area in IA, moving to an area that is better for raising a family, likely a stronger church congregation, better career opportunities for my husband, finding a solution for our house that isn't currently sell-able, my husband made it to IA safely and started his new job, and I haven't quite lost my mind yet.

Today, in the thick of the weekend, dealing with my kids' ~~demands~~ sweet requests, I realized that recognizing my negative feelings doesn't necessarily negate my gratitude...
I almost listed a few gripes, but I won't go that far. It's just all so difficult.

I'm tied up in this community - from my friendship with Bobby's new mom (Bobby's birth mom is due to give birth any day, she's homeless and no one knows where she is. She isn't fit to parent- if she gives birth in our county the baby will not be sent home with her. New mom is quietly hoping that she has a chance at mothering Bobby's new sibling.), to the teenage girls that I work with at church (I heard that one I haven't seen for a while had a baby, she's 16.), to just silly things like the good restaurants and parks. I feel more tied to the larger community, beyond my church, than I ever have been before. I'm bracing to leave it all, hoping apprehensively that this will be our last move, wondering if I have it in me to start all over again.

Under all of that is an undercurrent of guilt that we're disrupting our kids' lives again. Today my oldest daughter said that she didn't want to attend the annual church girl's campout in Iowa, which is usually one of her favorite activities. I hope that once there she'll get to know people and will acquiesce. Then again, we may miss it all together because we miss the first month of summer. School doesn't get out for summer here until June 21, while Iowa schools got out yesterday. We move July 3. Which means the kids will only get 2 months of summer because school also starts earlier in Iowa, Aug 20.

My sweet Baby's birthday was today. She's 4 years old. Every time it was mentioned I tried to keep it hush hush because we celebrated her birthday when my husband was still here, last week. I'm a little sad that I didn't do anything special for her today, even though the celebration already took place. It's nice for me to remember her birth, the problems she had early on, and how healthy and happy she is now.

She looks pretty happy, life can't be too bad for all of us.

The Gnawing in My Stomach

2011-05-25T08:12:00.001-04:00

My body has flown the white flag. All the stresses of life and moving have resulted in stomach problems. For a little over two weeks my stomach has been in gnawing pain.

Obviously stress is playing a role in my stomach problems. I keep thinking rest and peace will come, after the house is ready, after we find a home in Iowa, after we find a renter here... It's just not happening. I've always believed that it is possible to feel peace amidst chaos- I thought my life was chaos before and I felt peace. Now I'm being pushed to a higher level, searching for peace without my greatest supporter's shoulder to lay my head on (it's a thousand miles away working in a lovely new office) and greater demands. There's nothing like a need for clean to really amp your anxiety.

With this realization that I need to search for peace now, and not wait for a better time, I felt that there were a few things I could do to help myself, while I pray for peace.

I started this bad habit of reaching for my cell phone before I get out of bed, to check emails and news. This morning I realized that this is not the best way to fill my life with serenity. For sanity's sake I need to limit my exposure to the news. It doesn't lessen my concern for people, but puts it in a manageable and appropriate place. The people in Joplin are not going to be worse off because I checked the news an hour later.

Because we moved our large kitchen table into the dining room for showings, and I don't want to spill my Cheerios on the nice tablerunner, I've been eating a lot of my meals standing up, or eating out. Not good. Directly and indirectly contributing to my unhappy gut.

When I get stressed I nit-pick. You know, find little tiny things to worry about and criticize. It takes this habit showing up in my kids, which drives me nuts when they do it to each other, for me to realize that I had gotten worse. It's been shown that when people are under stress they revert to past negative behaviors- so there you have it. I've gotten better at not over analyzing and worrying but in times of stress it comes back, which is the time I least need it. Honestly it is easy to fall into this trap when showing a home, but I've got to back off.

Our family had been in the good habit of praying together every morning. It was a nice way to start the day, to touch with God and be together in the same room for a few moments thinking about our priorities and unity. Since my husband left for Iowa, my oldest daughter has to leave earlier for school, too early to wake the little kids, so we haven't been praying in the morning. Plus, it's hard to pray as a family without Dad. So it's time for a new game plan, I think we will pray in the evenings instead and maybe include Dad over the phone.

Part of backing off on worry is to acknowledge God's hand in my life more. I let go of that a bit, working hard to get the house ready. His hand is in my life, but I felt that more was on me because so much physical labor has been required. Instead of asking what was needful and trusting the answer, I just pushed myself to do it all - which is hilarious because doing it all is impossible.

It's that humility cycle - humility, pride, repent, repeat - nothing new, just learned again.

Joplin Needs Your Help!

2011-05-24T06:33:00.000-04:00

My friend Emily, who I've mentioned several times on the blog, volunteered as a first responder to the tornado in Joplin, Missouri. Her blog has a lot of pictures of the destruction that will take your breath away. She also details what people need if you can help.

This is a picture of the site of the LDS church in Joplin. Even the emergency evacuation sites like schools and churches were destroyed so there isn't room for all the people who need places to stay. The death toll rises, now over 100.

Pray for everyone there, and that the bad weather will stop so they can begin recovery.

Times and Seasons

2011-05-22T10:14:00.000-04:00

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." Eccl 3:1

We're negotiating the lease with our soon-to-be landlord and one of the questionable items on the lease is occupancy. They want to limit the number of people living in the home to the number in our family, 6.

I don't like being told what to do, ~~especially in my home~~ their home that we'll be living in. Our landlords see the house as their home and limiting the number of people living there is a way to protect their investment. I don't see how it's any of their business as long as their property is returned to them intact and we're not doing anything illegal.

I read something about renting out your home that said the number one rule of being a landlord is to disconnect yourself from the home, it is no longer your home. It's something I've been working towards as we pack and clean the house- when we move out, this house is no longer our home. It is a house we have financial responsibility for and someone else's home. Clearly our landlords are already having a hard time doing this. It makes me concerned as to what their behavior will be throughout the course of the lease.

While I'm not a fan of their attitude, I doubt it will break this deal. They will be living in Washington DC so the distance will make their "landlording" bearable.

It seems as though, as all the pieces fall into place for our move, that we are being shown that we need to take a break from fostering. My husband has an opportunity to build his credentials at his new job. It will take time and focus for him to study and progress. I also need to focus and take the time to complete my degree. There is a time limit and I am rapidly approaching it as the years whisk by. Our children also need time to settle in to the new environment and schools. I think that without these limits by our landlord I may have rushed back into fostering too quickly.

This realization leaves me sad to not be fostering, but optimistic that the future holds good things for us as we build our skills and look to fostering in the future. I can see good coming out of the way things are falling into place, the problem is getting my stubborn aging mind and body to fit in the new way of things. Time really does play a role in acclimating to change and adjusting perspectives. Who knows what the next year will bring!

You Don't Know What You've Got...

2011-05-21T20:32:00.001-04:00

..Until you clean it, shine it, and prepare to give it to someone else.

Today was a beautiful day here, after far too many days of rain. It was like emerging from a cave into the bright sunlight of spring. This evening there was a brief shower to cool things off and my daughter opened her window wide, saying, "I love how it smells when it rains."

I stood in her open window, realizing how much her bedroom is like a treehouse- up high amongst the branches of our cherry tree. There are enough leafy branches in our front yard that you can barely see the house across the street. I walked across the hall to my bedroom and opened the window to let the fresh rain air into my room as well. I stood there looking out over the dogwood trees about to bloom just below my window. They have grown several feet in the time that we've lived here.

Looking out across the backyard from my perch, I could see the freshly painted deck, the new white geraniums in the porch planters and the garden that the kids and I weeded today. It was quite an adventure, finding cocoons and garden snakes while we pulled weeds, spring onions, and last year's remaining carrots. The small rhododendron is beginning to bloom with it's full scarlet blossoms, and the kids were excited to see that the raspberries are blooming as well.

Now the rain has stopped, the sun is going down, and the birds are chittering to each other out the window. The home we will live in in Iowa is a nice home, but there's no treehouse room, mature dogwood trees with a thousand blossoms, or raspberry bushes finally mature enough to produce more than a handfull of berry sunshine. Our current home is nice, and it's ours.

It's strange to hand our home over to another person so that we can borrow someone else's home. Leaving behind what we've worked so hard on, to live in a home that someone else is worried we'll destroy- they put in as many anti-destruction clauses in the lease as possible, leaving me realizing what I've had. I've taken homeownership for granted, even lamenting it because we owe more on the house than it's current market value. Right this minute though, I don't care what others think it is worth. It is worth every cent because it has sheltered my family for 5 years, giving us a place to grow and blossom.

Let the Wild Ride Begin! *

2011-05-18T12:04:00.001-04:00

Last Friday afternoon the realtor took pictures of our home to list it for rent at 2 pm. At 4 my husband and I left to catch a flight to Iowa. We stood in line for an hour at the airport, the flight was cancelled, and we were rescheduled to fly out the next morning at 6 am. It was nice to spend the night at home and it was one less night that the kids were alone, but it meant a 4 am wake up the next morning. Our flight boarded on time, but we sat on the runway for at least an hour - the excuse being that we were too heavy and they had to burn off fuel. They even asked for a volunteer to get off the flight to meet the weight limit. It was very strange. If not for the urgent need to find a place to live in Iowa, I would have gladly volunteered to get off the flight. If it's that close a call then I'd rather not be on the plane!

Eventually we did make it to Iowa, and had a very busy day with our realtor, looking at rental homes. We found a few we liked, and after a night in the hotel and a few moments peace at church, my husband and I agreed on a home. We may not actually end up renting the home though.

The owner's process is a little unorthodox- they had 6 showings on Saturday, and asked anyone who was interested to return the necessary paperwork by Tuesday, then they would make a decision as to who could rent their home by Saturday. It seems as though they under-priced their home to get many interested renters so they would be able to choose the renter they felt most comfortable with. So... we feel very good about this home, it even has a fifth bedroom for a foster child. (We didn't mention fostering to them, it's not really their concern... but if they found out we had 5 kids in the house instead of 4 they might not be thrilled. We don't even know for sure if/when fostering will happen. This lease may only last a year anyway.) I think we will get it, we have time to find another if we must.

In the meantime, showings have started on our home. We had one yesterday, and 3 today. I don't know if the market has changed a lot in 5 years, if the rental market is this much different from buying, or if people are just rude - we've had two realtors act unprofessionally.

Monday my daughter and I were on the sofa in the family room, which has french doors looking out to the backyard. Out of the corner of my eye I see someone wearing red shoes in my backyard! By the time I got up and did a double take they walked back around the house. I went to the front door and saw a woman emerging from my backyard. I asked what she was doing and she apologized, saying that she thought the house was vacant (um, lights on, van in the driveway?). I said, "You could have at least knocked first!" She apologized again and went on her way.

This morning we had a realtor preview scheduled. We left the house at the appointed time and came back. I'm about to sit down to eat and my husband is taking a nap when the doorbell rings - the realtor who was supposed to be here two hours ago is now asking to look at the house. I told her no. What the heck did we leave the house earlier today for? We do still actually have a life! At least she knocked first.

From our visits in Iowa, I know that visiting rentals is a bit different because usually the tenants are still in the home, but there is such a thing as common courtesy. Our realtor in Iowa often knocked on the door several times and then opened the door and yelled before we entered a home, even if it was vacant. Our realtor also warned us that scam artists might stop by and ask to look at the home without an appointment and once inside make things very uncomfortable.

I'm feeling somewhat insecure in my own home now. It has already been gut wrenching to pack most of our belongings away and keep the house spotless (it does not feel like my house!).

While in Iowa we had dinner with our friends and my husband's new boss and his wife. We had a great time, it made me feel less like a stranger in a strange land. Sometime I'll have to post pictures and discuss the huge differences between Eastern Pennsylvania and Iowa, suffice it to say that people in both places don't quite believe me when I tell them about the other. I told my daughter about some things from Iowa and her reply was, "Wow! That sounds like the polar opposite of our town! Have you seen any Disney princesses or cartoon animals yet?"

It will be a wonderful change for our family, but I'm finding that I have changed to fit my East coast environment and that it will take some adjustment to feel comfortable in Iowa (we previously lived in the Midwest for 7 years). There is a part of me that feels awkward and sad that I'm leaving for a better situation while many I love are staying here. Including Vince, Bobby and their families. My experiences here have changed me, I can no longer live in the suburbs and believe the fairy tale that everyone in America has opportunities, safety and comfort. There will be opportunities in Iowa to help, it will be interesting to see what God wants me to do there.

*We got the house we wanted to rent! And another agent showed up 2 hours late. Take the good with the bad, I guess.

Just When You Think You Can't Take Anything Else...

2011-05-13T15:43:00.001-04:00

For the past several weeks I've been furiously cleaning, decluttering, and extreme spring cleaning - getting the house ready for showings to rent it. Every day I push as far as I can to get as much done as I can. Meanwhile my mental energies are taxed by the details and concerns of moving. There are a few things going on in addition to all of that.

Vince's brother spent the night of Mother's Day with us. It was a late arrival so we only had the morning for the kids to interact. He was agitated when he got here, but not a problem. He just sat up late not doing anything, just staring into space looking really pissed. When I tried to talk to him he was nice, but he was really stewing. These overnight home visits with Dad are difficult to come back from.

I found out that Vince's brother wasn't the only one that had a hard time Sunday night. Vince's brother's foster mom called to tell me that Vince was admitted to the hospital for mental instability. Which means he was threatening to hurt himself. My heart broke over hearing that, I cried and cried and as I write it now I want to cry again. Being in foster care sucks, I wish I could make it all better. There isn't anything I can do - even if I offered to take him on the weekends, it wouldn't fix what hurts him so much.

We got a call on Monday for a 4 1/2 yr old girl. If our moving plans hadn't made this impossible I would have said yes in a heartbeat. I was very thankful that the worker didn't describe her situation before I had a chance to explain why we couldn't do it, it would have been another heart break this week.

I've talked to several people this week about continuing to be foster parents in Des Moines. I still see it in our future. It feels like a part of who I am, what I'm here to do. Of course the rest of the family has a say in it, so that will determine the timing.

In closing I'll share a bright spot from this week (in addition to my awesome friend Tracy driving an hour each way to come help me paint, THANK YOU!) We let the foster agency know that we wouldn't be taking any more placements and I heard back from a worker the next day:

"I just received information to complete your annual re-evaluation and you and your husband “exceeded expectations” in several areas (nurturing, sensitive, supportive of natural parents). If you continue to foster, I am sure you will do a great job!"

That may have saved my heart and sanity!

Happy Mother's Day

2011-05-07T17:20:00.003-04:00

The Lanyard - by Billy Collins

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

Language Barrier?

2011-05-04T09:35:00.000-04:00

We are providing one night of respite for Vince's brother, we'll call him Tony. Tony's foster mom is Vince's former foster mom, before he came to us. She lives nearby and we've had several conversations. Last night she called to talk things over. It was a friendly conversation but I was sad to learn that Vince's new foster home is not a good fit for him. Because it is a bad neighborhood he isn't allowed to play outside. The family largely speaks Spanish, so all of the everyday conversations and banter between family members is a mystery to him. In addition to this he is the only white boy in his class.

I am not prejudiced, I love the Latin people and have many dear friends who speak Spanish. The problem is that this troubled boy is not being included in the family. Hopefully at the end of school, which is a month away, he will go to live with his Dad. Thankfully he did have a long visit with his Dad for Easter, 5 days.

The situation with the boys' mom is no better and she will not have any time with the boys on Mother's Day. Both boys refuse their court mandated visits with her.

The packing and cleaning continues.

Keeping in Touch

2011-05-01T10:40:00.000-04:00

It's been a week since my last post. That hasn't happened in... I don't know if it's ever happened! After returning from vacation I took time to re-enter life. Although, it was a very reserved re-entry because we're moving in about two months. I feel like I'm sitting on the fence between two lives and our vacation was the climb to the top of the fence.

There is a lot going on, a lot, a lot - all the detailed legwork of moving; the physically demanding packing, cleaning, painting, repairs; transferring our responsibilities at church and work; planning trips to Iowa and NYC, to look for homes and get one last East coast experience, respectively; three people I love had major surgery this week - all too far away for me to visit (praying for all of you with love); all while somehow maintaining the day to day things like meals, social activities, and mowing the lawn.

My husband and I were talking about Vince, wondering to ourselves how he is doing. The next day I got a call asking us to respite his brother overnight, Mother's day evening. Even with everything going on we said, "Yes!" Its perfect that it is on Mother's Day.

He will be dropped off by Dad after their weekend visit and I'll take him to school with my kids the next morning. It will only be about 12 hours, so not really a big deal at all. I'm glad we can provide a place for him to stay that is familiar, even though he hasn't stayed overnight before.

The bonus for us is that Dad is dropping him off. Dad is a talker, so it's likely that we'll find out how the case is going and how Vince's new foster home is. We could even see Vince if they drop his brother off with us first. It will also give us the opportunity to tell them that we are moving and explain that that is why we couldn't keep Vince longer. This is a little blessing from God that means so much to me with everything going on.

Today, being Sunday, I'll take a break from all the household to do's and spend a little time trying to embrace moving. I'm hesitant to tell people about it because I'm so conflicted. I don't want to move, but it's clear that it is the right thing for our family. It's like going in for a root canal - you know you need it and that it's the right thing, but it doesn't mean that you go skipping.

We've done this enough times (14 in my lifetime, if I haven't forgotten any) that I am well aware of the heartache of missing friends, the loneliness while you find new ones, adjusting to a slightly different culture, financial concerns, packing/unpacking, and everything being new. One of the funny things about making friends in a new area is that everyone new looks like someone I knew before. It seems to be my brain's way of making sense of all the new faces. Yet, after I've known the person for a while I can't believe that I ever thought they looked like someone else.

Thank goodness the bright spot in all of this is the beautiful spring. The sun is shining, our cherry tree is in full pink bloom in the window next to me and the dogwood is starting in the window on the other side of the room. God is good and miracles are all around.

Fostering Hold

2011-04-22T20:42:00.000-04:00

Due to the new developments in our family - "The Move" - we won't be fostering any time soon. My husband is leaving in a month and I will follow with the kids after school lets out and we find a renter for our house. Then we'll move and start to get our bearings. I promised the kids that their well-being is paramount, we will not foster again until everyone in the family feels settled in our new home and feels good about fostering. That could be a long time, and I could end up being the longest hold out - moving puts me through an emotional wringer.

I have mixed emotions about not fostering for a while. There is a feeling of relief that I don't have to deal with fostering issues while trying to fix up the house, make major life decisions, and watch my kids for signs of distress over moving, while keeping myself together. I'm relieved that I will never have to use the bathroom at my foster agency again - yucko. It is comforting to not jump to answer the phone in the middle of the night wondering, in the 3 seconds it takes to answer, what kind of placement it could be.

There is also a feeling of awe, that we were led to foster - attending hours of training, fill out a pile of paperwork, and prep our lives and home - for two little boys. Those two boys meant enough to God that we were led to foster, during this narrow window of time, just for them. Bobby and Vince, that's how much you mean to God.

We've gained something from this too. Bobby's new mom is one of the friends I will remain close to, despite distance, for a very long time. Our experience in fostering taught us things we could learn no other way. So much so that I can't imagine not doing it again at some point in the future.

When I think about all that awaits me at the end of a 10 hour drive home from vacation on Sunday, I near the precipice of despair. Just a step at a time along that ledge and I'll be Ok. Although there's no avoiding the sadness from setting down the title of 'foster mom'.

Beach Vacation

2011-04-21T08:38:00.001-04:00

Today I feel immensely blessed. I'm sitting in a beach house on the southern outer banks of North Carolina. It was supposed to rain today but we awoke to cloudless skies. Yesterday we had a great family outing to the Cape Lookout lighthouse, a national park. The day before was warm enough to get into the water so we spent the day on the beach, meeting our German neighbors who have two adorable children for Baby to play with. The drive here was uneventful and relatively quick.

The only complication during this trip was that on Tuesday my husband accepted a job in Des Moines, Iowa. It has been difficult for my husband to relax and let go of all the details swimming around his head. Surprisingly I've let all of the moving details slip away from consciousness. Right now in this sunny heaven, there is no moving, no goodbyes, no home repair and painting.

Yesterday on the pristine shores of the national park, where the visitors were sparse I scanned the beach, seeing only my family playing in the surf and shell seeking. I thought to myself, "All that I see is what I most treasure."

I feel so very blessed, that when I read Job in my Bible this morning I couldn't help but ask why. While here I've thought of my sister who is dealing with repercussions of her husband's business failing. I've thought of Vince, and how he would love to be here with us. I've thought of Bobby's new mom who is so overwhelmed with her service-focused life and being a stay at home mom that she could really use a vacation. I've thought of the people here in North Carolina that lost everything in tornadoes the day before we arrived. The people in Japan still living in the destroyed aftermath of the earthquake. Then I got online and saw that Maggie Popp had a beautiful baby girl.

Life is full of the sweet and the bitter. Through it all we gain invaluable treasures.

Yesterday at that pristine beach the wind was blowing fiercely. It pulled the sand from the beach and blew it forcefully into our skin. It was literally sandblasting us. It especially stung for my oldest daughter who had sunburned legs from the day before. When we looked down to search for shells we realized that the wind was a good thing, it blew so forcefully that it uncovered beautiful shells that would have been hidden from us otherwise. We collected handfuls of the gifts from the sea while standing in the sand blasting wind - taking the bitter with the sweet.

Elder Orson F. Whitney said: “No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. … All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable. … It is through sorrow and suffering, toil and tribulation, that we gain the education that we come here to acquire.” (from here)

Got a Call for....

2011-04-14T19:12:00.000-04:00

..respite care for a 9 year old boy who has been suspended from school.

Ummmm.... he sounds like heaven, but we're going on vacation!

(Don't you love how our criteria for placement has permanently been altered since we took in Vince?)

Hi!

2011-04-09T17:49:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I saw Vince and Bobby! I am a lucky woman, it was great to see them both smiling and doing well. Getting hugs from them was great. Vince stopped by during his unsupervised visit with his Dad to pick up a few things he left here. It was a quick stop, but still wonderful to see his bright eyes and smile.

I saw Bobby for our usual weekly playdate, it is one of the few constants on my calendar, a major priority. Bobby's pre-adoptive mom and I are becoming very good friends. We talk for hours while Bobby and Baby play every week, solving all the world's problems and our own. She is one of the great blessings from fostering that I never anticipated.

When I heard this quote recently I thought of Bobby's mom: “Kindness is the essence of greatness. … [It] is a passport that opens doors and fashions friends. It softens hearts and molds relationships that can last lifetimes." (from here)

Because we showed kindness to a child in need, Bobby, I gained a friend for life in his new mom. Which also has the side benefit of allowing me to watch him grow up. The way God works is wonderful if we're trusting and patient enough to work and wait for the outcome.

Speaking of patience and trust, Bobby's mom said this a few weeks ago and I've teased her about it ever since, "I'm going to pray and tell God that this trust and patience thing is obnoxious!"

Know or Don't

2011-04-07T08:21:00.000-04:00

This is how I know I'm stressed, I'm busy. Despite what might seem like a complicated life, I try to keep things calm. I don't like busy for busy's sake... unless I'm dealing with something big.

There is something about hard work that helps me cope. My body expends nervous energy on a worthwhile project (usually worthwhile, depending on how clearly I'm thinking), and during the time that my hands are busy my mind can contemplate. These home repairs are perfect for the kind of busy I need right now.

While tediously sanding the bathroom cabinet, there is time to think. I came to the conclusion that I don't know what to think. I'm even avoiding phone calls (sorry) because my mouth is stopped, my mind and hands require full attention. My mind is turning everything over and over, until I know every surface and how I feel about the contours.

I know that being a foster parent is the right thing to do.

I know that Vince and Bobby enjoyed our home and we enjoyed them.

I don't know what they think about leaving our home.

I know that Vince's brother is no longer attending school.

I don't know why.

I know that I feel unresolved about Vince, it may be that way until the day I die.

I know that my husband's job is not good and he's looking for another one.

I don't know when we'll get the phone call about a job in Iowa.

I don't know if we'll move.

I know that we can't sell our house because we owe far more on it than it's current value.

I know that we have to be near starving and penniless for the bank to even consider mercy.

I know how to install a toilet.

I know how to use a paintbrush.

I know that optimism is the best choice.

I know that somehow God will provide.

I don't know if that provision includes protection from foreclosure should things go downhill.

I know that renting our house may be our only option.

I know that moving will be hard for our family.

I know that a move will be difficult for me, physically, emotionally, mentally.

I know that the future holds good things, even in Iowa.

I know that I will take the most important things with me.

I know that I want to continue being a foster parent.

I don't know how I'm going to finish all my college classes before the deadline.

I know that I'm sick of making dinner while remodeling.

I know that Vince had to leave because of all these things.

I don't know how this will work out.

I know I should remember what I said about optimism.

Change

2011-04-03T10:02:00.000-04:00

‘This is what I’ve come to believe about change: it’s good, in the way that childbirth is good, and heartbreak is good, and failure is good. By that I mean that it’s incredibly painful, exponentially more so if you fight it, and also that it has the potential to open you up, to open life up, to deliver you right into the palm of God’s hand, which is where you wanted to be all long, except that you were too busy pushing and pulling your life into exactly what you thought it should be. ‘I’ve learned the hard way that change is one of God’s greatest gifts, and most useful tools. Change can push us, pull us, rebuke and remake us. It can show us who we’ve become, in the worst ways, and also in the best ways. I’ve learned that it’s not something to run away from, as though we could, and that in many cases, change is a function of God’s graciousness, not life’s cruelty.’

~ Shauna Niequist

The Silence is Deafening

2011-04-02T20:30:00.001-04:00

Things have been quiet, but not quiet. The house is more quiet and calm with Vince gone, but it's noisy because of my pounding, sanding, and scraping. It's like I had to fill the void.

We're working on the master bathroom. Yesterday I completed the toilet installation and started installing the sink. Both of them were pink. There were holes in the wall from previous towel bars and TP holder that were also pink and cemented into the drywall. I patched in the past but did it poorly, so I cut out a portion of drywall and replaced it. I also plan to sand and restain the cabinet, and add trim to the mirror. It will be fun to see the transformation!

A few days ago when I put off running an errand, Baby became frustrated. When I finally said it was time to go she said, "I'm waiting for Vince to get home." I tried to explain that he lived somewhere else now. There wasn't a way to answer that she was happy with. In the end she was sad and so was I.

So far the new toilet is a wonderful thing! If I had known how little it cost ($140) and how easy it was to install I would have done it long ago. The water efficient toilet worried us a bit, that there would be flushing issues, but it works wonderfully with only 1.28 gallons in the tank.

My son vowed not to play Star Wars on Wii without Vince. He says it's just no fun without him. It was actually nice to see that J. missed him, he seemed so relieved to have Vince gone that I felt bad. I hadn't realized how hard it was for him towards the end. At his parent teacher conference this week his teacher said that he seemed more himself this week.

I got a haircut today. When I grow out my hair I can tell it's time for a cut when I put it in a ponytail every day. I literally and figuratively feel lighter, it was good to have just that bit of pampering. I also got a nap today so it was a special day!

Last night when my husband and I were out on our first date night since taking in Vince, he agreed that I'm probably transferring my emotional energies into home repair instead of dealing with Vince leaving and everything else. I feel like maybe I haven't dealt with it, but I don't know what else to do at this point. I could stay in bed for weeks but the likelihood of never getting out becomes stronger each day that I lie there.

For a few days after Vince left I went back to bed after getting my oldest daughter up. Eventually I'd pry myself out just before taking the younger kids to school. It was probably part of processing things, but really it didn't help me feel better. I felt better when I folded clothes and cleaned the kitchen during that time instead.

So what I'm saying is that I'm wondering what "dealing with it" or "processing things" really means. Vince is gone, and other changes are on their way. What's to process? Just let myself be sad when I'm sad, that's all the wisdom I can summon.

Bottomless

2011-03-29T14:41:00.001-04:00

Last night my husband and I watched an inspirational show about a couple who adopted 21 kids (also about a man who invented a computer to help paraplegics communicate). It reviewed their initial decision to take in their first child, thus the name of the program: Turning Point.

The mother of these 21 children made a comment that especially struck my heart after the sadness of saying goodbye to Vince yesterday.

"We all have a reservoir of love

that is probably endless.

We're all just too scared

to probe the depths

and find out

how very far

the bottom is."

Baby, J, and Vince

Goodbye Vince

2011-03-28T16:18:00.000-04:00

As we were packing up Vince's toys this morning he said, "My mom used to sell my toys to get money for cigarettes. It made me so mad, I never got to keep any of them."

"Well, now these toys belong to you and you get to keep them with you wherever you go."

After I printed a sheet of various photos in different sizes, I asked, "Which of these would you like to take with you?"

"Is it OK if I take all of them?"

Later he said, "I move somewhere, just get comfortable, and then I have to move again."

"I know bud, I'm sorry about that. You can get comfortable with your Dad though. If everything continues to go well you'll be living with him soon, and you get to have weekend visits now." (I know, not totally a sure thing, but the closest thing he has to it right now.)

As we drove onto the street of his new foster home I said, "Good people can live anywhere, right?"

Looking around at the row homes and litter in the street he said, "Yeah, you're right."

After meeting his new foster family, Vince and I walked to the van to get his belongings. He said, "He's good." (Meaning his new foster brother who is 23.)

This morning I told Vince all the ways we would miss him, the cat wouldn't get fed, no one will help me with yard work, and Baby will miss playing with him.

On our way out the door, as we left Vince behind, Baby said quietly, "Mom, I'll feed Jasmine now."

---------------------------

Looking into the eyes of Vince's new foster family I felt a true love, warmth, and concern for children. Their home isn't fancy, but it is well kept and feels comfortable. They know that they don't live in the best neighborhood, and were regretful that Vince has to change schools. There is another foster child there, a 7 year old boy. Vince perked up when he heard that, I'm glad he will have a playmate. Overall I feel good about the new home Vince is in.

That doesn't mean that my feeling of abandoning him is gone. I thought that being a foster parent would mean being the one sure place in a child's life. In reality it's the opposite, but not because of me; it's the system.

Yesterday when Vince's Dad dropped him off I told him that I wondered if it would have been better for Vince to go to this new home a month ago, instead of being in limbo with us for a month. His Dad was adament, "No, no! He's done so well here with you, the structure, the good home... he needed what you gave him here. No, don't ever think that. You provided a good home for him here, exactly what he needed."

Because I believe that God cares about children in need, I'll believe that there were many good reasons that Vince stayed with us for the last month. Not the least of which was the picture of Christ that I tucked into his Bible this morning.

Sweet Relief

2011-03-26T15:06:00.000-04:00

Vince is on a visit with his Dad this weekend. The stress had been steadily increasing with court and Vince's misbehavior at school, in addition to being constantly vigilant after school. I didn't realize until last night after he left how much weight had settled on me. The consequences of the stress are now hitting - I'm exhausted and have achy joints. (It is very similar to the problems I had a few years ago.) I've been holding it together by my fingertips until these last few days. Even when Vince was at school or on a visit there were worries about misbehavior or Dad bringing him back late. Last night I just felt such a sigh of relief that I was near tears.

The biggest relief is knowing that I can trust everyone in my house now. I know my children, the trouble they might get into and it's light years away from what a foster child can do. Not that Vince is a bad kid, but he was an unknown. Especially towards the end of the month, I was bracing, waiting for the honeymoon to end. The last few days were especially bad because there were constant phone calls during the day when I usually get a break. I had very little peace this week. It was an insight into where my limits are.

Looking back now I wonder if breaking our parameters was good for Vince. If we would have said "no" a month ago, he would have already transitioned to a new foster home and school; instead of doing it now when he is also adjusting to the disappointment of not going to live with Dad. It gives me insight that will be helpful for future placements - if it is outside of our parameters, even for a week, it is likely that it's not the best thing for the child either.

There were some valuable things for us and Vince during his stay. It's impossible to quantify if the hassle was worth it. Maybe in the coming weeks I'll have some kind of insight that will help me see it in a more positive light. For now I feel helpless to help Vince, wondering if we did at all, wondering how my children have been negatively impacted, and just so relieved he is almost gone. It feels heartless to say that, as if I don't care for him. I think it's my basic survival instincts speaking - sleep and safety before love.

THE Question

2011-03-25T09:52:00.000-04:00

"So what's your opinion on allowing a child with sexual abuse in your home with small children?"

Debbie asked this question after reading my post 'TMI and the Little Black Box'.

Caution: This post will include talk of sexual abuse and abusers. I will not use unnecessary detail but please be aware of your personal sensitivities and do not read this post if it will upset you. At the same time, sexual abuse is disturbing, but it needs to be addressed for healing and aid.

As far as my agency is concerned, my opinion is that we are a 'no sexual abuse history' home. My daughter is the same age as yours Debbie. Thinking about her safety, that of our other children, and the potential life-changing impact of sexual abuse on our family, my official stance is that we do not want to deal with sexual abuse. I do know that sexual abuse can be overcome, but it isn't always. I don't want to subject my children to something that could potentially destroy their lives.

That answer works in a perfect world where there are enough homes for foster children. Reality is much more complicated.

Debbie, good safe homes like yours and mine are needed for children that have been sexually abused. I do not think we should take a child into our home that has a history of habitually seriously acting out sexually, but we can be a haven for a child that is trying to recover from abuse. Although even then I am very tentative and reserved.

In my opinion children that were repeatedly habitually abused, versus one or two isolated incidents, are more likely to have or develop inappropriate sexual behaviors. Their sexual feelings have been awakened, their bodies have been taught by their abuser that those physical feelings are a routine part of life. It is like a physical habit which they feel a need to continue even though it may cause them harm. It could even be said that they are addicted to those sexual behaviors. They can also become addicted or habituated to the adult attention that comes from an abuser that accompanies the abuse. Once the abuse stops the child can miss the attention, so they may seek out similar situations to get it.

A child does not know what sexual behavior is, that is something they learn as they grow up in an appropriate environment. (Don't get me wrong, I think children innately know when a person is abusing or hurting them, what they don't know is that it has a label of "sexual".) If a child is brought up in an inappropriate environment do not be surprised if they don't understand the line between sexual behavior and appropriate childhood behavior. Let me give an example: Any mother knows that children find a mother's soft chest a nice place to rest. It is a source of comfort and safety for babies in breastfeeding, yet somewhere along the way as the child grows the mother's chest is no longer available for touching and comfort in the way it once was. This is a part of the normal maturing of a child, and just one way that they learn appropriate physical boundaries. Children in foster care often haven't been taught appropriate boundaries. A relatively harmless example is manners. Sexual behaviors are a more harmful example of unlearned boundaries.

Remember the pain and misunderstanding that an abused child suffers from. Often an abused child turns their discomfort and pain of abuse inward, believing that it is their fault. Which only perpetuates the destructive sexual habits, either by keeping the abuser's secret, sexual acting out, or by becoming an abuser themselves. Being in an uplifting, safe, kind, and educated home can do wonders for a child that wants to heal and leave the abuse in their past.

As I said in my previous post, children who have been sexually abused should not be labeled as monsters. There are though, a very few children who have been abused so much by the system, abused by adults and other children in their lives, who have then developed sexual addictions and become sexual predators. These children are the reason that we will not tell our agency that we're willing to take children with a sexual abuse history. There is an extremely wide variety of experiences and behaviors in children that have been sexually abused. Some children never act out sexually, while some become predators; there is no definite sign of which is which because predators learn manipulative behaviors from their abusers right along with sexual behaviors. There are warning signs to look for, but I am not a professional and don't want to try and educate about every facet of this issue in a blog post. If you want more information there are seminars and classes out there for foster parents about dealing with sexual abuse.

Even with all of that in place, being a foster parent to a child with sexual abuse issues with other children in the house means constant vigilance. Some foster parents use monitors and door alarms to have some piece of mind. I wouldn't want to rely on those too much, batteries die, plugs come out, they can be tampered with; in our home we don't use them for this purpose.

We were very uncomfortable taking in a child with a minor sexual abuse history. I have learned through having him in our home, we have had no incidents of a sexual nature, although I must admit that it has been a short stay. It is very tiring to be so vigilant while trying very hard to not treat him as if he's already done something wrong.

When we ask our agency to not send a sexually abused child to us, they don't always have all the information. Children may keep sexual abuse a secret for years. Even when we have parameters in place which we think will shield our family from sexual abuse issues, there is still a chance that we'll encounter it. (If you fostered and loved a child for months and they felt safe enough to confide their abuse to you would you immediately send them away from your home?) We need to be educated and prepared in the event that it does come up despite our parameters for fostering. Knowing what to do, what to watch for, and how to love a child troubled in this way will also eliminate unnecessary fears.

This is an extremely personal decision for a foster parent, and everyone has an different response. I listen to foster parent veterans who try to inform me and care about my children, but I also respect the need of foster children who are hurting and need a safe home. Ignoring children who are sexually abused is not a solution. I ask myself, if not me, then who?
Most of the time the answer is a family without small children. There are a few situations in which it could be me, and where it might choose me even if I don't choose it.

There are resources available to learn more about this issue. It can be scary to research sexual issues online because your search can bring up yucky stuff too, but there are good things out there. Here are a few things I've found online, check with your agency and other local fostering resources for classes and information offline.

Understanding and Treating the Sexually Acting Out Child

Christine's advice on dealing with self stimulation

A very simple guide from the government about fostering a sexually abused child

Parenting the Sexually Abused Child

This issue is probably the biggest concern that people have about fostering and don't ask. So thanks for asking it Debbie.

What a DAY!

2011-03-24T21:19:00.000-04:00

Yesterday after court, Vince went for a visit with Dad where he ate. And ate. And ate. Then he came home and puked. And puked. And puked. He didn't have a fever, was playing normally when he wasn't puking, and wanted to keep eating. This told me that it wasn't about the flu, it was about Vince's coping mechanism - eating.

This morning Vince claimed to feel ill and wanted to stay home from school. He ate breakfast. Then I caught him eating sesame seeds. Then when we got in the car to take the other kids to school he was jawing on a big wad of gum. I lightly scolded him, and told him that he needed to be nice to his body. He ducked his head and said OK.

I started to worry - what is he eating that's making him throw up? Is he eating something caustic on purpose? Is he sneaking food? What do I have to do to keep this in check?! How do you keep everything edible and inedible away from a 9 year old?

After abiding by our bedroom sick rule (if you're home from school sick then you stay in your room) for a few hours, Vince admitted to feeling better and wanted to go to school. This didn't surprise me because he gets bored easily. I called the school and explained the situation, including the results from court and that Vince is a little emotional today. They said they were comfortable with having him at school, to bring him in.

Two hours later I got a message that Vince went nuts (my description not theirs) in class and was cooling off in the principle's office. The only way they could get him out of the classroom was to promise that he could go home. I worried that I would have an out of control kid on my hands for the rest of the day.

When I arrived to pick him up he wouldn't look at me, but was calm. When we got in the car I said, "If you'll tell me what happened I'll buy you a soda." He was happy to share with that prompting.

His explanation was that two boys (which he's clashed with before, and my son has told me are troublemakers in the class) called him stupid, dumb, and an idiot. My thought was what a horrible day for those boys to bully him. The Mama Bear in me came up and I wanted to smack them up side the head and give them a swift kick in the pants. At some point a boy just has to defend himself if the adults around him don't. I didn't punish Vince and neither did the school.

I worried that the rest of the day would be touchy, but it's been fine. Actually he's been an angel, like he's trying to make up for the trouble earlier in the day.

Today taught me that I over react and jump to the worst possible conclusion. With some kids that might be necessary but not with Vince. Giving him a chance to explain his side, a chance to cool off, a chance to back out of the behavior, opens a door to peace. His previous foster mom labeled him as a problem and always assumed that an altercation was his fault. I won't say he never starts it, but he isn't the bad seed she paints him as either.

As I write this there's noise upstairs because Vince had candy in bed. Yeah, he snuck it. He had a ton of dinner then bread and yogurt near bedtime. Oy. He will go with his Dad tomorrow night until Sunday afternoon.

Yesterday night I saw a friend, she asked if I was doing OK. I told her we were getting through.
She said, "You're loved and so many people admire you!"
I said, "I don't want admiration, I want a nap!"
That could be my new tagline.

Court

2011-03-23T17:23:00.000-04:00

Last night Dad called to talk to Vince about court. He told him that they'd be going to live with him. Argh! Dad had no right to boost his son's hopes when he didn't know what would happen. Everyone on the "team" has been preparing the boys for possible disappointment and Dad threw it all in the trash with his last minute phone call (the only time he's called all week despite promises to call). Vince was so excited after the call, so sure he was going with Dad.

So of course, Vince did not go home with his Dad today. They will have overnight visits on weekends twice a month. It was explained to the boys that this is a way to transition them to their Dad's house, that these things take time. At the same time the case worker broke this news to Vince (because the boys weren't in the courtroom to see their parents bicker and to hear the verdict) he explained that he would also be moving to a new foster home. Last night I told the case worker the specific reason that we can't keep Vince (which we still haven't announced to our younger children or the world yet) and asked him to explain it to him if there is a concern that Vince thinks we don't like him, is bad, or did something wrong to get moved.

We could have Vince until Friday, or if a visit with Dad is scheduled this weekend, until Monday. The worker didn't want to move him in the middle of the school week, or right before a weekend visit. It's amazing how he comes up with these reasons that we should keep Vince a day or two longer. I somewhat feel taken advantage of, but don't care because I want this to go well for Vince. If he has a couple of days with us to discuss all the changes, hopefully he'll do better with everything.

In our state there was recently a law that went into effect that schools must provide transportation for students that are put into foster care outside the district. The problem is, they didn't provide funding. So while it's law, with all the budget cuts there are very few districts that actually do it. We're hoping for Vince that somehow it will happen. It would be a huge piece of consistency for him.

I feel very tired this afternoon. Court was more of an emotional and physical drain than I thought it would be, even though I didn't go. Yesterday I shed some tears over the craptastic situation Vince is in, and that I can do so little to help him. I'm trying to remember what I wrote a few days ago about letting the other actors play their part. Could one of those actors play the role of laundress and cook? I'm getting sick of folding clothes and making dinner!

Do It Differently

2011-03-21T06:05:00.000-04:00

My oldest daughter echoed my feelings when she said, "Why does everything have to happen at once? I could deal with things if they happened one at a time!" When she said it I almost laughed and walked out of the room. I mean, what do I say to that? Amen!?

As I tried to talk to her about managing stress, and how learning to succeed doesn't always mean doing more it means doing things differently, she blasted back at me with attitude, tears, and a refusal to feel peace. It felt like arguing with myself.

This week I had a major epiphany about prayer, and you're going to think this is a "Duh!" moment - God will give me what I ask for, so I should ask for what I want. This is the whole purpose in prayer, right? If you ask a little kid in Sunday school about prayer they'll tell you that prayer is exactly what I realized this week. I used to know it, but I got wrapped up in doctrine, in trying to be respectful to God, trying to be consistent with his will so much that I resisted listening to my heart, just in case what I wanted was different than what God wanted. I missed the critical piece - God wants to give me what I want.

During the past few days I've been worried about Vince. Where will he go next, will they feed him good food and be emotionally sensitive? Will they provide transportation so he doesn't have to change schools again? My husband and I spoke about providing respite for him the in future and I agonized over offering to drive him one way to school. Then there were the Saturday birthday tears, where he mourned over not getting a birthday present with wrapping and a cake for his birthday back in November. I wanted to jump in and save the day with an Un-Birthday.

In moments of peace and reflection yesterday I realized, again, that I need to leave this in God's hands. I need to pray that God will provide for Vince and then move forward believing that He will. The frantic fears of what horrors await him is not where faith lies. God brought Vince to our door, helped us through every day with him, and will continue to bless him long after our parting. Now I feel that un-birthday plans would only highlight the disappointments of his past, and that all my frantic running to remain in his life will only present more instability. What I want is happiness and success for Vince, the way I tried to accomplish it was all by myself. I have a small part to play in Vince's life, and then I move off the stage to let other actors play their part.

In my desperation I finally saw that solving a problem isn't doing more, it's doing it differently.

Questions

2011-03-18T21:32:00.000-04:00

What do you think of tattling?

Vince's previous foster mom is against it. She even chided Vince about it in front of me.

Personally, I feel that a child who has been suffering in silence for years can come to me with whatever his heart desires, even if it is telling me that Baby snuck a cracker. Anyone feel otherwise and want to enlighten me?

With older foster children, what do you think about letting them play around the neighborhood freely?

This one I'm having a hard time with. I have a neighbor that is nervous about having Vince play with her children unsupervised, implying that I should be with him everywhere he goes. Then there's the rule that a foster child is supposed to be under adult supervision at all times, no teenage babysitters, etc.

There's also the knowledge that Vince hasn't been taught how to make good choices in friends, or how to be discerning about what activities are appropriate. It is no fault of his that no one taught him, but that doesn't mean I want him roaming the neighborhood making those bad choices. Still, to him it feels like punishment when I won't let him out of the yard without me.

This is a child who was hardly supervised before, he didn't have to ask to go out of the yard because no one cared. His previous foster mom let he and his brother roam the neighborhood as well. This is problematic because I live in the same neighborhood as previous foster mom and Vince and his brother are likely to get into physically intense fights if left unsupervised.

The advice from the caseworker for now is to keep him in the yard. There are only 5 days left in our home so you'd think he could handle that. Yesterday he left twice, was slightly punished for it (cutting slack because our rules are different), and then he did it again tonight and had to come inside for the night because I didn't trust him.

When a child is punished at school for something that happened there, do you also punish them at home?

Our answer for our own children is yes. We want them to know that we support the staff at school and that what they did was wrong. With Vince punishing him at home feels like overkill. It is such a delicate balance with a child like this who is learning to be disciplined, he is learning to have a parent who parents. While at the same time his feelings about himself are in the gutter, he needs positives in his life, not negatives. We praise him a ton, he's sweet and helpful 98% of the time. He is trying so hard to be good. But we feel strange letting a negative behavior go. Is our talk with him about it enough in addition to the school consequences?

What do you do when a child flat out refuses to follow through with a consequence for negative behavior?

I won't say what it is in Vince's situation, but let's say you told a child to go to time out and they refused and they're too big to carry there. With a foster child that is defiant it seems like threatening another punishment on top of the one you've already inflicted seems like a recipe for disaster. It becomes a giant power struggle which is the last thing you want to start. Which leads me to my next question...

Do you have to win every power struggle with foster children? Are there times that it's OK to say "This isn't worth the escalation, I'm not willing to engage in this battle."

So, as you can probably tell from this post, the honeymoon is over!

To Protect

2011-03-17T20:17:00.000-04:00

I found out today that our county is not placing children in foster homes. Their budget has been so severely cut that they can't take in any more children. This means that children are remaining in abusive and neglectful homes.

Vince's previous foster mom said that his abusive situation was reported to the Child Crisis Line for two years by his elementary school before the county finally removed him from the home.

To protect is one of the basic roles of government. Things have gotten so upside down in our government that children now have a right to healthcare, but not a right to be free from abuse and neglect.

Why Do People Foster... Really?

2011-03-14T22:04:00.000-04:00

We all have our reasons, in fact most of us probably have a little speech that we give when someone asks us why we foster. I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about the reasons that we aren't always conscious of, the ones we might never admit to anyone. I'm about to tell you my secret motivations and I hope you don't judge me too harshly.

There is a general theory that human beings do things because they get a reward. That we are never really altruistic, there is always something in it for us, even if it's just a sense of satisfaction, or pleasing God. Down in the core of us, our instincts for survival would never allow us to do something truly altruistic, it's counter to survival.

For those of us who foster and say it isn't for the money, what are we doing it for?
Really.
Really?

One of the answers I give to people who ask is that God led us to this. Then why would I say yes to such a large request from God? Because I wish I would have had more support from adults when I had troubled times as a child. In the eyes of every hurt child, I see myself looking back. I know what it is to feel helpless and unhappy, to not find words for what is wrong or ears to listen to them. A part of me still hurts from it. I think in some way I want to soothe that hurt child in myself, and subconsciously I believe that I can do it by soothing the hurt of a child. (Although not so subconsciously now.)

Once I started fostering I found out that there is a reason to keep fostering, a reason that wasn't a consideration when we started, but could quickly become addicting. Attention. People want to know about you, about your life, how you do it and why. They want to know about the child too, and you hold all of the juicy secrets. Telling the child's secrets can make you feel powerful, "in the know" like a girl in high school with a juicy rumor to spread. That is one reason I try so hard to keep my tongue in check, the child deserves their privacy, but I also don't want to start down that road and never be able to get the horse back in the barn.

Then there's the praise. Most of the people that I have told about our foster parenting have been so complimentary, so much so that I feel very awkward. Like I got sainted because I gave a kid a bed. It's really weird, but at the same time I can see how people would get hooked on that, and might even believe it. A great man counseled, "don't ever inhale it" when receiving praise. It is really difficult not to take a few good whiffs and get a large head. In the end knowing that God called me to this and that He gives me the strength to go on every day is what keeps pride at bay. Humbling experiences are never in short supply in foster care either.

When Bobby left our home I felt a letdown. I miss him as a person in my life, who he is, his potential, the good feelings of our relationship. There was something else I missed when he left though- a kick in the pants every day to be a little bit better than I really am. There is a saying that you become the person you dream of becoming by acting like the person you dream of becoming. Before you know it your efforts at acting aren't acting, and you will have become who you want to be. That's what I was, and am now, getting. I see foster parenting as a noble thing, a self-less Christ-like thing to do, yet I don't see myself as noble, self-less and Christ-like. But when I foster, I rise to the occasion, I act the part and get my attitude together and get it done.

(By the way, it is not lost on me that it takes caring for someone else's child to get me to step up. It is sad that I can't find that much motivation to step up to the next level for my own kids. Thankfully, they get to keep the enduring rewards of an improved mother after the foster children have moved on.)

I used to believe in altruism, maybe I've gotten jaded over the years. Mostly it's a recognition within myself that I need a lot of fuel to do something as difficult as foster parenting. Knowing that I'm doing a good thing really isn't enough to keep the love flowing to a child I might never see again, especially when he or she calls my own flesh and blood a poophead and makes him cry. It's not enough for all the sleepless nights, the knowledge of the reality of evil, seeing a child's safety considered in light of costs, the hours in the car and in waiting rooms, or most of all the heartbreak. So I'll keep asking myself, "What's in it for me?" And if I don't like the answer, or can't give an honest one, it'll be time to get out.

Trying Not to Drop My Basket

2011-03-13T19:19:00.000-04:00

"Dropping your basket" is a euphemism for losing it. Today I have tight grip on my basket with both hands. There is so much in my life to deal with and I'm concerned about Vince.

Yesterday I took Vince for his visit with Dad. It was my first time meeting Dad, that's always a daunting visit. They don't know you and you don't know them, but you're right in the middle of their business. Who knows how a person will react in that situation. The worry was for nothing, Vince's Dad was very nice, he's thanked us all weekend long. He even teared up tonight saying how much he appreciated knowing that his son is in a good home.

The visits have been a little difficult to work around - drop off in the morning with chatting for 30 minutes, a few hours later they stop by to get a swimsuit, brother's foster mom calling worried because she misunderstood the return time, returning an hour late in the evening, the next morning pick up bright and early, later they meet us at church to attend together where Dad springs it on me that he wants to keep Vince 2 more hours, that's beyond the approved visit so I call the caseworker who gives the OK (I'd hate to do anything to jeopardize Dad's chances of getting his sons back, who knows how sensitive the county will be to visit times), Dad wants to drop Vince off before we are home, hubby leaves church early to facilitate return, only to have Vince return 15 minutes after I get home. It would have been much easier for everyone if they could have spent the night with their Dad.

There was a good/bad development, one I'm worried will effect Vince's state of mind. His Dad has gotten a new job that pays better and is closer to our county. This is wonderful for facilitating the eventual custody and transition, but it means that Dad's homestudy process starts all over in a new county. Because of this there is no chance that Vince will go home with Dad after court on the 23rd. The 23rd is our last day, we can't care for Vince after that. It breaks my heart because Vince will have to go to another foster home. That will be 3 different homes in less than 6 months and most likely a school change. Vince will be very disappointed about all of these things, I worry so much for him. I worry if he might try to hurt himself.

I didn't sleep well last night, with bad dreams of my children and Vince being hurt. I feel like my worry over this was stirred up by Vince's brother's foster mom. Yesterday at the visit drop off I asked (when the boys weren't with us) if she talked to the caseworker about the suicide threat. She told me that she was sure it was Vince. Then went on to tell me about foster families who have had their foster kids commit suicide. I changed the subject as quickly as I could, but that thought took hold - that my kids could witness the death of their 9 year old foster brother in our home. I can't even comprehend Vince actually taking his life, I'm glad I can't imagine it. It is truly the stuff of nightmares.

Vince is happy, playing, talkative, not at all morose. He doesn't talk about hurting himself or dying. He willingly takes his medication, he has even reminded us a few times. I do not see suicide lingering in his eyes, but I am not a professional. He wouldn't admit to making the statement at school so I worry that he wouldn't tell me if he were thinking it again.

Today at church I spoke to my husband through my tears and then we spoke with our bishop (pastor). They then gave me a blessing which set my mind at ease and comforted my heart. I am still concerned, but not frantically so. There are so many things that can go wrong in foster care but it doesn't mean they will. I trust God, that is the only way this can work. So a more fitting title for this post would be: "God is carrying my basket."

The Most Important Thing

2011-03-12T09:09:00.000-05:00

Yesterday the caseworker called saying that maybe it was Vince who threatened to hurt himself at school. The caseworker came over in the afternoon to chat with Vince for a while and came to the same conclusion I did. This does not look like a kid who wants to die. He is so excited about the prospect of living with his Dad that it's not going through his mind a bit. Although, if the judge doesn't make that decision we may need a suicide watch.

The long awaited visit with Dad is today. As is typical for the system, the visit schedule is ridiculous. This morning there is a 2 hour supervised visit followed immediately by a 5 hour unsupervised visit. Tomorrow is another 5 hour unsupervised visit. Dad lives 4 hours away so this is how he can get the most visit time possible over the weekend.

This visit couldn't come at a better time. Vince is showing cracks, like I mentioned earlier- the name calling. Our sweet son is looking a little beleaguered from dealing with Vince's intensity. Vince is still containing himself very well, keeping his play and talk mostly appropriate, but when he's alone with me he leans towards talking about the unpleasantness of his past. No big revelations, just small peeks into his memories. I think he may slowly be showing me who he thinks he is (as if the things that happened to him are his fault), to see if my love and care change. It's healthy, although I hate that he's beginning this process of attachment with me when he'll leave soon. That is the nature of a healthy child though, they want to attach, they want to be loved unconditionally. It is a good sign, but also so sad and difficult in this temporary situation.

Our upcoming problem is our son's birthday. It's next Saturday. The thing Vince talked about the most in the first few days he came to us was that he only got one present for his birthday. He told everyone in the family multiple times. I thought maybe he was seeking out a gift from us, but I've since learned that a birthday gift is one of the many things that his Mom promised but never delivered. The gift he got was from his foster mom. So now we're about to have a birthday for our son the same age. I mentioned it to the caseworker and he said, "Yeah, that's going to be hard."

The other wrench in the works is that a neighbor boy invited J. to a birthday party that same day. The family offered to have Vince attend as well. I'm trying to decide what the best thing to do is about all of this, including giving my son an awesome birthday because he has been such a trooper through all of this. (Although there won't be a friend birthday party this year.)

My hubby isn't awake yet but I'm thinking about a surprise early birthday day today... we have many other things to do, but maybe this is one of those times that the most important thing is our son.

If more parents could figure out the most important thing there wouldn't be a need for foster care. Children are more important than drugs, more important than abusive boyfriends, more important than money, more important than sticking it to your ex-spouse.

Suicide Threat?

2011-03-11T09:53:00.000-05:00

"Happy Early Weekend Vince!" (The kids have Friday off)

"Ugh."

"What does that mean, aren't you excited for the weekend?"

"We never do anything, it's kinda boring."

"Let's find something to do. Do you like to draw or paint or do crafts?"

"Naw, I'll just go upstairs for a while."

.........

"I'm ready to do something now."

"OK, maybe we can find a Star Wars craft online."

After a few minutes we find origami Yoda instructions and have fun making a few, then we make Clone Wars masks. The kids are plotting their play and dress up when the phone rings.

It was the elementary school Principle. She was trying to be calm, but was clearly agitated. She had been trying to contact Vince's caseworker, unsuccessfully, eventually calling the agency emergency line. I appreciated her thoroughness but she was all worked up by the time she called me. Apparently a child in after school daycare told a teacher that his friend said he wanted to kill himself. He said it was Vince.

This didn't quite gel with the kid I saw who was laughing and talking about his lightsaber and which Star Wars princess Baby would pretend to be. With all that he's been through maybe he hides it well? Maybe I don't know him well enough to tell? Maybe his meds moderate his emotions so much that the outward appearance doesn't match what's going on inside?

After calls to several caseworkers in private, while serving dinner and acting as normal as possible, I found out that it was most likely Vince's brother that made the comment about killing himself. Apparently things are not going well in Vince's previous foster home where his brother is still staying, and Vince's brother is being sent to a respite home over the weekend. He really didn't want to go, begging to go for a sleepover at a friend's house instead. Which isn't allowed in foster care - for the foster child or the home he's staying in. So the caseworker said that Vince's brother was probably so upset about not sleeping over with his friend that he made a comment like: "I'd rather die than go to respite!"

Just to be sure, before bed Vince and I had a quiet moment to talk, as suggested by the case worker. I asked if he is happy here, he nodded and said yes. I asked if he felt like hurting himself, his brow furrowed worriedly and shook his head while looking deep in my eyes. I explained that someone at school said that a foster child said that they didn't like their foster home and wanted to hurt themselves so I wanted to make sure it wasn't him, that I want him to be safe. Vince said it wasn't him. We talked a minute about how hard it can be to talk about emotions and trusting each other. I asked if he wanted a hug, he nodded, I squeezed him tight, while patting him on the back, and said, "You're doing such a good job, I'm proud of you."

I'm really grateful for a good caseworker who calmly talked me through what I should say to Vince. Saying "Do you want to kill yourself?!" is a huge thing to say to a kid. Saying "Do you want to hurt yourself?" gets the idea across without being extreme. The caseworker said that if Vince admitted to wanting to hurt himself I should write up a safety contract, simply stating that he wouldn't harm himself. Then have him sign it. If he wouldn't sign it he would have to be admitted to the hospital.

The caseworker's calm demeanor, and the on call worker's, contrasted the Principle's agitated and worried tone. You could say the workers are desensitized because they deal with things like this every day. I think it's more out of necessity. Being agitated when you're dealing with an agitated child is not the recipe for a calm resolution. In that situation it's up to the adult to be calm, to maintain the proper tone despite the extremity of the circumstances. What you're after is a calm discussion of the facts, the emotions have to be put aside until the crisis is resolved.

Panic rarely solves a problem. Unless you have to lift a car off your toddler and need the adrenaline.

Bits of Life

2011-03-10T15:22:00.000-05:00

I went to the pharmacy to pick up Vince's many prescriptions and was stunned to find that although one of them is a narcotic they didn't care who I was or why I was picking them up. They even tried to give me his brother's as well.

While we were waiting for the prescription Baby looked at the sunglasses on a rack nearby. When we got out to the van she still had a pair of Dora sunglasses in her hand. I did the good momma thing and made her take them back inside and apologize. On the way out she cried and I thought maybe she felt bad for taking them, but when I asked she was only sad that she had to give them back.

Last night she had the ugliest tantrum ever. She also complained of her ear hurting. This morning I took her to the doctor and she has double ear infections and bronchitis. Ugh, I thought it was just a cold- bad mother of the week award goes to me.

Vince's previous foster mom continually reminds me that "he doesn't need any snacks, if you know what I mean." The way she talked about him before I met him I thought I'd have a 200 lb kid on my hands - not the case at all. It really bugs me that after all he has been through she focuses on his weight. SO WHAT! She claimed he was stealing food from her. That seems rude, he's living in your house, feeding him goes with taking care of him. If he's hungry, let him eat! I try to have mostly healthy foods in the house so nothing is off limits. Obviously if he were stuffing his face with gallons of ice cream we'd make some rules, but it's nowhere that bad. If a child who hasn't had decent food to eat the majority of his life suddenly has it, then there will be issues. Who am I to make those issues worse by withholding food because the kid has a few extra pounds?! Right now his emotional and mental health are much more important. Not to mention that one of his meds is an appetite stimulant!

Vince continues to refuse visits with his mom. The caseworker keeps asking me to prod him so I do. Vince doesn't even pause in response, "Nope." At this point I think the kid is reacting to his natural instinct at self preservation.

Vince's Dad called the other night and told him that they'd have a visit this weekend. We all mistakenly thought it would be an overnight visit. Which would be wonderful for them to get time together before the big move, and it would give our family a little break. Now the workers say that can't happen until a judge rules it. Why all of a sudden he can't go overnight with Dad I don't understand. The weekend before he came to us he'd been on an overnighter with Dad at a hotel (because Dad lives 4 hours away).

This is going to make Vince upset on many levels. His case worker and Dad have been hyping that court date for weeks, he is even counting down. Now it looks as though he won't go with Dad that day, but will have at least one transitional visit first. Which could mean more time fostering him than we planned, again.

Life gets more complicated by the day. Between Vince's therapy visits, mom visits, dad visits, doctor appointments to check medication levels, investigative interviews, and etc. he has at least 3 days a week with appointments. He continues to do well. I spoke to his therapist briefly after his visit, she seems good and I appreciated her advice. I still worry about not seeing any sign at all of the anger and rages that everyone describes Vince having. One day he's just going to explode, is my worry. I'd love to exercise and play that energy out of him but we're getting tons of rain. I know, I'll have him build a boat in the garage!

There are many things going on in our lives in addition to Vince. One of those things is a Psych final on the 21st. I wish I could blog about everything else. In my younger days I didn't understand the need for secrets, now that my oldest daughter is computer savvy I see the need. Nothing hugely bad, just more to do than a mind and body can handle so prioritizing and getting God's help is crucial. I hope you're getting the help of heaven in your challenges too.

I'm wondering if you all got the creeps from my last post, not a soul commented. I really am interested in your experience and opinions.
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TMI and The Little Black Box

2011-03-08T19:41:00.000-05:00

For anyone who doesn't know, TMI means Too Much Information. As in, a casual friend telling you about her intimate life, or your foster son's mom dumping her life all over you and a lobby full of strangers. Those two instances of TMI are nothing compared to the foster parent TMIs I've encountered this week.

You might think that because I'm a blogging foster parent that I'm all about spilling the dirt. You'd be wrong. I try to keep as much of my foster child's story as private as I can, while still telling what it is like to be a foster parent. It's a fine line and not something that is easily done, or even with my agency's blessing. It is important to me to keep a child's privacy, they don't need any of their parent's crap following them through life any more than it already is.

Other foster parents do not feel the same, especially when it comes to sexual abuse. Which you could say is one of the worst, if not the worst offense against a child. These foster parents will keep confidentiality in a technical way because they don't tell you the name of the child, but they will tell you the single most horrid event in that child's life. This happened to me twice in the last week and each time I felt physically ill after the conversation. I was hoping for a little foster parent support moment (much like what I get here) and instead I get foster mom proving how good she is by telling the horrors that her kids have been through. Disgusting things that are seared in my brain.

This is very different from finding out the history of a child that is in my home. I need to know that information to keep my family safe, and to keep the foster child in a safe environment - knowing possible triggers, warning signs, and to be prepared for those things to come up in conversation. The last thing I want in a child's most vulnerable moment of trusting me is to drop my jaw and dry heave. Better to do that while on the phone with the case worker, when I can ask how in the world I'm supposed to help a child recover from THAT.

This is such a delicate issue because the world needs to know that children are being abused. We all need to know that abused children can and do recover. Children who have been sexually abused aren't always perpetrators and they are not monsters who want to hurt someone the way they've been hurt.

In our society sexual abuse is a black box. We throw many different behaviors and circumstances in the box and label it "sexual abuse - keep away!" but never look inside the box to understand how the child feels, how their behaviors are learned and can be unlearned, or to understand that the whole child should not be thrown in the black box. Instead, I hope we can understand that the black box is only a little piece of who they are, hidden deep inside, and they are hoping that someone is brave enough to stand by their side when they open it.