Dog Eat Dog

I don’t pretend to know what it’s like raising a teen and I try to avoid acting like I know things I don’t (and having to eat my words later) but I do think about this kind of thing a lot.

I saw this post recently and if you can get past the kinda click-baity “KILLING” and “PERFECT” and “BLAME” stuff, it… is a thing.

And even now, with my 6.5-yr-old, I find myself wondering sometimes if I’m hindering something in his future by not having him in a bunch of competitive sports and stuff. But right now, he doesn’t want to, and there are very, very good things happening in the quiet and sometimes mayhem of our own messy home, that seem *right.*

I guess I just tell myself, and maybe I’ll keep telling myself in future years, that:

– the most important things are his character, his health (mental and otherwise), and his ability to be a decent human being to other human beings;

– he is exceptional ([{*super secret pro tip: they all are, every single one*}]) and capable of exactly what God put him on this earth to do, and lack of elementary-school-aged mega-competition is not going to ruin his chances to be who he was made to be;

– it requires faith to choose reason, connection, balance, and giving him some autonomy (which will grow over the years), and to believe that that will be enough when he is older.

Choices we make now and in the next few years might keep him from the US Olympic team or from being the next Steve Jobs or whatever (although I doubt the latter – those people always come out of nowhere), but there’s a whole lot of full life to be lived outside of the tippity top 0.0001% of whatever field you’re shooting for.

And if these colleges and businesses are wanting more and more and more for less (higher and higher and higher-qualified entry-level employees, aka people getting paid much much less for the same level of expertise/training/experience that used to be provided at least somewhat by the colleges and companies themselves), I guess we’ll try to find a way to make do another way. Naive, maybe. But that’s how I see it.

 

I’m not trying to trash talk competitive sports. Do them if your kid loves them. Do them if it makes sense. Teach your kids to work hard and to honor commitments, by all means. But DON’T do them when you have to drag your kid kicking and screaming every time. Don’t do them if it’s because you’re worried about their college admission and they’re 4. Don’t do them if it’s because you feel like you should or because everyone else is.

I heard some great advice recently (on kind of another topic) that was essentially: Do the thing or don’t do the thing. Just make sure your decision isn’t based on fear. 

Posted in Posts by Abbey

Human Souls

Can you hear me for a second? Can you listen like a person, who’s listening to another person, and not like an ideological spare change sorter, with your ears set to latch onto this buzzword or that loaded phrase… so you can figure out if I fall into one of the many Imbecile Hate-Driven Ignoramus slots, the ones you have a ready-made dismissive argument for, or into the One Single Acceptable Right One? 

I took a class in college on Nazi Germany. Now I know everybody overuses the Nazi Germany parallels but it’s one of those things like quoting Shakespeare – maybe it’s overdone but it’s also so often the best piece of wisdom out there for a particular situation.

We learned some dates and some names of towns and battles and party officers but my professor mostly wanted – desperately wanted – us to leave the class with an understanding actually of how “normal” German human beings, of normal varying levels of complexity or intellect or morality, could become the people some of them became, and do the things some of them did.

This is important, please hear me. Dr. Krammer taught us that the worst thing we can do is to dehumanize people. We went through, step by step, chronologically and using real propaganda and writings of the time, the way that the Jews were gradually and methodically dehumanized by the regime.

But an equally important part was the danger of dehumanizing the Nazis. He contended that the most dangerous thing we can do is to treat and view any Other People as villains, animals, or idiots. When we, even we Americans, made films with moronic goose-stepping slapstick punchlines or mustache-twisting demons in swastikas, we told ourselves that that, the hate and the horror, happened because of something inherent in THOSE people. It couldn’t happen here. Not to us. 

The true thing, the hard thing and the complex thing, the thing that can lead to honesty and empathy and actual resolution of conflict, is to look for myself in Those People. Look for them in me. 

For the love of God, I’m not comparing people to Nazis.

Or… maybe I’m comparing everyone to Nazis. Maybe I’m calling people people. 

Maybe, in a sense, the best way to look at anything in the world, is to assume that I’m the worst sinner there is. As far as it’s any of my business, really, I am. Paul called himself chief among sinners. I swear there’s a Mother Teresa quote where she says she’s the worst, too, although now I can’t find it.

I’m not talking about self-flagellating. I’m talking about empathy, humility, reason, and the only approach that might ever get us anywhere productive. I’m absolutely not sitting here telling you to look for your grossest parts and then obsess over them and hate yourself. 

What I’m saying is — who are the Other People for you? Liberals? Trump-ites? People of color? Immigrants? Millennials? Fox News anchors? Academic underperformers? Vegans? BLM protestors? 

Whoever it is, and I want you to really have a group in your head right now — stop and ask yourself: What are they afraid of? What am I afraid of? Is my self-defense response… actually setting off their alarms? And vice versa? What do they love? What do I love? Whatever they are doing that pisses me off — what circumstances might drive me to act in that way? Am I expecting someone to “get over it,” without entirely taking the time to understand what the “it” is, and if it’s at all reasonable to ask that of them? 

Whatever they’re about that makes me angry — how do I know about that motive? Have I heard it from their own mouths? Or from the mouths of other people who already hate or fear them? I think a lot of the time maybe we hate people for believing stuff that they might not actually believe at all. 

What if we FIRST assume that people are souls, maybe even souls made in the image of God, who don’t just go around acting in willful ignorance or malicious hate?* To be honest, I think some do, they do exactly that. But maybe humility says that God knows the willful ignorance or the malicious hate — he knows how to tell those apart from a deeply hurt person hurting others, or from a victim of a lifetime of taught prejudice or violence, or from a soul who’s felt like a cornered alley cat their entire lives and has rarely come down from Fight or Flight… He knows. I don’t. 

What if we take this modern beast known as the Internet, the personal echo chamber of confirmation bias we keep hearing about… what if we turn that on its head? 

You know, all of this information at our fingertips could ALSO be used to look right into Those People’s heads. Read their stories, hear their arguments. Close your eyes and pray for grace for the anger you might find towards your group, because we have to start somewhere, and that somewhere can’t be on the super defensive. But hear it from them, from their own mouths and keyboards and art. Their fears, their motives, their hopes, their history. 

What might happen then? And then, maybe once you can trust yourself to not be a weird tourist or to pull out your own soapbox, what if you engaged with one of Them, in real life? Ask some questions, make a friend, share a meal, face to face? 

It’s a jungle out there, guys. It’s mayhem. Civilized discourse is bleeding in a ditch right now. But we can help! We can.

Just look for the human souls. 

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*Can I be so bold as to suggest, while I’m at it, that you examine your various news media outlets or bloggers or voices that fill your head? Who’s their Them? How do they talk about people? It might seem impossible to find news outlets that speak respectfully of everyone, these days, but it’s not. Super, duper, duper hard, but not impossible. 

Posted in Posts by Abbey

What I Plan to Do this 4th of July

Here’s what I’m going to do this 4th of July for my own self and with my whip-smart, very aware, impressionably-aged child:

I think I might sit down as a family and start with a little study on the Kingdom of God. More on the ways it’s described in the prophets, maybe, than the parts that talk about how it spreads or grows, because that’s great but not what we’re doing right now. The lion-and-lamb-snuggling type stuff. The orphans-will-be-put-in-families type stuff. The beating-swords-into-plowshares type stuff. The shalom stuff.

Then maybe we’ll talk about the ways that America is like that, and we will celebrate those ways. We will be thankful for living in a country that DOES have some of those qualities, which are admirable not because America is the greatest, but because the Kingdom of God does exist, imperfectly, incompletely, but certainly, here and now. We haven’t skipped a meal involuntarily, I’m pretty sure, in our entire lives. I am confident that my lot as a woman is so-ho-ho much better and less terrifying and more dripping with opportunity than if I had been born in a lot of other parts of the world. We had a super amazing trip to Disney this year with my family that was pure delight and enjoyment and wonder and we are so fortunate. We have opportunities. We have institutions that facilitate our safety. We have access to 800 different versions of education. In a lot of ways, our laws and systems are built to protect and uplift every individual. And in a lot of cases they do, compared to a lot of other places in the world where it’s not even a stated goal, much less a fully realized one.

And then we’ll talk about the ways that America doesn’t look like the Kingdom of God. We’ll mourn the ways we fall short. We’ll mourn the ways that even though we say we value every human life, in practice it doesn’t turn out that way a lot of the time. We’ll share some truths about America and we’ll mourn those, not because America is terrible, but because the Kingdom of God isn’t fully here yet.

I think next we’ll look at some of the people, churches, orgs, and movements that are pouring blood, sweat, and tears into closing that gap as much as they are able – between the now and the not yet. We’ll “look for the helpers,” as I believe good ole Fred Rogers said. We’ll talk about what we can do with what’s in our hands, to make it better, because of the privilege and opportunity that we have as a result of being born into this time and place, and most importantly, by the grace of God.

There’s a dialogue out there that says that you can’t be both grateful and concerned, you can’t be both proud of your heritage and penitent. What’s the saying about how it’s a sign of intelligence to be able to hold two conflicting ideas at once? Anybody trying to tell you that one of these things necessarily means the exclusion of the other is selling the truth short, neglecting healthy self-examination, and squashing constructive conversation.

We’ll wrap up with some humble gratitude again, because for whatever reason, the worst of these things hardly touches us personally. We’ll include a sincere prayer that God would continue to “break our hearts for what breaks” his, to not allow that gratitude to turn to complacency, but also to not allow the magnitude of the need to overwhelm and discourage us.

And then we’ll probably eat some hot dogs and watch some stuff blow up.

Posted in Uncategorized

Plans

IMG_0908

He asked what he should draw so I said draw what you think Baby Girl will look like so he drew this which is, and I quote, “Me holding her and crying because she’s so cuuuuute.”

 

Let’s talk. Eleven weeks from now, give or take, and God willing, we will welcome our fourth/second/eighth little one into the Family Daniels. I have not written in quite some time but I wondered if it might be helpful to shed a little light on this situation, due to comments, questions, and (I would assume) assumptions surrounding this whole thing, since I know all y’all do is sit around musing about our lives all day long.

Do we plan on fostering again? The fact is, we are still currently licensed and decided to maintain our license from last December when Boochie left until closer to when the baby comes, to offer our home for respite for other foster parents in our agency. Only one respite situation has worked out so far, but that’s about all we can do at this point. They don’t want to place [a] new child[ren] with us right before a fairly major life change, it’s not really the best idea for anybody involved, or so goes conventional wisdom.

As far as afterwards? Definitely not for some time, and after that we will have to…revisit. I want more kiddos, I think. Dane is possibly less sure or possibly fairly sure but in a different direction, and we have decided that it’s pointless to discuss right now, since any number of things could change between now and then. So, tabled.

Did we plan this? No, not really. We have kept that “door open” so to speak for about 7 years now. I don’t want to get into too much detail, but with a few various factors, a pregnancy was never remotely ruled out but it’s also not THAT super crazy that it didn’t happen for so long. We always made sure we were healthy and fine, and then we didn’t (usually) stress it too much*.

This is very important to me that people understand, even though I don’t know if it’s that important to other people: We have always been excited about children. Period. Biologically related to us, foster, or adopted. We have certainly had a preference for at least a couple of them to be ultimately permanent, rather than only eternally fostering, but our desire and our love is for children, of any origin. We had the chance at any number of times along the way to pursue any number of methods of assisting the process of conception of biological children, and continually chose not to. This is not a value judgment in any form, these are the decisions that we made, for our family.

This is my first pregnancy, and there are a lot of ways that that is very exciting, for sure. It’s fun to celebrate permanency, for us. That might not be a thing that people always consider when they’re getting ready for a new baby, but to us THAT is reason for celebration – a Daniels that will stay, God willing. Permanent teeth and prom and grandkids and such. It was different but also not different when we celebrated adoption – the permanency.

I don’t know, guys. You have to understand. “Always seek to neither offend nor to take offense” — who said that? [If I can’t google it in about 10 seconds, too bad. Sorry.] Here’s the deal. People talk, people ask, people celebrate with us and I love that, all of the time. People assume things about our story and our life because of their experiences and it makes sense and I get it and it’s very, very rare that anything offends me or makes me upset.

But at the same time, my son is listening. The son that I have and that I know and that I share the vast majority of my life with and that I made a covenant to three years ago, and THAT is the most important thing to me. A distant second is the belief that I hold very, very dear that there is no hierarchy of worth in humans of any kind, and not in children. I will preach this to you and argue it with you till the day I die, but I don’t actually care about changing your mind nearly as much as I care about what my son hears. Because I want him to hear truth.

I hear stories often about people who adopt because they “can’t” have biological children and I totally get it, but I want the world and WAY most importantly my son to know that actually, he’s not my Plan B. [Actually, I am his. The best life for him and for any child is to not have a broken home and a broken relationship with their biological parents, and through absolutely no imaginable fault of his own he ended up there, and we are absolutely his Plan B. God redeems; I don’t want to be negative or fatalistic; he can and will have life to the full just like everyone and anyone else… but it’s so important to me that people know this. We chose this, he did not. We are lucky, we are blessed.] If we had conceived early on, we very likely still would have adopted.

I’m not saying they’re the same, or interchangeable. There are very hard things about fostering and adoption. I have certainly shared a few of them here. Not making any kind of comparison, but simply an observation from my perspective: there are also hard things about *this* current method, says the girl who has been puking sick for about 5 months off and on (mostly on), and hasn’t even gotten to the massive-hobbling-back-breaking stage, or the summer-in-Houston stage, or the LABOR, hello. In foster care and adoption, the process can suck, and the trauma can suck, and the effects of the trauma can suck; certainly the most for the actual sufferer of the trauma. But all I know is the children I have had, somehow it’s just not the same thing. Let’s not confuse the process, or the trauma, with the KIDS. The kids are worth it: every second, every penny, every appointment, just like any other kid would be including your own.

To me, including our Original Little Man, our first forever son, and our little Boochie that we kept and loved and attached to for nearly a year, this squirmy little nugget in my belly is my fourth child. If you have sensed hesitancy with me in conversation, it is possibly because I am quite prickly and careful about language. First pregnancy, yes. Not my first baby, NOT my first or even my second child.

Well-meaning and utterly beloved friends have talked with me about how they prayed for this for years, for us. For which I am grateful. How can you not be grateful for people praying for you and wishing you well? But again, in my mind, I prayed for children. They did not have to come from my womb. I HAD and HAVE children. It’s my hope that friends and family who prayed for us consider that they were praying for ALL of my babies.

This might seem semantical, but it doesn’t to me, because of those humans who were and are in my family, who did and do call me “Mommy.” They’re not semantics to me. They’re not distant memories, or code names on blog posts, or emoji-covered faces on social media.

Those of you darling women and families who struggle[d] mightily with infertility, I feel you. It hit me hard a lot of the time too — the hope and the cost of hope, and the disappointment, the chaotic soup of emotions, the uncertainty. Our story might be a little different because for us it was just always both/either, with adoption or biological. But I get you and if our story’s not you, YOU BE YOU.

I hope this doesn’t sound defensive or insufficiently celebratory, it’s just important to me to get it out there.

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*It’s also entirely possible that you have said something to me about “Oh yeah, as soon as you stop worrying about it, you totally get pregnant! My coworker’s cousin’s daughter did just that exact same thing!” and I talked your ear off for about 85 hours about how “Yeeeeeeeeeeeahhhhhhhh I don’t really believe in that,” partly because we kinda kept an eye on things for a year or two but then really just moved forward with fostering/adoption for about five years before this came out of the blue, so I’m not sure that describes our situation, since about five years doesn’t seem like “as soon as.”
And also very, very stressed out people get pregnant all the time and very, very un-stressed-out people don’t get pregnant all the time; AND ALSO, even if there is some truth in it, I do happen to know that if you are a person who is very much desirous of getting pregnant, this advice (regardless of its basis in truth) is the opposite of helpful, since I think we can all agree that telling people to stop stressing about stuff because the stress is making it worse IS ACTUALLY quite stressful in and of itself, not to mention guilt-inducing, and a dozen other things. So let’s just let that little nugget of “wisdom” go by the wayside, huh?
Posted in Uncategorized

The System

Listen. I’m not going to set up camp here. Build a house. Plant a garden. But today I am just gonna sit for a minute, in the uck. In the grumps.

I’m feeling it, a little bit. We’re almost to the year-and-a-half mark from when we thought we’d be taking in new littles. We’re hopefully? Possibly? Conceivably? close to licensing again. I’ve always been somewhat hesitant to talk in any concrete timelines, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t still calculating likelihoods and minimums and maximums and “general ideas.” I’m kind of… over that now. I hope that’s not glum and Eeyore. I just find that it’s kind of wasted energy.

So we wait.

We had a thing come up, a possible placement, over Christmas break that was kind of exciting, although it was either a good chance or a super slim unlikely chance, which are indistinguishable in this business. Still, one of those things that you can’t not pursue.

You know, that’s really what this is. You throw every line in the water, you take every possible road, because so many of them will dead end that you can’t let any go by unacknowledged. You submit for every placement and you make yourself available for every possibility, hoping that out of dozens or hundreds one will stick.

Our first placement was also our first call. Our son was our second placement. I remember sitting at my desk at work during the several weeks that we were open for placements, before he came. (I only worked two days a week, but somehow EVERY CPS call came on a Thursday, a work day.) Every time I got a call I’d grab any scratch paper that was handy and scribble a few things down, as fast as I could. “Male, 2 years old, biracial, some occupational therapy in previous foster home but basic level of care, 3 half-siblings that live in Oklahoma with a family member” or “Male, somewhere around 6 months old, at the hospital, bio mom is unconscious so that’s all we know.” “Male, 4 days old, premature, and they want to know if there’s any possibility y’all have any Native American heritage?”*

It was a weird thing because I’d want to hang onto each paper and try and grab onto the phone call, holding it loosely but taking a little mental snapshot, thinking any of these COULD be a future Daniels, although they probably wouldn’t, but I’d want a sense of the first time I heard details about our permanent child.

Most of those we never even heard back from to say “no,” they just sort of faded. Although we could wait weeks and still not know if we had been eliminated or if they’d gone to another home.

And so we’d wait.

It’s all about leaving these trailing strands of hope floating out there, not hanging on too tightly to them, but not quite letting go either.

It hasn’t been that hard for me, honestly. It’s the name of the game. People talk about how they would love to help the kids, but the system is so broken. Well, there are a lot of heads on this particular monster, the one that’s keeping these kids busted and broken and isolated. Part of it is the abuse, the neglect, the substance addiction, whatever patterns the bio family may be in. Part of it is systemic problems of poverty, racial injustice, discrimination. Part of it is the stigmas they may or may not face for the rest of their lives. Part of it is the biological and neurological disadvantages they start with, that could manifest (or not) in any one of infinite ways. But part of it IS The System.

There are allies within The System, and a lot of people doing the very best they can to accomplish an impossible task. Overworked, overloaded employees who may be driven by compassion, or maybe they started out that way, and to varying degrees have sort of buckled under it. Some of them are gritty, tough warriors daily facing situations you and I can’t even dream of, and to us they seem callous or uncaring, but their prickly armor is the only thing that keeps them in the game, and we need it.

But also, I never have and never could count on The System to work perfectly (or even well) to help me do my part of the work of the gospel in introducing little souls to redemption, acceptance, and unconditional love.

That possibility? That I mentioned earlier? Well, the system failed him yesterday. It failed pretty spectacularly, and other players within The System are fighting that, and a reasonably, relatively un-crappy outcome is still possible, I suppose. I can’t say I’m surprised, and I hope that doesn’t sound like apathy or defeat.

So we wait.

But the thing is, my hope isn’t in The System, or this job would be unsustainable. I wish it could be, sometimes, in weaker moments, because The System has…… a system. Full of holes and squeaky joints, rusting and overloaded though it may be, it has a certain logic, sometimes, and you can point to reasons something did or didn’t work — there are people to blame.

In some ways it’s harder to put hope in the sovereignty of God, because there’s no system. Within that, there is just trust, and obedience, and patience. It’s not comprehensible, sometimes, but on the other hand, it literally never fails.

So I’m not sure, ‘how long’ this, or ‘how likely’ that. I don’t know. I’ll stop trying to guess or play probabilities.

Today I’ll wait.

Today I’ll trust, although just for today it might be a little grudging. I know all of the arguments, I know some people have it worse, and I know I have so many blessings, and I know it’s what we signed up for, and I know there’s a plan and a purpose, I know I know I know, but today I’m going to let myself feel disappointed, and not explain or rationalize it away.

It’s hard not to see the people left and right that the Great Stork decides to favor whether they even want it or not. It’s hard not to look back on how long it seems like we’ve waited, and the seemingly arbitrary things that have held us up. It’s especially hard not to look at the “need” and the “crisis” and to look at my empty beds and think about babies that don’t have one. And it’s frustrating. It just is.

When I think about the tightrope, the one between “ignorance” and “the paralysis of despair”; the tightrope between ignoring or shutting out, entertaining/distracting/avoiding — and becoming bitter, hopeless, angry… I always end up thinking of Jesus himself. Here’s what he’d do, I think:

He’d hope AND he’d mourn. He wouldn’t quit and he wouldn’t try to bash through, caring less and less about each kid because of the possible pain. He’d keep caring, and he’d allow himself and other people to hurt for things, and he’d push on, because that’s the real bravery. That’s the real strength. And he’d rely on his father for that strength, for the real and only object of hope, because otherwise it’s absolutely, utterly, literally unsustainable. But with that source of strength, it’s a sure victory.

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*FUN FACT: We have only ever gotten ONE single call for a female child, the one that I wrote about here. I have no idea why this is.

Posted in Fostering

The Pause

Two and a half weeks ago I broke one of my own rules and posted a sort of cryptic post on FB… I’m not proud but hey. It’s the world we live in.

We hit a snag. A hiccup, let’s say. Our home study was a few weeks behind us, the last step on the whole shebang, and I was expecting a call any day telling us to come pick up our license. Well, we got a call. That they were denying us a license at all. “We’re sure you’d be great foster parents, you’re just not a match for Arrow.”

Now. Since then, we have worked out a number of things with our agency and they have changed their stance to where they are holding our file and want to revisit it with us after a time. An undefined period of time. So it’s not a closed door, just a “pause.” Hopefully.

It’s just never what you expect, is it?

To be honest, we kind of know what happened, but we also kind of don’t. There are things that we could improve, as a married couple. This is not a surprise to us. It’s impossible to say if these things are “worth” holding up, or possibly outright refusing, our licensing. Who’s to say? Well, actually, we know who’s to say — a collection of people who have seen a few things about us on paper. I don’t know, I always thought we looked pretty good on paper.

We are pretty sure we know why this happened, though. And to me, if there’s a Why, there’s not much that’s impossible to handle. As long as I know why. There are parts of me that want to whine about Why do we have to fix this one common thing before we’re allowed to parent, when hundreds of millions of people become parents every day without any of this scrutiny or perfectionism but the truth is, in most (the best) moments I believe that God wants us to fix this, and he knows why we need to. He wants us to be best and to be like him. Not to worry about who else gets away with what, or who else can work on stuff without having their life held up – if we need this, then we need it. If we need it now, and in this way, that’s frustrating and a bit hurtful and frankly rather embarrassing, then I guess we need it.

I don’t like it, because dozens of y’all invested in major ways to make this happen. You watched my kid and gave him baths and fed us dinner so we could go to classes. You outfitted our nursery and wrote recommendation letters. You prayed and prayed and prayed. You listened to me go on about THE PROCESS for hours upon hours. You checked in, you asked, you cared.

I watched moms with little-littles and considered who I’d be better friends with when I added the same aged kids to our family, who we’d go on play dates with or invite over while our dude is at school. I scoped out the best baby play places and sorted about a dozen bins of 0-24-mo clothes. I stocked diapers and assembled cribs and even made my sad attempt at decorating. I researched pediatricians and MOPS groups. I peeked out the corner of my eye, not daring to actually SHOP, for baby/toddler Halloween costumes that could be made or bought in a pinch. I spent about a thousand hours talking to our little man about it and trying to prepare him as much as humanly possible.

I invested, and that hurts, and you invested, and that really hurts. We want you all in on it because that’s how we’re used to living our lives, but now I feel like I have to go and disappoint everyone.

I felt like that moreso the first few days before we talked things over with the agency and they decided to continue to consider us. I hope it’s not one of those things, like where you go on some kind of blind date and the guy’s like “You’re not really my type” and then you stick it out and kind of manage to convince them that you’re alright after all, but then you’re like “well maybe I don’t want a second date, because awkward, and also you kind of hurt my feelings, and also what were you so judgy about in the first place.”

I don’t want to be petty but I also don’t want the whole thing soured a bit with people who are in charge of placing kids in our home. They have been very gracious though and for reasons that are complicated* may have been doing the best they knew how. They have apologized where they were wrong and have extended grace and a continuation of dialogue. They have also been kind where we were wrong and reasonably understanding. Maybe we’ll come out of this with an even greater mutual respect than we would have otherwise. Who knows.

So it could be a couple months. Or it could be a lot more months than that.

I know of so many families who adopted (or attempted to adopt) internationally who met stuff like this all the time. Unexpected delays of weeks, months, years. I kind of thought we might be going the route that avoided that, to some extent. Maybe a delay on your FOREVER kid but a fairly straightforward road into the parenting scene. All anyone can talk about is the NEEEEEED. Oh, the neeeeeed. Kids spending the night in CPS offices and police stations. Group homes bursting at the seams. And here we are. An empty room, two empty beds.

It’s not my favorite. Most of the past couple of weeks I have felt hopeful and peaceful and sound about it, that I’m sure it’s for the best, in some way I can’t quite see. I still am sure it’s for the best. And as I likewise noted on facebook, there have been such moments of provision – a visit from GOOD good friends, a call from this or that person, a note from my grandmother, a visit home for mom’s birthday – that came at just the perfect times to keep us moving forward.

So that’s our situation. I asked you all not to ask and you were marvelous. I sincerely, genuinely hate doing that. But I could not have that conversation a hundred dozen times. It made me heart-full and heart-sick at the same time that it WOULD be dozens of times, that so many people care and ask and follow up. I love that normally. It’s the only way we can do this, normally. But you have all been wonderful in being there when I needed you and then allowing me to rudely shove you away for a minute. You were there and you were sweet but you respected what I asked. You are the best.

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*Ok, no they’re not: There’s one random individual who we’ve never met before or since sent to our door with a questionnaire and zero context and a job description of “Figure out what might be wrong with these people” who is tasked with presenting the entirety of our human lives to the people in charge of deciding future temporary and permanent members of our family. It’s like a game of telephone. This unmarried 22-yr-old judges our marriage and parenting style and mental health in a matter of minutes, sends her interpretation to a room full of other people who have met us two times for two minutes, who then interpret her interpretation… I suppose it should be a miracle that we haven’t run into this before. Everyone from private agencies, CASA, contract home study workers, CPS, ad litems, everyone has liked us just a whole awful lot. Maybe we got too cocky. People are doing the best they can with what they have. But it’s a sad substitute for actual relationships with people who know people.

Posted in Uncategorized

Of Peaches and Voldemort

I wrote this several months ago and forgot about it until I just found it. This was preceded by a litany of things I was irritated by, or genuinely pained by, at the time. I’ll spare you. Apparently the way that I take a whole bunch of whingeing and sort it and study it and reshape it and make sense of it, is to open up my laptop. (Important Editor’s Note: Haven’t seen an inside roach in months but Houston, your bug game is particularly fierce.)

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The truth is that everyone has stuff that they don’t like.

I’m reading James and the Giant Peach. Stories start out with boys whose parents die and who live with horrible aunts who beat them and stick them in rooms with spiders and no beds, and who get nothing good to eat and who have no friends in the world; they start that way because it’s the fairy tale version of the ick that everyone feels, and everyone does feel it. Some people have it worse than roaches and no friends within 300 miles and there are people who want children and have none, or who can’t adopt any, and we have one, and decent prospects for more. And we are 32, we are not like 60 or something that would be much more difficult. People have it worse than this. Materially we have 100% of absolutely everything we could possibly desire. That’s not even a Thing. And some people have it better. None of which means anything at all whatsoever.

I’d love to make something meaningful of all of it because that’s how art happens and that’s why people read these books.
I was thinking about why I like fiction and retreat into it so much. And part of it is that it takes that ick that’s sometimes indescribably complex (O Discordia), and it makes it into spiders and aunts and dead parents. These things are actually fairly straightforward. And then it takes evils and it makes them into monsters or Voldemorts or golden rings – fear or hatred or love of power, it makes them into a thing — a beatable thing. And then the person beats it. Duh.

But I was going to say, when I was spending 2 hours in the car with a toddler on a brutally hot July day on a tollway (TOLLWAY!) in outer Houston to get my fire extinguisher inspected, that I just bought and had inspected 6 months ago in another city and with another agency, so that I could then pay to get a permit so that I could schedule my home fire inspection… I was thinking about how the difference is that in those books and movies that I love, the difference is that they beat the thing, they win, they vaporize Voldemort or they take back the government or they bring down the Capitol or they drop the ring in the fire, and we simply never will. Never.

The montages are also different. I tried to think of this eternity-long drive to nowhere for a completely redundant and absurd reason as part of the montage. It’s not as sexy as a montage filled with sit-ups and sweat and muscles and running up steps, or as entertaining as a montage of wizard duels and DADA lessons in the Hog’s Head & the Room of Requirement, or it has less intense grimace-y Working-It-Out faces and more bored staring into the speedometer listening to pop music. Explaining things like Why It’s Raining, or alternately (for true variety): Why It’s Not Raining, 98,000x to my child.

But this is my montage. This is the part that’s the drudgery, that’s kind of boring but has to go into the narrative to show the cost, to make the victory worth it. Ok, sure, we will have a small victory. We’ll have a kid here, we’ll have smiles after weeks of no smiles, we might have hugs or trust. We might even have a day in front of a judge. Maybe we’ll play a part in building a human being’s character. A victory for him/her, a victory for us.

We won’t beat the evil though. The addictions, the abuses, the aggressions & hatreds & at the end of the day – the human beings stripped of their human-ness – that make this whole thing necessary. And after the day with the judge, we’ll have him/herself-doubt and myself-doubt, we’ll have behaviors we don’t know the root of, we’ll have questions that hurt my heart to answer, we’ll have displacement and anger and feelings of betrayal that we are responsible for and ones that we aren’t, ones we can do something about and ones we can’t. We’ll have victories but we will not win. This movie doesn’t end. And that’s okay.

Or… will we? Win, I mean?

I talked in a Sunday School class a while ago about Easter. It was before Easter, which is I guess usually the only time most people talk about Easter. It’s hard I think for some people to think of new things to say about Easter, but I have no problem with it these days.

Maybe that is the victory. There are people who think Easter is Cadbury eggs and new sundresses, and then there are people who know Easter is victory. It could not possibly be more important. It is what every story ever told is trying to imitate, trying to reach. That death has died, that justice has come, that redemption is ours.

Part of why I want to do this is because you can’t not. If we’re never going to win, at least we can say we’re never going to let THEM win either. You have to push back because the so-called evil isn’t going to quit.

But then also, a lot of the time, when it lets itself in, I know that I do it because of the fact that we’ve already won. A long, long time ago, and also right now, and also way off in the future. I don’t know exactly what it means to share that victory with my kid. I don’t always understand it myself – why we won and we’re going to win but we still have to fight and cry and screw up and learn and take beatings and (metaphorically) bloody our (metaphorical) knuckles (metaphorically) dishing some out too.

I am so scared that he won’t believe it, won’t accept it, and will let the crap win in his life just because he doesn’t understand that it already lost. It may have become the number one fear in my life, actually, these days – that my kid would not understand that his baggage has already been beaten. That the rest of the world wouldn’t understand, too… I’m sure this is true of every kid, but I know the legacy of the baggage in his bio-family tree, and I know how hard it is for someone to grow up in this world and figure out how to define themselves. I also know that that very fear IS the crap talking, and I can’t be afraid. We don’t have a spirit of fear but of love, and power, and a sound mind.

Maybe we’ll never win. We won’t see the end, see the credits roll. Tolkien’s “long defeat.”

Or maybe we already did.

Posted in Fostering

The Going & the Staying 

Tomorrow he leaves for preschool – two years ago tomorrow he came. 

Little man’s school starts tomorrow after being home all summer with me. This past few months is actually the first time he has NOT been in school at least a couple days a week. Early days I was still working (out-of-home), and then he just really liked the structure (so did I, let’s be real). It hasn’t taken long to get used to allllllll the together time and to be just a smidge bummed about the mornings alone at home, coming up. 

  

[the closest I could get to a “school orientation day” picture]

Two years. 

On Cary’s birthday in early August we reached the halfway point – half of his life without us, half of his life with us. Took a while to get there. I thought I’d post something then but nothing particularly came out. I thought of plenty to say to him. Not much for the rest of you. 

Sorry.

Boom boom boom, all just about a month from each other – the Halfway Point, the 2-Year-Anniversary, and dude’s 4th Birthday coming up in a few weeks. 

I could tell you again about how hilarious this child is. How impetuous. How lightning-quick and lightning-intense. How he actually seems to just burn brighter than other kids around him. For good and for…challenging. The child does nothing halfway. He has an intensity that never slows – which sometimes means punching other kids on the playground (or The Incident as it’s referred to at our new church), and sometimes means things like counting to 100 and sounding out words at 3, and doing most of a kindergarten workbook 2 years before kindergarten, and being the only kid in his class to come close to conquering EVERY single activity in gymnastics at the annual assessment thing even though he’s only been 5 weeks. (Seriously, his teacher was like “He did amazing. No, like, Amaaaaazing. No like I’m serious. I was showing him stuff we’ve never even gone over before and he’d just, like, DO it. No I mean it’s not NORMAL.” with some major Serious Eyebrows so I’d know she meant business. I played it cool. But I know he’ll be an Olympian if he wants to be.)

He is literally like no one else. He is infuriating and thrilling and fierce and brilliant. 

There is actually no other kid like him.

Except every other kid on this here little planet. 

But here is the thing about my boy, my forever boy, my threenager-man-baby, my battle-hardened warrior – he is KNOWN. 

I am not kidding you that I find him eleventy times more fascinating and exciting and valuable than any other kid in the entire world. He IS more fascinating and exciting than any other kid in the entire world. To me, and to his Daddy. Because that is every child’s right. Not a one is more valuable or important than another. But every single one deserves to be THE WORLD – to their parent(s). 

To be known. 

I have screwed up so much in two years I can’t even believe I have the audacity to do this again. Sometimes I wonder what the **** I’m even doing. I wish I could say, and that he would understand at his tender young age, that I am SORRY for all the things I have misunderstood, I am SORRY for the wrecked state he found me in, I am SORRY for all the things he’s lost, for all the fights he’s had to fight and the ones he didn’t have to fight and the fact that he was a baaaaaby (for crying out loud!) and he didn’t know how to tell the difference, so he spent so long fighting everything and everyone, bless his little heart. 

But I know my boy. He surprises and moves me daily, I’m not kidding. I get more punch-in-the-gut moments than I ever dreamed I would (the sweet-sad, metaphorical kind [although I get my share of the literal ones too….]) where the depths of his thoughtfulness or understanding or brilliance or sweetness or bravery just blindside me. I will never, ever know all there is to know about this boy, but I know him deeply and richly and truly, and I also love him with a COVENANT I made that means that I will never, ever, ever go anywhere. A sticking love, a staying love, a digging-in love, a not-leaving love. 

Every single child deserves that. Everything (everything) else is negotiable. 

Do you have any idea how many kids reach “adulthood” without that? I could give you a statistic but you wouldn’t care. ANY. Any kids is too many kids. The truth of it is – there are thousands of kids waiting for families, but there are literally more churches than waiting kids in TX. Entire churches. Outnumber these kids. And still thousands wait. Church, where are we? Come on. This is our job. Again, I could give you scriptures but you have heard them before. I’m not giving you quotes and numbers for you to skim over. Go look it up if you want. It’s in there dozens of times – care for orphans, a family for the family-less. 

Providing is great, feeding is generally a good idea, fun times are nice, but this is your call (should you choose to accept it) – to know these kids and to stay. You don’t have to be hilarious, you don’t have to be fabulously wealthy, or have 8 Pinterest boards of sensory-rich developmental activities. Know them. And keep your promises. 

Every individual one of them is truly, actually infinite in their humanity – humor, talent, sweetness, hurt, insight, compassion… Each is made in the image of an infinite God and nobody else carries the same piece that they do. That’s our call – it’s not paperwork and it’s not classes and it’s not logs and it’s not even sleep schedules and packing snacks and changing diapers – it is to KNOW these children who deserve to be known the way that only parents can. That’s how it was always intended. 

And for those of you who think our dude is lucky – I am telling you now that for me it is a PRIVILEGE. I cannot thank God enough that this child got the opportunity to be known by his own parents, and that we get to be the ones to do it.

Posted in Uncategorized

Residual

Third and fourth foster/adopt training classes today. 3 – Communication (with kids and with other workers), and then 4 – Grief and Loss.

Just a little snapshot for you:

We were in the Grief/Loss portion of the day, talking about Attachment. Our instructor for this whole 7-part series is actually fantastic. She is articulate and thorough, compelling and challenging. I truly believe that she would rather have someone leave the class (and her agency) than have someone licensed who is ill-equipped to care for “her” kids (she is a case worker as well). I like her a lot and also based on how much she talks about shopping at Target and being neurotic about eating timely meals, I think we could be great friends.

So, attachment. It’s a major word in foster-adopt world, if you didn’t know. People go to seminars and hundreds of hours of therapy and read books and obsess and cry and pray about The Almighty Attachment. We were discussing the different types of attachment from the good (“secure” or “earned secure” attachment) to the pretty bad (avoidant, hostile, etc). It essentially describes the relationship a child has to their caregiver or parent, and she was describing how studies show that kids show significant signs of mirroring their caregivers’ or parents’ attachment styles within 3 months of entering a new situation.

So this means that if a kid has never had a trusting, nurturing, “secure” attachment environment and instead avoids or conflicts with their caregiver all the time, and that is how they are accustomed to relating to their caregiver (and therefore the world), it is typically within 3 months of being in a nurturing safe trustworthy environment that they begin to “latch on” and respond in kind to the new parent or parent figure.

All good things. A bit oversimplified, in my mind, but she’s not saying all problems are gone, just that kids respond in a relatively short time and begin to mirror healthier ways to relate to people, so okay, I’m with you.

She described a study in which (older) babies were brought into a room by Mom, and then left there for about one minute with a different supervisor adult, and they studied how they responded to their mothers leaving them. They then had the mothers come back in but stop just inside the door, and see how the infant responded. The ones with “secure” attachment would of course cry when Mom left, not be particularly soothed by an unfamiliar supervising adult, and then when Mom came back in they would book it across the room and hold up both arms to be picked up. Our instructor described how the babies would be quickly pacified as soon as Mom was back, and would often lean back to look in her face, and reach around and hold onto Mom’s hair, or the back of her neck.

This brought back some pretty acute memories of our baby, and the ways he would respond to me, and filled me with that sort of sick-sweet achey-happy warm-memory feeling of how healthy he had been, how happy, how attached, how wonderful it was, but you know. No more. So I kind of said to Dane, “Ha, I think I might cry,” not really meaning it.

I raised my hand at one point.

“What about the other direction? So for instance, we had a baby from 3 months old until 13 months old, and he had all of these ‘Secure Attachment’ things, but then he went back into a more chaotic environment where he probably had inconsistent caregivers, less needs met, stuff like that.”

As far as I can tell so far, we are the only “experienced” (meaning having ANY experience at all) foster parents in the room, so I wanted her to tell all of these parents about how even if their little one goes back home, they have made a forever difference in that child’s ability to relate to the world and to connect to people. I thought I already knew the answer.

“Well, it really lasts about 3 months,” she said. “Children from secure attachment backgrounds also really shift into the other attachment types if they are put into that environment, after about 3 months.”

So I clarified. “So the secure attachment, it doesn’t, like… stick with them somehow?”

“No,” she said, “not really. They will begin to be defensive or avoidant or whatever they pick up from the situation they’re in.”

Now listen. I know this is entirely too simplistic. I believe that this instructor knows a lot of things I don’t and has been involved in cases I couldn’t dream of, but she has also never parented, foster or otherwise. I think some of these things are coming from a textbook for her. I knew that her word was not gold. But it stung.

She seemed to kind of catch herself; what she was saying, and to whom.

“I mean, um, I didn’t mean to like, that sounds so depressing…”

I just said “It’s fine, I shouldn’t have asked,” but my eyes were sort of welling up. “I thought you’d say it leaves a positive impact long-term,” [uncomfortable laugh], “but I just shouldn’t have asked.” I had this idea, I thought, about how that year we had with our baby made such a difference, but when I think about it, where’d I get that idea from? Wishful thinking?

So I sort of waved her off, like please move on, because I was kind of embarrassed, because you guys I am still so often caught off-guard by how potently certain random things can sting and hurt. It’s not in the rational part of my brain and I can’t talk myself out of it, like I typically have with everything else in my life. I just sort of scrambled to take my hair out of the ponytail and let it hang down, look down at my paper, act cool, pull myself together…

I could tell the instructor was still looking nervously over at me every so often. Not so much nervous as kind of guilty. I’m not sure what she thought I meant by my question, or what she thought the answer would mean… I gave her the context.

But it wouldn’t pull together. So I ducked out the back.

In the stall of the bathroom the tears just FELL. It was as much because of this clear-as-day memory of little one booking it across the floor to me when I walked in, and his fingers in the back of my hair — as it was about her just telling me it was basically for nothing. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was but I tried to just wait it out.

A minute or two later the door opened and I heard “Hey….?”

I said “Hey,” and kind of wiped my face and came out trying to smile it off.

This lady from our class who I’d never spoken to before, but who I recognized as someone who came up with great questions and had very challenging input, who is actually super gorgeous and sort of assertive and smart and I had already developed a tiny girl-crush on her, was standing out there, looking kind of nervous to be butting in.

“I didn’t want to make a whole thing and tell my life story to the whole class, but I just really want to tell you,” she said. She proceeded to tell me about how she grew up in the projects with a single mom who I think she said was an addict, and a ton of siblings, and she lived in the world of the chaos and the defensive and the fend-for-yourself. She never knew her dad, but her grandma on the dad’s side would keep her for a few days at a time, just when she was REALLY little. She said they moved away and she stopped going to her grandma’s house when she was 4 years old, but she remembered, still and always, how Grandma’s house had different rules. You spoke more softly. You treated people with respect. You knew you were going to be taken care of, and you didn’t have to fight for yourself. She had her hair washed and brushed out at Grandma’s, but usually not at home. She wore shoes at Grandma’s house, she went to church at Grandma’s house, she was listened to at Grandma’s house even without shouting.

She said every time she went back to “Mama’s,” you better believe the gloves came off again, the shoes came off, the shrieking and pushing and clamoring came back, because that’s what you had to do there. She said “I think she’s talking about behavior. My behavior went right back to chaos every time I went back to chaos, because it had to. But I never ever forgot that environment.”

She said even though she was too young to have clear memories of it, she always carried with her this idea that the mess she lived in was not the only way to live, that this wasn’t the only way to treat people. She said when she grew up she based her life around “I want to create a home that’s like Grandma’s, not like Mama’s.” She said she doesn’t do perfect, but that’s why she’s here, in this class, that’s why she wants to care for these kids, is because Grandma showed her a different way to live.

I don’t think he’ll remember us, not at all. I reconciled myself to that idea almost 2 years ago. But the familiarity with a different kind of family, a different kind of relating to people, the idea of a place that’s safe and sweet and nurturing, my new friend says — that can stick a lot longer anyway.

So yes, I did end up hugging a total stranger in the bathroom today. I’m not sure there are many people who could have given me THAT medicine at THAT time but she was just there, just then. And thank God for that.

Posted in Uncategorized

Breaking it in

I studied abroad in Spain for a semester in college.

I can remember reaching a point partway through the semester when I had made some Spanish friends and I remember thinking one time that I felt like I was around people a lot, and hanging out with people a lot, and having a lot of fun and traveling to other places and having a ton of invaluable experiences, but how I felt like there was kind of a wall I’d hit, because in Spanish I was basically kind of like an 8th-grader, language-wise.

Typically I am a very VERBAL person (no way hyuk hyuk) and I was kind of thinking how I could get to a certain point with certain friends, but then my humor just didn’t come across, or I wasn’t sure what my stilted language was doing to my personality, or I would be listening to some kind of political or artistic debate and I had so many VIEWS but I just didn’t quite have the language to bust in and share them, or I would just get frustrated at trying to get my point across with utmost clarity and just kind of quit on the conversation, and we all know that early-20-somethings are nothing if they can’t pontificate with vigor, persistence, and irritating frequency.* 

Anyway all that to say. People are so nice. We are finding more and more opportunities to hang out with folks. The sea of faces from the stage at church is slowly resolving into more and more recognizable ones, and even some with names! But it still kind of feels like that thing in Spain – like there’s a little bit of a wall. 

We have to go through the stuff, every time, the “How old are your kids,” “What do you do,” “How long have you lived here,” “Where is your family,” and we have to do that because it sketches the outline of the person that could some day be our Robin and Greg or our Jon and Denise, but I’m pretty eager to get to the part where — Ok so for example: We went to a wedding this weekend. Dane was a groomsman. It was for my cousin. Now, a lot of people in Dallas, if they said “Hey, what are you doing for the 4th,” and I said “I’m going to Walter’s wedding,” their eyes would well up with tears, and they might hug me. Because a ton of them spent years praying for my cousin, and others of them went to Honduras with him right after he successfully completed rehab and heard his story. Some of them remember when he painted the sets during a good spell while he was staying with my parents. These are the things. You skip to 15-feet deep without so much as a word. 

Good Lordy but I am impatient. 

As you all probably know, we are (still) [interminably] {like it’s our job} working through getting back on the list of waiting families for little foster kiddos. 

Here’s the God’s-honest. You don’t come here for rainbows and butterflies. To be honest, there are parts of me that are like “give me a baby to snuggle!”** but there are BIG parts of me that are just a teensy bit utterly and abjectly terrified at the prospect of that SHIFT. The shift is not easy. The shift from 3 to 4; the shift in sleeping schedules for pretty much everyone involved; the monumental, tectonic shift ONE of us has to deal with from Mom-and-Dad’s-Only to Not-Any-More; and of course the usually-underemphasized shift ONE (or two) of us has to deal with from The-Only-Place-I’ve-Ever-Known-with-my-Own-Actual-Family to Total-Strangers-in-Strange-Place-with-No-Warning-and-No-Comprehensible-Explanation. 

There are big ole parts of me that don’t want to MAKE new friends in a new place, and don’t want to BRING another kid in, but I want to HAVE DONE those things. I want to skip the itchy, grouchy, ill-fitting, unfamiliar, weird-smells, frustrated-plans, not-what-I-expected chapter. I want to jump past the part where your kid(s) is(are) miserable and you pretty much just don’t have an answer or a solution, and BE a family of 4, or 5, who have friends who show up at my house and get food out of my fridge without asking and holler at my kid if he’s asking for it.

This is expected. I knew we’d be fine, I knew people would be friendly, and I knew we’d have some time before depth happens because good things are earned and there’s no shortcut. I knew fostering and adopting would take longer than we wanted them to, and we’d feel like we were going in circles; I knew these things. But that’s kinda where we are at the moment.

There have been some great moments of just what we need when we need it – like this wedding yesterday, right when little man hit the pinnacle of “I want to see my FRIENNNNNNDS” and bam! Out of nowhere, a day and a half of cousins and all the family, all at once, in a place where we slept next door to each other and had nothing to do but hang out. 

Today we were going into church, and for once I wasn’t in the band, and on the way in I was talking about Sunday School, and he said “I wanna stay with you.” So we talked about how if he wants to stay with me, he has to be quiet in big church, and he can’t change his mind a bunch of times, and all his friends are in Sunday School and they’ll color and play on the playground and play with toys… but he wanted to stay with me. So since we had the luxury of that option this time, I took him into big church.

After one song, he was just so droopy with his head on my shoulder. He looked up at me and said “I don’t want to go to this church, I want to go to our OLD church with my FRIENDS.” I thought about it for a minute and finally I just told him, you know? It is crummy, and it is hard, and I am sorry. Daddy and I miss our friends at the other church too, and I know that it’s sad. But the truth is people here are just as awesome as people there, and all of us have to work pretty hard here at the beginning, and keep showing up even when we’re kind of tired and kind of sad missing people, because we have to try to get to know them as well as we knew the other people in Dallas. It’s hard for me and Daddy too but we have to work on it so we can get to where these people are just as awesome as the Dallas people because this is where we live now. 

He looked up and saw a friend, another dad, who is quite tall, who we ate lunch with last week, all the way across the room, and perked up visibly. “Hey, I know that guy!” So I said yes, you do, and you know X and Y and Z, who will be in your Sunday School class… and he chose to go to his class. This is the first time he went in without a big to-do since we moved here, and I didn’t feel like I was peeling him off and shoving him in to get on stage on time (which makes me feel like a MONSTER). 

So we will get there! Also, we are painting basically our entire house this week while my in-laws are in town, so we are quickly making this house OURS whether it likes it or not. 

That said – be ye Houston or Dallas – come visit! Come and populate our house. If you’re new (to us), come be awkward for a minute so we can clock those hours and get to the good stuff. If you’re old (to us) our guest room is now fully furnished and will be painted within the week. I got a chalk board for the door so I can personally welcome each of you. Eventually we’ll even have a table to eat dinner on. 

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*Another phenomenon I have witnessed every time I’ve been somewhere away from home for more than about two weeks: When you hit right around that 2-week mark, you start seeing dopplegangers of everyone from back home. This even happened in Romania. It was like everyone had turned into darker-complected, dark-haired, tall thin supermodel versions of themselves, but we all at the same time started to be like “she reminds me SO much of ______.” “He looks SO much like ______.” Has anyone else experienced this?

**Tbh I’m not a huge fan of the babies-only deal in theory, sometimes, because it’s not honestly where the need is, but every single errbody recommends keeping your oldest oldest, and knowing my kid which I flatter myself that I do, I do think that would be best, so we are looking at requesting placements that are a decent bit younger than he is, maybe 2 & under? Although the first time around we asked for 7 yrs & under sibling pair and got a single 3-month-old, and while they DO respect your wishes if you stick to them, the foster system enjoys having a big guffaw at people’s ideas of how things should go, so who knows.

Posted in Uncategorized