Praying in the meantime

Still no placement.

It's interesting to live in this uncertainty.  For the first few weeks I felt like I needed to put everything on hold, just in case.  I didn't want to make even a lunch committment.  But it got hard to do that as time continued to pass.  So now I'm making plans knowing that - and trying to be OK with the fact that - a call might mean changing them.  That's difficult for the planner in me, the part of me that wants to exercise control over "my" schedule.  I'm getting better at it, I guess.  Or at least some of the anxiety that I was struggling with early on has abated a bit.

I had something of a revelation yesterday.  I was praying about the waiting and decided I would be bold in what I asked, because as ready as I feel like I am to have a placement, it also scares me.  So my prayer went something like, Dear Lord, I'm almost afraid to ask, but please bring kids to live in my house soon.  And even as I was praying I had this realization that is so obvious it's ridiculous, but that really knocked me back.  When I pray for a placement, I'm praying for a child to be taken from his or her home.  I mean, duh, right?  But seriously?  So focused on myself that I would - without really thinking about it - pray that a child would be traumatized that way.  Ouch.

And it made me think of a conversation I'd had with a friend earlier in the week about foster care and adoption - that it's easy to get caught up in caring for the orphan, because in some ways that's the sexy part.  "Look, a baby!  Look, I'm taking care of a little one!"  But what are we (as individuals, as the Church) doing to prevent these kiddos from needing us at all?  Can't we care for them best by preventing children from being abused or neglected or abandoned in the first place?  It's not as fun, though, to deal with broken, sinful adults.  They don't need us in the same way that kids do.  They're not nearly as cute either. 

I don't know what that means for me in the long run.  But right now it means that I'm trying to change the way I pray.  I'm trying to remember to pray for the families where kids are at risk - to pray for peace in those households, to pray for support the parents need to keep them from striking out or giving up out of sheer exhaustion, to pray that the Holy Spirit would change hearts.  For myself, in the meantime, I want to pray for patience and for preparation for the time when what is best for a child is to be removed from his home; to pray that when God's best for a child coincides with His best for me, that I would trust in His strength and His faithfulness to get me through.

Love.

Waiting

Right now I'm in limbo.  I'm on the list, but I've had a couple of short trips for work, and I'm headed to Santa Fe for a few days next week.  When I talked to one of the case workers about being gone, she shared my concern that if I had kids placed with me, and then had to find a respite care for them so soon, it might not be the best situation.  So I suspect I've got a star by my name on the list.  :)  Which is totally fine with me.  I'm trying to use this time get on top of my preparation for classes, so that when I do have children placed in my home, I'll be a little more ready - I hope - to handle the transition.  Maybe?

I did get a call last week about providing some care during the day for a 10-month-old girl.  The couple she was being placed with was having a hard time finding childcare for her while they're at work, and they were hoping for me as a stop-gap measure.  The thing I love about my agency is that they are so up front - this little one cries all day long evidently, poor thing - and gracious - the case worker started with, "There's no pressure and you should not feel bad if you say 'no.'"  I did say "no."  I hated to do it, but I had my plan - get ready for the fall! - and felt like I needed to stick with it.  Plus.  Crying all day?  Yeesh.  Not sure I'm prepared for that.


On a slightly related note, it's been almost a month since E, J, and A left. I opened a drawer a couple of days ago in the dresser I used for the kiddos and found, like, three sets of pajamas that I'd put away and then never used for the boys. Oops!

Love.

I had a hard time sleeping last night.  I talked to a friend who does foster care, and she mentioned getting a call at 10pm about a child.  So I lay in bed - it was about 10 when I went to bed - panicking.  What do I do if I get a call at 10 at night?!  Or midnight?  Or 3 in the morning?  I'm not prepared for that.  I like to know what's going to happen; when it's going to happen.  And I kept thinking the phone would ring.

This morning in my reading of James, there were these verses, "Come now, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, and spend a year there and engage in business and make a profit.' Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away. Instead, you ought to say, 'If the Lord wills, we will live and also do this or that.'”

I was so struck by my "need" to know what's coming.  By my constant desire to be able to say, "Today or tomorrow..."  But that's not what God has ever called me to.  Always His call is "If the Lord wills...."

I want to hold on to that truth.  To be able to live in the now of whatever moment God has placed me in.  To remember that I have never known what my life will be like tomorrow, but that God does.  And to rest joyfully in that reality.

Love.

And... done.

For the moment, at least.

The kiddos went back to their foster family on Sunday afternoon around 3.  I have to admit that I'd wondered how they kids would react to leaving.  They'd seemed to adjust so well and were incredibly affectionate with me.  I kind of worried that they'd be all sad to leave and maybe not even recognize the foster parents (I know, I know).  I had to laugh at myself because when the foster parents arrived, the kids were very glad to see them and E, the oldest, when almost immediately to their room and got their bags.  Well, alrighty then. 

It took a little while to get the car seats switched from my car to the foster family's truck, so we hung out in the front yard, and I gave the kids hugs and told them goodbye, and they clambered into the truck.  Then as J was getting strapped in he started to cry.  Just looked at me and cried and cried.  Oh.  It made me tear up.  (And feel a little better. Yes, I'm ashamed to admit it, but there it is.) 

It's so hard to believe that I may never see these guys again.  I think I may be in denial or something.  Shouldn't that make me cry and cry?  It makes me a little teary, but that's about it.  Am I too hard-hearted to feel anything?  Am I being protective of myself?  Is it just normal because I only had them 10 days?  I don't know.  It's weird.  The whole thing feels weird right now.

Having said that, though, I'm in for more kids.  The agency called me last week to ask about my taking on two little boys - 1 and 2 - and I had to say "no."  I told them that I was probably going to need some time to catch my breath after the first three left, and that I thought I was more interested in older kiddos.  There's somthing to be said for children who can actually communicate with you.  The agency people I talked with were completely understanding on both things.  I'm so glad.

Lessons learned over the whole week and a half:

1.  Still think three is too many.
2.  Still not interested in diapers again.
3.  It gets better.  It was really nice to feel like I could see progress with the kids over the course of the week.  In those first few days I didn't know there would be.
4.  The end of the day is hard.  I felt like I managed my emotions pretty well during the day as a whole.  But by bathtime I was done emotionally.  Which I couldn't really be.  I was startled/humbled by the frustration/anger I sometimes felt just trying to get the boys bathed.
5.  It really does take a village.  :)  I was awed by the time/toys/meals/chairs/bed/diapers people shared with us.  THANK YOU!!
6.  I'm up for trying it again.

Love.  

Day 5 1/2

What a difference a few days make. Not in terms of my exhaustion level, mind you, but at least in terms of feeling some degree of control over the little munchkins running around the house. It's a small degree, I'll grant you, but it's enough to keep me from calling the whole thing off.

I did make it to church on Sunday, which was an incredible gift. I didn't cry at all. At least not until I walked in the door at home and got a call from P&S asking when we could come over and what they could do to help. Then I started crying to the point that I couldn't finish the conversation. What in the world?! Anyway, sweet S arrived about 10 minutes later and helped me get everyone (including me, though I didn't sleep) down for a nap. After the kids woke up, we went an hung out with the PSWJ gang and had a great time. Although I did cry again as we were leaving.

The good news is that I seemed to have expended all my weeping the first couple of days. With a LOT of help from friends and family, I've managed to negotiate the last few days without any tears. Well, in all fairness, I should say no tears on my part.

The boys are still getting up at a painfully early hour, but after chatting with a friend at church, I've been putting them back in bed and telling them they needed to stay there until it was daylight. J, the younger boy, goes back to sleep. E, on the other hand.... I really just think he's awake and not able to sleep any more. But I'm still trying to get him to stay down until I can see some glimmer of light in the windows. It's the principle of the thing at this point. And for the last two mornings we've stayed in bed until after 6. This morning A slept until after 7. Heaven.

Bed time has improved drastically, too. After a particularly disturbing round of J shrieking at the top of his lungs and hurling himself from one end of the bed to the other (and off a couple of times), I took him into my room to try to avoid waking the baby (astonishingly she slept through the initial meltdown). I put him on my bed and told him sternly he needed to settle down. He lay on his back and glared at me for about 20 seconds. Then he rolled over, crawled under the covers and fell asleep. Uh. OK. When I came out of my room, my roommate said in a whisper, "I can't even hear him!" And I said, "That's because he's asleep." C: "How did that happen?!" Me: "I have no idea!" He starts out the night in my bed now. If he were staying longer, I'd try to figure out a way to avoid that. In this situation, though, I'm calling it good.

On Friday, the kids are headed to San Antonio for a parent visit. I am not going to be the one driving them. I feel bad about that, but the thought of driving to an office I'm unfamiliar with in a city I don't know with three little ones (and only two hands) filled me with dread. The sweet case worker is taking on that task. I will spend the time they are gone sleeping or going to the grocery store or reading at Starbucks. Or possible just sitting on the couch staring into middle distance. If you're in a praying state of mind, please pray for the kids' visit with their mom - both for them and for her - and for the aftermath of the visit. My understanding is that it can be very hard for the children.

Thank you all so much for your prayers. They've made the world of difference.

Love.

Day 1 1/2

It's the end of the first full day. Which started at around 5am. At least that's when I finally realized that trying to get the older boy, E, back to sleep was a non-starter. I'd gotten up around 4:30 and gone out to check on the kids (I'd woken up around 4) and E was standing out in the hall. Just standing there, poor thing. I asked him if he needed to go potty, he said yes, we did that and I got him back in bed. A little while later I heard some noises, went to check and he's sitting on the floor in his room with a toy. I put him back in bed. A little while later, more noise. I got up and this time it was him and his younger brother, J, sitting on the floor with toys. I gave up. In the hopes of keeping the 18 month old asleep, we went out into the living room and played cars. The baby, A, slept until 6.

Woo?

It's now 8:05pm. I'm sitting in my comfy chair in the corner of my room, drinking a glass of wine and eating cold pasta while Daisy chases her food-dispensing toy around the room. I'm just going tozzzzzzzzzzz.

Oh, sorry. Wow, am I tired. It has been a loooooong day. And even now, one of the kiddos started crying in his sleep and needed to be walked around for a little while.

So. Here's what I've learned so far:

1. Three is too many for this single girl. Steinle, I will say it with my outside voice, "You were right."
2. No more diapers.
3. I didn't really know the meaning of the word "overwhelmed" until this morning. I seriously started crying everytime I thought about the rest of the day and week, That coupled with the amazing support I've had from my family and friends and even strangers from church meant that I sat on the floor and wiped my eyes while I identified the color of every block in an enormous bucket of blocks multiple times. I'm doing it again right now. Welcome to crazy-town!

The thing is, they're really sweet kids. It isn't like it's been horrible. AT ALL. I mean, they're kids, and all they're being is who they are - loving, demanding, energetic, contrary, hilarious, stubborn. But it's a lot, I'll admit.

I'm going to try to make it to church tomorrow. It's been weeks, what with being out of town, and I miss it. And I think I need it.  I'll probably sit in the back, lest I spend the whole hour weeping. :)

Love.

The next step

So, the adventure begins on Friday.

I haven't been licensed yet, but I've been asked to do respite care for three little ones for 10 days.  There is a four-year-old boy, an almost three-year-old boy, and an 18 month old girl.  Good heavens.  What was I thinking when I agreed to this?

Mostly, I guess I was thinking that I've got to start some place.  And that "hard" is probably going to be the word of the hour - possibly every hour - of being a foster parent, so the fact that three kiddos will be hard isn't necessarily a reason not to help out.  And that God had His reasons for having me be the person called for this particular set of kids. 

As nervous as I am, I also know that God has been preparing the way.  I have had so many offers of help - time, food, etc.  I feel amazingly cared for.

But I'm still nervous.

Love. 

New starts

Since I last wrote, the house has been completed and I've moved back in. I love it. The whole process, once we got started, was surprisingly trauma-free. There were no major problems discovered as the sheetrock and the walls came down, and so far, the only home-warranty-worthy glitch since moving in has been a doorknob that fell off in my hand when I tried to turn it. And that was fixed within a couple of days.

I have to admit that I imagined this letter-writing experiment to be kicked off with a bang because of all the hilarious hijinx that would ensue during the remodel. Not so much. Facebook actually ended up being the most convenient place to post pictures and pithy observations. Which, really, is good. But it does mean that it's been almost a year since I've written.

 

 

I've been thinking about this letter-writing exercise, though, the last few weeks as I'm embarking on the next adventure. I think it might be a great way to process through what's happening as I'm wandering along the foster care experience.  We'll see.

Love.