A Word from the Bios

Our biological children are 6 and 8.  They were 2 and 4 when we got our first placement (who we would later go on to adopt).  I would be lying if I said I was never worried about how our decision to do foster care or adopt would affect them.  While we were in the process of getting licensed, I would have these panicked moments where I would envision them in therapy someday lamenting about how their parents took in children and it destroyed their life.  I could picture them saying that they never bonded with the adopted or foster children, and how they wished they were never part of our family.

 

And boy how I was wrong.  There is a brotherly/sisterly bond like no other.  They defend one another, love on one another, and pick on each other as if they were all from the same womb.  They have loved and lost, and have come out standing.  They have joined us in prayer for our foster babies, pleading with the Lord to keep them safe or asking for favor from the various judges.  They have raised their hands at their brother's and sister's adoption hearing and taken an oath to love their new sibling as a forever member of the family.

It hasn't always been roses.  There has been jealousy, fighting, and harsh words spoken.  In the beginning, there were  moments from my oldest where he has shared his frustration about how difficult it was to love a foster sibling when there didn't seem to be any love given in return.

I thought I would interview each of my biological children to see what they really thought of our foster care and adoption experience.

Me- "Do you boys know what it means to be a foster parent?"
Jack-"It means that we take care of babies that have parents that can't take care of them"
Ty-"It means that we get babies and sometimes we get to adopt them"

Me- "What is your favorite part about adopting some of your siblings?"
Jack-"That they will never leave our house"
Ty-"When they give us a teddy bear at the adoption"

Me-"What is the hardest part about foster care?"
Jack-"Sometimes the babies cry a lot"
Ty- "When the babies leave"

Me- "What do you wish you could change about our family and how we take in babies?"
Jack;" I wish that some of the babies wouldn't have to leave and I wish we would adopt a couple more"
Ty- "I wish you would let us get 1,000 more babies but you always say no"

Me-" What are you most excited for about us opening the shelter?"
Jack-"We could work there and help the house"
Ty- "I could put all the babies in their jammies and lay with them on the floor"

So while the years of adoption and foster care haven't always been flawless, I'd say we didn't damage our kids in the way we had feared.  I'm sure they will be in therapy someday for something else from their childhood, but I don't think it will be from us adopting and stepping in to fill the gap with foster care.

An open letter to the Donut Store Lady

Dear Donut Store Lady,
I love your donuts.  They are as close to perfect as can be.  Your fast service, crushed ice, and vintage video game machines are the reason we come back week after week.  It's because of you that we have deemed Friday, "Friday Funday" in our house.  We drive to your store, get our donuts, spend three quarters on games and head off to school.  You even know our order! We don't have to even tell you anymore!  You just start naming off our donuts!  You were the first to notice when I had quit Diet Coke.  Although I miss your crunched ice in my extra large Diet Coke, your Iced Tea has suited me just fine.
I'm almost hesitant to share with you about our experience.  I'm hoping it was innocent and you never meant to make any of us uncomfortable.  I'm hoping that you just had curious questions about our family and never meant to bring up any pain.
When you asked me which of my children were real, I wasn't caught off guard.  In fact, I get it quite often. People frequently have questions about the makeup of our family but aren't sure how to phrase it.  When I clarified to you that you might be asking which one of children are biological, you didn't hesitate to reiterate that you wanted to know which of my children were MINE.  After I explained to you that all of my children are mine, but some of them are biological and some of them are adopted, you began to point at each of my children and tried to guess on your own which were which.  This is when I shut down.
You see, adoption is beautiful.  In fact we celebrate it in our family.  It is no secret to my children that some of them are adopted.  We even have the most amazing relationship with our son's biological family.  However, with adoption comes pain.  Especially how the adoption of my children came about.  It was through heartache, abuse and neglect, that I met some of my children.  And while innocent questions that have no underlying meaning can seem harmless, they can actually be quite painful for my children.  It is their story.  They can choose when they want to share it and how much they want to share.  They might be smiling on the outside as you pry and prod, but inside it might be a trigger to something painful for them.  Especially for my son.  He is at the age where he just wants to belong and fit in.  He's not as quick to shout, "I grew in my mommy's heart, not her tummy!" like he would when we was four.
While I appreciate that you had the courage to ask about our family dynamic instead of making assumptions, I only ask that you would consider the little ones that stand before you as you ask your questions.
For the record, we still love your donut store.  We will continue to frequent it every Friday (and sometimes more).  We just hope that your curiosity would be shared in a way that was a little more sensitive to my five little donut lovers (and their mom).

Sincerely,
Michelle  

A Devastating Diagnosis

We've had our foster daughter for a year.  From the first day we met her, we've been in love.  She is the sweetest baby with the most easy going personality.  At her first doctor's appointment, something was noticed.  A very scary diagnosis was mentioned.  Other appointments were made.  Specialists were contacted.  We held our breath.

As she grew older, and we fell deeper in love with her (if that was even possible), we started to notice the diagnosis everyone had been talking about.  Therapy was ordered.  Time passed.  Our fears for her development and her future started to weigh heavy on our hearts.

After 7 months of waiting to see a specialist, the day finally came. We were told we were seeing the best of the best.  This doctor is well known in the field.  An expert.  We knew that she would have answers for us as well as a clear gauge on how the future  would look for our little one.  They were right.  She is an expert.  Compassionate and understanding.  Knowledgeable and kind.

Her words shattered us.  Severe Brain Damage.  The diagnosis was the same it had always been, but those three little words made her future seem so much darker.  We absorbed everything she was saying, committing it to memory.  The following morning, the doctor called my cell phone to connect.  She explained that she was writing her report for the baby's court hearing and was including in the report that the best interest of the baby would be to stay in our home where she was loved and is thriving.  She went on further to say that after hearing the news the day prior, she wanted to make sure that we hadn't "changed our minds about her permanency based on the prognosis given". I explained that we still desired to keep her and hopefully adopt her, but we were devastated over the news.  I thanked the doctor for her time, hung up the phone and wept.  I wept for her future, I wept for the challenges that she will have to overcome and the struggles she will have to face.  I know that the Lord has mighty plans for her and will use her sweet little life to do incredible things for Him, but I still worry.  My flesh takes over, and I am filled with anxiety, anger and sadness for her.  My flesh wants to curl up in a ball and live in my very own pity party.

As tempting as that is, it's not an option.  I have 5 little ones that need my attention and presence.  I need to practice what I am always saying to my children, "we can't chose our circumstances, but we can chose how we react". I can't do anything about her brain damage.  I can't change her past.  I can't undo the hurt done to her.  But I CAN do lots of things.  I can rejoice at the milestones she is hitting.  I can enjoy her sweet little personality.  I can research my heart out to try to learn more about her syndrome.  I can set an example to my children that even though life is unfair, we make the best of it.  I am determined to turn this devastating diagnosis into a story of hope.

While I'm Waiting

Foster care sometimes feels like endless waiting.  Waiting for a call back from the Social Worker.  Waiting for the next court hearing.  Waiting for birth parent's confirmation on a visitation.  Waiting, waiting, waiting.  The child's case seems to move at a snail's pace with little sense of urgency.  These children wait many months and sometimes years to have  permanency in their lives.  It seems as though the waiting will never end.

For me, waiting comes with anxiety and anxiety comes with sleepless nights.  After years of tossing and turning and trying to settle my mind enough to sleep, I have finally found something productive to do during the waiting.  Prayer.  While I wait, I pray.  I pray for the social worker. I prayer for the judge.  I pray for the safety of my foster child.  I even pray for my foster baby's parents.  Yep, that's right.  I pray for them.  Everything inside of me is screaming to pray that they would lose rights to their child or that they would disappear. I so desperately want to manipulate my prayer to satisfy my own desires for my foster child.  Sometimes all I can muster is, " Lord keep my baby safe."  And then I wait some more. Prayer has helped to quiet my mind and calm my heart.  If the years of sleepless nights have done nothing but nudge me to spend more time in prayer, well then I'd say it's been worth it.

Fear

 This past weekend we launched our nonprofit. Surrounded by close friends and family, we shared our hearts and  vision for the shelter.  We've been taking some pretty big steps towards opening its doors for the past six months however this past weekend has made it frighteningly real. While we are so excited to make this dream a reality, the fear is almost crippling at times. What if we don't raise enough money? What if we don't find a house to hold the babies? What if the state of California doesn't approve of our group home?  So many what if's.

This process is reminding me a lot of our foster care journey. Compelled to help, yet almost paralyzed with fear.   We have had our foster daughter for almost a year now and if I let my mind wander to the unknown about her future, I am almost crippled with fear.   So instead of letting the fear take over, I just keep on loving her and taking small baby steps to fight for her and keep her safe. It's the same with the shelter,  instead of focusing on all that could go wrong with it, we are taking small baby steps towards opening the doors.   Every time my brain wants to wander into the fear of the unknown, instead I will think of the sweet babies sitting in their car seats in office buildings all over LA County just waiting to find a foster home.   They deserve to be loved and held during those scary moments.  If I just curl up in a ball on the floor,  not helping for fear of failure, I am doing a great injustice to those little babies.  The same goes for my foster daughter. I will fight for her until there is no fight left. My fear for her will not overshadow my fight for her.

 So yes, we are shaking in our boots. That's not going to stop us. As long as our feet keep moving towards our goal, the fear can nag at us all it wants.