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
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Thursday, August 6, 2015
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.
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.
Monday, July 13, 2015
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Ready or not....here we go!
So we've had this dream. A dream that was only discussed on long road trips or occasional date nights. We didn't tell anyone our dream for fear that if too many people knew, it would force us to do something to make it become a reality. And that would be impossible. There were too many risks, too many unknowns. We were too fearful, too inexperienced and too busy to try and make our dream come to life. So many toos. The dream stayed hidden in our hearts for a couple of years. Kept tucked away so that failure would never happen because we would never even try.
However, this dream nagged and nagged. It kept us awake at night, dominated our conversations and tugged at our hearts. Something had to be done.
When a child is taken into custody with Child Protective Services, the intent for that child is to transition immediately into a foster home. However, there are far too many children needing homes and not nearly enough foster homes to take them. The result is children and infants sitting in office buildings for days and sometimes weeks while they are waiting. Scared and confused children removed from their home only to be taken to an office building for sometimes days on end. Separated from their friends and school, family, and everything that they know as normal. Birthdays are missed, holidays are passed over, and everything the child knew is gone.
This reality is sickening. We as a society have failed them. In an effort to keep the children protected and safe, we have made them feel isolated and unwanted. The worst part of all this is the infants. Some of them born just days prior only to go straight to an office building. Infants that deserved to be rocked, held and loved on, not sitting in carseats waiting to be "placed".
We dreamed of one day owning a house (separate from our own), staffing it, and filling it with infants waiting to be placed. No more office buildings, no more sitting in carseats. These babies could be loved and cared for in a home while they are awaiting their future foster family. An emergency shelter house for infants. A temporary safe house.
We started small. We shared our dream with our foster care agency. They were completely supportive and willing to help. We made a few phone calls to the people in charge and had a few encouraging meetings. The need was there, we just had to figure out a way to make it happen. We started small, one baby at a time in our house. The babies have come fast and left even quicker. We have loved every second of doing emergency shelter. It has confirmed our dream and made us think that this could actually become a reality someday. We've had more meetings and made more phone calls. Small, tiny steps towards a huge, scary dream. Our hope is to have our non profit status soon and for fundraising to begin shortly after. We are scared. The fear of failure is real and almost paralyzing at times. We realize that this could take years to happen. But we move forward. Step by itty bitty step. Our dream is no longer a secret. As scary as it is to share it publicly, we know that we can one day look back and say we tried.
Stayed tuned for fundraising opportunities and ways that YOU can help a foster child!
However, this dream nagged and nagged. It kept us awake at night, dominated our conversations and tugged at our hearts. Something had to be done.
When a child is taken into custody with Child Protective Services, the intent for that child is to transition immediately into a foster home. However, there are far too many children needing homes and not nearly enough foster homes to take them. The result is children and infants sitting in office buildings for days and sometimes weeks while they are waiting. Scared and confused children removed from their home only to be taken to an office building for sometimes days on end. Separated from their friends and school, family, and everything that they know as normal. Birthdays are missed, holidays are passed over, and everything the child knew is gone.
This reality is sickening. We as a society have failed them. In an effort to keep the children protected and safe, we have made them feel isolated and unwanted. The worst part of all this is the infants. Some of them born just days prior only to go straight to an office building. Infants that deserved to be rocked, held and loved on, not sitting in carseats waiting to be "placed".
We dreamed of one day owning a house (separate from our own), staffing it, and filling it with infants waiting to be placed. No more office buildings, no more sitting in carseats. These babies could be loved and cared for in a home while they are awaiting their future foster family. An emergency shelter house for infants. A temporary safe house.
We started small. We shared our dream with our foster care agency. They were completely supportive and willing to help. We made a few phone calls to the people in charge and had a few encouraging meetings. The need was there, we just had to figure out a way to make it happen. We started small, one baby at a time in our house. The babies have come fast and left even quicker. We have loved every second of doing emergency shelter. It has confirmed our dream and made us think that this could actually become a reality someday. We've had more meetings and made more phone calls. Small, tiny steps towards a huge, scary dream. Our hope is to have our non profit status soon and for fundraising to begin shortly after. We are scared. The fear of failure is real and almost paralyzing at times. We realize that this could take years to happen. But we move forward. Step by itty bitty step. Our dream is no longer a secret. As scary as it is to share it publicly, we know that we can one day look back and say we tried.
Stayed tuned for fundraising opportunities and ways that YOU can help a foster child!
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
I'm wrecking my kids. And I couldn't be happier
A common fear among foster parents and soon to be foster parents is how the decision will affect their children. They worry about the damage that could be done. How possible bad behaviors of the incoming children will or could affect the current children in the home. After giving birth to two children and while we were waiting for our first fost/adopt placement, my mind often wandered to that place. What if my kids resent me for bringing in other children? What if they are emotionally scarred for life from the loss of foster children? Will they be in therapy some day recounting the days of their youth when their parents took in children? These questions would keep me awake at night and caused anxiety in my mind.
Two amazing adoptions and countless foster children later, I can officially say I've wrecked my kids. There is no doubt in my mind that they will never be the same. If I'm completely honest, it thrills me to say that. Our decision to do foster care has completely changed our family. It's shifted our priorities and changed our goals. Our children have become experts in foster care and can often be heard talking about court hearings, visitations and social workers as if its no big deal. They even educate their friends on foster care.
That is not the reason why I'm thrilled. I've noticed a shift in their hearts. They are aware of the need for babies to have safe, loving homes. They have witnessed and experienced diversity and families of all shapes and sizes, that it no longer fazes them when we see a family that isn't "typical". They have a "what can we do to help" attitude. The sad stories of abused children are no longer just something they hear about and feel sorry for, they have faces and names and at times, live in our home.
We recently had a family meeting, and I saw firsthand how greatly we have wrecked our children. We have had a shelter baby in our home for the last 2 months. Much longer than we keep our shelter babies. We have become very protective of her and have fallen head over heels in love with her. She has a horribly sad story of abuse, and a complicated case that will keep her in foster care for a very long time. The worker has informed us that she needs to be in a long term foster care home that would also be open to adopting her. She told us that she would like the baby to stay in our house, but that we would need to decide if we wanted to assume the risk of having her for a long time with the possibility of not getting to adopt her at the end. After much dialogue and prayer, we decided to let our children make the call. After all, it affects them the most. They needed to be aware of the risk and possible outcome of the decision.
We told them what was going on, and our oldest asked a question,
"So if we keep her in our home, we could love her and still risk losing her?"
"Yes, hon, we are taking a risk by keeping her in our house"
My third son, chimed in:
"Like you took a risk on me??"
Through a choked up voice, I croaked, "sweetie, you were the best risk we've ever taken"
My second son said, "and like we took a risk with Sissy?"
"Yep, we also took a risk like Sissy, but this might not end like hers did. We could keep the baby for a very long time and maybe lose..."
I didn't even get to finish my sentence before I was cut off by 3 little boys chattering all at once.
"Of course we'll keep her, she needs a home!"
"She needs a family and we have one for her!"
"Why wouldn't we keep her??"
They then proceeded to burst into a chant, "Worth the risk! Worth the risk! Worth the risk!"
It was at that moment I realized that at their young age, they have grasped the very concept that I had struggled with for nearly all my life. They understood the call to action and were willing to put another person's needs above their own even though it meant possible heartache for them at the end. They weren't paralyzed by their fear. They only thought of the little life that needed love and a home.
So yes, I've wrecked my children. I have wrecked their hearts for the orphan. They will probably still be in therapy when they are older. But most likely, the therapy will be because of their crazy mother, not because they grew up in a family that loved orphans.
Two amazing adoptions and countless foster children later, I can officially say I've wrecked my kids. There is no doubt in my mind that they will never be the same. If I'm completely honest, it thrills me to say that. Our decision to do foster care has completely changed our family. It's shifted our priorities and changed our goals. Our children have become experts in foster care and can often be heard talking about court hearings, visitations and social workers as if its no big deal. They even educate their friends on foster care.
That is not the reason why I'm thrilled. I've noticed a shift in their hearts. They are aware of the need for babies to have safe, loving homes. They have witnessed and experienced diversity and families of all shapes and sizes, that it no longer fazes them when we see a family that isn't "typical". They have a "what can we do to help" attitude. The sad stories of abused children are no longer just something they hear about and feel sorry for, they have faces and names and at times, live in our home.
We recently had a family meeting, and I saw firsthand how greatly we have wrecked our children. We have had a shelter baby in our home for the last 2 months. Much longer than we keep our shelter babies. We have become very protective of her and have fallen head over heels in love with her. She has a horribly sad story of abuse, and a complicated case that will keep her in foster care for a very long time. The worker has informed us that she needs to be in a long term foster care home that would also be open to adopting her. She told us that she would like the baby to stay in our house, but that we would need to decide if we wanted to assume the risk of having her for a long time with the possibility of not getting to adopt her at the end. After much dialogue and prayer, we decided to let our children make the call. After all, it affects them the most. They needed to be aware of the risk and possible outcome of the decision.
We told them what was going on, and our oldest asked a question,
"So if we keep her in our home, we could love her and still risk losing her?"
"Yes, hon, we are taking a risk by keeping her in our house"
My third son, chimed in:
"Like you took a risk on me??"
Through a choked up voice, I croaked, "sweetie, you were the best risk we've ever taken"
My second son said, "and like we took a risk with Sissy?"
"Yep, we also took a risk like Sissy, but this might not end like hers did. We could keep the baby for a very long time and maybe lose..."
I didn't even get to finish my sentence before I was cut off by 3 little boys chattering all at once.
"Of course we'll keep her, she needs a home!"
"She needs a family and we have one for her!"
"Why wouldn't we keep her??"
They then proceeded to burst into a chant, "Worth the risk! Worth the risk! Worth the risk!"
It was at that moment I realized that at their young age, they have grasped the very concept that I had struggled with for nearly all my life. They understood the call to action and were willing to put another person's needs above their own even though it meant possible heartache for them at the end. They weren't paralyzed by their fear. They only thought of the little life that needed love and a home.
So yes, I've wrecked my children. I have wrecked their hearts for the orphan. They will probably still be in therapy when they are older. But most likely, the therapy will be because of their crazy mother, not because they grew up in a family that loved orphans.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
I Could Never...
When people find out I am a foster parent, the number one response I get is, "I could never do that. I would love them too much and I would die if they were taken from me. How can you possibly do that?"
To be honest, I feel the exact same way. Every time a baby enters our home, we fall in love and attach as if the child were our own flesh and blood. No matter how long they stay, they are part of our family. They deserve that. They deserve someone to love them and cherish them. They deserve someone to attach to them and bond with them instead of merely a babysitter, someone watching them and just passing time until they leave. When each baby leaves, the grief is real. It's real, and it's deep and it hurts. In foster care, sometimes the baby leaving is not in the best interest of the child. Many times, children are returned to the birth parents, only to be abused and removed again. Other times, the child being returned home is the very best thing-a family is reunited and can start the healing process. In either circumstance, there is grief and a loss.
Foster parents are not some robots lacking emotion, able to detach and simply care for a child without feeling bonded to them. They just choose to not let the fear of loss paralyze the call to action. I look at our sweet adopted children and I can't help but be overcome with emotion. What if I had said no? What if my fear of loss was so great, that I never took the risk? I can't even imagine our life without them. Even more so, I can't let my brain wander to where they would be if they hadn't been adopted. Even for our shelter babies that do not stay, we go through the loss with each one.
I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be a foster parent. Adoptive parent, yes, but foster parent? No way, too much risk. But now as I reflect over the past 7 years of foster care and adoption, I can see the beautiful story that has been woven into our hearts. The sweet babies that have forever been etched into our memories. The ones that have stayed, the ones that left. I know for a fact that though the risk is great, the blessing is even greater. My life has forever been changed by each sweet babe that has entered our home. In the words of a friend, "If it's a day or forever, I'll love you just the same".
To be honest, I feel the exact same way. Every time a baby enters our home, we fall in love and attach as if the child were our own flesh and blood. No matter how long they stay, they are part of our family. They deserve that. They deserve someone to love them and cherish them. They deserve someone to attach to them and bond with them instead of merely a babysitter, someone watching them and just passing time until they leave. When each baby leaves, the grief is real. It's real, and it's deep and it hurts. In foster care, sometimes the baby leaving is not in the best interest of the child. Many times, children are returned to the birth parents, only to be abused and removed again. Other times, the child being returned home is the very best thing-a family is reunited and can start the healing process. In either circumstance, there is grief and a loss.
Foster parents are not some robots lacking emotion, able to detach and simply care for a child without feeling bonded to them. They just choose to not let the fear of loss paralyze the call to action. I look at our sweet adopted children and I can't help but be overcome with emotion. What if I had said no? What if my fear of loss was so great, that I never took the risk? I can't even imagine our life without them. Even more so, I can't let my brain wander to where they would be if they hadn't been adopted. Even for our shelter babies that do not stay, we go through the loss with each one.
I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be a foster parent. Adoptive parent, yes, but foster parent? No way, too much risk. But now as I reflect over the past 7 years of foster care and adoption, I can see the beautiful story that has been woven into our hearts. The sweet babies that have forever been etched into our memories. The ones that have stayed, the ones that left. I know for a fact that though the risk is great, the blessing is even greater. My life has forever been changed by each sweet babe that has entered our home. In the words of a friend, "If it's a day or forever, I'll love you just the same".
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