Sour Cream

06/13/2013

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I might be tucking this condiment-loving boy in bed tonight for the last time. In other words, there is a hearing scheduled for tomorrow that could change who he’s living with from now on. I started to type “there is a hearing tomorrow” and changed it to scheduled for because it sounds fairly likely that it will get rescheduled, although his guardian ad litem (court-appointed attorney) confirmed that it’s scheduled. Don’t get me started on that… 

His mom is so hopeful. I’m trying not to get my hopes up either way. I can honestly say that I would be happy and relieved if Buzz gets to return home to his mom tomorrow. A part of it is selfish—we could go back to our old comfortable “normal” lives again—but the main reason is because I know how happy it would make Buzz and his mom. They love and miss each other desperately. Based on what I know and have experienced (admittedly limited), I am fully in favor of reunification. I would also be sad and miss him—I’m not mentally ready to go there yet.

Because foster care can be extremely unpredictable and anything run by the government can be horribly inefficient, I’m doing my best to stay in the now. I’m planning and proceeding as though he’ll be continuing to live with us beyond tomorrow. I will do my best to love him, meet his needs and make his stay with us fun and memorable. I’m writing all of this to solicit your prayers:

• for the hearing tomorrow, if it happens, that actions are taken that are indeed in Buzz’s best interest

• for peace for his mom’s heart if it doesn’t happen or if it doesn’t go as she’s hoping

• for Buzz’s heart and mind to sort out all of these complicated feelings and to make sense of it as best as he can; that he would feel safe and loved and secure whether he’s with us or his mom

Note: The picture above is from our absolute favorite Mexican restaurant last weekend. That is a bowl of sour cream—yes, sour cream—Buzz is licking clean. I ordered him a side of sour cream with his meal because he LOVES condiments of all kinds. He pretty much ate chips and salsa and sour cream for dinner. I don’t even care how unhealthy it was because it made him so happy.


Fight, Flight or Freeze

06/11/2013

Monday morning I awoke to a thud. I glanced at the clock (5:20) and at the same moment noticed our bedroom light was on. Buzz. I felt around for my glasses, put them on and got up.

Our bedroom door was wide open and he was standing just outside of it in the hallway, facing the front door. He had his new shoes on—the ones his mom gave him on Saturday—and he was holding his favorite hoodie sweater in his arms.

“Are you OK? It’s still dark—time for sleeping. What’s wrong?”

He pointed to the door. A little startled myself, I went to check it out. Nothing there. I went back and turned him  toward his bedroom. He reached up for me to pick him up so I held him.

“You probably heard the ice maker. It makes loud noises sometimes.” It has scared the crap out of me plenty of times.

I carried him through the house.

“See this, buddy? It’s our security system. No one can come in or out of our house at night without setting off loud alarms.” I remembered my sensitive social worker sister-in-law had recommended this and had made a point to talk to him about our security system when she was babysitting once, too.

I carried him  to his room, removed his shoes and covered him up with a blanket as he curled up with his hoodie. I went back to my room to attempt to sleep for another hour.

Poor little guy. I can only imagine what kind of things he’s experienced in his not-quite-3 years that would make a strange noise trigger this kind of response: jump out of bed, grab shoes and jacket from the closet, get ready to run…

I’m thankful that this time he stopped to flip on our bedroom light to get my attention. (The jingle bells on his door handle failed to wake me.) This hasn’t happened in 3 weeks. I’m glad he’s feeling more and more comfortable at our house. But, it was a reminder that fear is still close to the surface.

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This picture is not directly related but I love this monster hoodie. I wish I could show you his cute little face.


Grief and Kids in Foster Care

06/10/2013

There is way too much in my brain to fully unravel here but I’m going to get started on it. To put it plainly, we’re dealing with a lot of behaviors (misbehaviors) from Buzz on a daily basis. It can quickly become exhausting. I often hear, “That’s a two year old for you!” or “My kid does that, too!” and I know that’s part of it. But there is also a huge ugly beast named Trauma. If you’ve seen Buzz have a tantrum or stage a protest while we’re out in public, you’re getting a glimpse of the kind of things we’re dealing with at home when he’s comfortable enough to really let it out.

I explained to a friend and former foster parent last week that I feel like 20% of the time he’s sweet, kind, easy going, helpful, obedient, loving… My hero Karen Purvis would call this “the real boy.” Then 60% of the time, Buzz opens his mouth and the beast Trauma (mixed with typical 2 year old defiance, sure) lets out a shriek like a pterodactyl, balls up his fists, flails, cries, screams, pouts, stomps, runs… (Deep breath. Deep breath.) Then the other 20% he’s actually sweet but I can’t shake the pterodactyl filter off or I’m still took stressed out to realize he’s back to “the real boy.” This friend knew exactly what I meant and we agreed that the majority of the people in our lives only see the sweet 20.

Buzz’s mom and I have been keeping in touch daily with texts. I send her updates and pictures and ask questions about Buzz. She checks in on him and sends him sweet messages. We’ve also Skyped a few times when we couldn’t work out a time for a weekly visit. It was helpful for her to see him but he wasn’t grasping the video chat concept very well. He doesn’t talk much so instead of responding, he’d duck and hide from the camera most of the time. One evening instead of Skype, his mom sent him a video text message.

He sat down and studied my phone with intensity while she was talking to him. Tears welled up in his eyes. “Ma,” he told me, pointing to the phone. “I want Ma.” He watched it over and over and over again while I was in the kitchen starting dinner. I turned around to see him standing there, handing me my phone and reaching out for a hug. I turned the pot on the stove down to low and I held him. For a long time. I talked about how I feel when I miss someone that I love and how it makes my heart hurt. I told him it’s ok to be sad and that I know he misses his mom and dad. He nodded and held my hand. He just snuggled and rested with me for probably 15 minutes. Dinner could wait. Buzz needed comfort and I’m glad I could offer it.

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Then an awesome thing happened. He was totally well behaved, the sweet 20, “the real boy” ALL EVENING. I lost track of time as I was playing with the kids in the playroom. Ali was sick and getting quite tired so I decided to put her to bed and then come back to help Buzz clean up rather than put them to bed at the same time like usual. I told him my plan and that he could keep playing for a while longer while I got Ali down. As I was tucking her into her crib, I could hear him shuffling things around in the playroom closet. I assumed he was getting out more toys. I flipped off Ali’s light and rounded the corner into this spotless playroom! He put every single toy away in the right spot—even tiny wooden blocks in a cart, the train arranged on top of the bookcase, and puzzles and blocks away in the closet. I was astounded!

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Last week was a bit of up and down with behavior and Buzz’s mom sent several more short video messages for him. She and I are both learning as we go here but it really seems to be helping him. Yes, it does stir up sadness a lot of the time but he’s working through it, accepting comfort, letting out some of those really big feelings in a healthy way. When he tells me “I want my mom,” I can offer him my phone to watch a video message from her rather than just apologizing. It’s working.

I’ve also been soaking up Karen Purvis teachings like a crusty dry sponge. Have I mentioned that she’s my hero? I watched this one called Better Understanding Our Children: An Overview of Common Challenges Faced by Adopted & Foster Children” by Dr. Karyn Purvis and felt encouraged and empowered to better deal with his behavior. She mentioned a statistic from a study that found children in foster care experience PTSD at 2x the rate of war veterans. In children, PTSD is displayed as inattention, hyperactivity, irrational outbursts and in some kids, violence or aggression. I’m not saying Buzz has PTSD and I have no interest in a diagnosis but he’s unquestionably been through trauma (any child who has lost or is separated from his parents is living their worst nightmare) and he definitely exhibits some of those behaviors.

I really hope that we can help Buzz to navigate through these choppy waters of big, scary feelings. We pray every night for his parents and that he can be reunited and home with them soon. We pray for Buzz’s peace and healing of his heart. We pray for wisdom, patience and understanding for Jason and me as his foster parents.


We’re Now Officially…

06/05/2013

a two pizza family. We were pushing it with one pizza when it was just the three of us. Ali is hard to predict; sometimes she’s a one-slicer, sometimes she’s a three-slicer. Now with Buzz joining us, we are most definitely a two pizza family.

Also, I made a new family rule. You can mutilate your pizza as much as you want but you have to actually eat it before you get another piece. We have one kid who likes to eat holes in her pizza like swiss cheese and another kid who likes to eat all the cheese and toppings off the top.

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If anyone is curious where Buzz’s foster care board payment goes, I can tell you that so far it has gone mostly to food. Some clothing, some other daily essentials (sippy cup, pull ups, lotions, etc.) and purchases for his room, but mostly to food.


A Mom

05/30/2013

“Amamamamamamama…”

I’m not sure if it rubs me the wrong way because I’ve been trying to get Buzz to call me Ms. Martina (for his mom’s sake) for 4 weeks with no avail or if it’s because he’ll say it repeatedly until I respond and it’s usually for nothing in particular.

“Amamamamamamamamamamamamama…” as we’re driving to day care in the morning.

“What is it, Buzz?”

“Right there.” An airplane. Or a McDonalds billboard. Or a dog. Sometimes, by the time I turn my head around to see what he wants, he just shifts his eyes and smirks like he can’t remember what he was going to tell me. Or maybe he just wanted my attention.

Yesterday I remembered a conversation we  had on one of his first days at our home. He had woke up from nap time crying and I went into his room and held him for a good long time until he calmed down. I explained to him—as best as I could to a two-year old—the situation: that he would be living with us for a while as the grown ups take care of some things that need to be done and that we’re hoping he can go back to live with his mom and dad very soon. I told him he was safe with us and we hoped he would make himself at home. I acknowledged that he was missing his family. I explained to him that “I’m a mom, too.” He seemed comforted by that.

“A Mom.” I’ve decided that he’s calling me “A Mom.” I’m not sure if it’s the truth but I’m hoping it’ll make “Amamamamamamamama…” a little less annoying today.


If you hold hands nicely…

05/28/2013

I will pull you REALLY fast down the driveway!

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It was an attempt to get them to stop swatting and kicking at each other. It worked. In fact, they held hands 1/3 of the way around the block.


A Hat, My Heart and My Ego

05/20/2013

On Tuesday, Buzz started daycare with shabby looking double strand twists in his hair. His mama called it “crazy hair” when we saw her on Saturday but also said “it’s not that bad.” By Tuesday it was looking even more crazy. His day care is 95% black people working there and attending so I was feeling pretty embarrassed when I dropped him off. I told his teacher that I know it looks bad and I have an appointment on Friday for him to get new cornrows done. That night, I unstyled it so I could wash and moisturize it.

Wednesday, I put his hair in a ponytail against his wishes. But what were my options at that point? So off to day care with a pony tail. (Side note: ponytail was suggested by his mom if I couldn’t style it.) When I picked him up in the afternoon, only a tiny bit was still in the ponytail and the rest was all crazy wild and free. If that wasn’t bad enough, immediately upon seeing me he dropped down into the wood chips in the playground and rolled around. Yeah, wood chips all up in his crazy hair. Ugh.

So another bath and detangle and moisturize session that night. Getting the wood chips out of his hair was NO FUN AT ALL! Since the ponytail didn’t work out and he was scheduled to get cornrowed on Friday, I sent him to daycare on Thursday with an afro. Not a cute afro. A crazy wild, my-white-foster-mom-has-thrown-in-the-towel afro.

He could not have cared less. (Thankfully?) However I was feeling guilty. I went on to Target to run some errands. First stop: boys section to look for a hat for Buzz. I picked up a few in the toddler section…a blue and white striped conductor style one that I decided was too small, a straw fedora that was too hipster, a Spiderman one that Jason vetoed via picture text.

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Finally I saw some adjustable hip hop/skater style hats over in the bigger boys section. I was on the phone with his case worker at the time and Ali was trying to open a bottle of allergy medication so I just grabbed one. I also found his hoodie sweatshirt on clearance. He only has one hooded sweater that fits and he loves it; especially with the hood up. I couldn’t resist this one with eyes, horns and teeth—even one good tooth! Oh, how it made me smile. I laid them out on the chair in his room and hoped he’d like them.

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His crazy afro didn’t look any worse at the end of the day when Jason brought him home. No wood chips, Thank God! His immediate reaction to the hat was that he wanted me to take the tag off. He likes it! I thought. He ran off to go outside with Jason and Ali, hat in hand. I convinced him to let me put it on him and took some pictures so he could see how cute he looked. It lasted for a few second before he took it off and started running around the yard with it. He was swinging it around by the tabs in the back and smacking it against the driveway. He hates it! I thought. I’m not gonna lie. It hurt my feelings. It was a gift and he was treating it like trash. A few minutes later it was lying in the dirt and he was off doing something else.

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After dinner we went to the playground. Again I was able to convince him to put the hat on when we got out of the van. It was mostly black folks at the park—can you tell this white mama is feeling self-conscious about not doing well with her black foster son’s hair? Again, it was on for a few seconds and then he handed it to me. I wore it for the rest of the park time so I could have my hands free to take photos. He hates it, I’m convinced. Thankfully, I didn’t hear a single critical comment about his hair.

Twenty minutes after putting him to bed that night, from where I was sitting in the living room I could hear him creeping down the hallway. He was looking down at his feet trying so hard to be quiet that he didn’t see me standing there waiting for him. He had put his bare feet into his sneakers—wrong feet, unlaced—and he had the hat on backwards. He looked like he was about to leave on an adventure (which is totally not funny because of an incident a few days prior…). Instead of scolding him, I said “I like your hat!” He likes it!

I got him back to bed with a snack. (He was looking for a cup of milk when I asked him what he was doing up). I agreed to sit with him for a while as he was getting settled. He snuggled up in bed…with his hat. Oh, he really likes it!

Jason got him up the next day to take him to some appointments. I was already at work so I texted and asked if he wore the hat. Jason said yes. He had been wearing it since he woke up and he loves it. My mama heart is so happy!

Disclaimer: (Because yes, I still have an ego…) I’m fully aware of how important hair care and style is within the black community. I have a whole slew of appropriate black hair products and have done a lot of research. I’ve gotten pointers from friends and from his mom, as well as product from his mom. It’s not so much a matter of not knowing what to do… it’s a matter of not having the time and energy to do the “practice, practice, practice” that it requires to get good at styling black hair. I fully intend to get good at doing it myself; but sometimes you need to know when it’s time to outsource. I’m feeling pretty good about the style I eeked out last week in my first attempt. This week it felt like there were so many other higher priorities. That is why I scheduled someone to put his hair into a longer term protective style for us…however he was not willing to sit for a styling.


Double Blessing

05/16/2013

I was generously blessed with this amazing double stroller by a woman I had never met. She follows my Instagram feed (Hi @curlybirds!) and apparently reads here too. I am incredibly grateful that someone would take the time out of her day to drive across town to deliver a beautiful and certainly valuable double stroller to my house. Ali and I got to meet her and her six year old twin daughters, too. What lovely, lovely people!

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Thank you, again, so very much!


Getting Settled

05/15/2013

I’m way behind on blog posts. I still haven’t posted about Ali’s and my trip to Florida a month ago or the swimming lessons she started. I have pictures of mid-century modern things we’ve bought and sold. I have pictures of our blossoming landscaping. I was behind before Buzz showed up 12 days ago but now I’m REALLY behind. However, it’s easier to write about what’s currently going on.

• Yesterday was Buzz’s first day of day care (in our care) and it was so good for all of us. The consistency of a daily routine, structure and opportunity to play with other kids all day will be great for him. It was also a much needed break for Ali who has been kind of stressed out (acting out for attention, yelling and hitting a lot) and we could tell she was craving down time, as well as some individual attention from Mom and Dad. I worked at home yesterday with just Ali. Holy Cow! I got so much done! I thought working at home with a child was challenging but after struggling all week last week with two, it was a piece of cake. Day care isn’t cheap and it will use up most of the daily board rate that the state gives us for Buzz’s expenses but it’s worth it for us. This is what Ali did after breakfast:

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• We all picked Buzz up together and went shopping for a new grill. I love when stores have double child seat shopping carts, especially when they’re shaped like a car. This is the first time we’ve taken both of these kids shopping. They were driving each other crazy. (Get it?) Seriously, they pick on each other like brother and sister. Ali is a pesky little sister constantly grabbing his steering wheel or flicking his hair. He whines and tattles and is always pushing her back into her side of the car. Then she smacks him. Then he fake cries. (Anyone have suggestions on how to foster sibling love and kindness?)

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• Our old grill was a surprise wedding gift from my cousin Dan. I was 18 at the time and I thought, A grill? That’s so…grownup. We’ve used the heck outta that thing over a decade and moved it to 7 different apartments and homes from Erie, PA to Nashville, TN. It was such a wonderful, thoughtful wedding gift. Now here we are 10 years later grilling our first dinner on the back patio of our dream house on a gorgeous May evening with a spunky little Hispanic girl we adopted and a playful little AA boy we’re fostering. I never in a million years would have pictured this as my life from that vantage point but here we are and I love it.

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• Speaking of love, it’s not all brother-and-sisterly squabbles. They do like each other. After dinner they wanted to swing in the hammock together and then they were working together to fill containers with rocks in the courtyard. And the sweetest thing yet… Jason was putting Ali to bed while I was putting Buzz to bed. He brought Ali into his room so I could give her a hug and kiss goodnight. As they started to walk out, Buzz said “Wait!” We asked if he wanted to say goodnight to Ali. (We’ve suggested this several times before and they usually refuse anything other than an occasional “night night” or wave.) They both leaned in for a hug and then a kiss. MELT.MY.HEART.

• Neighborhood moms are so generously bringing us meals 3 nights a week and it lifts a huge burden. If I haven’t already mentioned it, Buzz will likely be with us a couple months but of course anything can happen in foster care. I love his mom. We’ve been texting back and forth a few times through the week. She was super helpful in getting me his immunization records so I could get him into day care. (DCS…not so much. They pretty much dropped the ball last week and this desperate mama decided to take matters into her own hands…without of course “going over their heads” because, ah hem, we’ve been warned.) We’re constantly referring to ourselves as Mr. Jason and Ms. Martina to Buzz, both out of respect for his parents and because we believe he’ll be reunified with them soon. However, he has started calling me “Ma” and Jason “Da.” I’m not sure how to avoid this because Ali is calling us Mama and Daddy all day. Also, I don’t think he’s able to say “Ms. Martina” or “Mr. Jason.” I just hope his mom is not offended if/when he calls me Ma in front of her someday. I tried. I really did. Ali, on the other hand, sometimes calls me “Nina.” Or “Ali’s Nina.” Oh that girl!

So that’s where we are. Blogging has been a little scarce because I’m still fighting to recover my energy. At the end of the day when I have the choice of sorting out my thoughts here or going to bed, I usually fall asleep sitting up before I even make the decision. But we’re definitely getting settled and life is starting to feel more manageable. Thanks for hanging out here and sharing this adventure with us.


Mothers Day 2013 Reflections

05/12/2013

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Mothers Day continues to be a roller coaster of emotions for me. I am thankful for the many wonderful mothers in my life. My own. Jason’s. My sisters, sisters-in-law and good friends who are journeys simultaneously with me into motherhood. Ali’s first mom who gave her life, loved her, did her best for her, and then gave us her blessing to raise her precious daughter. And now there is Buzz’s mom who is heartbroken and working hard to play by the rules and get her son back. She’s been very easy to get along with and loves her little boy and he loves her too. She sent me a happy mothers day text on my way to church and I sent her one back with a photo of these two beautiful children that I got to spend the day with, mothering. I’m an exhausted, blessed, weepy mess and I’m going to attempt to use this space to sort out my thoughts tonight.

I’m not usually the type who cries reading mothers day cards, but there I was at my parents’ church this morning crying over a Hallmark card before I even got to the handwritten note from my own mom, who is relentlessly loving and encouraging. Mothers Day never used to be an emotional day for me. I wrote about that last year. I always knew in my heart that I’d be a mom and I wasn’t sad while I was childless. I haven’t lost a mom or a child or dealt with other situations that makes women sad on mother’s day. And yet these past two mothers days I’ve been an emotional wreck.

People often tell me that they’ve talked about doing foster care someday. In my head, my response is “but then you decided that you like yourself and your life, so you thought better of it.” I’m joking, but not. Because I like myself too. In a clear-headed, God-focused moment Jason and I decided whole-heartedly to surrender our plans and dreams for what our family might look like and become foster parents. We feel called to it. Most of the time. Other times, I long for my former comfortable, easy, predictable life. I certainly have my fair share of “what the heck are we doing? And why?” moments lately. But I do know why.

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

I can’t read this passage (Matthew 25:34-40) anymore without sobbing, because I’ve done most of those things and I’ve seen Jesus’ face in the face of one of the least of these. I can’t go back to putting myself first anymore.

Except when I do. Because I’m not perfect. I pour out my mama love until I’m empty. I’m strong until I buckle under the pressure and I crack a little. I need time to heal. To recover. To refill. This week has been hard. So very hard. And good, too. We’ve been giving this thing all that we’ve got and I feel completed poured out. Empty. I see that Buzz has made a tremendous amount of progress in a week. It makes my mama-heart so proud that he’s feeling comfortable and safe here now. Progress is tangible. Hard work is exhausting.

A woman at church yesterday told me that I’m living her dream. Huh? Her dream I think she said was “to adopt a some kids from Africa.” I didn’t feel compelled to tell her that both of these kids where born in Nashville and that one of them is in foster care. I’d love to know what my face looked like when she said that as I was wracking my brain to come up with a response. I hope I smiled politely. I kind of wanted to smack her in the face and say, “Do you have any idea what this week has been like?” But I know she’s seeing a different reality than me. I know because I do that same thing when I see a picture of a family with kids of all different colors and I think: How lovely! How beautiful! I want my family to look like that. She’s seeing the happy young white mom with the dark brown boy with crazy hair, a mischeiveous grin and a puppy dog backpack and the caramel brown little girl with a big pink flower in her curly black hair, with the infectious smile and owl backpack. And if I do say so, they were both super adorable yesterday. But it’s not all flowers and puppies and sweets around here.

There are tantrums and tears. (Sometimes from the kids.) There are butts and noses that always need wiped. There are accidents to clean up. Wanders to chase down. Slow pokes to pull along. Buckles to buckle, shoes to tie, velcro to fix, cups to fill…one thousand million times a day. In one week I’ve become the mom that’s shouting “Share! Play nice! Walk please! Slow down! Come on, let’s go! We don’t hit! Gentle please! Don’t bite people! Leave the dog alone!” way too many times a day. I’ve relied on the TV as a pacifier more than I care to admit. (Sometimes for the kids.)

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I have to stop and wonder: between me and that woman, which one of us is seeing the real picture? Both of us? Maybe neither? Perhaps we’re each only seeing one small part of the greater picture the Master Artist is creating.