An Update and a Quandry

Man, it has been a hot minute since I last posted. We’ve just been doing our thing all summer, and now the kiddos are back in school and things have been getting…interesting.

RB just turned 13 (!!!) and seems to really be struggling with teenager-hood. We have had a resurgence of rage episodes and tantrums, and a whole lot of treating me like dirt because he is angry at his bio mom. But life goes on, and he has still come a long way from where he used to be.

Little S isn’t so little any more, she’s starting 3rd grade! She’s sassy, quick witted, and vacillates between a ton of fun and a holy terror.

A and A2 have both been getting closer to moving out. A2 actually went back and finished high school (woot!) and A just got a job at a bank. It’s cool to see how far they have both come.

In the midst of all this Life Happening, it appears that Life has just Happened. A2 just told us today that her little 10 year old half sister KL, was pulled into care. Even worse, she was pulled into care the night the investigator first showed up, which speaks to just how bad things were. We love KL, and we’ve had her over for weekends fairly often, so now I feel like we are a bit stuck.

I don’t think we can take her. Especially with how moody and angry RB has been, it feels like there is just too much going on to be able to balance everything. But I WANT to. I really love this kid, and since non related kinship placement is a thing we wouldn’t even have to go through the trouble of relicensing in the foster care system. But how could we? I don’t know that we could make it work. But how can we not? What happens to this kid who has been through so much if we don’t step up?

It really feels like an impossible situation. I’m praying about it a lot. I just wish I knew what the right thing to do was.

House Rule

We have a set of house rules, as many families do, but our number 1 rule is definitely our most stated. “This house is a safe place.” It’s our guiding principle, the thing we’ve built our family culture on.

And it works.

Not perfectly, not always, but enough to make a difference. All of our children know the rule, all our friends know the rule, and pretty much anyone who is in our house for more than five minutes knows the rule. We have created an intentional space of safety and love, and they know it.

I know our kids know the rule because they follow it, but I also know they have internalized it because they bring people home to it. RB had a friend who was an immigrant and scared of his own shadow, and RB brought him in and kept reassuring him that he didn’t have to be scared because our house is safe. A brought home a very hurting young person struggling with their gender identity and with mental illness, and that friend now calls us their “side family”. We’ve had our kids bring in friends who were victims of abuse, knowing we would shelter them.

I probably sound like I’m bragging, and maybe I am a little bit. I’m not proud of much in life, but I am so very proud of the household of love and safety that R and I have worked to create. Seeing our kids feel safe and want to share that safety with other vulnerable kids makes me feels like I’ve done something truly worthwhile. It’s not all my work, not by a long shot, but I have had a hand in making something beautiful.

Festive Trauma

I’m beating a dead horse at this point writing about Christmas being complicated for my kiddos, but every year it’s yet another reminder that holidays do not look the same through a lens of trauma.

A has always enjoyed Christmas, but it can still bring up some rough memories for her. She was the scapegoat in her bio family, so she’s very sensitive about things like whether or not she’s getting as much attention or as many gifts as everyone else. It looks selfish on the surface sometimes, but it’s really rooted in a deep fear of not belonging and not feeling like ‘enough’.

A2 is the one who has the hardest time with it. Her main abuser’s birthday is on Christmas, so it brings up a LOT of feelings. She is doing her best to keep ahead of the ptsd responses, but it really is tough. She’s joining us for most of the festivities, but sitting others out.

RB was the big surprise this year. He did pretty well with Christmas last year and he says he’s been looking forward to it, but he’s been an absolute beastie this past week. When questioned about it, he revealed that he’s remembering a lot of really terrible Christmases he had in the past. For example, being sent to his room when everyone else was opening gifts because he was the only one who “didn’t deserve Christmas”. He was seven. So that’ll stick with a person.

However RB apparently really does enjoy the day. He made me cry when he told me that he was excited for this year because last year was the first time he had ever had a good Christmas, and that he knows this year will be good too.

Little S of course hasn’t experienced holiday trauma and, as a mostly normal 7yo, she loves Christmas.

If I am being entirely honest (which I try to be), I sometimes grieve the kind of Christmases my crew will never have. Our family will never have an uncomplicated hallmark-esque holiday, and our Christmas will always be bittersweet. It makes me sad for my kids, and a tiny, shameful bit wistful for what could have been if we had never opened our doors to the beautiful mess that is my three oldest children. I would never trade them, not for a million perfect Christmases, but sometimes it stings a little. Still, I just do the best I can and keep moving forward. Because our Christmases are messy, but so was the very first Christmas. The baby born in a barn 2000 years ago didn’t come to make things easy, He came to make them right. My job is to remember why we celebrate, and to do my best to show my kids the love and grace that is given to me every single day.

Closure

Today we signed the adoption placement agreement for RB, officially taking us from “foster family” to “pre adoptive family”. It felt strange, because I thought I would be more excited. I don’t know that it’s sunk in yet. With A, it was the same way. I kept expecting to feel over the moon, but in reality it was more of a quiet sense of satisfaction. Really, A had been with us almost 2 years when we finalized her adoption, and RB has been with us for a year, so it could be that it doesn’t feel like much because they were already mine long before the judge signed a paper.

However, we also signed another document today: the closure of our foster license.

The whole situation with A2 and DCF making her to move out forced our hand, and I am so very angry and sad. A2 is of course worth it, and there was no other course to take, it’s just hard. Fostering has been a HUGE part of our lives for years now. We’ve loved on more than 30 kids. Little S has literally never known anything different. But now that piece of our lives has been taken away, and I feel like a table someone just chopped a leg off of. After I signed the paper I cried.

Honestly, I didn’t expect to feel this level of grief. I suppose it makes sense, because fostering is something that I truly love, and something that I have felt a sense of purpose from…and now it’s gone. Likely not forever, because after we get A2’s felony expunged in a few years we will probably be able to pick it back up again. Nevertheless, for the foreseeable future, I can no longer call myself a foster parent.

I know it’s necessary. I know it’s (probably) temporary. But it hurts. I’ve loved what I do, and I’ve loved my kids. It hurts to let that go.

Why I’m Proud

I came across a truly tragic news story today that came to light after a recent amber alert. Olivia Jansen, age 3, was found dead. She was allegedly murdered by her father and her father’s girlfriend, who the little girl was living with. Both parents were involved in the drug scene. There was a history of DCF reports on the family that came to nothing. And now a little girl is dead.

Sometimes (often), fostering is HARD. It hurts and it’s exhausting and it’s heartbreaking. Even though we have had our share of bright spots, it’s still hard. But there is a reason we foster. That reason is the kids.

I’ve also been hearing a lot of (often justified) criticism of the whole foster system recently. Lots of people see it as an ultimate evil and want to dismantle the whole thing and start over. As I’ve written so often, there are usually no easy answers when you’re dealing with generational poverty, abuse, and addiction. Almost all of our children have come to us with a backstory that is tangled beyond belief. Family tree plotting is practically an exercise in creative writing. Resources are never enough, and DCF fails over and over again.

But even though resources aren’t enough, and the system limps along doing harm as often as it does good, I’m still proud to call myself a foster parent. Because to me, doing that job means that I’m keeping kids safe. I wish someone had stepped in for little Olivia Jansen and kept her safe. Kids fall through the cracks and tragedies happen. But when a kid walks into our messy, imperfect home, they will be safe and seen.

We’re almost done fostering. RB will be either the last or second to last kid that we take. I have deep regrets about all the kids we couldn’t take, or shouldn’t have taken and did poorly with. Even so, I know a little part of me will always be proud of what we HAVE been able to give. Our kids will not have the same ending as little Olivia. So I’m proud of contributing that much to the world.

Confessions

I’m not sure why, but at some point every one of my kids from hard places has come to me and engaged in something very like Catholic confession. We’ll be talking, and suddenly something in my sweet kiddo will snap. They’ll start telling me, usually in an uncontrollable torrent of words, all of the things that they’ve done in their past that they are ashamed of.

A told me about how she nearly broke another girl’s nose when she was young, and that she used to sneak out of her room to steal things.

A2 told me that she bullied another kid in school, and then how that kid ended up committing suicide.

ML told me how she used to fantasize about killing her bio dad.

And now, today, it was apparently RB’s turn to “confess”. He spent more than an hour telling me how he’d lie and steal compulsively, even though he knew it was wrong.

Here’s the thing about my kids’ telling me these things though, most of the things they tell me had circumstances surrounding them that were so much bigger than any kid should ever have to deal with.

Stealing because they and their siblings hadn’t eaten in days, lying to try and avoid being beaten or to try and protect a parent, violence in self defense, and a deep seated rage at all that they were being forced to endure.

Because at the heart of it, this is what abuse and neglect does. My kids are strong, they survive, but then when they are safe they have to look back in horror at what survival cost them. They have to confront their own actions as being wrong, but they didn’t even know they had a choice in those actions. What innocence they might have retained through the beatings and the rapes was killed off by the actions they had to take just to keep living.

What can I possibly offer to a child that tells me these things? I’m always at a loss. There’s no words for this kind of thing, and I don’t cry for fear that they might try to comfort me when they need comfort themselves. I usually settle for just listening and hoping that having someone listen without judgment is healing. When all is said and done, I give them a hug and tell them that I love them no matter what they’ve done or has been done to them. It isn’t enough, but I hope that it’s something.

An Update

I haven’t blogged in quite some time, because we’ve been doing all of the trauma things recently. RB in particular is having a rough time. His therapist left (juuuusssttt as he was feeling connected to her) and moved to Florida, so that set off some Big Feelings. Aforementioned Big Feelings resulted in such joys as skipping classes, stealing food, and putting several sizeable holes in his bedroom wall.

Are we having fun yet?

A2 is also working through things, although not as dramatically as RB. She’s struggling hard with depression and feeling hopeless, and has been reverting back slightly to challenging me at every turn. Not as badly as before she left, but enough to be a nuisance. A has joined her on this mission of Make Mom Go Crazy, and they are both very skilled at it.

While S has often been the “easier” kid, mostly by virtue of not being horribly traumatized and having trauma related behaviors, but she has hit a developmental milestone of being defiant and whiny 98% of the time. So normal for six, and so very much an ill timed phase amidst the chaos the others are having.

Seriously…are we having fun?

Despite me gaining stress hives, we’ve also had some really good things going. RB has been communicating SO much better. Even if what he is communicating is anger and frustration, it is such huge progress for him to be able to use his words instead of his actions for those emotions. And A2 has been wonderful with him. I think that RB, who is the same age as A2’s biological brothers, accepting love and hugs from her is therapeutic for them both.

Honestly, I have awesome kids.

Time

RB is driving me bonkers. We are deep in the testing phase, and he’s defiant and whiny sooo often right now. The thing that helps keep me going when he’s screaming at me for the 8th time that day is Time.

Bonding takes time. Learning takes time. Felt safety takes time. Progress takes time.

We’ve seen time work it’s magic on A. She is worlds away from where she was when she came to us five years ago. Five years from now, when RB turns 16, we’ll be worlds away from where we are now.

It’s not a direct comparison, since obviously A and RB are different people, but I believe that time and consistency will make RB a happier, more secure kid. He’ll eventually not have tantrums every other day, or slam his door and throw things, or be disrespectful and mean just for the hell of it. Eventually he’ll learn to use calm words to communicate, he’ll be able to show consideration for others, and he’ll have more skills to help him control his temper.

A year from now, things will be better. Five years from now, things will be better. All the hard work will pay off (for both of us!) and we’ll look back and marvel at all the progress that’s been made.

Foster adoption is a marathon, not a sprint.

Rest

The whole experience of life recently has been as much fun as a root canal. And I should know! Today I had a root canal. After AE, R and I are exhausted. We’ve pretty much been just sitting around recuperating for the past week, and I’m only just beginning to feel okay again.

It has become abundantly clear that we need a break from fostering.

I hate breaks, especially extended ones, because they make me feel fidgety and useless. I’m an emotional marathon runner, a “keep going even when it hurts” kind of person. Pausing feels too much like quitting! But I know that if we don’t take some time to regroup as a family and to get our stress levels down, (okay okay, MY stress levels), then I will likely become more of a “spiraling into a nervous breakdown” kind of person.

Do people still have nervous breakdowns? If not, I’m about to bring them back into style.

We are not done forever though. I feel in my heart of hearts that God has more kids out there for us to love on. We will still persevere, still fall down seven times and get up eight, but I think that after our last fall we need to take a little nap on the ground for a bit.

That’s not to say we aren’t still keeping busy! Little S is going to start 1st grade this coming fall, and I’m determined to get her reading well before then. We’re planning a cross country trip this summer. I’m going to camp. A is going back to college. We’re going to live life as a semi-normal family for a bit, one that doesn’t have to lock doors constantly, and one that can go to church without screaming meltdowns.

Although I feel guilty for it, I am enjoying our break. Soon enough we’ll be back in the fray. Right now is our season to rest.

Weekend Visit from A2

A2 has been gone for more than a month now. No matter how much we’ve asked her to come home, she’s refused. Apparently, couch hopping and failing her all her classes is a better option than facing her fears. In this case, her fears include accepting love, accepting safety, and just straight up staying. I’ve written before on how scary and difficult it can be for kids who have never had any stability to actually stay in one place, and that certainly holds true for A2.

 

But, despite the fact that she refuses to come home to live, A2 has agreed to come home for a weekend visit. And I am terrified. I don’t know what she needs from me, and I don’t know how it’s going to be having her home. Plus, I’m honestly still angry and hurt from the way she left. R and I work so hard to try and create a place of safety and love, and she basically acknowledged it and then rejected it. On top of that, she really hurt the other girls as well. Little S especially doesn’t understand why her big sister just left, and I don’t know what to tell her because I don’t understand either.

 

In the bible we’re told how the prodigal son was treated upon his return…but what about when the prodigal daughter pops in for a weekend visit?

I just wish I knew how to put our family back together again.