Primarily I feel honored (may not be the right word) to be able to be a part of these kiddos life. Most won't remember but all of us are who we are because of people who loved us along the way. Its a scary and sacred thing to be given the responsibility for someone else's child. A life that I had nothing to do with bringing into the world, but I am charged with care of. Its a strange thing. I've made a habit of telling each child at bedtime that I love them. Even the first day. It was strange at first but its true. I do love them. I love them because they are. And because they are in my home. And because everyone needs to hear and feel that they are loved.
I feel SUPER frustrated at how difficult it is to work with the "system." Like Megan writes I too:
see how easy it is for professional child welfare workers to distance themselves from the intense emotion of what they do. I’m not sure how you could really do that job any other way.
But that distance they create out of self-preservation makes it difficult for me to connect with them to get the information I need. I also know that those workers are drastically under-resourced and over-worked. I know that but still. These are little lives. Lives that have already been marked by some drama that got them where they are. It shouldn't be this hard to be helpful.
I feel disheartened when I hear of other foster parents who give and give and love and love and kids are moved unexpectedly or placed with a random cousin because "family comes first" even though kids have been in a stable situation for years with the same foster family. Sometimes what's best for the child is not considered objectively. And it makes foster families feel like they are just a commodity to be used and discarded.
I am encouraged to learn of other families who adopt through the foster care system and create permanent, loving, and stable families.
I am uncomfortable with some people's reactions to learning we are a foster family. We're not heroes. And its not the "most self-sacrificing thing in the world." We're just loving kids that need to be loved. And yes its hard sometimes but its also wonderful. Its not a big deal and not something everyone has to know.
Sometimes I want everyone to know. I've wanted a t-shirt that says "I'm a foster kid" for kiddos. For when they have ridiculous crazy hair and we can't have it cut or crusty heads and we've only had them for 12 hours and three baths haven't been able to get the cradle crap, uh I mean cap off. Or for when they start screaming at Waffle House or the park that they want their mama and they don't know who these people are. Or for when I'm trying to buy a kiddo shoes/clothes/socks and have to do strange things to measure them because I have no idea what will fit. Or in a restaurant or grocery store when I don't know what they like to eat.
I feel like what we are doing is ministry. Its what Jesus would do. In fact its something often mentioned in scripture - taking care of those who don't have anyone else to take care of them. I can understand how some super-spiritual folks get into this. And how interactions with "the system" would lead people to even further believe that "everything happens for a reason" yada yada yada. Because its something we can't control and we crave an explanation to make us feel better.
But I also feel like sometimes things don't happen for a reason. Sometimes parents are crappy. Sometimes they are ill-equipped. Sometimes they are doing their best and still mess up. But I don't believe that there is a puppeteer God somewhere crafting all of this to happen - especially when kids are harmed - to make some grand plan come about. Sometimes things happen. Horrible things. Wonderful things. Sometimes things work out. Sometimes they don't. What happens after that is up to us. What we make of the things that happen is what we have control over.
Sometimes I feel like a mother. When its 3am and I'm the one swaying and singing. When we're out somewhere and a comment is made assuming I'm the mother. When I'm the one waiting at the doctor's office wondering how much longer we have until hunger/sleepy meltdown ensues. When I'm standing with other parents for pickup at the babysitter's house hearing of the adventures of the day.
Sometimes I don't feel like a mother. When I think about holidays coming and realize I have no idea whether or not there will be a child in my care. When I am looking for pajamas and every set has something about "mommy" or "auntie." Ick. When I realize that literally at any time someone could come and take the baby away. Maybe that's self-preservation on my part. But I don't yet think of myself as a mom.
Today I feel the weight of their stories. I've only known 4 in 10 weeks. I can't imagine the way they would accumulate after months and years. Like Megan wrote:
Their lives require more. Their dignity deserves more. Their humanity demands more.
And so we give it. Because if we don’t give it, they aren’t going to get it. But in the giving of it, we are burdened by their stories.
And the weight is just almost unbearable.
Today is a 10-day hearing for Baby S (even though she's been in our care for 3 weeks). Hearings started at 9am and will go all day. I have no idea what time hers will be. There is a minimal chance the judge sends her home today which would mean her parents will have had to do nothing. This would be crazy. But crazy things happen. I don't think I will be able to breathe until I hear.\
(Yesterday, while recovering from 7 shots, the Future President and I spent some time with the xylophone.)
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