The Part Everyone Dreads

It's May 1st, so we've gone a full month without Sammy.

The first two weeks were very hard for me. I tried and tried to put words to what I was feeling, but I couldn't, still can't. It was the strangest thing to have this noticeable gap of someone missing. My schedule blew wide open without his therapies and appointments. I was feeding one less mouth, buckling one less carseat, and hugging one less little person. Sammy took up much of my mental space for a lot of reasons, so I was left with just gaps all throughout my day. While much of my work load was lightened, I quickly picked up the weight of how this transition would affect him.

Part of what was so strange about him leaving is that he was just 10 minutes away but it felt like he was plain gone. 

When we dropped Sammy off, we immediately left for a Lighthouse retreat, and by the time we got to Florida, I regretted the decision to do this retreat 100%. The heaviness was thick, and I didn't know how I could possibly step into an attitude of service. Two days after we arrived, one of Adam's co-workers casually asked us how it went dropping Sammy off, and I choked out, "I'm not quite ready to talk about it," and then I turned my head as tears quietly made their way down my face. It was a hard week being in retreat mode, and then we had to face our first week at home without Sammy once we returned. 

We got home at 9:30 at night from a very, very long day. We were quickly ushering the boys to bed, and I saw Sammy's room, door wide open, and I had to catch my breath. We're home. He's not. 

But with each passing day, our new rhythm was more firmly established. Life with two little boys instead of three continued to be odd, but I mentally began to make the shift.

In the weeks leading up to this transition and in the weeks after, I cannot count how many times people said to me, "I don't know how you do it. I couldn't. I couldn't let them leave." 

It's a hard thing to hear over and over. Because most of the time you have no choice but to smile and nod and clinch your jaw. 

But the thing is, there's nothing special about us. This is hard. And it should be. But what you realize about fostering in literally no time at all, this whole thing is not about you. It's just plain not about you. The moment Sammy came into our home, our efforts have been towards his wellbeing, his healing, and his growth. He deserves to have people attach to him because it is for HIS good. It's ok that this was hard on us. It's ok that we got attached. Because taking in a child who has no one was never about us. And Sammy was never ours to keep. This broken system of fostering often means someone gets hurt. But the hope is that  these kids who have already experienced trauma are better off because of the pain we experience once they leave. 

We have lived through the part that everyone dreads. We've lived through the loss, and now that I'm on the other side, I'd absolutely do it again. We have every intention of doing it all again. 

We are now a month post transition. Sammy came to our house last week for a few hours because his foster parents needed childcare. And it was the oddest thing. There will always be a special place in my heart for that little boy who wrecked me in ways I needed to be, but there was this confidence in my heart that he no longer belonged with us. I could tell that I was no longer carrying the weight of his wellbeing. Now I get to be on the sidelines cheering his foster family on. 

We made it. We loved. We lost. And we're okay. 

My Birthday Boy

Happy Birthday (a few days late), Isaac Dean!

This was the first year you got excited about your birthday, and it was so cute watching your eyes light up as we got closer and closer. Other than presents and cake, I'm not sure what birthdays mean to you at this point. But it was so fun to make your day special in little ways.

You are often quite easy to please, little boy. Your little legs start jumping up and down, and you tilt your head back as you squeal. It's just precious to watch your excitement. 

This year you were a gift to me in so many ways. You're always a gift, but this year, I took the time to treasure it more. Even though you love to keep up with every single thing Nolan does, a part of you hung on to your littleness more than Nolan did at this age. You still found the most comfort in being with me, and there were times your lingering hugs were exactly what I needed. 

I got to watch you become a big brother to Sammy. You were a young two when he joined our family, and it was a shocking shift for all of us. You frequently looked for reassurance from me about all this change, but you stepped into your new role so well. Your affection and attention to Sammy's needs were different than Nolan. You had a companionship with Sammy that Nolan didn't know. You had two mornings a week when it was just the two of you. Though you often and easily got frustrated with Sammy's inability to read your mind and play exactly as you wanted him to, you did thoroughly enjoy his nearness. It was a sweet thing to watch. 

And it was sweet to watch your bond with Nolan deepen. The animosity and arguing also grew, but I think that's just part of brotherhood. 

Isaac, I love you so much. You have such a tender heart and are so easy to love! There is something about your smile that is irresistible. You are fun and silly and a joy to our family. I often pray that you will be a striking combination of brave and tender. You have the potential to soften people with your kindness and tenderness, and I want you to be brave enough to be exactly who God created you to be. 

You are a delight, my little boy! You've really turned things up a notch as far as training you, but I knew this was coming. I'm thankful those little legs still come racing at me for hugs and kisses. I love being your mama, baby bear!

I love you. I like you. I enjoy you. I'm proud of you.
Happy Birthday, Isaac!

Love you,
Mommy

Three Years of Isaac

Three years old. How can it be?! Three years old turned out to be a very trying year for me and Nolan, so I come into this age with Isaac with a little bit of fear and trembling. Though he and Nolan are so different, Isaac has become an expert imitator. Help me, Jesus. 

For most of the last year, Isaac was still sweet as syrup. Terrible twos were no where to be found. But we eventually discovered them in winter. He still tells me several times a day without being provoked that he loves me. Every night when we talk about what we're thankful, he always, always says Mommy, Daddy, Nolan, Sammy, and Ezra. He loves holding babies. He really can be quite tender, especially towards me.

Which leads me to this: Isaac is absolutely still a Mama's boy. I don't know how much longer this will last, but he still wraps his whole body around me in big hugs. He tells me often after I cook dinner, "Mommy, you're a great maker!" Each night Adam and I alternate who snuggles the boys at bedtime, and every.single.time. that it's Adam, Isaac does something to let it be known he wishes it was Mommy. I usually find his devotion sweet and adorable, but there are times that it's not. I'll just leave it at that.

That cute little belly of his that you can see poking out- it's gone now. The squishy toddler physique has turned into slender little boy. The kid can still eat more than Nolan. His appetite is unreal. He loves pizza, pasta, meatballs, sweet potato fries, scrambled eggs, donuts, cheese, and all the fruit. He's an excellent veggie eater, too. 

Isaac is generally a very lovable little boy. He's silly and quick to laugh. He's got a smile that will just turn your heart mushy. He's full of expressions and full of energy. 

A few months ago we decided that we wanted to begin breaking Isaac of sucking his thumb. So, we told him he could only suck his thumb at naps and bedtime. He used to come find me, suck his thumb, and hold my hair several times throughout the day. We figured this habit would be a tough one to break. We were wrong. He just stopped doing it cold turkey during the day. In the several months since we started this, I've only had to remind him probably a handful of times that he can only suck his thumb for sleep times. Quite impressive, in my opinion! 

This sweet boy became a big brother with no warning at all when we opened our home to Sammy. The first couple of weeks, Isaac became quite clingy and was unsure of the new set-up. But he settled in so much quicker than I expected. Sammy and Isaac were only 15 months apart, so it was much different than if we had a newborn for him to get used to. He did fall into a big brother role very nicely. He was still incredibly rough, but he often had good intentions. He has missed having a little one around the house since Sammy has transitioned out. 

My little mysterious blue eyed, blond haired wonder! Isaac is full of mischief and often times TROUBLE! But he is irresistible! I'm so thankful for this little boy who continues to bring laugher and joy to our days. 

Dear Sammy,

Typically, I write my boys a note on their birthday, but you won't be here for your birthday. And since you very much feel like one of my boys right now, I just wanted you to know that these last 8 months will stay with me forever.

You opened my eyes to new vulnerability and new brokenness. All sixteen pounds of you wrecked me in ways I wasn't ready for. I remember the first time I put you to bed, I had silent tears streaming down my face as I thought about freshly one year old you who didn't have his mama to celebrate his first birthday. You! A wonderful life worth celebrating!

In the weeks that followed that first night, you pushed me to surrender to Jesus in ways I hadn't before then. I prayed for you more in the middle of the night than I did for my kids, but I felt in my core that you needed it. In those middle of the night struggles, when I'd feel you collapse into my chest from exhaustion, only to return to the screaming protest the second I laid you down, I knew you needed the comfort and security of Jesus more than anything else. So we prayed you through those fears. I say that casually, but it was a battle. A battle worth fighting.

That could be said of pretty much the entire 8 months here. It's been a battle worth fighting! Fighting for your wellness, your development, and mostly your joy. Fighting to see that smile light up your face, which it so frequently does now. 

Sammy boy, your huge grin and gleeful laugh are a delight. Your expressions make me laugh every day. Your new words and new signs have me literally jumping up down and throwing you in the air as we celebrate your achievements. I've never been so happy to see a little one sign "more." The first time you did it, you were met with cheers as if you had just hit a homerun. 

You are loved, sweet boy. I wish I could assure your little heart that this transition happening is for YOUR good. It's in YOUR best interest. We are all doing this for YOU! You are loved. You are treasured. You are wanted. You belong in a family. For 8 months, it was with our family, but now it's time for you to be with your brother and sister. We are so excited for you, Sammy. But this Mama Bear is nervous for you. But just like those middle of the night battles, I'm not done fighting for you.

Sammy, I will continue to fight for you and plead for God's mercy and protection on your behalf. And I will keep cheering you on as you continue to achieve new things. 

I love you, little one. Our family will have a Sammy size hole from now on. You have changed us. And I'm so, so glad you did! 

Love,

Your Mama for the last 8 months 

  

The Final Countdown

We are in the final week of being a fivesome. 

From January to May of last year, we hustled through the process of getting approved to be a foster family. May through July we waited and waited for our first placement, saying, "yes," to several possibilities that didn't end up happening. The final week of July we said yet another, "Yes," and that resulted in Sammy being placed in our home. 

Now, eight months later, we prepare to transition this little guy out of our home. In the fostering world, an eight month placement is actually very short. A biological parent has at least 13 months to work a case plan, and most cases go far beyond that. In reality, Sammy's case isn't even close to being completed. He and his siblings could easily be in the system for another year. This past Christmas, I was sure that Sammy would still be with us the next Christmas. 

But DFCS had other plans. 

As we prepare our hearts, our heads, and our house to exit this little boy, it's been hard. And something about handing Sammy over has also reminded me that I just grieved the loss of a baby. 

The thing is, I know Sammy is going to do just fine, be just fine. He'll thrive in his new home. I know that big picture, this is 100% the right move. We would not adopt Sammy if/when the opportunity presents itself, so he really shouldn't stay any longer. I know that God loves this little boy perfectly, and He is trustworthy in this next step. 

I also know that little boy looks to me as his mama. And that is the piece that brings me to tears just about every time. My friend told me once that kids are excellent imitators and terrible interpreters. Thankfully, Sammy boy is quite young. But it pains me to think about his interpretation of this move. And that's where I trust God to cover Sammy's heart and mind with His relentless love. The ladies I meet with twice a month to pray with were so bold and faith filled in their prayers to ask God that Sammy would even feel loved in the transition. It seems literally impossible. 

But God!

There were many (many!) nights of praying fervently for Sammy as he screamed in protest and fear of sleeping alone in a crib in a home he didn't know. I literally paced his room, pleading for God's mercy. I pictured massive angels standing shoulder to shoulder as they protected Sammy in his crib, shielding him from any evil thing. And that's what I'll continue to pray for this little guy as he adjusts to life in a new home with a new mama who could potentially stay in his life forever. 

I stood at church yesterday and just cried through the worship songs. This loss feels so different than the baby we lost in December. But it still stings. 

I'm so glad we said, "Yes," when we did. It's been a hard, "Yes!" But eight months later, I want to keep saying, "Yes," to these kids. We're going to take a break. But so much about the last eight months has just solidified in my heart that the foster system needs more families in the trenches fighting for these kids. 

On Friday we hand our Sammy boy over. We leave that day to head down to Florida for a Lighthouse trip. Adam and I agree that the person who will need the distraction the most is me. The absence of that tiny but fiery one year old will be felt by all when we return. 

Here we go. It's the final countdown. 

Say Yes

I'm finding that my memory is getting worse and worse. There are a lot of things Adam and I often say from Nolan's toddlerhood. Isaac recently asked us to tell him some of the cute things he used to say. 

I had nothing.

And the thing is, Isaac was supremely cute as he began talking. I mean, he was basically 1 year old perfection. But we had to reeeeeeeeally think about some cute Isaac-isms. I ultimately decided I need to write more things down. So, I'm working on it.

Anyways.

This 2018 year has started off heavy. Between the miscarriage and the emotional weight of Sammy's always evolving situation and some other life happenings, I've felt maxed out. Nolan and Isaac have hit new strides in their disobedience and their energy. The two combined can be exhausting. Suffice it to say, I was having a hard time enjoying them in the mix of the heavy stuff and their new found love for pushing (bulldozing, pummeling, ignoring, etc) all the boundaries. There's truly nothing that sends me down the spiral of mom guilt like failing to enjoy my kids in these "precious little years." 

I got to take 4 hours away from the crew one Saturday morning recently, and it did wonders for my overall well being. The next day felt loads lighter, even though the children behaved no better. 

Since then I've looked for ways to cherish small moments even if the large, large majority of my day is correcting, training, disciplining, and threatening to throw ALL THE TOYS AWAY. You get it. This is as simple as giving Nolan a good bear hug before he climbs into the van to go to school. Or smooching Isaac's still so very soft cheeks after he goes pee standing up (when did he get so big?). It's finding even one thing to compliment them on, even if the whole ding dang morning has been a cat fight. It can be so hard to "soak in these little years." 

I listened to a podcast while prepping dinner one afternoon during nap. Lisa Harper was the guest, and she mentioned that she got to ask Beth Moore her one golden piece of parenting advice. She was expecting a mind blowing truth to come from THE Beth Moore. And Beth said, "Say 'Yes' as much as you can!" And that really stuck with me.

So, tonight, while my better half and absolutely the fun parent has been out of town, I heard Nolan obnoxiously calling out for me after I put them to bed. I say obnoxiously because it was clearly his fake cry. I opened the door asking why he was crying, and he mostly calmly said, "I just wanted you to snuggle me for a little bit longer."

Say yes as much as you can.

I quietly closed the door and climbed into his bed. I confess I was still annoyed with the way in which Nolan cried out for me, but I savored the few extra minutes to lay by my growing first born. And I don't normally want to give up my time after that final goodnight. But I thankfully heard the quiet reminder in my head, "This won't last forever." There will be a last time that he calls out for me to snuggle him at all. 

As I laid my head on his pillow with him, Isaac called out asking if I was snuggling Nolan. I told him that I was, and he asked, "Why?" And I answered honestly. "I'm not really sure. But I am!" So of course he asked, "Will you snuggle me, too?" 

Yes, Isaac.

Nolan's breathing slowed to a steady pace. I got up to move on to the next one.

Isaac was basically giddy as I picked him up to sit in the chair and hold him. He laid his head on my shoulder, put that thumb in his mouth, and he snuggled close. He eventually turned his head toward me, putting that sweet face of his in my neck. We both exhaled deeply. There was no rushing these moments. 

I sat in that chair with Isaac against my chest and his face in my neck. And I prayed over his little heart. And I wondered how many more nights of snuggles I'd have with him like this. He'll get too big before I know it.

I put him back in his crib, and I kissed Nolan once more. And I walked out. Thankful. Thankful that Nolan obnoxiously whined for me because I've been looking for opportunities in my days to say yes more. I've been looking for the delight in the middle of the discouraging days. 

And I chose to write it down because this ordinary happening will likely slip from my memory, but I'll get to look back and remember it now. 

Being Mommy is hard and sometimes so consuming that I feel like I get lost in it all. But it's also an honor and a blessing to have these little ones call me Mommy. 342,098 times a day. 

Fostering Families

Over the course of the last six months, I've had a lot of thoughts about Sammy's mom, and there's one that has been the loudest and most frequent. And I'll get to that in a minute.

We had court last month, and prior to that, my frustration with his mom was pretty high. It seemed like visits with her children were not a priority. She'd either end them early or skip them all together, sometimes cancelling them just an hour before it was supposed to start. There have been other issues with her that strongly affect Sammy's older siblings. Knowing those ongoing issues were adding to my frustration.

Then I met Mom. 

The morning of court, we had to wait in a waiting room for an hour and a half before our case was called. So, I got to watch this mama interact with Sammy (don't even ask how I felt about bringing an 18 month old to court) for quite a bit. And it was gut wrenching. Sammy didn't really want to be around her. He'd toddle over to her for a few minutes at a time and then race back towards me. I gave his mom a bag of goldfish, hoping to keep Sammy by her side, but it only worked for a little bit. I did this with the little toys I brought, too. 

I felt so sad for this mom.

I brought a couple of books because Sammy genuinely loves books and being read to. I gave them to her to read to him. This whole experience was so emotionally draining for me as I felt such sorrow for this mama. 

When I came home and tried to talk to Adam about it, I choked back tears and forced the sobs down, all the while declaring, "That's her baby!!! She had to watch her baby pick a different mom over and over!" This isn't right!" 

And I said for probably the 79th time over the last 6 months, "She needs a foster family!!"

This is what I keep coming back to. Not anger. Not frustration (though that rears it's ugly head). Not judgement. 

Compassion.

These kids are in care because this mom had literally no other person she could ask to take her kids. She has no relatives here. NO FAMILY ANYWHERE TO BE FOUND. She has no one who loves her kids that she could reach out to  and ask for help. 

I can't even begin to know what that feels like because I have a full list of people who would take my children in a heartbeat before DFCS would ever need to find an open home for them. 

So, what I keep asking over and over is this: why are we not fostering the whole family?

Who is cheering mom on? Who is making sure she gets healthy? Who is modeling to HER what a healthy family looks and functions like? What if she's never known anything but brokenness? 

What would it look like to put this whole family in foster care? What could it look like for this whole family to get help together? Or maybe not even together but if mom had a shot at some intentional and loving care for her own well being in efforts to restore this family. What if mom really knew that as Sammy's foster mom, I'm rooting for her success, for her health, and for her future. 

[There are certainly situations where parents are 100% unfit and unsafe to parent and cannot be near their children because the situation is that dire. I'm not talking about that situation.]

I keep dreaming up what this could look like. And I don't have a solution, by any means. But I can't help but wonder if there's a better way for some families to be restored. I struggle with feeling like we are setting Sammy's mom up for failure. Because even if she does work her case plan and the judge decides she is a stable person, ready to parent, then we throw these 3 kids back into her care and say, "Good luck,"? Is it realistic for these parents to be able to thrive after reunification when they did figure out how to get their own life stable but they do not have the emotional, mental, physical, and financial demands of their children to also meet? This seems ridiculous. 

There has to be a better way. For everyone.

Because Sammy's attachment to me gets stronger by the day, while his attachment to his mom becomes less and less. If this family really does reach reunification, have we done even Sammy a disservice? As he'll lose the mom he knows best for his actual mom he just barely knows? I'm not a psychologist and have not done any research. I just have to wonder, is this the best we can do? 

After Sammy's visit with his mom this past Sunday, he came home with some new toys and shoes from his mom. And you know what else she got him? She got him a book just like the one I gave her to read him that morning we waited for court. It was by the same author and looked very similar. 

Tears just came to my eyes again. 

I have to believe she wants to do this thing right. And I can't help but wonder how much closer she'd be to getting this thing right if she had someone loving her and coaching her through it.