Tag: foster kid

Puffer fish and the fist fight

What wine goes with two little girls fist fighting in the bathtub over who gets the puffer fish toy? We are apparently having a very angry night tonight

I have tapped out and turned it over to my husband because I might have gotten slapped in the chaos 🤦🏻‍♀️

My husband is giggling at the absurdity of situation meanwhile I am soaking wet, frustrated and don’t know if I should laugh, cry or both at the same time 😂

Apparently a puffer fish toy is the end all be all of the night 😂

At one point, I looked at the girls and through bubbles actually said “the puffer fish is going in the trash forever”

Those words actually came out of my mouth

Through bubbles 🤦🏻‍♀️

#thisisfostercare

30 days and some change

So 30 days of littles … what have i learned
 
The clearest lesson is that foster care is hard. Really really really hard. I knew that already.
 
I can’t get past how much I really hurt for these kiddos. I tell people all the time – it is broken system – we just help where we can when we can because it is the right thing to do.
 
The last 60 days has brought that point again.
 
This is my third emergency placement since September 1. The heartbreaking portion of this month, outside of the whole heartbreaking part, is this –
 
we had a placement for 3 whole days in September prior to our current littles. It was an emergency. We said yes as we usually do.
 
A 3&5 year old. The state determined that they needed to go from my house to a relative placement after three days. I wasn’t sad. If kids can go somewhere they know and it is a good fit, I am all for it. I am huge supporter of reunification and family support.
 
The heartbreak comes in every day when I see those kiddos. They go to the same daycare as my current littles. EVERY SINGLE DAY, those kiddos run up to me, hug me and ask to come back to my house. I don’t think they are being mistreated with their relative. I really don’t. I just think we were a lot of fun in a scary time.
 
My husband had off from work the day before the Via Colori Street Painting Festival 2019. He came to daycare with me to pick up our current group of 3 littles. The previous littles lost their mind when they saw him. Ran right past me and hugged him like their life depended on it.
 
I am not saying this because we are awesome and have the best foster home. I am saying this because those children, whom we had for 3 days, still want to come to our house. Two months later. Trauma imprints on the brain. Trauma will shape their lives forever.
 
I try to explain trauma like this –
 
It is a giant elephant in the kitchen. The longer you ignore it, the larger the elephant becomes. However, though the elephant won’t go away, it can become smaller and more manageable if you don’t ignore it. Maybe it can help with the dishes or cooking. Maybe just maybe it might get so small that you can put it in a drawer and only remember it when it rears it’s ugly head through triggers or flashes of things that make you revisit scary moments.
 
We want to help the kiddos in our world reshape and redefine their elephants. Being Trauma Informed is never ever a bad thing when it comes to working with kids.
 
The kiddos we had in September will slowly forget about us and we hope that they work through the trauma, but ultimately – we will never know.
 
The not knowing is hard. When you get an emergency placement – you know nothing. They usually hand you a scared kiddo and an empty binder. It could be weeks before you can piece together some semblance of a story. Or you could never find out.
 
We won’t know the whole story of any kid that comes into our home. That sucks. It is hard to fix something without all of the pieces.
 
However – i would suggest – if you can foster – DO IT! I hate that we need foster homes but I am glad to be a safe harbor.
 
I also struggle with the talking heads who don’t live on the front lines. I struggle with people who get on social media and claim to be changing the landscape and are so out of touch with reality. They chose to put on a happy face, say things are changing and deep down – I can’t figure out how they sleep night because it is getting worse. They put a pretty band-aid on a open artery and state that it is getting better. This is hard for me to swallow. Maybe I need to sit on some important committee and wake people up. On second thought, that is a terrible idea. My northern lack of filter would not be the best for a political landscape. 
 
So if you are like me and want to put your money where your mouth is and you live in Kentucky – consider becoming a foster parent. I can help you. Call me 502-338-3640
or visit this hand dandy website
 
I promise, you won’t be alone. You will not be on an island by yourself. You will be part of a movement to change the landscape of children. I can’t promise it won’t be hard but i can promise you – you won’t be alone in that hardness.
 
#thisisfostercare
#befosteraware
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that one night

My day, about two placements ago, started with a call from my worker and ended this way –

Holy cow! 3&5 year olds are amazing! In case you were curious – all it took to get them asleep tonight was the following:

1. No nap and lots of confusion And a very scary start of the day. Lot of tears. Lots and lots of tears

2. A visit with new people to check to make sure the car seats I just bought today were in correctly! High five to my co-workers for helping out, and then off to go shopping for dresses to wear to school tomorrow (and pajamas, bath stuff, a toy each and converse shoes because Jojo wears them, Jojo panties because all others are subpar and socks which $250 later hurt my credit card)

3. Lunch at McDonald’s when “we aren’t hungry” before we pulled in and then “chicken nuggets” after we pull in and then back to a strange house for a bath. In a strange bathroom. But at least there were bubbles. In the tub and the floor and on a cat. But bubble none the less

4. 2 hours of watching a strange lady (me) take a toy out of a box (which I did without cursing once BTW – why the F@&k do we need so many zip ties and a sacrifice to get a Peppa pig tree house out of a stupid box)

5. Dancing to Jojo videos on YouTube and eating fruit by the foot while they explained how baby alive pees in her diaper.

6. Up and down the steps 598,876,541 times to visit jake and Griffin Dane

7. More dancing-this time with the strange lady’s husband Simon and 50,000 questions to said husband

8. Dinner at Chick-fil-A Elizabethtown because they have a playground

9.arguing with adults because one French fry means they have eaten and can go play now – right!?!

10. 15 minutes of play with teenagers in said playground – no shoes of course – but they did have to open the door three times to yell “I love you” at the top of their lungs across the restaurant to me 😂

11. Quick trip to Burke for Jojo bows

12. Waiting in the car for strange lady (they still can’t pronounce my name) to get the much need marshmallow unicorn cereal for breakfast tomorrow and pullups

I came back to the car and my son whispered that they were sleeping and I should be quiet

Griffy and Simon carried them in from the car

Look – if you have never lotioned and changed a five year old and a three year old into new footie pajamas (because jojo has those in her “tube” video) – you are missing out.

It is like maneuvering a wet noodle into a fleece hoodie. It is not easy.

But after that nightmare -they were into a strange bed but fell fast asleep.

This is foster care. It is not always this easy and tomorrow may be rough. Tomorrow I may want to punch a plastic Peppa pig in the face because she won’t stay on her stupid tree house swing.

Tomorrow it may take an act of Congress to get them to school and bed and to eat. Tomorrow may be easy too.

Either way

They are safe. And I am learning about the cult of Jojo one hair bow at a time.

And yes

They are as sassy as my Daughter

The words go on your butt – circa 2017

“The words go on your butt”

8 months ago these words were used every night in my house. Did you know that pull up diapers sometimes have words on the back? I didn’t. Until I was graced with the presence of toddlers. They were not mine and I was tasked with keeping them safe.

So in trying to teach a three year old, who was far from home, some independence in an uncertain home – the words going on your butt became our nightly routine. A mantra.

She learned it and shook that little butt with pride because the words were there. We giggled and helped her with their pajamas. Every night.

Most of you know that the little girls moved to a different foster home after a bit because my schedule in trying desperately to save the world is deplorable for small children. I love my job and I had to make a choice. There are times that I question that choice. And there are times that I absolutely know I made the right one. For my family and for me and the parents I work with and via. Especially Via. And for my kids. Who have hearts as big as mine.

Some of you may know that after they had left my house, I was still in possession of some of their things.

We contacted mom. With a lot of trepidation. Turns out- after weeks of speaking with her and lots of pictures- there were hugs and promises to keep in touch. The words on the butt story was one of the first I shared with her.

That was June. Today it is August and I still speak with her a lot. Today was a rough day. Today I held a young mother in my arms and cried with her. We immediately went to lunch to eat our feelings and learn more about each other. Mozzarella sticks might actually be a cure for all that hurts. Today they almost were.

Wednesday in Kentucky is typically family court day. Today the powers that be met to see if the girls could go home. My appearance to the social workers and the judge and even her lawyer was a bit surprising. The girls are no longer with me. Haven’t been since march.

But I was still there. And I was there supporting a mom who had her children removed for very very valid reasons.

Things like someone like me showing up rarely happen. At least that was my impression today.

I have no ties to the girls. Or their mother. Legally. I am not even a foster parent anymore. Yet I was there holding her hand and giving her advice and looking at her lawyer and saying “she has me for support and some ass kicking if she strays off the path”. He insisted that I come into the courtroom for her. To back him up if needed in what he did.

Working in the field gives me a clear view of both sides and the horrors of both sides. I wanted to dislike her. I wanted to never meet her. Why? Because there were parts of this young mom that reminded me very much of myself as a young mom and all the mistakes that were made.

I had my oldest son at 17 and I was definitely not the perfect parent. I was a party girl who was pretending to keep it together. This young mother represents all the mistakes I made raising my kids until I learned not to make those mistakes again.

Let’s be real here – I took care of her kids. I train and license foster parents. I run an event with the help of thousands of people to help foster kids. So I wanted to not like her. That didn’t work so well for me. I have learned that caring a great deal for her was not wrong on any level.

She has learned things too. She is learning to be a good mom. Her background is her horror story to share but let me say that her behavior is statistically accurate for what she went through. That is not an excuse. There is always a reason.

Needless to say – she got herself together over the last eight months when everyone, and I mean everyone, thought she would fail.

I stood with her today, without judgement, and a very opened mind and a very opened heart and prayed for the girls to come home to her.

They didn’t.

There were a lot of tears, in front of that judge and that lawyer and those social workers – there were tears and I held her. Unprecedented.

Them not coming home is ok to an extent. Because they will be going home as long as she maintains. Two more months. And I will be there for the next hearing and the next round of tears because something is telling me it is the right thing to do.

I am lucky to have a wonderful mom. I am lucky to have an amazing father who took the place of one of the most horrid sperm donors on the planet. My birth father was evil. Pure, unadulterated alcohol fueled evil. The man I call my dad is not. I am lucky to have siblings who love me and children who don’t hate me too often. I am so very lucky to have friends and family and a job that I adore. I am lucky to have a husband who tolerates my crazy ass ideas and holds my hands when I hurt or fail.

I am also lucky to have a young mom and her two kids in my life. I hate how we met. I don’t hate what we have become. I hurt today. I hurt for her and the girls. Because I can’t make her tears stop. I can’t make it easier. Shit – I can’t even make my own tears stop.

I know it takes time. i just didn’t expect this side of foster care to hurt so much.

She is not the best parent. I wasn’t either at her age and I still am not at my age now. I like to think that I am a good mom but frankly we are all human. We can only do the best we can until we can’t. She is absolutely doing the best she can. For that, I am so proud of her.

I am not writing this for accolades or “you’re so awesomes” – I am writing this because I need to. I am usually exceptionally private about my feelings. At least my vulnerable feelings. Everyone and their brother knows when I am angry or happy. But those moments that my heart is heavy and filled with hurt – those I keep private. Sometimes even to my husband. Because those are vulnerable moments and I am not a fan of being vulnerable.

But my vulnerability and my hurt and those tears might speak to someone today. Being a foster parent is the most beautiful and tragic thing. Ever. I learned today that it can’t be selfish. It has to be selfless. Those kids deserve their parents – and if and only if those parents can’t do it – they deserve to have someone weather the storms to come when the realizations hit. Those storms are never little rainfalls. They are hurricanes with tornadoes and debris and hail and lots of tears. These kids need umbrellas. They need safe harbors.

And sometimes these biological parents need someone to say “you screwed up – you are working to make it better – you will never be perfect – and that is ok because I am proud of you and I am here”

It takes a village to raise a kid. It will take a community to help make it better.

So this is my personal story of why today I am vulnerable. Why in a month I will be equally as vulnerable. And why there will be more tears.

This is another why behind Via Colori. This is another reason for why I am always fighting. Because I can. Simple as that.

My husband and I are debating returning to the world of foster care next year. It is still an uncertainty. Depends on so many things. Some would ask us why. It is very simple.

Because the words go on your butt. And those words are so very important.

2019 update – sadly I don’t know what happened to the toddlers and I lost contact with mom not long after I wrote this in 2017. Sometimes not having answers about those you love really sucks but that is the way it is sometimes.

Foster care is the most heart breaking and beautiful thing you could ever do.

And my husband and kids and I did return to foster care in 2018 – and that kiddo – my daughter- heads to college next week. I should probably tell her that the words go on your butt.

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