I call my kiddos ducklings. It is an easy moniker
This morning one of them drew me a surprise picture and it took everything I had in me not to cry
It is crumbled because she rolled it up to surprise me
This crumbled photo is a reminder of why I do this. I mean come on – look at my muscles lol
After a day filled with heartbreak and anger (not duckling related), I am sitting in my living room.
Duckling #1 is curled up with my one son
Duckling #2 is discussing stinky feet and stinky socks with my husband
Duckling #3 is laying on the floor at my other kid’s feet singing to Mr Nubs the rescue cat
They are all happy
Sometimes it is what it is and you can’t change the decisions that other people make. You can’t cure all the hurt or help all the kids.
Sometimes it is just about what is in your bubble and even though it is not all of the kids that need a safe place to land – these three remind me that it is one day at a time.
Sometimes you just have to swallow the anger and the hurt and move on.
You won’t forget the hurt. The heartbreak will linger. But for tonight – the ducklings and my teens need me to keep it together because they need a safe place.
I will fight for foster kids. I will beg for foster parents. I will plead for support to help the above. I will also cry tonight for the ones that the system failed. Those the system let go too soon. The ones they said would be ok. The ones that they ignored.
I will hate every minute of this because we have to do better. It is never enough.
Hopefully this new administration gets their collective crap together and fixes the cracks that constantly open because kids are failing through those cracks. It is no longer ok.
I am a foster parent. I also work to find new foster parents and to educate everyone I know on the trauma associated with adverse childhood experiences. To raise money for foster kids and parents. To bring a community together to stand up for these kids.
You don’t have listen. I hope you will. I hope you will consider breaking your own heart a thousand times over to help these kids.
I promise – the hugs at the end of the day and giggles and even the snark of teenagers is worth every tear.
So tonight, there won’t be a cute post followed with a wine glass. I am out of wine dammit and I can’t go get any 😂 I have ducklings to tuck in
But I will cry and be really really angry and that is just another part of the story. The ugly part. That part we don’t talk about.
And tomorrow will be another day.
What a whirlwind the last hour was. My three and four year olds lost their collective minds
At the same time.
They want to go home. Why can’t they go home? Why is the wall so stupid? (I am not kidding about that question)
All things I can’t change or answer. They have held it together for 39 days. Today was just the day to let it all out
At one time
They kicked the (stupid) walls, threw toys, screamed and basically had the temper tantrums of all temper tantrums.
I let it happen. They were safe. They aren’t strong enough to do damage to themselves or my 100 year old walls.
They only had plush things to throw.
Blankets can be picked up and pillows can be fluffed back out.
The oldest went out to help Simon hang lights and the younger two were left to just cry.
My oldest – She was fine. We explained that it is ok to be sad or angry and she was just content to help with Christmas decorating.
Crying is not a bad thing in my house. They didn’t want comfort – they wanted to be angry and sad and left alone. So I complied. I waited in the hallway to make sure no one got hurt and just them throw their fit.
They stayed in their room. They cried. And screamed and yelled. And then- one at a time, they were done.
Hugs were given. Tears were dried.
Such huge emotions for such little ducklings.
We are getting comfortable. When foster kids realize they are safe, these big emotions come out. They never come out in easy ways. They are vulnerable with these big emotions and they can only be vulnerable when they feel safe.
It is just a big storm. We weather it and move onto a brief glimpse of the sun. There will be more storms to come. And more hugs to come when they are needed
This is foster care
It will break your heart in a 100 different ways. And yet, they are safe and they are calm (for now) and tomorrow we will face another day … and they are not alone in this mess. And frankly every duckling needs a safe place to be vulnerable.
7:55 and the girls are in bed
But not after we decided to have a knock down drag out fight which resulted in tears all the way around over who got to spit their toothpaste out first into the sink
My husband – master of eloquence- who is lacking in patience after a very trying day and lots of battles of wills – simply said “spit it out and go to bed- no special YouTube video tonight”
This led to rivers of tears “because it is not fair”
To which I gave bedtime hugs and am covered in kid grossness because tears and told them that tomorrow will be a better day … and maybe next time – they won’t try to murder each other over toothpaste spitting 🤦🏻♀️
Of course most of this is just because they are tired – they are sisters and really they have been through a lot in the last month. Also I did mention that they are sisters and are prone to wanting to fight.
And because not five minutes before above mentioned brawl – I told that them I won’t let them stay up with the brothers all night
You know – according to them – they are old enough 🙄 so they were already looking for reasons to be grumpy.
Tomorrow will be a better day.
#thisisfostercare
Oh bless
I am taking a five minute time out
Simply because I am going to go into a little girls room and throw a singing castle out their window if I don’t escape for a hot minute
It sings and has a doorbell
What level of hell did this thing originate from? I think Satan himself would question the level of evil that seeps from the pink plastic staircase
Whichever toy company invented this diabolical piece of (expletive) should really be seeking forgiveness from a higher power than myself
The doorbell is the worst
After being rung 654,783,671 times – the batteries still haven’t died and I hear the stupid ding and I am instantly shaking
This is the same castle that I wanted to punch in its turret a month ago
And it happens to be one of their favorite toys
And of course – the ducklings fight over which imaginary guest is ringing the bell 🤦🏻♀️
So princess doorbells and fighting over imaginary guests is what I am listening to right now …
#thisisfostercare
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
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”
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.
Parentingandwine 