The Beginning of the End

I know that title sounds so dramatic but it is. By next weekend at this time, our girls will be happily giggling and playing in their new permanent home – their mom’s home. We’re having a hard time processing this idea. Seems like the last few days, today especially, has been difficult to understand. We have a lot of emotions going on right now and they’re all sort of spinning around at the same time; each one contradicting the other. It’s confusing because you’re not really sure which one you should latch onto and follow.

I guess I’m just feeling sad for us. For my mom. For our friends and family. I’m fine one minute, in tears the next. I’ll probably cry 5 different times just writing this post. When I think back on all of the wonderful, pivotal memories we’ve made together my heart swells with pride, happiness, and accomplishment. And then I retreat and deflate a little (or a lot) at the impact their departure is and will have on our hearts. All of our hearts. What makes me feel really good (in a weird way) is when people on Facebook tell us that they’ll miss our girls too. To me, this means we have done a good job being transparent in our struggles and generous with our joy. To know that others have learned from, grown from, and considered this journey because of what we have shared makes us feel like we did an OK job at something we knew nothing about.

The other struggle is this: how long do we wait? We’ve been asked this question umpteen million times. Hell, we’ve asked ourselves umpteen million times too. How long is long enough? Don’t wait too long or else you’ll lose spots at the great daycare you’ve found. Don’t take more kids in too soon so it doesn’t look like you’re trying to fill a void. (For the record, no child will ever fill another child’s void.) Don’t say no for too long, you don’t want to miss the child that would have been perfect for your home. All of those things run through our minds about 20 times an hour. It’s hard to know how long we wait…or if we wait at all. We can see the plusses and minuses of each side. And as soon as we come up with a definite game plan, here comes the next little that’s sleeping in a hotel room with a social worker until the right home comes along. Now if that isn’t tragedy, I don’t know what is.

Over the last week there’s been an influx of kids coming into care. When they start using the words, “Emergency Care” or something like that, you know it’s because nobody else is willing/able/whatever to take in the child for whatever reason. I’ve lost track now at the number of kids that are in dire need for a place this weekend alone. The clothes on their backs, empty bellies, and broken hearts is all they come with sometimes. “Here! Our door is wide open! Let them all come in!” our hearts exclaim. Logically, we try to stay reserved as our hearts break when we read how sweet these kids are and how their small but significant lives are being shaken up like a martini.

We’re scared. We don’t know what the right thing to do is. We thought for sure we were going to take a break but we just look at each other and say the same thing at the same time. “As broken hearted as we are, there’s no way in hell I can let a kid have nowhere to go. We’ll do it. We’ll welcome them in.” 

Keep in mind, this is still new to us. There have been a lot of “firsts” since we got our girls in June and now this is the first goodbye. (Typing that was painful!) This is also the first time we’re having to figure out how much time we should or shouldn’t take. We won’t know what the right answer is until we do or we don’t. We’ve got a line of people 20 miles long ready and willing to give us their advice. Ready to tell us what we should do. I’ll kindly thank you for your well intentioned support. We know you’re looking out for what’s best for us. The truth is, only we can make this decision.

Do realize that we know this hurts you. You’ve read along, liked our posts and pictures, come to our parties to celebrate, supported us when we shed tears (more to come!), and sent gifts, cards, yourselves over to comfort us. You’ve engaged, believed, prayed, laughed, smiled, cared, cried, disagreed, and encouraged. You’ve felt our emotions as closely as you possibly could have without being us. Because you support us, because you follow us, you have been through the wringer, as well. It must be hard to watch people you care about be in pain over something that has been so beautiful. So maybe you aren’t ready for us to have more kids. Maybe this has been too hard for you. Trust me, we get where you’re coming from.

No promises is all I can promise at this point. I feel like we look so dumb saying we’ve got a plan and then realizing that our plan wasn’t a plan at all. Maybe it makes sense in our minds to feel like we’ve had some say in this so we’ll say we have a plan, but we now realize that in the world of foster care the plan can and likely will always change. For now, I know this much. The girls won’t be home until Monday night, they’ll have a visit with their mom on Wednesday and Thursday night, and sometime on Friday, probably in the morning, they’ll be returned home to her. And then that’s it. 

Here come the tears again. It’s weird. This is so final. All of it is coming to a close. Their sweet faces and voices not to be heard on a daily basis anymore. We’ll have to use the 1,000 pictures and videos we have saved to watch them. The hard part will be not being able to hug them. The hard part will be remembering the funny things like when Doc McStuffins comes on and they look at you and smile big, hold their hand out toward you and motion their little hand to come over, and they say, “Monn!” and you realize they’re saying “Come on and dance with me to the opening credits of this show I love so much!” So you get up and you dance around like a toddler and they laugh wildly. That’ll be hard; to not hear, see, or engage in that with them. It’ll be hard to walk into the room that was first theirs and know it’s not theirs anymore. Their room is somewhere else. This room will be someone else’s. A childless parent. 

I could keep going on but it’ll just get more depressing so I’ll stop here. Maybe you can see how we’re straddling both sides of the fence here. The one side where our hearts are broken and devastated by the loss of the twins; the other side where our hearts and broken and devastated by the lack of homes for kids in dire need of love, stability, and comfort. What do we do? What’s the right thing? Is there a wrong thing? I feel like we’re really being tested here, yet there was no way to study, so you don’t know how to pass or how to fail. I guess we can only do our best and wait for the results.

xo,

a

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It’s Off

I got up when I felt like it today. Went to Legendary to grab a few donuts. Used up the last of my Starbucks gift card. Dropped a donut off to my mom and helped her with an app on her phone. Came home to Mitch and sat casually on the recliner while we chatted and started to watch Lockup on Netflix. He decided he was still tired, so he went back to bed. I scrolled through Facebook and texted with Stephanie, who has been home since Thursday but I just realized that TODAY. Felt like a shitty friend. Wondered what else I’ve been missing/not realizing/forgetting lately. Probably a lot. Sigh.

It’s off. This whole morning. I should have gotten up when I had to. Chased the kids around to get them ready for their visit with their dad. Tried six times to get their coats on. Told them to keep their shoes on at least 27 times. Put on Doc McStuffins or Goldie and Bear to let them have a little bit of TV time to distract them from the fact that we were putting their shoes on…yet again. Fed them *only* a banana because that’s all they want and their dad feeds them when they get to their visit. Saw them off to the visit transporter at 8:30 and then promptly began to rush around to spend hours cleaning the house so it could inevitably be a mess again before days end. I should be running around doing errands with urgency so I can be home by about 2:20 when they get home. Or taking a nap and setting my alarm to be awake when they get home.

Instead of doing all of that I had a casual morning. It’s off. For almost a year now we’ve had to establish a routine for the sake of everyone’s sanity. For almost a year now we’ve had to build our life around their six days a week visit schedules. It’s hard to believe we’re just three weeks out from all of that. Hard to believe it has been almost a year. Hard to believe we crammed so many memories in. I remember when they got here. We pulled them out of their car seats and they weren’t even a little bit reluctant to wrap their tiny arms around our necks and hug us. Strangers. A new face. Again. We were an instant family.

Nay Nay had just learned to walk, so she was still pretty wobbly. Sassie was still crawling. We taught one how to stabilize her new ability and taught one how to walk. Taught them how to use a fork and spoon. Taught them how to brush their teeth. Worked with them on their words so their speech could be on track for their age group. Nurtured their interest in the potty. Allowed them to wash themselves in the bath tub. We watched them go from needing us to do everything for them to watching them try to do everything for themselves. Watched them outgrow an outfit that fit them fine the week before. Put their own coats and socks on. Buckle themselves into their booster seats. Use the remote. Open doors. (YIKES!)

When I posted this profound article earlier this morning on my Facebook page, I said that, “Being a foster parent means you’re willing to put everything on the line knowing you could lose it all.” It’s true. And for those of you out there that do this repeatedly, I applaud you. It’s pretty brave of you to know you’re going to use up every ounce of energy and love you have to give only to have it questioned, accused, misunderstood, and to feel unappreciated. Of course, that’s not always the case. I’m sure there are situations where it’s not as volatile, not as much of a tug of war as it has been, and not so jagged at times.

Don’t get me wrong, we get to be thankful for the time we had with our littles. The things we taught them without even realizing we were contributing in some small way to their development and happiness, but they weren’t the only ones learning. They were our teachers, too. They taught us how to parent, how to budget, how to make the most of our time, how to stay up for too many hours (ha!), how to fight for something no matter how slim the chances of success are, how to be a child advocate, how to love others in ways we never understood, how to be adaptable, and it doesn’t stop there. The lessons they teach us every day will continue on after they are gone not here anymore back with their mom go home…well, you know. Having a hard time saying and hearing all of those.

I know you’re reading this and it’s probably hard to know what to say. Some of you have expressed love and comfort so willingly, others have stayed silent, some have sent a text or a Facebook message. Some of you have told me something along the lines of, “I have been following your story…I don’t know what to say…I’m sorry that…” Please don’t apologize. You checking in on us is perfect. Saying you love us and we have been great is perfect. Saying you don’t know what to say is perfect. Saying, “This is what you signed up for…” or something like that is not helpful. This roller coaster of emotions is super hard to navigate. It’s all new to us, just like being parents was new to us. It’s weird when they aren’t here. It’s weird I won’t see them until Monday night. I cried on my way to work Friday morning knowing I wouldn’t see their sweet faces for what seemed like forever. Maybe that sounds silly/stupid/dramatic and maybe it is.

If I have learned one thing in the last few times that they’ve gone on overnight visits with their mom, it’s that I believe having kids gives me a life that I love. It makes me feel like I have a purpose. Before them, we were so casual, and we liked it! Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that we don’t enjoy a quick and rare chance to have a date, watch a movie together at home after the kids go to bed, or sleep in, but it’s different when they’re gone for a long time. And it’s different when you have a family. I want to be the snack mom at their sporting events. I want to join the PTA and put my fundraising skills to use again. I want to be the reason they look back on their childhood and smile. I want to let them be a child during their years of childhood, something in which is robbed of far too many kids. 

How soon after the girls leave can we continue to contribute to the well-being of a child and their family? That remains to be seen, but I know we want to do it. We are scared. I know how much this hurts us right now and I know it’ll hurt even more come “the day” that they…go. I’ll be honest, I really don’t know how our hearts and energy will be replenished after all of this, but I know it’ll happen. When it does, we’ll welcome him, her, them just as we welcomed the twins. We will love them, provide for them, encourage them, and fight for them because if not us, then who?

xo,

a

P.S. On April 2nd, we are participating in a bowling fundraiser for foster children in our area. We are $50 short of our required minimum and we need your help. Please donate any amount here. Thank you!

Messy

I’m feeling exceptionally emotional about the girls today. I think this is probably because we got some information yesterday that leads us to believe they will be gone very soon. In fact, the wording was specifically “very soon.” I don’t have to tell you how extremely sad this is. I’m selfishly thinking of how this makes me feel right now instead of how exciting this must feel for their mom. Just let me get this out. I promise not to stay here but if I don’t say this here then it’ll stay inside, and I can’t let this fester.

I guess I’m worrying and it’s highly likely that it’s unnecessary. One of the hardest parts about being a foster parent for me has been the emotional triggers it brings from my childhood and young adulthood. These triggers are the reasons I have chronic PTSD in the first place. When I think of them going home, I’m scared for them to wonder why they don’t see us anymore. I’m afraid and physically cannot bear the idea of them wondering where we went and I couldn’t possibly pray any harder that they won’t wonder if they did something wrong and that’s why they don’t see us anymore. That very idea feels like it’s literally slowly killing me.

And why would such a thought be so triggering? Well, maybe it’s because I know what it feels like to be left behind by a parent. I know how it feels for a parent to be there one day and gone the next. I have felt the ache of wondering what I did wrong, why I wasn’t good enough to stick around for, and what I could have done differently to make them stay. These are all feelings I cannot even begin to imagine my girls knowing because I know that if they stayed here they’d never know what that is like, and now I worry if I will make them feel that way when they don’t live here anymore. I don’t want to be the person that fades in and out of their life, like my dad has done to me. It’s far too much of an emotional mountain to climb.

I thought, “Maybe if I show him I love him enough he will change and things will be okay.” No matter how much we love these girls, the fact is that they are not ours, they do not belong to us, they are not staying here. So the correlation between trying to love my dad enough to get him to stay and trying to love the girls enough to get them to stay is the same stabbing feeling of getting nowhere and treacherous sadness, and I have to constantly remind myself that neither of those situations were ones I had control of. Maybe that’s the hard part, knowing that I have no control, but only that I can control how to respond rather than how I react.

Watching a parent be an addict is hard, to say the least. Playing second fiddle to an addiction is not a feeling I would want anyone to know, but sadly, many can identify with. I am the first person to acknowledge that addiction is an illness. What may seem like a choice is actually a cry for help, a way to escape, a way to stay alive for people who have been through trauma but have no resources to properly heal. I get so outraged by the stigma of mental health in our world today. If we addressed it and made it accessible then maybe there would be less addiction, less loss, less trauma, and the cycle could break. We are not there yet, and frankly, we are so so late.

Even though it might not be true, I feel like my dad chose his addictions over me. It can sometimes feel like it’s easier to love the high than it is to love me. When you’re made to feel that way for so long it’s easy to start believing it and when you believe something so tragic, you start to push anyone away that loves you, compliments you, celebrates you. It feels like people are just saying nice things to be nice, not because they truly feel that way. Surely they can’t possibly love me, especially if they knew that I’m really not the person they think I am. Then one day someone asks you why you think so poorly of yourself and you can’t even figure out why because this is all you’ve known, because the way you were treated made you feel as if you weren’t good enough or important enough to love. It’s because the actions of one of the most influential people in your life that are supposed to love, support, care for, celebrate, and protect you is prioritizing their addiction or has disappeared without a trace instead of choosing you.

All of this all leads to not feeling like enough. Had I been a good enough daughter, maybe my dad would have stuck around. Had I been worth loving, maybe my 13 – 19 year old self wouldn’t have had to fight tooth and nail scouring the internet for 7 years to find him. Maybe if I love the girls enough they can stay. Maybe if I fight tooth and nail to advocate for their best interest they’ll get to stay. These two subjects are very closely connected and painfully triggering.

As hard as this all is, it’s good for me. I knew I needed to start going to counseling and I aligned it with the same timing as becoming a foster mom. I knew both would be hard, I knew both would be a lot of work, I knew that through these experiences I would be able to heal. I wanted to be able to love others in the ways I wished to be loved. I wanted to love myself the way some people in my life love me. I knew I couldn’t do that if I didn’t do both of these things. While some may see this as me breaking, this is me healing. I am erupting from a pile of disappointment, shame, uselessness, heartbreak, and trauma. Everything is flying around in the air but it is no longer holding me underneath its heavy pile. It’s progress, not perfection, but a step in the right direction nonetheless.

xo,

a

Foster Parenting

I kind of surprised myself tonight. I started responding to a post on a friend’s page about being a foster parent. Admittedly, I was a little miffed with the person making a lot of argumentative comments because I felt like she was attacking foster parents, and homie don’t play that. As foster parents, we get enough shit flung at us all the time. This was an emotional response. As I typed, I felt it coming up from the deepest part of my heart and spewing out onto the keys. I didn’t mean to hijack my friend’s post…but I kind of did. Sorry, Sharla. I guess I’m surprised by the feeling and the clarity that I shared here, but I’m not sure why. It went a little something like this…

It sounds like you have been victimized by a lot of awful circumstance during your adolescent years, which can be so traumatic at a young age and extremely triggering in adulthood. I respect your position as coming from a child broken by the system and as an adult to see the injustice that can happen to people who can’t protect themselves. Shame on the people who knowingly commit wrong-doing to families. It is truly heartbreaking to see a family disbanded and I’m sorry that happened to you.

However, with all of that said, I believe you are taking an opinion on this matter that has gone deeper than just the message of this article. “I’m saying that total removal from any knowledge or presence of an addicted parent is an unhealthy move…” Am I confused about what this statement means? Are you saying it is better to leave the kids in care of an addict? If yes, what makes a person support showing children what a life of addiction is like?

As a foster mom, I have heard time and time again about the struggles of the system, what it does to individuals, families, and the state of our community. Foster care is always a last resort. The State of Washington doesn’t remove children from the home as easily as it sounds like you have experienced. I’m not saying you’re not being truthful, but we know a different system.

If I am understanding things from your perspective, you believe the family unit should stay together come what may. For the most part, I support this, but not when it endangers the life and future of the child. Breaking up a family is not ideal, in fact, it’s the worst nightmare of many. The heartache of being separated without control, without understanding, and with great sadness are all emotions that kids and parents endure, and it’s not fair.

But what also isn’t fair is when a child isn’t given the same opportunities as the next one. What’s not fair is when a parent retains custody of a child they don’t want. What’s not fair is to completely overwhelm state workers to the point that they cannot give focused attention on their caseload, and therefore, apply the least bit of time and attention to ensure everyone’s needs will be met once reunification happens. Not just for the child, but for the parents, too. Setting the entire family up for success rather than failure should be the logical thing to do, yet I am in the middle of fighting my state workers right now. I am imploring them, please, merge this family back together. Please, don’t throw them all in the dryer together at the same time and watch them collide and tumble only to see what shakes out.

For as many bad bio parents that are out there, there’s just as many bad foster homes. That is an unarguable truth, but some of us, people like my husband and I, we fight. Hard. Not just for the girls, but for the family unit because we believe that if we love the girls the best we can and do whatever is necessary to support their mom, and fight for the reunification process to go how it should and not how the state would like for it to, (which is to throw them all in at once – an awful idea for reasons I can clarify later, if necessary) they’ll all be better off. And not just for a few months, but for the rest of their lives. We love our girls so much that we have jumped in with both feet to be supportive when we didn’t and perhaps shouldn’t have, but we did it because we knew that all of our efforts to advocate for the girls would carry into advocacy for the betterment of the family.

Foster parenting gives a lot of people a bad taste in their mouth. The system is broken, the families are broken, hearts are broken. This isn’t just happening to the bio family, this is also happening to the foster family. We chose not to just open our door, we chose to open our hearts. We chose to be advocates instead of sitting back and watching more injustice for this family. We chose to do more than necessary because we know that going the extra mile will only strength relationships. And at the end of the day, when all is said and done, they will leave our house and our family (temporary or not) will be broken. Our hearts will be broken. Our system will still be broken. And then the phone will ring and another family will need our help to watch over their children while they try to make arrangements for a better life. Once again, we will open not just our door, but our hearts as well and I hope that you can appreciate that our side of things experiences just as much heartache as yours might.

I know Washington CPS has a program that does in-home services for families that are struggling through a variety of situations such as drugs, DV, etc., so I’m grateful that this is the case, because, honestly, there are just too many kids in foster care, not enough beds, and not enough people being held responsible. In the last 7 months of our lives, we have learned far too much about how this system is broken. We have been angered by the difference in treatment their mom gets versus what their dad gets. It seems like whomever has the better attorney gets the better judgement. It’s wrong. The better attorney doesn’t prove the better parent. We need to be closely examining the family unit, what the parent did to lose custody, and what can be done to make sure that reunification is healthy for everyone. Yet, we watch so many families fall by the wayside. When I think about it, my heart emotionally cannot take it. To think of it now just makes me cry.

I’m watching our system want to rush the family back together right now because it has been open for too long and they want to close it out. It’s not just. Mitch and I got into foster care for a variety of reasons, but one of them was because we truly wanted to help families. We come from limited means, so we are not able to financially support families, charities, etc. in the ways that our hearts want to, but we do what we can and this is the best we can do right now.

It’s tough to parent someone else’s children. For as much as the bio parents are scrutinized and under the microscope, judged, blamed, insulted, and not taken seriously, the same thing happens to the foster parents. It sucks, but this is a choice. We choose to do this because we believe that we should. We won’t get rich in coin but rich in love and after it has been 10, 20, 30+ years of dragging our heels in the mud, kicking and screaming for families to have the treatment they deserve, then I will say, “We have done all we can. Time to move onto something else.”

By far, this has been the most emotional, difficult, sad, angry, beautiful, loving, hilarious 7 months of my life, so far. When I look at those babies asleep in their beds at night, I am so deeply aware of how great my love for them is and I am reminded every day that they are not mine. That they belong at home, with their mom and sister, so they can be a family again. For them to stay with us permanently would mean that their bio family fell apart and as difficult as it is to grasp and imagine our lives without these littles, it is far more difficult to accept any responsibility for breaking up a family. So we will keep them for the short term but we will love them forever.

And that, my friends, is just the tip of the iceberg.

xo,

a

Make It Stop

Okay. First of all, I’m sick right now so I’m overly sensitive. I’m not even sure if this is going to make any sense. I feel like I have a lot on my mind and I’m going to throw up the words all over this keyboard. Doesn’t that sound messy? Buckle up!

I guess I got set off today by an email I woke up to this afternoon. Remember, I’m sick, so I’ve been napping. Anyway. Without revealing too much, it said that the twins may be returning home next month. Sigh. We’ve been through this before and we thought it was resolved. We were told that the transition period wouldn’t be abrupt for a variety of imperative reasons. If they go home next month, that’s going to be way too much on all of them and that’s just not fair. They’ve been through enough, especially their mom, and it’s not fair to throw them all in the cage together to see who makes it out alive. She deserves to have them phased into her new, stable life.

Even with being protective over the kids and their mom in mind, I sunk a little deeper into the couch and hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I buried my face so I wouldn’t wake Mitch up with my sobs. My sweet, smelly, funny, dirty, adorable, chaotic family is disbanding.  We pray that once their mom needs a break she will reach out to us. She has told us multiple times that she will, but she’s not obligated to do that. If you didn’t have your family for 18-20 months, would you want to share them with anyone? Hell, I don’t want them to go home permanently and they’re not even my flesh and blood. I can’t imagine what it must be like for her. Our loss is her gain and as hard a pill as that is to swallow, it’s the truth.

I’ve been in counseling since May. I knew I needed to get my head and my heart straight before we started opening the door to kids with hard lives. It has been so good for me. It has been week after week of raw truth which has been difficult, but necessary. I am so grateful I started counseling when I did because it has helped me deal with the emotional roller coaster of this new life. Referencing back to my previous paragraph, the old me would say, “It is what it is. This is what we signed up for, so that’s just the way it is.” Regardless of whether that’s true or not, I was cutting off, slamming shut, dead bolting the door to my true emotions. Now that I’m months into the healing process, I can recognize that this is an emotional time for me, and rightfully so.

Instead of disregarding my feelings, I’m facing them head on. I’m digging deep and sinking into those deeply sad feelings. I couldn’t describe to you how uncomfortable it can be, but try it, sit there, stay awhile, you might learn something. I told my counselor that I realized I was discrediting their mom for certain things because I was jealous of her. No matter how well loved they are in my house, she still gets them back and that made me sad. So instead of just being sad I’d show anger instead and my anger turned to jealousy. It’s so easy for me or a friend to say that they belong with us, that we deserve to keep them, but that’s not fair. None of us would say that to their mom’s face. Let’s just be honest. She’s a person, too. She’s felt trauma, depression, and hopeless as many of us have. It’s not for us to judge her. It’s just not. And believe me, this entire paragraph contains some of the hardest truths I have had to admit through this entire process.

So what now? How can I make it stop? I can’t. Instead of being angry I’ll let myself be sad when I need to be and enjoy my girls the rest of the time. I’ll sink in and let myself sit in those uncomfortable feelings because I know deep down that they are teaching me lessons on trust, love, and perseverance.

xo,

a

 

Six months in…

There was all this build up to the day we finally received our first “placement” as foster parents. The call finally came on June 13, 2016. We were told there was a set of 12 month old twin girls. For months, we were preparing for a 0-3 month old drug exposed baby, but we were anxious to put the love we were holding hostage in our hearts to work, so we said yes, and on June 15, 2016, our girls came to live with us.

Since then, we have learned so many things about ourselves, each other, the twins, and the world around us. The bond the four of us have is unbelievable. We became an instant family. This has been the most difficult thing in life we have ever done. It has been excruciatingly painful to realize these sweeties are going back home soon. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve been in their mom’s corner this entire time. We’ve had minimal bumps in the road with her, and for the most part, we work together pretty well for the best interest of the girls.

One of the reasons it was on my heart to become a foster (to adopt) parent was because I had gone through three miscarriages already and I couldn’t fathom putting my body and mind through further turmoil. As you can imagine, losing babies, born or unborn, is unfathomable. What I didn’t realize is that no matter how hard I fight against the injustices that these kids have faced, no matter how much I love on them, no matter what right I do for them, they’re still going home. I’m still losing babies but in a different way.

I know that’s a shitty way to look at it, but don’t get too caught up in that. I realize this was what we signed up for but nobody can be adequately prepared for what it’s really like to be a foster parent. It’s an added layer of difficulty when you’re fostering because you’re constantly under a microscope, being questioned, being accused, being misinformed. And as another foster mom said, “You don’t know what it’s like until you do it.” Truer words were never spoken.

Now that I’ve shared what is wrong with foster parenting, let me share with you what is right with it. It’s a blessing to be able to have the support we have had to bring children into our home. Not everyone has the tribe that we have. You guys are irreplaceable. The tears that I’ve cried, the laughs that I’ve shared, the confusion I’ve gone through. You’ve all been there. You’re incredible people. Thank you!

It’s pretty amazing to bring a life into your home and love that life unconditionally as if it were your own flesh and blood. If you think you can’t love someone else’s child you’re wrong. You can and you would do it beautifully. You learn a lot about yourself and your partner when kids come into the picture. I never thought I’d fight so hard for anything in my life. The social worker probably thinks I’m some bitch from hell because I’m not afraid to speak up when we’re noticing things that aren’t healthy for the girls. I’m not trying to be a jerk. I’m trying to make sure they get the very best.

This process is stressful and it’ll be stressful on your household. No doubts about that at all. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it. Although it sucks that we don’t get to adopt the twins, it’s awesome that their mom gets to have her family back. We helped her with that in a small way. In one hand, we love knowing we could help dozens of families stay together, but in the other, we’re still aching to be adoptive parents. It will happen. Our day will come. If nothing else, the twins have taught us we CAN be good parents. There was never any doubt about Mitch. I knew well before we started this journey that he’d be a great dad and he is. In fact, he’s amazing. Any kid would be lucky to have him as a role model.

As for me, I had (and still do to some degree) some concerns about being a mom. I knew I wanted to be a mom but I was afraid of messing up some kids life. I don’t want that blood on my hands. I still have a long way to go before I could be considered a “good” or a “great” mom, but for now, I’m a mom to kids that need love, safety, shelter, and support.

Anything worth having is worth working hard for. I have never worked so hard. I have never loved so hard. I have never laughed so hard. I have never cried so hard. This process is beautiful, stressful, rewarding, challenging, confusing, gratifying, hilarious, and exhausting. There’s no way in hell I’d go back on the decision to do this. I love being a mom!

I feel like this is a pretty vague update but I wanted to give you something. If anyone read this, leave me a comment so I’ll know whether or not I should keep writing.

xo,

a