The ups and downs of foster care and adoption

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”  John 16:33

 Recently, I got two of my essay's put into a book.  The lady who put the book together told me that a man in the writing class she attends approached her and her sister and asked them if they would put together a book by adoptive moms about the trials of adoption.  He wanted this because so many people who want to adopt but haven't yet only focus on the sweetness of the new baby, without ever comprehending the trials that often go along with adoption of any sort: domestic, international or foster.
Then I began to notice that several blogs I follow and links on facebook were about the trials of foster care and adoption.
I love facebook.  I have renewed a lot of old friendships on there, have kept up with my grandkids and even my own children I don't see often and have made new friends.  One of my missions on facebook is to help other moms realize that children are truly kind of fun.  Sometimes when we are in the midst of it all, we don't realize that.  But I am older and have raised several children to adulthood and watched them move off away from me, and I realize how terribly quickly it all goes by.  I don't want anyone to miss just enjoying their children before they aren't children anymore.

Another mission is to encourage people to foster and adopt children in the foster care system.  In doing that, I am afraid most of the time I only write about the funny and sweet stuff.  And maybe that's not fair, because along with the sweetness, it can be HARD!  It can be scary, and it can make you cry a lot.
So, with fairness in mind, I thought I would write a blog, exploring both the pros and cons, so that in encouraging you to consider this mighty work with God, I won't leave you with the impression that it's all - as the song goes and I age myself - "sunshine, lollipops and rainbows."  It's a hard, messy, tear stained, hurtful, scary, wonderful, happy, awe inspiring, loving and fulfilling experience.

So I am going to list some things, both good and bad, that have happened to me in doing foster care and foster adoptions.  I have actually had it pretty good, considering what some of my friends, both in real life and online have gone through.  I don't regret it one bit, although there are many things I will be just glad NOT to do over again.  And other things that still make me tear up because they were so beautiful.  Some of these things are experiences with children I have gone on to adopt, others are experiences with children who went on to be reunited with their families, or adopted by someone else. 

I will start with the cons.  These are only a small handful of things that I have actually gone through on this journey:

falling in love with a sibling group, only to watch two of them go back to their mother, a situation that no one but the main worker thought was a good idea and, years later, that fear was an actuality.

desperately wanting to adopt the baby of that sibling group, a baby who we were attached too and who was attached to us, only to have one social worker who should NOT have had anything to do with it fight us every step of the way.

and after that child was awarded to us by a judge, and we were going through the six month period before we could finalize his adoption, having that social worker tell me, "I can still remove this child if there is a serious incident."  And realizing she was watching, and had the power to decide what the serious incident could be.

fallling in love with a little boy I cared for from birth to seven months of age so desperately in the days when foster parents were not allowed to adopt their foster children, and watching him leave for an adoptive home.  And never knowing again what happened to him.

and many years later, falling in love with another foster baby I had from six months to twenty six months of age, and wondering if I would EVER be whole again when she was reunited with her extended family in another state.  The grief I felt had to be akin to a death.

standing in a court room while the father of the above baby accused me of sexually abusing her.  Sitting there in my long dress and headcovering, not allowed to say a word, just having to sit and listen and be ordered to take her to the doctor to have it checked out.  And she wasn't abused, the doctor determined, but by the time the exam was over, I almost felt like she had been...

having the same daddy scream and scream right in my face over a bruise on the baby until the social worker who tried to keep Luke from us hotlined me herself, and I had to be investigated.  Again, I was cleared.  But that was hard!

having a social worker call me and warn me NOT to bring baby to visits because daddy has gone crazy and they don't know what's going to happen.

having a social worker call me on a different day and tell me to meet them several blocks away and they will bring baby to me because daddy has gone crazy and they are afraid for my safety if I come to pick the child up.

having my 15 year old son tell me he doesn't care what I say as I am parked a few blocks away waiting for the social worker to bring baby, he will NOT lay down in the back seat if daddy shows up, but instead will fight to the death to protect me.

having a four year old I am in the process of adopting stand at my feet and declare "you will NEVER be my mommy!!"  "I will NEVER love you!"  "I only love my other mommy!"

trying to explain to a two year old that he's going back home to "mommy", who he has rarely seen in the past seven months, and doesn't really remember and only knew "me" has mommy. And watching him walk out the door with a social worker, then suddenly turn back and run to me, and I cupped his little face in my hands and assured him "it's okay" even though I wasn't sure it was, before he went on down the walk.

realizing my newly adopted two year old has a serious problem with rages so bad even my big 16 year old son can't control him.

having an adoption agency call me and ask me to adopt that same little girl I wanted to adopt seven years ago, the sister of my first adopted child and to take her little sister along with her, and I say yes and go through all the classes and spend the money I need to spend in order to get re licensed, and get accepted by the adoption agency, only to have the rug jerked out from under me when it was taken to CPS, who decided I couldn't have the girls after all because I am "too religious."

to have a child lay cuddled in my arms in bed while she describes the things that have been done to her.  And to later tell me things that she has seen.

to have people who don't understand what this is all about get mad and say things to me that hurt deeply, and make me cry.

to have to leave the church I love and moved to be with because they don't understand what I am doing and won't accept it.


Those are a few on the cons.  Now on to the happier pros!!

watching over the years as God gave me six sons to replace that foster baby twenty years ago that I loved and had to give back.

hearing a judge say "I move that the Raley's be allowed to adopt the minor child" when I went to a court parental termination hearing (after the social worker who was fighting us went on leave for a short time) praying only for hope that the baby won't be given to someone else.

leaving that same court hearing and looking up to see a church sign that declares "My peace I give you.  John 14:27" and feeling like God had just reached down and patted me on the head and said, "See?  I told you he was yours all along!"

seeing the children from that first sibling group I wanted to adopt seven years before, and watching the older girl sob as she hugged the little brother she had forgotten she had.

to have the child who stood at my feet and declared she would never love me, put her arms around me and tell me she DOES love me after all.  And she just didn't understand back then.  And I am her ONLY mommy.

to watch the little boy with rages come under control with diet and turn into the sweetest, most beautiful child who only has problems very rarely.

to have the mommy of the foster baby whose daddy was such a nightmare to work with friend me on facebook because "you were always so good" to her daughter.

to watch later as that same mommy regains custody of her daughter and see in pictures that the little girl looks happier than she has ever looked in the pictures I've seen of her over the years.  Her eyes no longer look so sad.

to have the adoption agency call me when the adoption of my sons sisters fails, and tell me "we try not to drop the ball, but we really did in this case.  Your family is the only stable influence in these girls lives.  Are you still interested in adopting them?"

hearing that my little daughter, on her last day of public school before she was adopted, when asked by her teacher to tell the class what "adoption" means, replied, "Adoption means you stay, and you never have to leave again."

hearing the little sister of this sibling group ask me over and over after her adoption, "I'm just one of your regular kids now, right?"  and "You won't forget I'm adopted tomorrow, will you?"  yes, you are, and no I won't!

To have the 16 year old tell her sister this is the first place she has ever lived where she felt safe.

There's so much more I could write on both pros and cons.  This is just a little bit.  I have learned that anything worth having is usually hard.  Pregnancy is hard.  Giving birth is terribly hard.  Fostering is hard.  Adoption is hard.  But in the end, the things you work the hardest on are usually the best things in life.  You don't appreciate something you don't put effort into getting near as much as you appreciate things you brought forth in blood, sweat, tears and anguish.   Like the Bible says in Psalms 126:5, I have sown in tears with all my children and still do, but I am reaping with songs of joy.

And sometimes, I even think of the oldies songs of my youth when I think about my life!!


My life is sunshine, lollipops and rainbows
That's how this refrain goes.
So come on Join In. Everybody.
Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows
Everything that's wonderful is sure to come your way
When your in love to stay.

All but two of my children and all of my grandchildren on Easter 2013

On being a foster parent: when accusations come

I wrote this article on June 26,2010, I thought I would reprint it on my blog today:

Being a foster parent is a fulfilling job, but there are risks involved. Separating a parent and child is a serious thing, and most parents react violently to having their child removed. Once the shock wears off, the parents will sometimes come to the realization that they are going to have to work with the state to fix what ever caused the removal, although it's still a volatile thing and parents can be quick to accuse the state of anything they can think of.
As a foster parent, I am usually able to have a good relationship with the parents of the children I care for. They soon realize I had nothing to do with their child being removed; I am just the lady hired to care for the child while they are going through this hard time. I do what I can to give the parents peace of mind. If they seem stable enough, I will usually give them my cell phone number so they can call me and check up on the child, or just talk. I enjoy the mentoring part of my job.
But once in a while there will be parents who are just angry. Usually those are the ones whose anger problem is why they are in this situation. Maybe they abused the child, or maybe they tore their family apart because they abused themselves and each other. Whatever the case may be, these parents are out to get everyone, including the foster parent.
I took care of a lovable little girl for twenty months who had parents like this. We called her MiMi. I loved MiMi immensely, but her father gave me trouble the whole time she was in my care. In fact, I was finally investigated myself because of accusations he made.
It began at court. I always attend the court hearings for my foster children. It gives me the opportunity to talk to the child's caseworkers, CASA workers and attorney. They hand me copies of their reports. I can listen to what is said to the judge by everyone involved. By the time I leave, I know where everything stands in my foster child's case, and what still needs to be done in order for the parents to have their child returned to them.
One hearing, while we waited for the judge, I could see MiMi's father talking angrily to his attorney and hand him a paper. The attorney glanced at me, looked embarrassed, and walked over to the CASA worker, showing her paper. The CASA worker soon came over to me. "Has MiMi had a bad diaper rash recently? Or a yeast infection?" She asked.
"Yes, she has. I showed it to the doctor at our last check up. I suspect it's because she has been taken off formula and put on whole milk, and also, she had some pineapple juice that she hadn't had before." I answered.
"Oh, you've had her at the doctor recently?" She asked.
"Oh, yes, just this month." I replied.
The CASA worker visibly relaxed.
I soon discovered what was up. MiMi's father had a letter from her mother, who was in jail. He had told her about MiMi's bad rash, and she wrote a letter to the court accusing me of abuse. She even had a letter from a "doctor" who had never seen MiMi, who said that the only way a child would develop a yeast infection was if they had been abused. I was horrified that anyone would think I had hurt this precious little girl.
The CASA worker stood up for me, telling the judge I was a good, experienced foster mother. The state's attorney showed the father that I had had MiMi at the doctor just within a day or so of his accusation. The father began to back track and try to change the dates. The judge finally ordered that I take MiMi to the doctor, along with the mother's letter, within the next 48 hours and have her examined.
I called my pediatrician when I got home, and made an appointment for the next day.
Although MiMi had not been abused before, I felt like she was by the time she had been examined. Although the doctor's examine was gentle and careful, I hated that she had to be put through that. The doctor confirmed she had not been abused, and agreed it was probably the milk causing her rash. He said yeast infections were so common in babies; they actually had a medicine for it. He gave me a prescription for the rash and also for the eczema and croup MiMi was prone too. The medicine and advice worked wonders, I was especially careful, and we didn't have problems after that.
But the embarrassment of being accused of such a serious charge made me overly cautious around MiMi's father, and caused me to make a mistake a few months later.
One morning, the day before MiMi had a visit with her father, I noticed a bruise that almost encircled her tiny forearm, and looked just like a grab mark. I knew I had not grabbed MiMi, and because she was always with me, I knew no one else had, either. She did, however, have a terrible sensory disorder, and often threw herself around while having tantrums.
Oh, how I dreaded the next day. If her father would accuse me of abuse over the toddlers diaper rash, what was he going to say about this bruise? My stomach clenched as their visit grew closer. As I dressed her the next day, I decided to cover some mosquito bites with little band aids, and put one over the bruise, too. I couldn't stand the thought of the confrontation he and I would have if he saw the bruise.
As I lifted her from the car at the CPS office, I considered taking the band aids off. I had not hurt MiMi, why did I feel like I had to hide anything? I struggled with indecision, and then decided to leave the band aids where they were. I took her into the office, handed her to her father under the supervisor's watchful eye, and as they went back to the visit room, I asked to see her caseworker. When she came out, I told her about the bruise and the band aids. I was glad I did.
Two hours later, I returned to pick her up and was ushered back to the visit room. Her father was throwing a fit. I saw right away he had taken off the band aids. He threw them at my feet as he screamed at me about covering up the bruise. I told him I was scared of him because of what he had done in court. I said I didn't expect him to be reasonable, and certainly he was not being reasonable. The caseworker nodded her agreement. My own worker quickly took the children into another room. I found out later she had quizzed my ten year old daughter while they were alone.
MiMi's father calmed down some after I talked to him, but he was not happy. After he left, I went to the room where the children were. MiMi ran into my arms, settling her head comfortably on my shoulder with her arms around my neck. I took another child's hand and we started out the door, with a caseworker on each side, studying MiMi's reaction to me. It was one of complete love and trust.
That night I received a call from my worker. She had decided to open an investigation. I could expect a visit very soon.
I was horrified. I had opened my home to these children and now "I" was being investigated? Was I in danger of losing my own children because I was a foster parent? How could the state do this to me? Weren't we supposed to be working together?
I considered telling them to come get the children and close my home. But when I calmed down, I knew I wasn't going to do that. I was committed to seeing these children through this awful time. In fact, the parental rights of our other foster daughter had been terminated, and we were planning on adopting her.
I knew, too, that sending the children away and closing our home wouldn't stop the investigation. Feeling helpless, I would just carry on and wait for the investigator.
The next two days were hard for me. I was so stressed it was hard for me to function. Being on the other end of Child Protective Services was a scary thing.
I settled into prayer, and asked God for peace every time I felt overwhelmed. And suddenly, it came. I had not hurt MiMi and I knew God would be faithful to keep us all safe. I calmed down enough that I began to almost forget what was coming.
It must have been a low priority, because was six days before the investigator came out.
But finally, there was a knock on my door, and I could see the shadow of a woman with a clipboard in her hand. She was nice and friendly and put me right at ease. She opened her notebook and began to ask me questions. She looked MiMi over. We talked.
Then, MiMi got mad. She wanted the rocking chair my son was in. When he wouldn't get up, she went into a full blown melt down. She screamed and thrashed and wouldn't be comforted. The investigator watched as I tried to talk to MiMi, who wasn't responding.
"Does she do this often?" The investigator asked.
"Well, she has a sensory disorder." I replied.
"Yes, that's in her records." The investigator said, looking at her notes.
"But she's really a sweet child when she's calm." I said, defending her. "She is a wonderful little girl and she doesn't always do this."
The investigator smiled at me. "I'm trying to establish another way she may have gotten the bruise." She said
."Yes," I said, feeling foolish. "She is prone to tantrums just like this."
The investigator soon closed her notebook, thanked me for my time, and got up to leave. Nervously, I asked her, "Did you find anything that concerns you?"
"No," She replied. "This case is closed. You will be getting a letter in a week or so. I am satisfied that everything is alright."
I closed the door, feeling a bit weak. God had been faithful and gotten us through this. I was so glad I hadn't done anything rash when my emotions were running so high.
We had MiMi for another five months after the investigation. Her parents lost their rights, and another relative did a homestudy and got custody of her. I miss her so much. I learned a lot from my experience with her family, and I hope I did them some good.
And I still love being a foster mother.

The Day I Had to Give My Foster Daughter Back

January 2, 2008, we handed our 26 month old foster baby, MiMi (my nickname for her, since that's how my son pronounced her name), who had lived with us for 20 months, back to CPS so they could transfer her to a relative placement in another state. I met the worker at 4:45 in the morning at a restaurant near the highway here in our small town. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done...
The night before I could hardly sleep. The grief was so physical, it hurt between my shoulder blades to breath. I barely slept the whole night, and finally crawled out of bed around 3:30 to get us ready. She was so sleepy; she hardly knew what was going on. I cried as I placed her in the workers car. The worker was very nice, patting me and assuring me everything would be alright.
We had decided to take a trip to Red River, New Mexico, and felt like leaving the same day MiMi left would be good for me. So I came back from dropping my little foster baby off, and tried to sleep a little more, but since that was impossible, I finally got up and began to get ready to go. At around 7, I went to wake up my son, Luke, and Angel-Leah, the four year old whose adoption was just finalized the month before. I had worried a little over how all this was going to affect Luke (who is also adopted) and Angel-Leah. I had warned them the night before that MiMi would not be here when they woke up the next day. They said their goodbyes with the rest of the family the night before. But when Angel-Leah woke up, her eyes wandered to MiMi's bed, and she sat up, stricken looking and said, "Is MiMi gone?" I said yes, and she burst into tears, crying "I didn't get to tell her goodbye! I wanted to say bye to her!" My tears began to flow hard, too, as I tried to reassure her that she HAD said goodbye. We sat in the bedroom and cried together.
We finally got off on our trip around 9 that morning. I was very grateful to know I would not have to spend the next few days at home as we tried to get used to life without her. Too many memories there. That did not help my grief, though, and I spent most of that day either in tears, or trying hard to fight them off so that my children could enjoy going on the trip. The Lord is so faithful in little ways. At one point in the morning, sitting in the back of our big van with my 11 year old daughter, Mary Susannah, I opened the newspaper to Dear Abby. And there, the first letter was from a former foster child, telling how much she had been loved as she grew up, and as an adult, she wanted to give back to the world all that she had been given. I felt like the Lord had planted that letter that day, and I was so grateful, and it DID help!
The next few days were a time of constant communication with God for me in a way I haven't had for a while. With the older children and my husband gone most of the day skiing, and not being able to sleep at night, I spent most , if not every minute, of my waking hours praying. Praying for comfort for MiMi and I, and praying that the Lord would help me make sense of all this, and give me insight.
That night we stopped at a Best Western motel, and my son Spencer was able to get wireless service on his laptop. I checked my email, and there was an email from the worker who had taken MiMi to Florida, assuring me she had done fine on the trip, that she had asked for me several times, but did not cry, that she enjoyed the plane ride, and that the worker felt very good about the great aunt's house where MiMi was going to live. She thanked me for what a good job I had done caring for MiMi for 20 months. That helped, too, to know that MiMi had not been scared all day. But sleep was hard to come by again that night, and once, when I did fall asleep, I woke up thinking I heard her calling mommy!! After that, I don't think I slept at all.
The next morning, we arrived at Red River. My husband Bill and children Spencer, Beau, and Mary Susannah headed for the slopes, while I stayed with Luke and Angel-Leah. We unpacked our things and went shopping for snow shoes, and later headed for the slopes to watch the older ones ski. A big boy had built a tunnel in the snow near the bunny hill where Mary Susannah was skiing, and the little ones had a wonderful time playing in it. A very nice lady sat down by me, and began to talk to me about my 'cute children.' Poor lady, before long I was telling her how we had lost MiMi the day before and I teared up, although I did keep under control. She told me about some friends of hers who were foster parents and had recently adopted their foster child, and decided they could not do it anymore. Soon the little ones and I headed back to the hotel to get warm. I was so worried about MiMi, and finally gave into the urge to call her great grandmother. I'm not sure if it was a mistake, probably not, but as soon as I heard her voice the tears started. The grandmother is so very nice. She told me that they were taking good care of MiMi. She told me all the things they had bought her, and all the things they had already done. She did tell me that MiMi had woken up three times during the night crying for me, and that she had finally thrown up, but that they were able to settle her down and comfort her. That was hard to hear, but I was so grateful to her for being honest with me. When I cried about how hard it was to let MiMi go, she reminded me that their family had also lost her 20 months ago, and that it had been very hard for them, too. And I know she is right. She assure me once again that they would be sending me updates and pictures of MiMi for the rest of her growing up years, and that when they visited Texas, I could see her. I decided after hanging up that it was not good for me to keep calling her grandmother and crying like I did during the time that they needed to re-get to know her (having only seen her twice since she was 6 months old) and that unless I KNEW I could control myself, I would communicate over email from then on.
Hanging up from the phone, I decided it was time for me to get a grip on all this. So I made myself really look at all this. I made myself realize that MiMi was not really ever mine, I was just a surrogate mother, a temporary mother, while her extended family was not allowed to, could not, or would not, take care of her. I was there to take the place of 'mother' during a time when she needed one. One terrible feeling I had was that I had betrayed her. I had allowed her to know me as 'mommy' when I knew all along that I might not get to raise her. But at the same time, I knew that had I held her at arms length during a time when she needed a mommy, she would not have thrived the way she did.
But oh, how this hurt. It hurt me, and it hurt her. I began to wonder if there was any way I could ever do this again. I began to pray that night when sleep would not come again and ask God what He wanted me to do. In less than two years, I had added two children to my already large brood by adoption through the foster care system. I asked God, was that enough? I love these two children who did not come from my own womb with the same fierce love that I love the ones who did come from my womb. Would just raising these two along with the rest of my children fulfill James 1:27's teaching that pure religion was take care of orphans and widows? Do I stop now? Maybe I was like some other people try to tell me that they are: too sensitive to take foster children, that I, too, get too attached, and obviously can't give them up without great grief. Did God really want me to keep doing this? Or do I quit now? But as I prayed, I suddenly got a very clear picture in my mind of holding out my arms, and taking a child, and feeling the heaviness and warmth of them, and also the excitement that comes with a new foster care placement, and I knew I had my answer. Yes, God still wants me to foster. Whether it will continue to be through the state, or taking prison babies as I have done privately twice before, or however He wants me to do it, I said yes to Him. And I know He will help me.
A few days later we arrived home, and the next morning seeing MiMi's empty bed brought tears once again. I knew it was going to take a while to get over this. I decided to take the bed down, and rearrange the room, so I wouldn't remember her every-time I walk in. I tried to disassemble it as little as possible, so I could put it back up quickly again when and if I need too. I cried as I took down the bed. Angel-Leah sat with me, and told me she loved me and she was sorry for me. Then she and I moved some of the furniture around so there wouldn't be an empty space.
As I fed them lunch, MiMi's great grandmother called me. She said she wanted to give me an update. She said MiMi cried for three nights, but it seems to be getting better. She says she was playing now on her own. She told me some more of the things they are doing, and that they were going to the beach that day. I told her that as I was trying to get MiMi prepared to go live with them, I told her Nana was going to take her to a water park, and that she was excited about that, because she loved the one here in Grandview so much. So I suggested she use those words, and she said she would. She told me she loved me for all I had done for her great grand daughter, and that she would call me often, and send me pictures very soon.
Thanks to everyone who prayed for us. We continue to need the prayers.
UPDATE:
Six days after MiMi left, I received a call from CPS. Angel-Leah’s birth mother and father had a new baby, now five months old. A relative had been caring for him, but they had decided they would rather have him grow up with his sister, since it had become apparent that the birth parents were not going to make enough progress to have this child returned to them either. Would I take him, the family wanted to know?
So just less than one month after MiMi left us, Angel-Leah’s brother Tommy came to live with us. One year later, almost to the day, we finalized our adoption of him. He doesn’t replace MiMi in our hearts; he has his own special place. It took me a while to realize that God has a plan. MiMi didn’t need a ‘forever home’, she just needed a safe place for a while during a terrible time in her life, and we gave her that. Tommy needed a ‘forever family’, along with his sister, and our son Luke, and we are very blessed to give them that. God doesn’t make mistakes, he uses us to the brim, when we let him.

Adopting an Older Child

Most of the time, when people think of adoption, they think of a new, sweet baby that they will bring home from the hospital. But with the cost of private adoptions soaring until they are out of reach of the average family, more people are looking towards foster adoption with the state.

It’s the rare child, though, that is adoptable from birth through the state. The birth parents usually have their child removed from them for good cause, and then they have a year or just more, depending on the state, to work the plan the state lays out to have their child returned to them. Once the parental rights are terminated, there is also an appeal period before the child is released for adoption. Here in Texas, that appeal period is 90 days. If you are a foster parent, as well as an adoptive parent, then you have a good chance of having a child in your home from the very beginning, but there are many, many children who become wards of the state as older children. They are needy, hurting, vulnerable children who need forever homes just as much as a newborn infant, but some are not as likely to find them as quickly as a newborn is. A look at the state websites for children eligible for adoption (adoptuskids.org is one) will reveal thousands of children in need of homes. Most of the children on these websites are the harder to place children, because the healthy young ones are usually adopted by their foster parents, or there are already homes lined up to take them before they ever have a chance to be put on these sites.

Adopting an older child is different from adopting an infant, and has a unique set of challenges to it. Most of the time, these older children have lived at least part of their lives with their birth parents, and no matter whether they are treated well, or very, very badly, they have formed the bond that ALL children form with their parents, and will carry the lifelong trauma of being parted from them. This can be very hard for the new family to understand. They have sometimes waited many years to adopt, and they love the child and want nothing more than to give that child a wonderful happy life. They can’t understand why the child does not respond to that love and desire, and put the past behind them, and be happy in the present and future.
But if an older, adopted child is not allowed to release and verbalize their grief at losing their first family, they will internalize it, and it can make the child mentally unhealthy. The new family needs to understand that this is important, before they take on the challenge of this older child. They need to understand it as it is, and not be threatened by it. The fact that there were parents that are remembered before the new parents is the child’s truth. If the new parents can understand that, and meet the need of the child in allowing them to grieve, then the bond between the newly adopted child and new parents will grow stronger, and the adoptive parents will have done much in helping the child grow up mentally strong and healthy, which is one of the goals of parenting.

Sometimes the older child will talk about their ‘real’ family, and say their adopted family is not real. An adopted child in our own family did this once, when her full sibling birth brother came to live with us. She said he was her ‘real’ brother, and the rest of the boys in the family were not. I explained to her on her four year old level, that we were all ‘real’ and that none of us were made out of silly putty. I told her that families were made in many ways, and that her birth brother had more than one way of being her brother, because he had the same set of parents, and also, he had the same set of adoptive parents, and he was her real brother both ways. I told her the other five boys in our family were her brothers by adoption, so they were brothers to her one way and they were real too. I reminded her that she also has two half brothers that did not live with us, and those half brothers were also real. All these many boys were brothers to her in different ways, and all those brothers were real brothers. No one was silly putty. We were real people, related to her in real ways. She enjoyed that explanation very much, and she has never questioned it.

There are many terms that are popular to use when talking to adopted children. One is to tell them that their birth parents loved them so much, that they gave them up. That explanation can cause distress in the child, because how do they know that you will not someday love them enough to give them up too?
Another is to tell them they by being adopted, they were ‘chosen’ or picked out specially, and that other people who give birth have to just take whatever they get. I believe that explanation is faulty, too. Obviously, someone gave birth to this child too, and either choose not to keep them, for whatever reason, or they had them taken from them because of the life they chose to live. Someday, the child may well link those ideas. Also, every child is special, no matter how they come into a family, and I believe it’s wrong to lead a child to believe differently. It may cause a playground battle someday, when the adopted child tells a birth child that they themselves were ‘chosen’ while the parents of the birth child had to take what they got. The birth child may know something about adoption, and may throw it back at the ‘chosen’ child that someone, somewhere, gave them up, while they themselves were ‘kept’. A child should be raised to consider everyone of worth; rather they are in their family by birth or adoption.

An adopted child, especially one adopted from the foster care system, should be told as much information in age appropriate portions as you know. The older they get, the more they should be told, until by the age of 12, they have all their information. That way, they do not have to digest any new information during the unsettled teen years, while they are trying to pull away from their parents and become an adult. All information should be given truthfully. You should not make it better than it is, or worse than it is. It’s just the facts of their life, and not their fault. You should never say anything bad of your own opinion about their birth parents, as a child will always associate their self worth with the people who’s DNA they share. Tell the story, the true story, and maybe use it as a starting point to teach the child how to make the right choices as they grow up.

Try and reassure the child as they grow up, that if they want to meet their birth parents again some day, you will be right there beside them, so they will not feel like they are disloyal to you in the desire to do this. Try not to feel threatened by this desire, it’s natural, and if you have been a good parent, it is unlikely to cause the child to love you any less, in fact, they just may love you more, because this is yet another way you have loved them, supported them, and helped them in their lives. Your support will be invaluable to them, whether the reunion goes well or not. They will know that you are always there in good times or bad times to lean on.

Adoption of the older child is not for the faint of heart, but it is a worthy, fulfilling thing to do!

CASA and the playhouse

When a child is removed from his or her parents and comes into state custody, and is placed in a foster home, there are many people who will be assigned to watch out for the child’s well being, and will make sure that the best thing happens for them, whether it is being returned to their parents or another member of their biological family, or in some cases, whether the child ends up being relinquished for adoption.
Usually, these people include a caseworker, a guardian ad litem, which is the attorney for the child, and they might receive a CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate) worker.
In my experience as a foster mother, a child who has a CASA worker is very blessed indeed. These workers are volunteers, and can be very dedicated to watching out for the child. Some of my foster children have had wonderful CASA workers. I can hardly say enough good things about them.

Recently, I had in my care two little girls. One became my daughter by adoption, the other was returned after 20 months to her foster family. The little girl who went back home had a really good CASA worker who came out to our house often, brought her presents on holidays, and worked with her family to help her go live with a great aunt and great grandmother. She also did much to ease my very hurting heart during this time. There was also a CASA supervisor named Tonya who worked closely with us while this little girl was with our family. I really like this lady, and saw her often in court hearings and permanency meetings. We also emailed back and forth, and I enjoyed talking to her.

CASA has fundraisers during the year to raise money for the children, and one thing they do here in our county is raffle off playhouses at Christmas. These playhouses are really nice, well built houses, and are displayed in the main part of town. While I was not involved in any way with the raffle, my foster and biological children certainly benefitted from it one year!

Tonya called me and told me they had raffled off a castle playhouse. She said the lady who won it wanted to donate it back to a foster family. Since I had two foster children for this county, she thought of me, and wondered if I wanted the playhouse?
Wanted it? We were thrilled to be chosen! She thought they might want to take a picture for the newspaper, although later that didn’t work out, because the picture included the foster children, and could not be published. At the time, though, that was just part of the excitement, and sure didn’t seem to me to be any kind of price to pay for such a wonderful gift.

A date was set to deliver the playhouse. I told my eleven year old biological daughter, Mary Susannah, that I thought we should make cookies to give the workers when the playhouse was delivered, so we did. Then we waited.
In a while, Tonya called. She said they were a bit delayed, but the Sherriff’s department was already on its way. Okay, I said, and hung up. Confused, I thought “Sherriff’s department?” About that time, I looked up to see a jail truck pulling up in my driveway, and several big men in orange jumpsuits get out, along with a couple of men in uniforms – and guns!!
My sense of humor slipped into play, and I tried to imagine what my neighbors were thinking about all this!! I also tried to imagine what I would have thought seeing these men pull into my driveway, had I not had the couple of minutes notice I had had. The inmates got out of the truck and stood in my driveway, smoking, as they waited for the playhouse to arrive. Evidently, the idea was for them to set up the playhouse.

In a few minutes, another truck came down our country road, with a huge, lavender castle on back. There was much talk about the best way to maneuver this big structure into our fenced front yard, which is where the young foster children played. Thankfully, part of the fence was temporary, and the trailer containing the playhouse was driven into our backyard, and the inmates took down the temporary fence and began to unload the playhouse. The children stood, very excited on the front porch and watched. It was interesting to see them get the playhouse off the trailer and into the spot I wanted it in.

When they were close to being done, I got the cookies, and asked Mary Susannah if she would like to pass them out to the inmates. She said yes, and did this under my supervision. It was obvious they were not expecting this, and they eagerly ate the cookies. It was a fun, unusual experience for us. It’s a nice memory.
After the playhouse was settled in our front yard, my temporary fence was replaced, much straighter and nicer than it had been setting before.

Now, much to the dismay of my older boys, I have a large lavender castle in my front yard. My oldest son, Gage, says it reminds him of Bowser’s castle in the old Mario Brothers Nintendo game. He’s right, it does!! We live on a major highway, and the castle is a landmark now. “Just look for the purple castle!” I tell people who want to know which house is mine. The boys ask me often when we can get rid of it, since the children the castle was intended for prefer to play in the ditch in front of our house most of the time, now that they are older and I let them out of the front yard, but now I have a new little boy, a beautiful blond haired, brown eyed fireball, who is learning to love the playhouse. He’s only eighteen months old; he’s got some time to enjoy it. So the castle will stay as a testimony to a generous person who gave away a really nice prize.

Whoever you are, thank you!!

Loving MiMi: loving and letting go of a foster child

On April 13, 2006, we finalized our adoption of our son, Luke. He was our first adoption after seven biological children. We had a party to celebrate, inviting many of our friends. They had almost all gone home when we got a call that the court had ruled our seven month old foster daughter, that we had had since birth, be given back to her parents by five that evening.
We were sad to see her go, but happy, too. As I told my heartbroken nine year old daughter, Mary Susannah, “Today we got Luke forever and for always, and today (foster baby’s) mommy got her baby back forever and for always, too.”

A day or so went by, and I put our name back on the list for more foster children. We had two openings, and a week later, late at night, I got a phone call asking me to take a two and a half year old girl, named Angel-Leah. We accepted, and the little girl who is now our adopted daughter came to live with us.

One week after that, we got another call, asking us to take a six month old baby girl. We said yes, and MiMi arrived that day.

These two girls looked enough alike to be sisters, except that MiMi’s hair had a redder tint to it than Angel-Leah’s. Both were blue eyed, light haired, delicate looking girls. But while Angel-Leah was very verbal, and handled her grief at being separated from her mother with words, MiMi screamed. And screamed. And screamed. She cried all day unless she was being held. In desperation, I finally told the children that I would hold her for 15 minutes every hour, and then for 45 minutes, I would get my work done. My daughter Mary Susannah said if I would hold her 15 minutes, she would also hold her 15 minutes an hour, which gave Mimi half of each hour to be held and comforted. It also gave our household 30 minutes of peace each hour, because as soon as MiMi was sat back down, she screamed.

I finally took her back to her doctor to see if he could help her. He was upset that MiMi was in foster care, not because of anything I had done, but because her parents had messed up. He was not much help to me; he just kept telling me it was exposure to drugs in the womb that had done it. I tried to explain what I was looking for, exposure to drugs had never been determined, but even if it was, now that we know what the problem is, what can I do about it? He didn’t have any answers.

I reported my problem to the social worker, and she suggested I get Early Childhood Intervention (ECI) to come look at MiMi. I did that right away! They came out and evaluated her. They gave me a checklist of questions to answer, and said that they suspected she had a sensory integration disorder. This is an autistic like problem, although they did not suspect MiMi of having autism, mainly because as we talked, she would be curled up in my lap, totally at ease and bonded with me and the family around us. They began to come out once a month or so to give me instruction and therapy to do with her.

And so, life went on with MiMi in our house. We learned what we could and could not do. She had a lot of trouble being out of the house when she was little. She screamed throughout entire car rides. She never did learn to handle church. Sitting in the seat of a shopping cart brought hysteria. I became a kind of recluse, because taking her out was too hard. I began to rely on my older children and husband to run the errands I used to run. No one wanted to babysit for me, because it was too hard, and to be honest, I didn’t feel safe leaving her with anyone.
But all this was teaching me great lessons in patience. And somehow I felt like if I could get this little girl through her problems, I would have really done something.

Getting other people to understand MiMi’s problems, though, could be a challenge. The church we had attended for so long split, and two more churches were formed from that split. For many reasons, we decided we needed to leave the original church, and we visited the second one. But they were not really equipped, physically or emotionally, to handle a child like MiMi. I tried to struggle on there, for the sake of my older children. One Sunday, during one of MiMi’s meltdowns, I took her back to the nursery. Even shutting the door did not drown out her screams, and the other mothers in there were trying to get their babies asleep. When it was obvious that MiMi was not going to calm, I tried to slip quietly out the nursery door to take her outside, but a brewing Texas storm caught the door and slammed it shut behind me. I cringed, and began to walk MiMi. Sprinkling rain soon drove us closer to the church building for shelter, and in a minute I saw the windows begin to shut against MiMi’s screams. Feelings hurt, I covered her and walked her further away from the building. When I finally managed to quiet her, I tried to slip back into the nursery door, only to find someone had locked it.
The next Sunday, we began to visit the third church, which was meeting in a wedding chapel. I found more sympathy there, which is something that is really appreciated in times like these! There was no nursery at all in this wedding chapel, so I would take MiMi outside during her meltdowns. But there was one lady in particular who noticed, and if I was out there too long, she would come out ‘to sit with me’, she said. She would even walk MiMi for me, and sometimes just having another, unfamiliar person hold her would quiet her.

When MiMi was a year old, she was switched from formula to regular milk. Now we had a new set of problems. Her light colored skin was always sensitive, and now she broke out in patches of eczema on her face. She got raging diaper rashes. I took her back to her doctor, and told him I thought milk was causing this, and also aggravating the croup she always struggled with. Once again, the doctor would not help me. In fact all he would do was rant over and over that I had to give her milk. I was also informed at this visit that this doctor would not see her anymore unless her Medicaid could be changed to Americaid. I left the office and called the social worker with this news, telling her not to try too hard to change the insurance, because I desperately wanted another doctor. She said don’t worry, they couldn’t change it anyway.

But the eczema problem actually helped solve itself. MiMi had an angry young daddy, who grabbed at whatever he could to get at the Child Protective Services for taking his daughter, and I was included in his anger. At the six month court hearing, he stood in front of the judge and accused me of terrible things because of MiMi’s diaper rash. He really made a mess of his accusations, because the CPS attorney informed him that I had had her at the doctor’s office within a day or so of the time that he was accusing me of abuse, so he began to try and change the dates. Finally the judge said to take the child back to the doctor, with a letter from the parents, within 48 hours.
I didn’t have any problem with that, in fact, I took her straight to the pediatrician I had used for 30 years with my own children. I knew he would listen to me, and he did. He said if I felt like milk was the problem, it probably was. He gave me permission to take her off cow’s milk, and gave me a prescription for the eczema, the diaper rashes, and the croup.
It was almost like a miracle, everything cleared up. MiMi was more comfortable, which helped her meltdowns. I was very thankful!

And MiMi grew older. Her hair grew long, soft and very blond. She learned to walk at 10 months, and talking soon followed. Her voice was LOUD, in fact, she never talked in a normal voice, she talked in almost a scream. Her social worker described her as intense, and that was a good description. She didn’t scream all day anymore, but had regular meltdowns, where she would resort to tantrum like episodes that no amount of work could end. ECI had suggested isolating her in her room when she did this, and we did try, but someone would have to hold the door shut because she would not stay there. They were rough on all of us, and when she would finally quit crying, I would rock her while her wide, wild looking eyes would search my face. I would sing a song to her about being a happy baby, and she soon came to call being rocked “happy baby,” saying, “I wanna happy baby, mommy!” She greatly loved me, and my feelings fast followed, as I grew VERY attached to her.

And we did begin to make some progress.
I tried to get my homeschooled children out of the house whenever I could, and we spent much time at the zoo and the museum, which I discovered was very good for MiMi. It was an atmosphere where she could wander and play, and being a very smart little girl in spite of her troubles, she thrived in that environment.
I bought a backpack leash, something I just knew I would never do. But having MiMi on this allowed her some freedom when we went go out in public but she had to stay close to me. I bought the cutest leash I could find, a little puppy dog on the top peeked over MiMi’s shoulder, and the legs hung at her sides. She loved this little contraption, and surprisingly most of the time did not chafe at the boundaries it made her stay within. We learned that letting her carry a bottle most of the time also helped her calm herself, probably having something to do with the sensory issues. She had a favorite small, bean bag type black cabbage patch doll that she loved very much. I enjoyed seeing the contrast of the black doll and blond haired, blue eyed MiMi, as she cuddled it in her arms just like I cuddled her.


And sing! Oh, could MiMi sing!! She only had to hear a song a couple of times before she learned the words. One of the first songs she learned to sing was “Tis So Sweet”. She had perfect pitch, and sang with great enthusiasm, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. But my favorite was hearing her baby voice sing “Amazing Grace” in a perfect alto. She knew the whole first verse, and didn’t add words to it like Luke and Angel-Leah did. Once at a cottage meeting for church, the man leading decided we should sing a song for the little children to help with . When he suggested “Jesus loves the little children”, and asked my children if they knew that one, Angel-Leah said, “Let’s sing Amazing Grace!” The man looked surprised, but said okay, and they sang it, with MiMi leading out the loudest.
Most of my days were spent with my little MiMi shadow following me around, hanging on the back of my dress. She loved to help with the laundry. She helped me with the dishes, which could result in a lot of spills. When she wanted me to sit down, she ran and got my crochet basket, screaming, “Here crochet, Mommy!” because she knew I always sat down to crochet, and she could sit next to me and talk and draw. She loved my son Beau, who spent a lot of time doing ‘happy baby’ with her, too, only his rocking was much wilder than mine and more like play.
When MiMi would visit with her father once a week, she had what I would call blank outs. Her face went totally slack and without expression. The workers who would supervise the visits were often known to remark that that child had ‘no personality whatsoever’, at which MiMi’s own worker would reply, ‘Oh, but you should see her with her foster mother, she’s a whole other child!” When she would come out the door after visits, her face would break into a wide grin, and she would run to me with outstretched arms. She would run around the CPS waiting room, playing with Angel-Leah and Luke, often causing the supervising workers to also remark “I’ve never seen her act like a normal child.”

A year past, and final court dates for both Angel-Leah and MiMi rolled around. Angel-Leah’s parents rights were terminated, and she was freed for adoption. But MiMi’s mother was given a six month extension, because she had been in a place where it was impossible for her to work her plan, but now things were looking up for her. We began adoption proceedings on Angel-Leah, and settled back in to wait to see the outcome for MiMi.

Our little town opened a free splash pad, which was a series of sprinklers for little children to play in. Oh, how MiMi loved it. We went at least once a week, and she would SCREAM in delight when she saw where we were going. We moved the swing set and had a third swing put on it. We bought a sandbox, something ECI had suggested. MiMI thrived. During a week of meetings, we visited the church we had attended where I had the trouble with MiMi’s crying. The people there were astounded at the difference in her. They would say, “Is this the same little girl?” And “I’ve never seen her smile! The difference is amazing!”

Summer passed, our last summer with her. It became obvious that MiMi’s parents were not going to be getting her back. At this news, a great grandmother and great aunt in another state stepped forward to claim her, and began to do the steps they would need to do to get custody of her. Although I knew I should steel myself to release her, I couldn’t do it. I finally comforted myself with remembering what Jesus said when John’s disciples asked Him why His disciples didn’t fast? He said, “How can the guests of the bridegroom mourn while he is with them? The time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them, then they will fast.”
That became my philosophy: while MiMI was with me, I would enjoy her. There would be time enough to mourn when she was gone.

So we continued to love her, while showing her pictures and talking about her Nana and aunt. I tried hard to explain to this little barely two year old girl, that soon she would go live with them. I told her over and over that we loved her. My heart broke sometimes, knowing she would be leaving. One night, I was reading a new book to them. It was about a farmer rocking all the animals on his farm to sleep. All three little ones were listening, but MiMi was just enthralled with the horse in the book. When I finished, she took it and turned the pages to the horse while I read another book, and she kept saying "Mommy!! Horsey CUUUUUTE!" As she showed it to me with her little bright eyes, and all I could think was, one more month, and she will be taken out of here, and she isn't going to understand. Right now she is secure and happy and she has NO IDEA that we aren't her family forever. She has no idea what is about to happen to her!
And we were planning to take a trip the day she left. My family hoped doing this would make it easier on me. As we would talk about the trip, MiMi would stand at my feet and scream “And me, Mommy? And me?” I always felt like she knew something was up. I would pick her up and we would ‘happy baby’, and I would tell her again that she wouldn’t be going with us, she was going to live with her aunt. She would curl up in my arms confidently and say “No, I stay with Mommy.” I would fight tears, knowing that was impossible.

But time passed, and one very cold January morning, I put the little girl I had loved so much for the past 20 months into a social workers car, and watched them drive away.   And that was it.  The little girl I had loved and cared for for 20 months was gone.  I didn't know if I would ever see her again.  It was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I spent much time wondering if foster care was worth the heartbreak I was enduring.

MiMi was a special little girl, and for 20 months, she needed a home. We gave that to her, and we are the richer for it. I just pray that she is, too. I pray that we gave her what she needed during that hard time in her life. That what we gave her will carry her throughout the rest of her life, even if she does not remember us. It’s my hope that someday I’ll see her again, if not in this life, then surely in the next one!

Thought for the day: James 1:27 Pure religion is taking care of the widows and the orphans in their distress…